Star Trek: The Next Generation
Infiltrator # 42



Chapter One

"THAT'S THE SHIP," Maria Sukhoi told her husband. She
pointed to the white needle on the spaceport's flight pad.
"The Temenus. It launches in eight hours."
    Lee nodded. "Eight hours. They changed their plan.
Do you think they suspect?"
    Mafia shook her head. The midnight air had made her
black hair damp, and it clung to her forehead in loose
strands. "Central's always suspicious, but it doesn't have
a reason to suspect us."
    Lee grinned crookedly, white teeth in a dark broad
face. "I'm just nervous."
    "You'd damned well better be," Marla said. Security
around the spaceport was good, and Lee carried a half-
dozen thumbnail bombs in his pocket. "Too many things
can go wrong."
    "Cheerful tonight, aren't you?" He reached out and
stroked her cheek. "'So lovely fair, that what seem'd fair
in all the world seem'd now mean.' I'll be back for you."
"I know." The quote from Milton--Adam's descrip-
tion of Eve, another type of firstborn--warmed her as it
always did. She kissed him. "Now get going."
    "Right." Lee hurried down the slope. Despite his
words Mafia did not think she would see him again.
His chances of sabotaging the Temenus were good,
but his chances of survival were poor. A sense of loss and
sorrow welled up in her, only to fade out before it
could overwhelm her. Damn the originators, she
thought. The changes that the genetic engineers had
made in her people made it all but impossible for the
people of Hera to sustain an intense emotion. She was
able to view Lee's impending death with a sense of
detachment that seemed to reduce the love she felt for
him.
    Maria turned away and jogged back to town. She was
not afraid of being observed. Central Security had de-
cided that extra surveillance would only alert the subver-
sives to the start of Operation Unity, so Central had
gambled by not increasing its activities around the
spaceport. By the same token, only the people who had
to know about Captain Blaisdell's secret orders had been
told about Unity. Mafia Sukhoi, who ran the Olympus
Spaceport, was one of those people.
    And now I'm a traitor and a murderer, she thought. So
be it. When she had learned about Unity she had
discussed its implications with Lee. They had concluded
that if Unity succeeded it would provoke the primels
into destroying Hera, and that would lead to the loss of
their family, along with everything else. They could not
count on the resistance movement to stop Unity, so they
would have to do it themselves. Logic left them no other
course.
    Even so, she did not want to kill the Temenus's crew.
She wished that she were smart enough to think of an
alternative.
    Merle reached her home as the sun rose. She woke the
children and got their breakfast ready. Gregor, the
younger of her two boys, waited until Mafia had her
hands full before he brought up a problem. "I didn't
finish my math homework last night."
    Marla wondered why six-year-olds liked to leave their
problems for the worst possible moment. "Anna, can
you take care of this?" she asked.
    "Okay. Come on, Geeken" Anna took her younger
brother by the ear--a maneuver she had picked up in
her aggression classes--and pulled him over to the
dining room table. Mafia watched in disapproval; the
classes were supposed to teach children to suppress their
aggressive instincts, not give in to them.
    Anna put the boy's school pad in front of him and
called up his calculus assignment. "What's the prob-
lem?"
    "This one," Gregor said, jabbing a finger onto the pad.
"Gotta integrate e to the minus x squared. I can't
do it."
    "Nobody can," Anna said. She spoke with all the
authority of a ten-year-old. "It's an undefined operation.
You have to sneak up on it. Write the Taylor polynomial
for e to the x, substitute minus x squared for x, and
integrate the polynomial."
    "Teacher said we had to do it as an integral," Gregor
protested.
    Joachim, the older boy, blew air out of his cheeks.
"Then Write down that it's a trick question and solve it
as a sigma series. They want you to learn to look at the
questions, not just the answers."
    Maria put breakfast on the table while her children
squabbled over Gregor's homework. At least the talk
kept them from noticing that their father was missing. It
was not unusual for Lee to leave early; he was a field
geologist, and the children probably reasoned he was
out testing another new piece of equipment. After they
had eaten, Mafia bundled the children off to school,
then went to the neighborhood tube station. The capsule
that took her to the spaceport was empty, which suited
her mood.
    The capsule brought her to the spaceport entrance,
where she nodded to the guard and walked to her office.
On her way across the green she passed the marble
column that commemorated the spaceport workers
killed in a primal attack three years ago. A damaged
freighter had made an emergency landing at the space-
port, and while repairs were made to the ship its crew
had realized what the Herans were. The primals had
gone berserk and killed several people with their phasers
before they were stamped out.
    Once inside her office Marla settled into her daily
routine. The computer delivered reports to her in order
of importance. Combat Operations had spotted a
Romulan ship outside the Heran system; analysis sug-
gested it was heading home after a routine exploratory
flight. A primal ship was en route to the sector to lay a
series of communication and navigation beacons; Oper-
ations wanted a warshit, readied to shadow it, in case the
primals made trouble. The three robot warships of the
Special Reserve were to be activated and deployed for
maneuvers in deep space. The Hephaestus Institute
needed to borrow a courier for a test of its long-range
transporter system.
    Maria ground her way through the work, half-
expecting to see a security report. She found none, but
that meant nothing. Central Security kept a tight lid on
reports of sabotage and other forms of dissidence. Lee
might have been caught at once, and her first hint would
come when she was arrested.
    A glint of light caught Marla's eye, and when she
looked out her office window she saw the white needle
that was the Temenus rising into the clear morning sky.
A wave of guilt made her look away. If all went well,
Lee's bombs would go off in six days and the ship would
vanish. But if all went well, Central Security would never
know if Temenus had been lost to an accident or
sabotage--or an attack by the primals. The uncertainty
should make them hesitant about trying Unity again.
    Or so she hoped. She didn't understand the Modality.
Over the past few years the Heran government had
grown more secretive, more authoritarian. It had revived
the originators' dream of conquering the old human
race, and that threatened to bring destruction down
on Hera.



Chapter Two

Captain's log, stardate 47358.1 The Enterprise has en-
tered sector 11381, a reportedly uninhabited portion of
the galaxy that the Federation is opening to colonization.
Accordingly the Enterprise has been ordered into this
sector to lay a series of communication and navigation
beacons. As the beacons incorporate some experimental
computer technology, we have been joined by a cyber-
neticist from the Daystrom Institute. Although quite
young, Dr. Kemal comes highly recommended and has
already shown a remarkable talent for enhancing the
Enterprise's computer programs.

ASTRID KEMAL TRIPPED over her own feet as she walked
into the Ten-Forward lounge. Most of Guinan's patrons
politely ignored her as she stumbled, but Worf growled
with embarrassment. He had invited the cyberneticist to
join him and two of his security troops for lunch, and her
clumsiness grated on his innate sense of dignity. A
Klingon warrior was not seen in public with--he re-
called a human word that one of his security ensigns had
used--a klutz.
    One of the two ensigns seated at the table with Worf
showed less restraint in his reaction. "I told you so!"
K'Sah crowed as he gave Sho Yamato a punch in the
arm. "Pay up!"
    Worf growled at K'Sah while Yamato rubbed his upper
arm. The massive Pa'uyk resembled a poisonous, shaggy
spider with pincerlike hands at the ends of its four arms,
but Worf felt unintimidated by the creature. "I dislike
your gambling," the Klingon rumbled.
    K'Sah ignored the hint. "How could I pass up a sucker
bet?" he said. The chitinous tips of his four legs tapped
merrily on the deck. "Besides, Sho's buying you a drink,
tOO."
    "A bet is a bet," Yamato said in agreement. He
signaled one of the bartenders, then looked at Kemal.
She stood at the bar, ordering a drink from Guinan.
"Lieutenant," he wondered, "is Dr. Kemal always this
ú.. artless?"
    "No," Worf said curtly. That was literally true. She
had been on the Enterprise for over a week, and he knew
of one occasion on which she had not stumbled. That
had been when she entered his security office today to
work on his computer subsystems. He regretted that he
had no witnesses. "Do not accept any more bets on her
performance," he warned Yamato.
    "Yes, sir," Yamato said, and looked at K'Sah. "I
thought that bet seemed peculiar," Yamato remarked.
    K'Sah clacked his serrated mandibles in mockery.
"Let that be a lesson to you. Never bet against me."
Despite his friendly tone his words seemed threatening.
Worf told himself that must be a false impression. The
Pa'uyk world had only recently contacted the Federa-
tion, and no one seemed to have much knowledge of
their customs and manners. K'Sah himself would say
nothing useful about his people, even though he was
temporarily under Worf's command as an exchange
officer from the Pa'uyk military; K'Sah took the reason-
able (to him) position that he was the one who was to do
the observing, not Worf.
    A bartender arrived with a tray laden with drinks:
synthehol for Yamato, some sort of reeking meat juice
for K'Sah, prune juice for Worfi As the bartender walked
away Kemal joined the party at the table. She was a tall
woman whose deep voice matched her robust physique.
She was as dark as a Klingon, showing the mixed
European, Asian and African heritage common to many
human colonists. She was also uncommonly strong;
Worf had seen her lift a navigation beacon with her bare
hands, a feat that would have tested his strength.
    As Astrid sat down Worf saw that her glass was filled
with a bright orange liquid. "Sorry I'm late, Worf," she
said.
    Worf gave a noncomittal grunt and took a swallow of
prune juice. Its alien biochemicals had a soothing effect
on the Klingon metabolism, and Worf felt his temper
subside. "Ensign Yamato, Ensign K'Sah," he said, nod-
ding at his men to introduce them.
    His good mood did not last. "Sho's paying for this
round, thanks to you," K'Sah said to Astrid. "Those two
left feet of yours are the best money-maker on this ship."
    Worf growled. "You will cease making these bets,
Ensign."
    "It's all in fun, Lieutenant," K'Sah said. "Hey, Kemal,
why don't you come in again and give Sho a chance to
even the score? I bet you won't trip this time."
    "Cute, K'Sah," Astrid said in disdain. She took a sip
of her drink, then looked at Yamato. "Your first name is
Sho? I'm Astrid. Let me buy the next round, to make up
for that bet."
    "No fair!" K'Sah protested. "How am I supposed to
enjoy my drink if I can't force someone to pay for it?"
He rested the elbow of one of his upper arms on the table
with his hand out, challenging Yamato to arm wrestle.
"Come on. Loser buys the next round."
    Yamato raised an eyebrow at the spikes that protruded
from the coarse fur on K'Sah's arm. "Didn't you just say
I should never bet with you?"
 "Dullard," the Pa'uyk sneered. "Are you going to
believe everything I tell you? How about you, Asteroid?"
 Astrid shook her head. Worf thought she seemed
 untroubled by a nickname that was clearly meant as a
 dishonorable comment upon her size. "I've heard about
 you. You'll cheat."
    "Aw, c'mon, human!" K'Sah's faceted eyes gleamed as
if he felt delighted by the accusation. He pushed a bristly
arm toward her. "I can fight clean. Honest!"
    Worf watched her, idly curious as to whether or not
she would accept the challenge. While human females
were not noted for their aggressiveness, he wanted to
think that this woman had a certain degree of spirit.
Equally important, a dozen people had clustered around
the table to see what would happen. It had been bad
enough that they had seen Astrid stumble as she entered
Ten-Forward. Worf did not want them to think that he
had made the acquaintance of someone who would back
away from a challenge.
    Astrid glanced at Worf as though reading his mind.
She put her elbow on the table and cautiously clasped
K'Sah's chitinous, spiky hand. She let out a slight grunt
of exertion which told Worf that the contest had begun.
"Not bad," K'Sah admitted in a voice that showed no
strain. Millimeter by millimeter he pushed her hand
toward the tabletop. "For a human you've got muscle."
    "Charming, isn't he?" one of the human onlookers
muttered.
    "You mean 'obnoxious,'" Worf grumbled. Even by
Klingon standards K'Sah was a rude spawn of a tribble.
    K'Sah snickered at Worf. "I love recognition," he said.
With one of his free hands he took Astrid's half-finished
drink, poured it into his mouth--and spewed it out.
"What is this slop?" he demanded, while several onlook-
ers backed away from the orange mist.
    "Orange juice," Astrid gasped. Her face showed the
strain as she fought to keep her hand above the tabletop.
Worf did not mind that she was about to lose. He
honored anyone who would enter battle, even though
defeat seemed inevitable.
    "'Orange juice,'" K'Sah repeated in disgust. He
tossed the glass aside and looked at their hands. "This is
taking too long," he decided. There was a thump under
the table, and Astrid let out a surprised yelp. At once she
shoved K'Sah's hand up and over, and there was a sharp
crack as the back of his hand slammed onto the tabletop.
    Astrid released her grip. K'Sah jumped to his feet and
clutched at his injured hand with his other three hands.
While he hopped around the lounge and howled curses
in his native language Astrid leaned over and looked at
her lower leg. "Are you hurt?" Worf asked her.
    "He... he kicked me in the shin." Worf had never
seen anyone who looked so thoroughly flustered. "I
thought he said he'd fight clean."
    K'Sah glared at her while one of the onlookers, a
medical technician, examined his hand. "I said I could,"
the Pa'uyk said, speaking through gritted fangs. "I didn't
say I would. Do I look like an idiot?"
    The technician snorted. "What you look like," he said,
"is somebody with a broken hand. Let's get you to
sickbay."
    K'Sah followed the orderly to the lounge door. He
stopped after a few paces, turned around andlooked at
Astrid. "Hey, Kemal," he rasped. "Best two out of
three?" Then the orderly pulled him through the door.
    Guinan came to the table with a fresh tray of drinks.
The lounge hostess's smile suggested she shared a won-
derful joke with the universe. "I'm putting this on
K'Sah's tab," she said as she handed out the glasses.
"Sake, prune juice, orange juice. That was quite a show,"
she added, and sat down. "You didn't strain any mus-
cles, did you?"
    Astrid shook her head. "The truth is, I got lucky. He
slipped."
    "I'll say," Guinan said. Worf heard the amusement in
her voice--and something else, as if she were trying to
insinuate a second meaning into her words.
    Astrid ignored her words. She raised her glass and
looked at Worf. "Ghlj get jagmeyjaj!" she snarled.
    The Klingon words brought a pleased look to his face.
He seldom encountered a human who spoke his language
with such flawless pronunciation. Picard and Riker
spoke Klingon, but they always made the language
sound, well, polite. "And may your enemies run with
fear," he said, returning the toast. He allowed himself a
faint smile. "As K'Sah did."
 Yamato eyed Astrid's glass. "'Orange juice'?"
    "I like orange juice," Astrid said. "And Guinan serves
the best I've ever tasted. I wish I knew how she gets this
much flavor out of a replicator."
    The intercom sounded before Yamato or Guinan
could respond to that. "Lieutenant Worf, please report
to the bridge."
 "On my way," he said, standing up.
    Worf left the lounge and went to the turbolift outside
its door. He thought about Kemal as he rode the elevator
to the bridge. She was strong and healthy, and she
handled computer tools with great dexterity. He did not
understand her clumsiness, and he was suspicious of
things he did not understand.
    The turbolift stopped and Worf stepped onto the
bridge. Captain Jean-Luc Picard nodded to Worf as the
security chief went to his post. "We've picked up a
distress signal, Lieutenant," the captain said in his
resonant voice. "It's an automated beacon. We'll rendez-
vous in fifteen minutes."
    "Aye, sir," Worf said, looking at his instruments. "I
have the beacon. Getting a sensor lock now."
    Data, the android systems officer, left his helm station
for the science officer's post. "I am reading signs of a
ship, Captain, and humanoid life-forms."
    "'Humanoid' covers a lot of ground," Will Riker said.
Enterprise's executive officer pulled thoughtfully at his
short dark beard. "Can you get anything more specific,
Data?"
 "No, sir," Data said. "There is heavy interference
from the ship, indicative of a major reactor accident.
Readings suggest that the reactor core has been jetti-
soned."
  "Hail them, Mr. Worf," Picard said.
    Worf sent a general signal, then scowled at his instru~
ments. "No response, sir."
  "I have an image now," Data said.
  "Put it on the main viewer," Picard ordered.
    "Aye, sir." The main viewscreen at the front of the
bridge showed a starfield and a small, elongated ship.
The hazy, unsteady image told of the intense radiation
surrounding the vessel. Its slow tumble announced that
it was out of control.
    "I don't recognize the configuration," Picard said. He
turned to Deanna Troi, who sat at his left hand. "Do you
sense anything, Counselor?"
    The Betazoid empath nodded. "There's at least one
person still alive out there, Captain," Deanna said.
"He's... annoyed. Very, very annoyed."
    "'Annoyed'?" Picard raised an eyebrow. "That's a
rather mild reaction to a space disaster."
    "Unless... perhaps the pilot is a Klingon," Worf
said.
    "But I don't sense a Klingon," Deanna said. "This is a
human, but with a very deliberate, formidable personali-
ty. It's as though whatever happened is merely a nui-
sance."
    "A reactor accident is more than a nuisance," Picard
noted. "Mr. Data, is it safe to transport aboard that
ship?"
    "Not without environment suits, sir," the android
said. "The radiation levels are too high for crew safety. I
would suggest beaming aboard survivors as soon as we
are within transporter range."
    "Make it so," Pieard said. "Mr. Worf, I want you to
supervise the rescue operations. See if the survivor can
tell you what happened."
 "Aye, sir." Worf touched the intercom control. "Dr.
Crusher, report to transporter room three. Possible
radiation injuries." Worf turned toward the turbolift.
    Deanna spoke quickly to the captain, then hurried
into the elevator with Worf. She waited until the door ú
had slid shut before she spoke. "Something's bothering
you, Worf."
    He growled as the turbolift glided down its shaft; he
disliked his inability to keep secrets from the counselor.
Her large, dark eyes only added to the impression that
she could discern his every thought. "Have you met Dr.
Kemal?"
    "The cyberneticist?" Deanna shook her head. "I
haven't had the pleasure. Why? Do you have a problem
with her?"
    "I would like to know why she cannot enter a room
without falling down," he said. "It does not fit what I
know of her."
 Deanna smiled. "And that makes you suspicious?"
    "Everything does," Worf said, annoyed that she felt
amused by a natural Klingon attitude.
    "It's an intriguing point," the counselor said as the
turbolift stopped. "I'll see if I can have a few words with
her."
    Worf nodded and stepped out of the elevator. He
walked into transporter room three, where Beverly
Crusher, the ship's chief medical officer, was already
present with a pair of orderlies and two stretchers. "Oh,
Worf," she said. "You can't have K'Sah back until
tomorrow morning."
 "Why so long?" Worf asked.
    The doctor brushed a tumble of auburn hair from her
face. "Because along with five broken bones and a
shattered wrist-spike he has two torn ligaments, a lace-
rated vein, and considerable soft-tissue damage in his
hand and forearm. He won't be fully healed until to-
morrow."
    Worf accepted that with a nod. He felt pleased that
Astrid had done so much damage, even if by accident.
"Is he in much pain?"
  Crusher shook her head. "No, not anymore."
    "Pity," Worf said. "Perhaps this will cure him of
gambling."
    "I wouldn't bet on that," Crusher said, a comment
that drew groans from her orderlies. "He tried to bet Dr.
Par'mit'kon ten credits that he'd be fully healed by
midnight."
    The transporter technician spoke to Worf. "Lieuten-
ant, we're in transporter range of that ship. I've locked
on to two survivors; they're sealed into an escape pod. I
can't detect any other life."
  "Bring them aboard," Worf ordered.
    Light shimmered on the round transporter stage, and
two men materialized on its surface. One lay flat on his
back, unconscious, while the other knelt by his side. The
kneeling man looked around as Dr. Crusher and her
orderlies surged onto the stage. "This must be the
Enterprise," he said.
  "Good guess," Worf said.
    "I'd heard you were operating in the area," the man
said, while Dr. Crusher scanned him. "And no other
Federation ship has a Klingon crew member. I'm Gustav
Blaisdell, master of the Temenus. This"mhe gestured at
the unconscious manw"is Vlad Dunbar, my navigator."
    "Are there more survivors aboard your ship?" Worf
asked.
    "No, everyone else died." Blaisdell rose to his feet. He
was a large man with an olive complexion; Worf esti-
mated that he was two meters tall and massed a hundred
kilos, which made him only slightly larger than the
Klingon. He carried a rucksack slung over one shoulder.
"The rest of my crew was beyond my reach, but I got
Vlad into an escape pod before the life system failed."
    "And just in time," Crusher'said. She injected some-
thing into the unconscious man. "Your friend has a near-
lethal amount of tetrazine in his system, and you've both
taken a large radiation dose. Let's get you to sickbay."
    Dunbar was every bit as massive as his captain, and
Crusher needed the help of Worfand the two orderlies to
wrestle him onto a stretcher. One of the orderlies acti-
vated its antigrav suspensors, and they floated Dunbar
out into the corridor. Worf walked alongside Blaisdell.
"What was the nature of your accident?" Worf asked.
 "I don't know," Blaisdell said.
 "You must have some idea," Worf insisted.
 Blaisdell shrugged. "Everything just blew."
 "There was no warning?" Worf asked.
    "I heard a few thumps when the power died," Blais-
dell said. "After that I was too busy staying alive to
notice much else."
    "Yet you had the time to gather your luggage," Worf
said, eyeing the man's rucksack.
 Blaisdell sighed noisily. "It was within reach."
 "And you did not eject?"
    "In a short-range pod?" Blaisdell shook his head.
"Staying with the ship seemed a better idea. We were still
drawing power from the emergency system."
    "That's enough talk for now," Crusher said firmly.
The group came to a turbolift. Worf remained in the
corridor while Crusher and the others crowded into the
lift. "I'll let you know when my patients are ready for
questioning, Lieutenant," the doctor said, before the
door slid shut.
    Worf scowled at the door. He found Blaisdell to be
exactly as Deanna Troi had described him: deliberate
and formidable, and unfazed by his experience.
    He was also a liar. Worf felt certain that Blaisdell knew
exactly what had happened to his ship, and that it was no
accident.

    In Greek mythology Temenus had served the goddess
Hera, and that was enough to tell Astrid Kemal that the
ship was from the planet Hera. She sat at the computer
terminal in her quarters and viewed everything she
could find about the planet. At five thousand words per
minute, the terminal's maximum display rate, that did
not take long. She found nothing useful, however. All of
the information on Hera was consistent and innocuous.
There was nothing she could point out to Worf and say,
sir, this proves the Herans are a threat to the Federation.
That left telling the truth.
    Astrid shut down the terminal and closed her eyes. It
would be nice to stop lying and hiding, and the Federa-
tion had to know about the Herans. They were geneti-
cally engineered supermen. Their average intelligence
was seventy percent higher than human-normal, and
their strength and endurance were superior to that of a
Klingon. Their senses and reflexes were just as superior,
and they were immune to all known diseases. They also
believed that they had a right to dominate the galaxy;
that was why they had named their world after a
mythological goddess of the heavens.
    She could see herself explaining that to Worf. He
would nod, once, deliberately, and ask her how she knew
this. Then she would have to explain that she and her
parents were Heran refugees.
    Her parents had warned her what would happen if any
of the old humans ever found out what she was, and the
prospect chilled her. A few years ago an Enterprise crew
member had been expelled from Starfleet when it was
learned that he was part Romulan, and not part Vulcan
as he had claimed. Compared to what could happen to
her, ex-Medical Technician Simon Tarses had been for-
tunate. After four centuries the human race still remem-
bered Khan Noonien Singh's conquests, and they feared
that genetic supermen like him would attempt to domi-
nate humanity again.
    Astrid lay down on her bunk and tried to figure out
what to do. Every alternative frightened her.

Chapter Three

"I FEEL LIKE SOMETHING out of an old space opera,"
Geordi La Forge said as he struggled to climb into the
environment suit. It was a bulky garment, a thick white
coverall with a bubble helmet and a clumsy backpack. It
looked like a twentieth-century moon suit, and the
Enterprise's chief engineer felt sorry for anyone who had
explored the Moon in anything so hideously uncomfort-
able.
    Evidently the other members of the away team shared
his sentiments. "I'd like to catch the sadist who designed
this monstrosity," Will Riker said, a comment that drew
an agreeable growl from Worf and a sour laugh from Reg
Barclay.
    "The designers were not sadists," Data said. "They
were all members of the Vulcan Science Academy, and as
such possessed well-balanced personalities."
    "Vulcans," Barclay grumbled. Geordi's assistant
struggled with his suit's backpack. He was a tall man, as
thin as a guitar's neck and with nerves perpetually
stretched as tight as a guitar's strings. "It, it figures.
Comfort is illogical."
    "Let's get this over with," Geordi said. He closed his
helmet and checked the tiny readouts in front of his chin.
They showed normal, which was reassuring, as was the
faint susurration of air inside the glass bubble.
    What the engineer saw through the glass did not
reassure him. Geordi had been blind since birth, and his
vision came through a wraparound gold VISOR. The
sensors built into his VISOR allowed him to sense
almost the entire electromagnetic spectrum, along with a
variety of esoteric radiations--few of which were trans-
mitted by the helmet. The radiation-proof glass would
pass only the so-called visible portion of the spectrum,
and Geordi felt crippled by the sudden limitation of his
sight.
    Well, he thought, if other people can live with this, so
can I.
    The away team stepped onto the transporter stage.
Riker gestured to the technician, and a moment later
they materialized in a narrow corridor on board the
Temenus. The air was filled with smoke, and the only
light came from the blue glow of emergency lamps. The
artificial gravity was still operating, but at one-tenth
normal. The feeble tug made Geordi feel giddy.
    Geordi whistled at his readouts. "It's pretty hot in
here," he said. "Ten minutes would kill an unprotected
human--call it ten minutes and five seconds for a
Klingon," he added, unable to resist teasing Worf. "Let's
see if we can find a purge system."
    "We should find the proper controls in the engineering
section," Data said. He walked to one end of the
corridor, which was blocked by a sliding door. The door
did not respond when he tried its control pad, but it slid
aside when he pushed it. Geordi was glad for the
android's enormous physical strength.
    The door admitted the away team to the ship's engi-
neering section. "Nice," Geordi said as he looked
around. Temenus wasn't much more than a starfaring
yacht, but her reactor and warp unit reflected a brilliant
sense of design. "Very nice."
Riker chuckled. "You sound like a man in love."
"Just about," Geordi conceded. He found a control
station, and in a moment he had an emergency power
system on-line. The main lights came on and the control
panels lit up. "I'll need an hour to purge all the radiation
and coolant from the life support system," he told Riker,
"but that shouldn't be a problem."
    "Good." Geordi saw Riker's suited form twist around.
"Riker to Dr. Crusher. We have three bodies here."
    "Understood," Beverly Crusher answered. "I'll per-
form autopsies after you've secured that ship."
    Geordi looked at the nearest body on the deck. The
intense radiation and tetrazinc coolant had done a lot of
damage to the corpse, which barely retained a humanoid
shape. "I think a postmortem would be pointless,"
Geordi said. "The remains are pretty badly burned." On
his way to a control station, Barclay gingerly stepped
around one of the bodies as though fearing it might rise
up and grab him.
    Data accessed the ship's computer while Geordi and
Barclay began the life system purge. It was hopelessly
dead. The android found the flight data recorder,
opened it and removed its synthetic diamond cartridge,
which he scanned with his tricorder. "There are no
indications of impending trouble in the recorder," Data
stated. "The primary, secondary and emergency reactor
cooling systems all failed simultaneously, and without
warning."
    "They had three critical failures in the space of a few
seconds?" Riker asked in disbelief. "Impossible."
    "No," Worf said. He had climbed atop the warp coil
casing. He gestured to Geordi, then pointed to the cabin
ceiling. "Sabotage."
    Geordi followed Worf's gesture and whistled in awe.
Three separate units nestled amid the piping had small,
blackened holes carved in their shells. "I see what you
mean. Shaped charges?"
  "Yes," Worf said. "This is the work of an expert."
    "I'd like to know the motive," Riker mused. Geordi
saw him raise his hand to his helmet, as if to stroke his
beard. The glass bubble blocked him. He looked at a
hard-copy instruction manual on a work shelf. "'SS.
Temenus, Hurran Institute of Astronautics.' There's no
'Hurra' in the Federation, is there?"
    "Heera, Commander," Data corrected. "The name is
Greek, and that language employs the long 'eta' form of
the letter e rather than the short 'epsilon.' There is an
independent, human-colonized world by that name at
coordinates--"
    "Okay," Geordi said. It was only coincidence that
Hera was the name of his mother's ship, still missing in
space and presumed destroyed, but the coincidence
stirred uncomfortable memories of the loss. "Data, does
the log say anything about the ship's mission?"
    Data consulted the computer station. "The Temenus
departed Hera eight days ago on a mission to Aldebaran
Two to purchase computer components."
    "At Aldebaran?" Barclay asked in surprise. "W-why
not Benzar? It's a lot closer, and, and it's the place for
computers. Aldebaran is just a b-big shipyard."
    "You are correct," Data said. "However, the log
mentions one Khortasi, a Ferengi sales agent with an
office located adjacent to the New Aberdeen Naval
Yard."
    Geordi chuckled. More often than not, "Ferengi sales
agent" meant "fence." "So Blaisdell may have been
shopping for stolen computer components."
"That is the most likely explanation," Data agreed.
Riker snorted in contempt. "This entry smells like a
cover story. Nobody records criminal activity in their
ship's log."
    "Indeed," Worf rumbled. "I will discuss this with
Captain Blaisdell."

    Deanna Troi smiled as Astrid Kemal bumbled into the
doorway of the counselor's office. As Deanna had ex-
pected, the young woman's clumsiness was an act.
Deanna thought she had already guessed the reason
behind it.
    Deanna had a desk in her office, but it was hidden in a
comer and almost lost between two exuberant potted
ferns. She did her real work sitting on the comfortable
chairs that dominated the floor. She sat on one now, and
as Astrid entered the office Deanna gestured for her to
take a seat. Deanna's empathic sense told her how
uneasy Astrid felt in her presence. "You wanted to see
me, Counselor?" the cyberneticist asked.
    "Lieutenant Worf asked me to see you." Deanna held
a versina paperweight in her hand. As Astrid slid into her
seat Deanna chucked the glittering green crystal straight
at her. Astrid's hand snapped out as she fielded the
crystal. "Very good," Deanna said. "The clumsiness is
an act, isn't it?"
    Astrid nodded as she returned the paperweight to
Deanna. "And you want to know why I do it."
    Deanna shook her head, making her wavy black hair
shimmer. "I think I can guess why. It's protective
coloration, isn't it?"
    The woman's uneasiness increased; Deanna watched
her clasp her large hands over a knee. Her dominant
emotion was guilt at being caught in a lie. "Not much
gets past you, does it, Counselor?"
    "Your behavior isn't unusual," Deanna said, placing
the versina paperweight on an end table. "You're like a
man who's afraid of being thought a coward. He'll
constantly start fights to prove he's brave. You're trying
to prove you're harmless, so people won't feel intimi-
dated by your size and strength."
    Deanna sensed Astrid's surprise as she nodded. "It's
an old habit, Counselor."
"Do you think it's a necessary habit?" Deanna asked.
"It was when I was a girl," Astrid said. "Some of the
kids I knew were scared I might beat them up, and some
of them were jealous because I was a good athlete, so I
acted klutzy to even things out. It made it easier for me
to get along with everyone."
    "So why do you keep it up?" Deanna asked. She
sensed the woman's sincerity, but her explanation
sounded thin, as though she were hiding something--
most likely from herself, Deanna reflected. Astrid might
be unaware of the true reason for her behavior, but some
judicious imdging could bring it to light. Deanna shifted
around on her chair, assuming an open posture that all
but shouted See?Fro comfortable in your presence. "Such
an act may have been necessary with children, but I
doubt that you intimidate anyone on this ship."
    "I think I do." Astrid was actually fidgeting in her
chair. "It's hard to explain--"
    "But you're so convinced that you make people ner-
vous," Deanna concluded, "that you see proof of this
even when it may not be there. You're a young woman,
Astrid--twenty-two, aren't you? You wouldn't want to
spend the rest of your life putting on an act."
    Astrid looked as uncertain as she felt. "Maybe you're
right."
    "That's been my experience." Deanna felt exaspe-
rated; Astrid Kemal was as tight-lipped as Worf. That
made probing her difficult. Counseling was a process
that needed the patient's cooperation. "You see, I have a
problem similar to yours. Before I left home I was afraid
that my empathic sense would disturb non-Betazoids.
I'd heard about alien ideas like privacy and lying, and I
didn't know how aliens would react to my presence. I
was pleasantly surprised to find that most people could
take an empath in stride.
    "Of course, a few people still have trouble with me,"
she went on. "They're afraid I might be a telepathic
voyeur, or that I might reveal their deepest secrets. I
handle that head-on, by letting them know my talent's
abilities and limitations--and by making sure they
know what sort of a person I am. As you're beginning to
notice, that makes people more comfortable around
me."
    Astrid smiled weakly. "I thought I was handling
myself pretty well."
    "You are," Deanna assured her. "My point is that I
take it for granted that people will like me as I am. When
there's a problem, I don't smooth it over by pretending
to be something I'm not."
 "And that works for you?" Astrid asked.
    "It works very well," Deanna said. "I think you should
walk into Ten-Forward, without tripping, and see what
doesn't happen. Do it now," Deanna suggested. 'Tll
check on you in a few days, to see how you're getting
along. And you needn't feel guilty over what you've
done. you'd be surprised at how common the 'little
white lie' is in human society."
    "Yes. Thank you." That only increased Astrid's sensa-
tion of guilt, but Deanna expected it to fade in time.
Deanna watched her get up and walk out of the office.
After a moment Deanna reached out and picked up the
versina paperweight. As she peered into the crystal she
saw how its facets and internal structure shattered the
simple image of her office into a hundred random
fragments. Looking into the crystal was like looking into
a human mind.
    Deanna put the crystal aside and went to her desk.
Worf had given her a larger problem than he had
realized, and she wanted to do some research before she
approached Astrid Kemal again. The woman's problem
went deeper than a simple anxiety to please people.
Despite her outward calm, she was in a state of terror.



Chapter Four

WORF STRODE INTO SICKBAY not long after his return to the
Enterprise. Dr. Crusher was just finishing her treatment
of Dunbar. The large human lay unconscious on the
biobed, but the indicator needles on the display above
his head suggested that he was out of immediate danger.
Blaisdell loomed behind the doctor, a look of amused
curiosity on his face as he watched her work.
    "Hey, Klingon!" K'Sah reclined on another bed, one
of his shaggy forearms encased in a regenerator. "If
you're shopping for recruits, we've got a couple of live
ones here. Sign 'era up before they come to their senses."
"Be silent," Worf said curtly.
    "Hell, look at them." The human-sized spider ges-
tured lazily at Blaisdell. "Big, strong, halfway in-
telligent--they've got potential, even if they're only
human."
    Worf considered breaking K'Sah's other hands, but
decided it would accomplish nothing. "Doctor," he said,
"when may I speak with Blaisdell?"
 "Whenever you like, Lieutenant," she said. The doc-
tor started putting her instruments away. "He's fully
recovered. I discharged him a half hour ago--"
     "And I've been in the way ever since," Blaisdell said.
"I imagine that you have more questions for me." "I do," Worf said.
    "Just be careful around him, human," K'Sah said.
"The Klingon will talk both of your round little ears
off."
    Blaisdell eyed K'Sah in disdain. "Pain has a bad effect
on this creature."
    "He fights well," Worf said, nettled at having to
defend K'Sah. "That excuses much. Come with me."
    Blaisdell picked up his rucksack, slung it over his
shoulder and followed Worf out of the sickbay. "Your
ship is still contaminated," Worf said as they walked
down the corridor. "We will supply you with quarters
until it is spaceworthy again. Our engineers will replace
its reactor core."
  Blaisdell nodded. "That sounds expensive."
    "Starfleet does not ask payment for emergency ser-
vices," Worf said.
  "But you'll still expect answers to your questions."
    The man's condescending tone annoyed Worf. "What
is your business on Aldebaran?" he asked.
    "Exactly what it says in my ship's log, which I see
you've read," Blaisdell said. "Khortasi claimed to have
certain Romulan military codes. Hera has had trouble
with Romulan raiders, and our defense forces--but I'm
sure a Klingon understands strategy."
    Worf mulled that over as the two men entered a
turbolift. It was plausible, and even possible, yet there
was that damnable condescension again. "Deck twelve,"
he told the turbolift. "The Federation does not approve
of such dealings. They might provoke the Romulans."
    "Hera doesn't belong to your Federation," Blaisdell
said as the lift began to move. "I suppose you're going to
keep me from visiting Khortasi?"
    "No," Worf said, "but you would find the visit fruit-
less."
    "I imagine that Federation Intelligence is already
questioning Khortasi," Blaisdell said.
    "You may assume that," Worf said. In fact Federation
security forces had not had the time to respond to the
query Worf had sent them, but Worf saw no reason to
mention that to Blaisdell.
    Blaisdell nodded. "Your next question will be about
the accident. To answer it, I still don't know what caused
it."
    "We know its cause," Worf said. "Your ship was
sabotaged."
    "Was it, now?" Blaisdell asked. "That would explain
the lack of warning."
      "You claim to be on a government mission," Worf
said. "Why would anyone wish to sabotage you?" 
 "I can't explain that," Blaisdell said.
    "Why am I not surprised?" Worf muttered. The turbo-
lift stopped and opened its doors. The two men stepped
into the corridor. "Your quarters are this way," Worf
said.
Blaisdell raised an eyebrow. "No more questions?"
"You seem to have no answers," Worf said. He
stopped at an unoccupied stateroom and the door slid
open. "Regulations require me to inspect your luggage,"
Worf said as they entered the quarters.
    "Or allow you to inspect them?" Blaisdell smiled as he
passed his rucksack to Worf. Worf carried it to the
stateroom's table, opened it and spread out its contents.
He found an old-style hand communicator and a tri-
corder. "No weapons," Blaisdell told Worf.
    "So I see." Worf held up the tricorder. "This is an
unusual design."
    "It's been modified to carry secure messages," Blais-
dell said. "It can rebuild its physical circuit structure to
defeat hacking efforts."
 "What message does it carry now?" Worf asked.
 "A map of Cardassian space," Blaisdell said.
 That surprised Worf. The Cardassians were major
rivals of the Federation, and whatever their faults, they
had an admirably efficient security system. "Your spies
are good," Worf conceded. "Why do you carry this
map?"
    "We were going to barter with Khortasi for his infor-
mation," Blaisdell said.
    "By trading information which would be useful to
pirates," Worf said.
    "Or to the Federation," Blaisdell said, and shrugged.
"We don't care who he planned to sell it to. But if we
can't deal with Khortasi, maybe we can do business with
your people."
 "I think not."
 Blaisdell smiled. "You don't trust us?"
    "Of course not." Worf felt his suspicions deepen.
Whatever business Blaisdell had with Khortasi was
surely a cover for some other activity.
    Worf turned his back on Blaisdell and left the state-
room. He wished that he could lock up the Heran and
confiscate his property, but Blaisdell's activities skirted
the law without breaking it. Suspicion was not an
adequate excuse for an arrest, at least not in the Federa-
tion.
 But suspicion made a good starting point.

    "Boy, am I glad to get out of that suit," Geordi said as
he entered Ten-Forward with Data and Riker. He
worked his shoulders up and down; he could still feel
where the backpack supports had dug into his flesh.
"Data, if the Vulcans who designed that monstrosity
were normal, I'd hate to meet a crazy Vulcan."
    "That is an unlikely event in any case," Data said,
serious as ever. "Vulcans are noted for their strict
observance of mental health principles."
    "Which explains why they don't wear their own E-
suits," Riker said.
    The three men stepped up to the bar and ordered
drinks from one of Guinan's bartenders. Geordi had just
accepted a Saurian brandy when Astrid Kemal walked
into the lounge. For once the woman didn't trip, which
came as a pleasant surprise. Geordi had worked with her
a bit over the past week, and he enjoyed her company.
Despite her size and strength she was quiet and a bit shy,
and she liked to talk shop with him. The engineer found
all that appealing. It didn't hurt that she was pretty,
spoke in a warm voice, and had an absolutely terrific
sense of humor. She smiled as she saw Geordi, which
struck him as a good sign.
    Riker seemed uninterested in her as she approached
the bar and asked the bartender for an orange juice. "If
you think the suits make you uncomfortable," he said,
"imagine what Worf's going to do for the Herans."
  "Yeah, they're on his list, all right," Geordi said.
  "What's the problem?" Astrid asked.
    "It's that distressed ship we found," Riker said. "It
was sabotaged, and part of the crew died. Worf's just
hoping for trouble."
    "It's more than that," Geordi said. They took their
drinks and went to an empty table. Geordi was glad that
Astrid joined them. "He crawled over every millimeter
of that ship while we ran the decontamination protocols.
You don't run a search like that while you're wearing an
environment suit, not unless you've got a good reason."
  "That log entry was pretty fishy," Riker said.
  Geordi nodded as they sat down. "I know, but when I
  asked Worf what was up--" Geordi shrugged. "He just
  growled and beamed back to the Enterprise."
    Astrid looked thoughtful. "I guess something made
him suspicious," she said. "He must have a good
reason."
    "Well, I didn't see one," Geordi said. He thought it
over as he took a sip of his drink. As puzzles went, this
wasn't quite the same as tracing down a glitch in one of
the ship's subsystems, but it still intrigued him. "Data,
what do you know about Hera?"
 "Hera is the third planet of 492 Lyncis, a class G-2
subdwarf star approximately twelve hundred and seven-
teen light-years from Earth," Data said. "It is a class M
planet, settled by Terran emigr6s in the late twenty-first
century. The original colonists adhered to a doctrine
that advocated the selective breeding of humans to
eliminate undesirable genetic traits and raise the quality
of the race to a new level."
    "More damned superhumans," Riker muttered.
"They sound like some of Khan Singh's human fol-
lowers."
    "That is possible," Data agreed. His drink was a
mixture of lubricants and nutrients, concocted to main-
tain his organic components in perfect balance. He took
a measured swallow before he continued speaking. "The
Khanate had many imitators after its destruction. Some
of them attempted to establish themselves in extrasolar
colonies, as did Khan Singh."
    "And dreamed about lording it over us mere hu-
mans," Riker said contemptuously. Khan Singh had
been a genetically engineered superhuman, created by a
group of human scientists in the late twentieth century,
and he and his fellow creatures had conquered a quarter
of the Earth before they were defeated. Khan was the last
great tyrant of human history, and after four centuries
his name remained a synonym for arrogance and injus-
tice. "It looks like Worf's instincts are still good," Riker
went on. "If these Herans think they're superbeings we
could have a real problem on our hands. They'll have to
do something to prove their superiority."
    "If that's what they are," Geordi said. He disliked
eugenicists, who all seemed to think it was immoral to
let a blind man live, but he told himself that his feelings
weren't that extreme. "Selective breeding can't improve
human beings," he said. "They probably gave up on that
a long time ago."
    "They probably moved on to more effective tech-
niques," Riker argued. "Homo arrogans never knows
when to quit."
    "Yeah, I guess not," Geordi said. He decided to
change the subject. "You're from Zerkalo, aren't you?"
he asked Astrid.
    She seemed startled; she had been quietly toying with
her glass while the others talked. "That's right," she said.
    "I guess us Earth natives can get pretty boring when
we talk about ancient history," Geordi said. "All this
stuff happened centuries before they colonized your
planet."
    "Earth history always seems so complicated," she
agreed. "Ours is a lot simpler--the second thing we did
after we landed was to overthrow the government. End
of history."
    "I am unfamiliar with this version of Zerkalan histo-
ry," Data said. "What was your first action after
landing?"
    "We set up a government, of course," she said. "If we
hadn't, we wouldn't have had anything to overthrow."
    Data looked puzzled as he worked through her logic.
"I fail to see the purpose in this chain of events," he said.
    "It's one of our jokes," Astrid said. She gave a philo-
sophical shrug. "Now you know why you've never heard
of any famous Zerkalan comedians."
    "Zerkalans are anarchists," Riker told the android.
"They don't believe in organized governments. That's
why they haven't joined the Federation yet."
    "Ah," Data said. "Then your joke is a humorous way
of expressing this principle."
    Astrid nodded. "We aren't perfect anarchists, al-
though our post office really tries. We've got a few
things--a judicial system, a public health agency, diplo-
mats, a weather service--but we like to keep the govern-
ment to a minimum. No public records, no taxes, no
military.."
"It sounds almost too simple to work," Geordi said.
"It is," Astrid agreed. "It takes a lot of effort to keep
an anarchy in running order, but we don't expect much
from our government and it always delivers."
 "So how does a Zerkalan end up working for the
Federation?" Riker asked. "A law-and-order outfit
doesn't seem like the right place for an anarchist."
    The woman spread her hands helplessly. "What can I
say? I always was the white sheep of my family."
    Geordi chuckled. "Don't tell me you got run out of
town because you were on the right side of the law."
    "It would appear that Zerkalan humor depends on
inverted logic for its impact," Data observed as Geordi
laughed.
    "Was I being humorous?" Astrid asked. "I didn't
mean it."
    "Indeed? Geordi's reaction indicates--" Data paused.
"Ah. This is another Zerkalan joke."
    "Humor has a disruptive effect on Data's logic," Riker
told Astrid.
    She looked abashed. "Oh, I'm sorry. We anarchists try
to be careful about creating disruptions."
    "You'd have to be," Geordi said. "I mean, you could
reduce the entire universe to chaos, and what would
anarchists do without any order to destroy?"
    "Good point," she said, "although I still think total
disorder is a neat idea. Speaking of disorder, there's
a balky beacon waiting for me to reprogram it." She
stood up.
    "Yeah, hey, I'll see you later," Geordi said, a question-
ing note in his voice.
    Astrid smiled and nodded. "Okay, great." She turned
away and walked out the lounge door.
    Riker chuckled. "You two hit it off pretty well," he
said.
    "I guess so," Geordi admitted. "Say, Data, what do
you know about Zerkalo?" he asked.
    Riker chuckled again, and Geordi smiled weakly as he
braced himself for some good-natured razzing. "Maybe
you should ask Kemal," Riker suggested. "She might be
more, ah, 'informative.'"
    "Okay, so I'm transparent," Geordi said. "How about
it, Data?"
"Zerkalo is a class L planet," Data said. "It orbits
Gyre's Star, a class K 5 subdwarf star near Geminga, and
has two large natural satellites named Waybe and Tove.
As Commander Riker noted, it is not a member of the
Federation, although there are negotiations under way to
bring it into the Federation."
    "Anarchists in the Federation?" Riker asked. "What's
the attraction?"
    "There are certain economic and cultural benefits to
Federation membership," Data said. "There would be
an increase in trade and information exchange. To
continue, although Zerkalo's first settlers were Tellarites
and landed in 2238, Zerkalo has also been colonized
by humans, Vulcans, Kalars, Derevos, Tiburons,
Andorians, Zhuiks, Saurians and members of nine other
races. No single species dominates the population, which
is estimated at twelve million." "'Estimated'?" Riker asked.
    "Anarchists wouldn't care for censuses," Geordi said.
"They give too much information to tax collectors and
bureaucrats."
    "You sound like a natural anarchist, Geordi," Riker
said. He leaned back in his chair and swirled the remains
of his drink around in the glass. "Kalars. That would
explain a lot about her."
    "Big, strong, even-tempered..." Geordi shrugged. It
didn't seem unlikely that Astrid would have some Kalar
blood in her veins.
    "I don't know," Riker said. "She doesn't look like a
Kalar."
    "I must agree with that assessment," Data said. "Al-
though several Kalar subgroups are both tall and muscu-
lar, Dr. Kemal shows none of the other characteristics
indicative of Kalar ancestry, most notably their cranial
structures."
 Geordi shrugged again. "It really doesn't matter."
    Mafia Sukhoi was at work when two Central Security
agents arrested her. The man and woman walked into
her office at Olympus Spaceport and flashed their blue-
green-and-red Security sigils. "Mafia Sukhoi?" the wom-
an asked. "You're under arrest for treason."
    She nodded and switched off her desk. "You caught
Lee," she said as the man cuffed her hands behind her
back.
    "Lee Sukhoi died six days ago," the woman said. "It's
taken us this long to identify the remains."
    "I see." Mafia had hoped that Lee had survived, but
with each passing day that had seemed less and less
probable. Even so the confirmation of his death left her
stunned.
    But--six days. They had killed him after Temenus
left. He might have succeeded.
    The two agents marched their prisoner out of the
spaceport's office complex and took her to the tube
station. A capsule took the three people from the space-
port to the Modality District in ten minutes. The agents
did not speak to her; there was no need. Central had
some reliable interrogation drugs, and no qualms about
using them to establish a suspect's guilt or innocence. A
preliminary questioning would only have wasted time.
    The capsule stopped outside the Central Security
Building, and Mafia was taken into the basement. The
two agents took her into a holding room, where the
walls, floor and ceiling buzzed with the low-frequency
sound of active force barriers. Then the man gave her an
injection.
    The agents pushed Mafia into a chair as the drug
spread through her body. She was glad for the seat. The
strength seemed to drain from her knees, and she began
to shiver as the room turned ice-cold. There was a
strange sensation in her stomach and she felt dizzy. A
corner of her mind recalled something she had read in a
history book. This was how primaIs felt when they were
contaminated--wait, the proper word was infected--
with a disease-causing organism. She wondered if the
Unity virus would make primals feel this way.
    A new man entered the room; he looked familiar, but
the drug-induced haze made that of no importance now.
He questioned her, drawing her out of her fevered
reverie. Feeling distant and detached, Marla explained
everything she and Lee had done. She had told Lee about
Operation Unity when she learned about it. They had
decided it was a threat to their family and had to be
stopped before it provoked the primaIs into attacking
Hera. Without that provocation the primals would leave
Hera alone; the creatures weren't all that dangerous.
    "That's about what I expected," the woman agent
said.
    "Yes, but I wonder why the Sukhois have such a high
opinion of the primaIs," the interrogator said. "They
should hate them. Have you seen the originator file?" he
asked.
    "The what?" Mafia asked. Her body was fighting the
drug, slowly throwing off its effects. She felt half-awake
now. "I don't know what that is."
    "Don't you?" he wondered. "Tell me what you think
about the originators."
    "Evil, murderinga" She almost choked on her sud-
den rage.
    "She hasn't seen the file," the interrogator said dryly.
Now Mafia recognized him: Carlos Ulyanov, Senior of
the Modality. In a grim way it flattered her to think that
the leader of the Heran government had taken an inter-
est in her. "We won't squeeze any more information out
of her. I'll schedule her execution myself."
    Ulyanov paused and sighed. "I'd rather not do this,
but she knows too much about Operation Unity and
about the originator file, now. If she talked to anyone,
she could turn even more people against the Modality."
    The woman agent sighed. "If we're so smart, why can't
we find another choice?"
    "We're not gods," Ulyanov said. "This is like our
struggle against the primals. It's unpleasant, but we've
no choice. The alternative is to endanger our people, and
these radicals are as much of a threat as the old hu-
mans."
 "At least the Sukhois can't be entirely blamed for their
fears," the woman agent said. "If they knew how good
our defenses are, they wouldn't have feared a primal
attack. Maybe we should lift the security restrictions and
tell everyone about our preparations. That would con-
vince everyone we're safe."
    "No," Mafia said. She felt almost fully conscious now.
"One planet against the galaxy is suicide."
    Ulyanov looked at her. "At worst we would only fight
the primaIs, not the entire galaxy." His voice sounded
intent, and Marla realized he was conducting an experi-
ment. He wanted to see if he could persuade this radical
to change her mind. "And our eugenics plan would avoid
war and turn the primals into healthy people. They
would thank us if they could understand it. It has to be
done; the primals are ready to colonize this sector, and
we won't be able to conceal ourselves much longer. Our
survival demands drastic measures."
    Mafia thought about possible answers and rejected
them. Her captors were arguing from a position of
power, not logic. Nothing would persuade them that the
chance they took was too great; they didn't want to
believe anything could go wrong. "Lee was right," she
finally told him. "The Modality thinks it's all-powerful.
And power makes you stupid."



Chapter Five

WORF SENT several messages to Starfleet Intelligence,
and a reply came early the next morning, while Worf was
eating breakfast in his quarters. His quarters were quiet.
His son, Alexander, was vacationing on Earth with
Worf's foster parents. Worf missed Alexander, yet today
he was glad the boy was not on the ship. The Herans
seemed threatening, and while it was a shameful thing
for a Klingon to admit this, Worf did not want to expose
his son to danger. After all, the boy was too young and
inexperienced to have a chance to kill his enemies in
honorable combat.
    The message said that Khortasi had died forty-seven
standard days ago. A Tellarite had been detained on
charges of murdering him; the motive involved a dispute
over black-market computer components. There was no
trace of any Romulan codes.
    Worf wished he knew what to make of that informa-
tion. His next move was clear. "Computer, locate the
Herans."
    "Vlad Dunbar is in sickbay," the mechanical voice
responded. "Gustav Blaisdell is in his quarters."
    Worfchecked the charge in his phaser before he left his
quarters. At the moment he had only questions for
Blaisdell, but with any luck his questions would provoke
trouble.
    Worf went to deck twelve. When he entered Blaisdell's
stateroom he found the human seated at the table, where
he worked with his tricorder. "I assume you have more
questions," Blaisdell said.
    "Yes." Worf watched the man slouch in his chair.
Blaisdell seemed amused by Worf's presence. "You
claim that Khortasi has Romulan codes. How do you
know of this?"
"I don't," Blaisdell said. "It's just a reliable report."
"And do you know anything of Khortasi's reliability?"
Worf asked. "Am I to believe you made this journey on
the basis of a rumor?"
    "Your beliefs are your business." Blaisdell turned off
his tricorder and slid it into his rucksack. "I spoke with
Khortasi before we left Hera. His meaning was clear,
even if his words were guarded."
    "Why would you need to speak with Khortasi?" Worf
demanded. "Do you command Heran security?"
    "Khortasi needed to see me so he could recognize me.
What do you care?"
 "We cannot find these Romulan codes," Worf said.
 "That's not my problem."
 "Your problem is sabotage," Worf said.
 Blaisdell smiled. "That's not your problem."
    "The sabotage occurred in Federation space," Worf
said.
 "On board a Heran ship."
    Worf growled and left the stateroom. Once he was out
in the corridor he permitted himself to smile. Blaisdell
had spoken with a dead man? Catching the Heran in a lie
made Worf feel better. It put his suspicions on firmer
ground.
    K'Sah, Yamato and Kellog were all waiting for Worf in
the security department's main office, and all three stood
to attention as he entered the compartment. "I want
somebody on board the Temenus at all times," Worf told
them.
    "Yes, sir," Kellog said. "Is there anything special we
should watch for?"
    "Watch for everything," Worf rumbled. "Computer
activity, transporter activity, further evidence of sabo-
tage. Kellog, you will take the first watch."
    "Yes--" Kellog stopped, cleared her throat and
coughed. "Yes, sir," she said.
    Worf thought her voice sounded rough. "Are you
well?" Worf asked.
 Kellog nodded. "My throat's just a bit scratchy, sir."
    "Humans," K'Sah grumbled to the ceiling. "Coddle
them, filter out all the bugs, and they still get sick."
    "Report to sickbay," Worf told Kellog, as he clamped
down on his temper. "Yamato, you will take the first
watch. K'Sah, we shall talk."
    The two humans left the security office. Worfglowered
at K'Sah for a moment. The Pa'uyk stood at attention as
Worf walked around him, looking him over. "Explain
your behavior," Worf ordered. "Sir?" K'Sah asked.
    "Why do you constantly offend humans?" Worf de-
manded.
 K'Sah looked puzzled. "Do I do that?"
    "Do not feign ignorance!" Worf roared. "You greet
them with insults, you converse with them in insults, you
bid farewell to them with insults--"
    "Sir?" The shaggy spider seemed baffled. "I talk to
humans the same way I do to real people. If I wanted to
insult them, I could be so rude that even a Klingon
would notice."
    Worf growled before he found his voice again. "You
are restricted to your quarters."
 "Sir? What for?"
 "And you are on report!"
    K'Sah's bewilderment deepened. "Was it something I
said?"
 "Out.t" Worf bellowed.
    K'Sah hastened out of the office. Worf briefly regretted
the fact that the Enterprise was not a Klingon warship.
Klingon law allowed the summary execution of insubor-
dinate junior officers. It would have delighted Worf to
strangle K'Sah.
    Worf left to find the captain. He wanted permission to
keep a close watch on the Herans. Humans thought there
was something dishonorable about suspicion, and they
would only permit surveillance after going through cer-
tain awkward legal formalities, if they agreed to it in the
first place. Fortunately, Worf assured himself, the cap-
tain could be reasonable when his ship's safety was at
stake... and even a human would be suspicious of the
Herans.

    Beverly Crusher glanced at Riker as he walked into
sickbay. "Don't tell me, let me guess," she said. "You've
got the sniffles."
    "Just a little fever," Riker said. He looked at the
woman seated on the biobed. It was Kellog, one of
Worf's security troops. She looked a bit sweaty. "Is
something going around?" Riker asked her.
 "Caught a bug somewhere, sir," Kellog said.
    "It's nothing serious," Crusher said. She sprayed
something into Kellog's arm. "It's just a minor viral
infection. Will, have a seat and I'll be with you in a
moment."
    Riker perched himself on a bed. It felt good to take the
load off his feet. "Where's your staff?." he asked.
    "They're out immunizing the rest of the crew," Crush-
er said. "Ensign, go to your quarters and get about
twelve hours of sleep."
 "Yes, sir." Kellog left the sickbay.
 Crusher went to Riker and scanned him. "You've got
the same virus," she said. "It's a bit odd; it contains a lot
more genetic material than normal, and it's highly
contagious, but it doesn't have much effect on the human
metabolism."
 "Except that I feel worn out," Riker said.
    "That's a typical fever symptom." She traded her
tricorder for a hypospray and administered an injection.
"You should feel better in a few minutes, although you'll
feel tired for a while."
    Riker nodded. "This won't keep me from playing
poker tonight, will it?"
    "No, although I'm going to be late for the game,"
Crusher said. "I want to run some tests on this virus, and
then I have to set a couple of broken legs."
 "Who had the accident?" Riker asked.
    "Whoever brought this virus on board," Crusher said.
"It's probably someone in engineering. They used the
shuttles at our last planetary stop, and shuttle quaran-
tine procedures aren't as reliable as the transporter
biofilter."
    "I'm surprised this bug didn't show up earlier," Riker
said. "We left Deneva two weeks ago."
    Crusher smiled and shrugged. "Plenty of diseases have
even longer incubation periods. In any case, I suspect
this virus comes from Deneva; it only infects humans,
which suggests that it's of human origin."
    "I see," Riker said. Deneva was a human colony
world, and its first colonists had unintentionally brought
along an assortment of harmless viruses and bacteria
when they left Earth. The organisms had colonized
Deneva as readily as their human hosts, and from time
to time they left their adopted world. "We're lucky this
virus didn't mutate into something serious. Is there
anything special I should do while I'm waiting for this
shot to take effect?"
    "Just the usual." She put the hypospray away. "Get
some rest, drink plenty of fluids, and bring lots of money
to the game tonight."
 Riker grinned and got off the bed. "Okay." He walked
toward the door, then stepped back as Picard entered
sickbay. He looked a bit under the weather. When Riker
greeted the captain, Picard grinned crookedly and
tapped his throat.

    "I'd say it's done," Geordi told Gakor as he shut off
the melder. The new reactor core was a set of dilithium
crystals encased in a gallium-arsenide sphere barely fifty
centimeters in diameter. Only a single control socket
marred the core's mirrorlike surface as it reflected the
scene in the engineering shop. "Pretty, isn't it?"
    "Pretty dangerous," Gakor said. The Tellarite leaned
closer to examine the core. The reflective surface dis-
torted his pink, snoutlike face as he studied it. "It'll
probably blow the nanosecond you engage it."
    "Where's your confidence?" Geordi asked. He knew
better than to take Gakor's warning seriously. Tellarites
would argue every possible topic. "The design's so
simple, it's sophisticated. I don't think it can blow."
    "I'm glad you appreciate the design," Dunbar said.
The deck seemed to thud beneath his boots as the
massive man walked into the shop. He had been in and
out of engineering several times that day, assisting
Geordi and his team with their work on the reactor core.
Geordi had learned that Dunbar was a good engineer;
show him an unfamiliar piece of equipment, explain its
operations, and the Heran could immediately handle it
like an old pro. He also looked fully recovered from his
injuries. "I see you've finished on schedule," he said to
Geordi.
    "I said I would," Geordi told him, and nodded toward
Gakor. "Having a good team helps."
    "Yes, it would make up for your deficiencies," Dunbar
said.
 Geordi faced him. "What deficiencies?"
"Just the obvious one," Dunbar said. "Or two."
"You mean my being blind?" Geordi grimaced at his
own angry tone. Ordinarily he would have let Dunbar's
comment pass, but the man rubbed him the wrong way.
Well, too late now, he thought in self-annoyance. "None
so blind as they who will not see," he muttered.
    "Including those who won't see what careless breeding
does to humanity?" Dunbar asked. "Messing up the gene
pool, driving us to ruin--"
    "What happened to me was bad luck," Geordi said.
"And if you're going to criticize what my parents did--"
    "I am," Dunbar said, "because I know what people
like them did to my world. They brought all sorts of
filthy mutations from Earth. After a few generations that
nearly destroyed us."
    "I hear that mutations help a species evolve," Gakor
said. He squinted myopically at the Heran. "In fact,
there's evidence that weakening the senses forces the
brain to develop as an aid to survival. Contrariwise, isn't
it true that Terran owls and eagles have astounding
vision, yet Terrans make disparaging comments about
'birdbrains'?"
    Dunbar looked down his nose at the Tellarite. "A
foolish argument, but about what I'd expect from some-
thing that can barely walk upright."
    Gakor was opening his mouth to retort--or continue
the argument--when Dr. Par'mit'kon entered the shop.
His lidless yellow eyes seemed to take in the entire
compartment at once. "Any humans in here?" the Sau-
rian physician asked, oblivious to the tension.
    "Just me and our guest," Geordi said, glad for a reason
to end the argument. "What's up?"
    "We've got a minor epidemic on our hands,"
Par'mit'kon said. He ran a tricorder over Geordi, then
held it close to his fishlike face to read it. "You're clean.
I'U just immunize you."
"What is the nature of the epidemic?" Dunbar asked.
"It's some sort of creeping crud," the reptilian doctor
explained as he gave Geordi an injection. "It's human-
specific and it spreads fast."
 Dunbar looked amused. "Does this happen often?"
 "Not on this ship, pal," Par'mit'kon said. He turned to
Dunbar and started to scan him--and yelped as Dunbar
slapped the tricorder from his hands. "Hey!"
    "I had enough of your probing in that obscenity of a
sickbay," he said.
     "You'll take more of it," Par'mit'kon said. He picked
up his tricorder. "I'm the doctor here, pal."
  "Where I come from--" Dunbar began.
  "--ain't the Enterprise," Par'mit'kon finished.
  Dunbar glowered at Geordi and Gakor as he was
  scanned. "Do you have to do that in front of people?" he
  demanded. "As though I were a sick weakling?"
    "Swallow your embarrassment," Par'mit'kon grum-
bled, and finished his scan. "Healthy as a snake. In fact, I
can't find a single bug in you, except for the usual
intestinal flora." He sounded puzzled. "And your im-
mune system is going like a reactor. I've never seen
anything like it, and I don't see how we missed it on the
sickbay instruments. I'm tempted to drag you back into
sickbay--"
 "Don't waste my time," Dunbar said.
    "--but I can resist the temptation." The doctor traded
his tricorder for a hypospray. "Stick out your arm and
say 'ah.' Unless you want to get sick?"
    "How about me?" Gakor asked as the doctor immu-
nized the Heran.
    "Don't worry," Par'mit'kon said, "you're naturally
immune. It has to do with alien metabolisms, or living
right, or something. I never was any good with mamma-
lian physiology," he added, giving Dunbar a cold glance.
"But I'd sure like to know why you're so healthy."
    "Good health is common on Hera," Dunbar said. "I
never give it much thought."
    "Maybe you should." The doctor got his tricorder out
again. "I'd like more thorough readings. You're a text-
book case of perfect health."
    "Then I should hardly matter to a doctor, should IT'
Dunbar said. He strode out of the shop before
Par'mit'kon could scan him again.
     "That egg stealer really scorches my scales," the
 reptilian doctor griped. He gestured with his tricorder.
 "And we didn't get these readings on him in sickbay."
   "They're really weird, huh?" Geordi asked.
   Par'mit'kon dipped his head in agreement. "They're
   textbook-perfect. Seeing them in real life is about as
   likely as getting a royal flush when Riker is dealing the
   cards."
     "Maybe something's wrong with your tricorder,"
 Geordi said. "Get Reg Barclay to check it. Gakor, let's
 get this core installed." Par'mit'kon left, and Gakor
 produced a set of antigrav clamps and attached them to
 the core. Geordi grasped a handle and pulled the sphere
 free of the workstand. "Transporter room," Geordi
 said.
     "Yeah." Gakor snuffled as they guided the unit out of
 the shop. "What's with that Dunbar, anyway?"
     "His planet was colonized by people who believed in
 eugenics," Geordi said. "That's this weird idea some
 people had for improving the species. You take the 'best'
 peoplemwhich usually means people who agree with
 you--and eliminate everyone else from the gene pool."
     "'Eliminate'?" Gakor repeated. He shuddered as
 Geordi drew a finger across his throat like a knife. "Yech.
 So why'd he freak out when the doctor scanned him?"
     "If you want my guess, he thinks that only 'inferior'
 people get sick," Geordi said. "Scanning him implied he
 could get sick, which must come across as an insult on
ú Hera. Although I'1l tell you, I don't intend to visit the
  place and check out my guesses."
     "Can't blame you," Gakor said. He patted the reactor
 core. "You know, for somebody who's dependent on the
 help of 'inferior beings,' he's got a big mouth."
     Geordi nodded. "Well, that kind of arrogance fits with
 eugenicists. He wouldn't think our feelings matter."
     They carried the warp core into the nearest transport-
 er room, and a moment later they materialized inside
 the Temenus's engine compartment. Without an envi-
 ronment suit's helmet to obscure his vision Geordi could
see perfectly. His VISOR picked up a variety of sights
that organic eyes would have missed. Computer pulses
chased one another through circuit guides, and the
antigray plates in the deck polarized the light reflected
by the floor. The coolant lines had been repaired so
expertly that he could barely spot the weld points--
good, solid work, he noted in approval. His engineering
team might have loathed the Herans, but they hadn't let
their emotions interfere with their work.
    Geordi and Gakor opened the reactor shell and peered
into it. "Impressive," Gakor admitted. "Their designers
were really on the ball."
    "We could learn a few things from them," Geordi
agreed. The design looked simple, but Geordi was a-
mazed by the sophisticated layout of the superconduc-
ting coils. The coils that generated the containment field
were layered to interact with one another, automatically
varying their field strength as the reactor's power levels
rose and fell. It would be impossible to push the reactor
into an overload; the rising magnetic fields would auto-
matically pinch off the flow of ionized antimatter into
the dilithium crystals as the reactor approached the
danger level. "Well, let's get to work."
    The installation was halfway finished when Worf ma-
terialized in the compartment. Geordi's VISOR showed
a familiar infrared pattern rippling across the Klingon's
face and wrinkled scalp. He was like a hunter stalking his
prey, or a detective ferreting out clues. "Welcome to the
scene of the crime," Geordi said.
    Worf gave a hopeful grunt. "You have found evi-
dence?"
    Geordi chuckled. "I was just making friendly conver-
sation. Are the Herans giving you trouble?"
"They are not giving me information," Worf said.
You're not the only one with that complaint," Geordi
said. "Dr. Par'mit'kon got some odd readings on Dun-
bar. Dunbar got testy and refused to let him take any
more readings."
    Worf grunted and looked at the reactor core. "Some-
thing is wrong with this unit," he declared.
     "Impossible!" Gakor snapped. "We've spent all day on
this thing. It's perfect! It's brilliant! It's--" Worf snarled at him.
    "--going to need more work," Gakor finished
quickly.
    Geordi saw what the Klingon wanted: time. "How
long will it take us to fix things?" Geordi asked in
resignation.
    "As I am not an engineer, I cannot say," Wotf an-
swered. He touched his combadge. "Worf to Enterprise.
One to beam back."

Chapter Six

THE AFTERMATH OF THE INFECTION left Captain Picard
looking fatigued, but Deanna Troi sensed that he was as
alert as ever. He watched Gustav Blaisdell as the Heran
sat down with Picard, Worf and Deanna in Picard's
ready room. BlaisdeU's eyes scanned the office, and
Deanna realized he was looking for clues to Pieard's
personality. The office was furnished in an austere style,
and its most prominent decorations were a model of
Picard's old ship, the Stargazer, and a painting of the
Enterprise. To anyone who did not know Jean-Luc
Picard, those clues would have suggested he was an
unimaginative martinet.
    Deanna knew better. The room's stark style helped the
captain to concentrate. The model of his old ship, which
he had lost to an unprovoked Ferengi attack, reminded
him that a starship commander carried a heavy burden
of responsibility; the painting only emphasized the
point. Like a mirror, the room was far simpler than the
mind it reflected.
 "We've a great deal to discuss, Captain," Picard said
to Blaisdell. "You can understand that I'm curious about
the sabotage on your ship."
    "Of course," Blaisdell said, turning his attention to
Picard. "A crime has been committed in Federation
space, although I'd like to point out that my government
claims exclusive jurisdiction over its ships."
    "I don't dispute that claim," Picard said, "but surely
it's to our mutual advantage to find the perpetrators."
    "Yes," Blaisdell said. Deanna sensed his reluctance to
speak. He had a brilliant, well-controlled mind. His
emotions gave her a sensation that somehow made her
think of Astrid Kemal, and she sensed that he was
planning strategies to avoid revealing any facts. That
seemed connected to an odd sense of guilt, as though he
were somehow failing in a vital duty. "I'm sure your
people have inspected the Temenus, "the Heran went on.
"What have you found?"
    "Little," Worf said. "Each bomb used five grams of
parmaline, sealed in tritanium discs and hidden within
different control units."
    "All of which would make them virtually undetect-
able," Picard said. "Does this suggest anything to you,
Captain7"
    Blaisdell shrugged. "Parmaline is a standard industri-
al explosive," he said. "Anyone can obtain it."
    "You were on a mission to obtain Romulan codes,"
Worf said. "This would benefit your people. Why would
anyone sabotage your ship?"
    "Politics," Blaisdell said. "All of our leaders want to
defeat the Romulans, but each of them wants to be the
hero who does it. Some of them don't want to see their
rivals succeed--but a Klingon doesn't need to hear
about treachery from me."
    Worf bridled at that, but Deanna saw that the
Klingon's glower did not intimidate the Heran. Picard
had frowned at Blaisdell's mocking tone, but he let the
comment pass. "So you were sacrificed as a pawn in a
power struggle," the captain said.
    "I think so," Blaisdell conceded. "But I'd rather not
discuss our politics in front of a Betazoid."
    "Then let us discuss Khortasi," Worf said. "You
claimed to have spoken with him recently, yet he died
over six weeks ago. How do you explain this?"
    "Perhaps the man I spoke to lied about his identity,"
Blaisdell said with a shrug. "Do you expect me to discuss
my government's business with outsiders?"
 "I expect to uncover the truth," Woff said.
    "You?" Blaisdell asked. He rose to his feet and stared
down at Worf. "I think not. Captain Picard, do you have
any relevant questions for me? If not, I'd like to oversee
the repair of my ship."
    "I have a certain curiosity," Picard said. "If the
Romulans are a problem, why doesn't Hera ask the
Federation for help?"
    "We prefer to look after ourselves," Blaisdell said. "In
any case, Hera is outside Federation territory, in a
sparsely settled section of space. You'd have no reason to
send us help."
    "The Federation plans to colonize this region," Picard
said. "Our presence in this region will grow. So will our
interest in defending it."
    "But not our interest in working with you," Blaisdell
said. "If you are quite through, I'll leave now."
    "By all means." Picard gestured at the door. "But
once your ship is ready, you will not continue to Aldeb-
aran."
    "As you wish." Blaisdell gave Picard a sardonic nod
and left the ready room.
    Picard rubbed his chin in thought as he stared at the
door. Blaisdell was rude, and frankly, the captain was
glad to see him leave, but that very rudeness made him
feel suspicious. "I wonder what he's really up to?" he
asked.
    "Nothing honorable," Worf said at once. "But we have
all the time we need to investigate him. Commander La
Forge is having trouble repairing the Ternenus."
   "That's quite convenient," Picard said in amusement.
"Counselor Troi, what do you have to say?"
    "Captain Blaisdell knows the exact motive behind the
sabotage," Deanna said, "and it wasn't a move in a
power struggle. I also had the impression that he was
probing us for information, although I can't say if he
learned anything. His mental control is impressive."
"I wish I knew what he wanted to learn," Picard said.
"Captain, there's something else," Deanna added. "I
don't sense that Blaisdell is this abrasive by nature. I
believe that what we just saw was an act put on for our
benefit. He's at heart a sociable man, but he definitely
does not want contact with us. When he spoke I had the
feeling he was deliberately choosing simple words, as
though he regards us as just barely able to understand
him."
 "Hera was founded by eugenicists," Worf noted.
    "So he may regard himself as the superior product of
selective breeding," Picard said in distaste. "It's amazing
how that madness has persisted."
    "That's not it, Captain," Deanna said. His words
somehow touched off an intuitive insight into the Heran.
"He's doing his best to behave as we would expect a
eugenicist to behave--monumentally arrogant. He's dif-
ficult to read, but the act doesn't match his personality.
He's actually embarrassed to behave this way."
    "Clever," Worf rumbled. "This act would discourage
any investigation."
    "Indeed," Picard mused. "Because we already think
we know what he is, we wouldn't pursue an investiga-
tion. Mr. Worf, the fact that he's hiding something from
us strikes me as a cause for concern. See if you can find
out what he's hiding." He stood up, signaling the end of
the discussion.
    Worf followed Deanna out of the ready room and onto
the bridge. "Counselor," he said quietly, "I require your
advice."
    "Of course, Worf," Deanna said. She went to his post
with him. "Are you still wondering about Dr. Kemal?"
    Worf shook his head. "The problem is K'Sah. Have
you met him?"
    "No," Deanna said. "He's the Pa'uyk exchange officer,
isn't he? I think he's only been on board for a week."
    "And I do not know how he has survived that long,"
Worf said. "His behavior is unacceptable."
    "Do you mean that he's rude and combative?"
Deanna asked.
 Worf grunted. "You've heard of him."
    "He has quite a reputation." She managed not to
laugh; the problem was obvious. Explaining it to Worf
promised to be fun. "Where is he?"
 "He is confined to his quarters," Worf said.
    "Let's see him," Deanna said, and led Worf into the
turbolift. "Deck eight?" she asked Worf.
    "Deck eight, section three," he said, and the turbolift
started down the shaft.
    Deanna looked up at Worf. "I spoke with Dr. Kemal,"
she said. "Can you tell me anything about her?"
    "Commander La Forge has developed an interest in
her," he said. "He says that she has a delightful sense
of"--he grimaced in distastem"humor." "And you disapprove?"
    "Humor," Worf growled. Deanna had heard Worf
claim there was nothing really wrong with the human
sense of humor, but she knew Worf's idea of humor had
different standards. To a Klingon, "die laughing" was
not a mere figure of speech.
    "I'll talk with Geordi when I get the chance," Deanna
said as the turbolift stopped. "But there's something
troubling Astrid, and I had hoped she might have said
something to you."
    Worf grunted as they left the elevator. "She broke one
of K'Sah's hands by accident."
    "I see," Deanna said, more to herself than to Wolf.
"That would upset most humans... but it doesn't ex-
plain the intensity of her feelings."
    K'Sah's cabin was near the lift station, and as Deanna
and Worf entered it Deanna noted that its decor was
martial but not orderly. Several clumsy-looking swords
and clubs hung on the walls. A pair of throwing knives
jutted from a wooden target. Dirty, wrinkled uniforms
were scattered here and there. A fetid stench had de-
feated the ship's air purifiers. For somebody who had
been here only a week, Deanna reflected, K'Sah had
generated a remarkable amount of chaos.
    An egg-shaped mass that looked like a two-meter-wide
lump of papier-m~ch6 occupied the floor space that had
once held a bed. Deanna sensed that K'Sah lay inside it,
and then she let out a startled yelp as the Pa'uyk burst
out of it as though attacking prey that had wandered too
close to his lair. You've got to expect things like this from
somebody who evolved from a trap-door spider, she
reminded herself, but as he stood up, she sensed that he
had enjoyed scaring her.
    K'Sah snapped his jagged mandibles together as he
looked at Deanna. "A Betazoid," he grumbled. "That's a
step down from humans."
    Deanna planted her hands on her hips as she glared at
him. "If we didn't have laws about garbage disposal, you
evolutionary backslider, I'd shove you out the nearest
airlock," she said in mock sternness.
    "Mouthy, aren't you?" K'Sah said. He flexed his four
arms as if to show off the spikes protruding through the
coarse fur. "Maybe I'll do something about you later."
    Deanna snorted in derision. "I've got a better idea,
you overstuffed moron. Let's find a cliff and play lem-
mings. You can go first."
"What is going on?" Worf demanded. "Counselor--"
"Is he always this rude?" K'Sah asked Deanna.
"Put a lid on it." Deanna turned to Worf, who was
almost beside himself in confusion. He had never known
the aristocratic Betazoid to speak rudely with anyone, no
matter what the provocation. "I can tell you the prob-
lem, Worf," Deanna said, smiling despite herselfi "En-
sign K'Sah unconsciously expects everyone to act like a
Pa'uyk, and what we call 'bad manners' are normal
behavior among them."
"Then I am surprised that any Pa'uyk live to adult-
hood," Worf said.
    "No, there's a good reason for the way they act."
Deanna looked at K'Sah, who was backing into his lair.
"We're sitting down, pinhead. Have you got a problem
with that?"
K'Sah waved a hand. "I can disinfect the chairs later."
"You know about sanitation? I'm astounded." Deanna
sat down and gestured for Worf to take a chair. "Pa'uyk
aren't rude, Worf," she said. "They challenge one anoth-
er with insults to prove their good intentions. It's a
substitute for combat."
    "This makes no sense," Worf said. "Insults lead to
battle."
    "Among most species, yes, they do," Deanna said.
"But among Pa'uyk, 'rudeness' serves the same purpose
as smiling does among humans. It's a gesture that helps
make society run smoothly."
    "Wait," K'Sah said in confusion. He was halfway into
his lair, and its trapdoor rested on his head like a
rumpled helmet. "You mean it's normal for humans to
grin like idiots all the time?"
    "And Betazoids," Deanna said sharply, "so watch it,
you Romulan swamp-sucker. Ensign, most humanolds
evolved from different types of tribal apes, and one of
the things parallel evolution gave us in common is the
need to feel like we belong to a group, a 'tribe.' We feel
uncomfortable when we're on the outside; the smiling
reassures us that we're still accepted."
    "I see," K'Sah said. One of his shaggy forearms
brushed at his faceted eyes, somehow giving the impres-
sion that he was thinking hard. "I always figured--that
damned, eternal smiling makes you look like you're up
to something."
"What has this to do with Pa'uyk?" Worf demanded.
"It's something they have in common with Klingons,"
Deanna said. "Both of your peoples are highly warlike
and aggressive. Neither of you have the sort of social
instincts that humans inherited from their evolutionary
ancestors, so your people had to find other ways to make
a society work--ways that use your instincts."
    "How about that, Wart?" K'Sah asked. Despite his
sneering tone Deanna could sense his interest. "We're
brothers under the skin."
    "You're more like distant cousins," Deanna said,
sensing Worf's disgust with the comparison. "Extremely
distant cousins, several times removed. Klingon society
uses the concepts of honor and courage to denote appro-
priate times for combat. Worf, I'm sure you can think of
circumstances in which you'd want to fight, but it would
be dishonorable to do so."
    "There is at least one such circumstance," Worf said,
looking pointedly at K'Sah.
    K'Sah snorted. "Maybe we can find time for some-
thing later on, you toDSaH."
    "And that's how Pa'uyk keep from fighting, Worf,"
Deanna said, while Worf growled at the Klingon obscen-
ity. "They channel their aggression into less dangerous
avenues, such as insults, threats and gambling. It's a
form of diplomacy; when they're talking, they're not
killing one another. It works quite well for them."
    Worf growled as he mulled that over. "I cannot have
one of my ensigns insulting everyone," he said.
    "Of course not," Deanna said. She wondered if K'Sah
had met the captain yet--no, almost certainly not. "But
there are several things we can try here. Perhaps you and
the security staff can accommodate yourselves to Ensign
K'Sah's behavior and return his insults; make a game of
it. The rest of the time, Ensign K'Sah, you could restrain
your behaviora"
 "What if I don't want to?" he asked.
    "Then I will ask Dr. Kemal to arm wrestle with you,"
Worf said.
    "Spend some time on the holodeck, dimwit," Deanna
suggested. "Even a flea-brained mud-wader like you
should be able to set up a program that lets you release
your feelings."
 K'Sah nodded dubiously. "Hijack a starship, knife a
few officers, eat a Klingona" He scratched his carapace.
"It can't hurt to try."
    "And try to avoid people who don't understand
Pa'uyk behavior," Deanna said, standing up. "By the
way, Worf, the Pa'uyk attitude toward rules is that
they're meant to be broken. Keep that in mind when you
and K'Sah make your arrangements."
    "Killjoy," K'Sah muttered as Deanna headed for the
door. "Hey, Worf, what's this 'honor' thing she was
babbling about?"
    Deanna sighed as the door closed behind her. Oddly
enough, K'Sah seemed genuinely interested in learning
how Worf defined honor... but she wondered if the
Pa'uyk would live long enough to hear the answer.

    After he dealt with K'Sah, Worf went to his quarters
and worked on the computer. It was late at night when
he finished his investigation of the Herans. He had found
nothing to either confirm or deny his suspicions, and the
lack of evidence was in itself suspicious. An investiga-
tion could always find something.
    What little he did have seemed disconnected. First,
there were the contradictory readings on Dunbar. The
sickbay instruments said he was a normal human, while
Par'mit'kon's tricorder said he was impossibly healthy
and strong. Barclay, a superb engineer despite his inher-
ent nervousness, had inspected all the instruments in-
volved and swore they were functioning as they should.
    Second, there were the records on Hera. They made
Hera sound like a planet settled by obsessed fools.
Herans seldom left their world, discouraged visitors, and
had no official contact with the rest of humanity. That
near-total lack of outside contact made Worf suspect that
they had a secret to keep, a notion that agreed with
Deanna Troi's observations.
    Third, there was their size. Dunbar and Blaisdell were
both two meters tall and weighed over a hundred kilos.
The radiation-charred bodies Dr. Crusher had removed
from the Ternenus suggested that the rest of the crew had
been equally big. While such size was not unknown
among humans--Kemal came to mind, and Riker was
not much smaller--it was improbable that everyone in
such a small group would be so large. It was as though
the Herans had been mass-produced.
    Or modified... Selective breeding was an inefficient,
unreliable process; Khan Singh's creators had depended
as much on luck as science for their results, and it
seemed improbable that Hera's founders could have
duplicated their fortunes. But there were other, better
ways to redesign a species. Genetic engineering came to
mind. Perhaps that had something to do with whatever
secret the Herans were hiding.
    The possibility bore investigation. The Klingon began
a computer search for links between Hera and genetic
research.

    Central Security had delayed her execution, which
could only mean that they had a reason to keep her alive.
Maria Sukhoi could not imagine what that reason might
be. She did not think she was of any further use to
Central.
    Maria lay on her cell's cot and WOndered what would
happen to her children. When she and her husband had
decided to move against Unity and the Temenus they
had quietly arranged for her brother and his wife to take
care of them, so their physical welfare was no problem.
But the loss of their parents would devastate them, and
Central Security would always suspect them of disloy-
alty.
    And she still did not know if they had destroyed the
Temenus. All of their sacrifices might have been for
nothing.
    She tried to distract herself by reviewing her interroga-
tion. The question about the originator file intrigued her.
The implication had been that something in the file
would change her attitude toward the originators, and by
extension, toward the rest of the primals. All things
considered, that was about as likely as changing her
attitude toward breathing. Even if it were possible to
ignore what the originators had done to Hera, no one
could ignore the constant primal attacks, or their well-
documented hatred of normal people such as herself.
    And why shouldn't we hate the originators? Mafia
asked herself. The structure of her brain might keep her
from becoming swamped by raw emotions, but she could
still maintain a detached, intellectual hatred of their
evil. The history books told the story well: how the
genetic engineers had callously developed a race of
expendable superhuman weapons, and then attempted
to make additional, secret modifications to their handi-
work, so that the new generation of Herans would be
utterly loyal to their creators. Central Security had
exposed the scientists before they could complete their
plot, and the Modality had executed them for attempted
treason. Bad enough to be a living weapon, Marla
thought, but to be bred for slavery as well--
    The lights went out and the buzz of the force fields
ended. Suddenly alert, Marla sat up on her cot and
listened. She heard the burr of a disrupter cutting
through rock and metal. It swiftly grew louder.
    One wall of her cell collapsed and there was light. As
she backed away from the opening a foot shoved several
blocks of rubble out of the way and two people entered
the cell. "Maria Sukhoi?" one asked. He was young,
perhaps twelve or thirteen years old. "Can you travel?"
    "Yes," she said. Mafia resisted the urge to ask ques-
tions. If she was not being rescued she would find out
soon enough, and it would make no difference in her
situation.
    "Good," the boy's companion said. The man handed
her a sonic stunner and went to the door. He drew
something from a coat pocket and tossed it into the
hallway, and eerie blue light crackled outside the door.
Mafia felt a tingling from the stun bombs. "Come on,"
the man said after the glow faded. "Sukhoi, stay between
US."
 "Where are we going?" Maria asked.
    "To the tube station," the man said. "Do you know
the way?"
    She recalled the path she had taken, from the station
to the interrogation room to this cell. "Yes. Let's go."
    The lights were out all through the complex. Finding
her way by memory was no problem, but at each
corridor intersection and stairwell the man stopped to
pitch another stun bomb. Their fringe effects grated on
her nerves, and several times Mafia and her rescuers
stumbled over the unconscious bodies of security agents
in the dark. Men and women called out orders and
reports in the darkness around them.
    There was light when the trio emerged into the tube
station. The white glare came from the open door of a
capsule, and it showed a pair of guards standing along-
side its entrance. They reached for their weapons as
Mafia and her rescuers walked into the station. With
their own weapons already drawn, Mafia and her rescu-
ers held the advantage. The two men tumbled to the
floor and the trio climbed into the capsule.
    The man chuckled. "Not bad for somebody who
flunked basic aggression."
    The boy looked defensive. "I passed it the second
time."
 "I was talking about me, nephew."
    "Oh." The boy placed an electronic pad over the
control unit in the capsule's front. After a moment the
door slid shut and the capsule rushed into the tubeways.
"They won't catch us now," he said. "We're masked
from the rest of the transit system."
    "Possibly." The man put his stunner into a jacket
pocket and held out his hand. Maria shook it. He was
red-haired and handsome, and old enough to be one of
the firstborn, the first generation of gengineered Herans.
"I'm Selig Thorn. That's my nephew Dallas."
    Mafia didn't recognize the names. "You're radicals?"
she asked.
 He nodded. "We've been called that."
 "Did you know my husband?" She sat down on a
capsule seat. "Did he belong to your organization?" Lee
had never mentioned belonging to any political organi-
zation, but after her experience with the interrogators
she still felt disoriented.
    "No," Selig told her. He sat down facing her. "We
didn't learn about him until after Central arrested you. If
it's any comfort, he destroyed the Temenus. At least it
didn't make its last scheduled report."
    "I see." Mafia slumped in her seat. She had almost too
much to think about now, but all that mattered was the
success. There would be nothing to provoke the primals
now; they would not come flooding down from the sky.
Whatever else happened, her children would be safe.

Chapter Seven

BLAISDELL AND DUNBAR were in Engineering, watching
Geordi La Forge as he tinkered with the reactor core.
Both men had been harrying Geordi with sharp ques-
tions about the core's failure, and they'd come close to
tripping him up. They obviously realized there was
nothing wrong with the core. Astrid watched them from
the opening of a crawlway, feeling guilty as she spied on
them. The two men were a threat to the Enterprise, and
she should tell someone everything she knew about
Hera. Everyone assumed they were normal humans, and
that assumption could get somebody killed. She should
tell--
    She looked at her hand, which had raised halfway to
her comm badge. Tell, and she would get herself and her
parents in trouble. Their lives wouldn't be worth a
redshifted photon. She forced her hand down.
    Blaisdell and Dunbar walked out of Engineering.
Astrid slid back into the crawlway and emerged a few
minutes later in a corridor. She queried the computer,
which told her that the two men had gone to Ten-
Forward. Getting lunch, she thought. That seemed
harmless enough.
    Astrid went to the brig, where Ensign Kellog was on
duty. Astrid had offered to upgrade the brig's security
software, and Worf had jumped at the chance to improve
his security tools--although the security-conscious
Klingon had made her wait while he obtained permis-
sion for a non-Federation citizen to work in a classified
area. Captain Picard had granted approval almost at
once; he evidently trusted her to be honest... a thought
that stirred her sense of guilt.
    Astrid chatted with Kellog as she reorganized the
programming. Not a bad job, she thought, but it had
shortcomings that could have given a determined person
a means of escape. She fixed them with an almost
absentminded effort. Astrid was more interested in what
Kellog had to say about Geordi La Forge. He seemed...
nice, she thought. Easy to like; not at all what her parents
had told her to expect in an old human. And he had
seemed vaguely repelled by Riker's comments about the
Khans and homo arrogans. She wished she could take
the chance to know him better. Except that would mean
lowering her guard, and if he found out what she was, he
wouldn't want anything to do with her. Especially be-
cause she had been lying to him, and his friends, by
concealing what she was.
    Astrid finished her work, left the brig and rode the
turbolift up to deck ten. She wanted to take another look
at these two men, just to see what they were like. Aside
from her parents, she had not seen another Heran since
leaving her homeworld, and the need to see somebody
like herself was like a hunger. With a little luck she could
find an excuse to talk with them. The Herans couldn't
get any more suspicious than they were now, and maybe
it would turn out that they weren't up to something.
    "Worf, we've got a problem," Riker's voice said over
the turbolift intercom. "Report to your quarters."
 "On my way." Worf had been going to Ten-Forward to
confront Blaisdell and Dunbar. Now he diverted the
elevator to the turbolift station nearest his quarters. He
hoped this "problem" would not delay him long. He was
looking forward to the chance to face the Herans, and
possibly fight them.
    Worf walked into his quarters and reached for his
phaser, a reflex touched off by the wrongness: Riker was
not here. WorPs mind caught up with his reflexes and
told him he had walked into a trap, and that was when
something clamped on to his shoulder. As the door slid
shut behind him the Klingon saw Dunbar standing
beside the door frame, his face impassive as he held Worf
by the shoulder. Worf snarled at the Heran and drew his
phaser.
    Worf barely saw what happened. As he raised his
weapon Dunbar's free hand flicked out, plucked the
phaser from his grip and dropped it. As Worf struggled
Dunbar tightened his grip on the Klingon's shoulder and
lifted him off the floor. Worf snarled and struggled to get
free, but Dunbar's hand held him like a steel vise, and
the man did not even flinch when Worf kicked him in the
kneecap.
    Dunbar raised his tricorder to WorPs face. Sensing
that the device was a weapon, Worf grabbed the man by
the wrist and tried to push his arm back. For all the good
that did he might as well have tried to stop a planet in its
rush through space. Lights winked on the tricorder as'
Dunbar held it against the Klingon's face.
    Dunbar carried Worf across the room. "Damn it all,"
he muttered, and Worf heard regret in his voice. "If it
matters, Klingon, I wish I didn't have to do this."
    Worf was still holding Dunbar's wrist. Now his fingers
grew numb and slid away from the man's arm. He felt
hot and dizzy. When Dunbar dumped him on the floor it
was all Worf could do to roll onto his side. His limbs
would not answer when he tried to stand. He began to
shiver and growl with fever. As though in a dream he saw
the Heran take his wooden statuette of the Klingon hero
Kahless, break it and hold his tricorder to it. Then Worf
knew nothing.

    Astrid walked into Ten-Forward, saw Blaisdell sitting
alone at his table, and stepped back into the corridor.
She reviewed her glimpse of the lounge, confirming that
Dunbar wasn't there. "Computer," she whispered, after
the lounge door had slid shut behind her. "Where's
Dunbar?"
    "Vlad Dunbar is in Ten-Forward," the computer an-
swered.
    That obvious impossibility could mean only one
thing. "Kemal to Kellog," she said as she hurried toward
the nearest turbolift. "The Herans have tampered with
the computer."
 "You're sure?" Kellog answered.
    "Yes. t'11 explain later. Get someone down to Ten-
Forward to watch Blaisdell. Get somebody else to look
for Dunbar; he isn't in Ten-Forward, as the computer
says. Kemal to Worf. Kemal to Worf."
    There was no answer, and she felt an urgent certainty
that Dunbar was connected to Worffs silence. But how
was she supposed to find Dunbar? She couldn't search
the entire ship, and she couldn't trust the computerm
    Maybe she could. "Access medical computer," she
said as she entered the turbolift. "Override code Kemal
two, two, eight, nine. Locate Vlad Dunbar."
    "Vlad Dunbar is in deck seven, section fifteen," the
machine answered.
    Deck seven, section fifteen, was a curving passage
lined on both sides with doorways. Astrid saw no one
here now. She queried the medical computer again, and
it told her that Dunbar was in Worffs quarters.
    She nodded absently at that. Dunbar must have been
preparing to kill Worf. "Kemal to Worf," she said, and
again received no answer. "Computer, locate Lieutenant
Worf."
 "Lieutenant Worf is in his quarters."
    Astrid went to WorPs door. The sliding panel was
supposed to be soundproof, but she could hear through
it: several thumps, a muffled growl that had to be Worf, a
wooden snap. "Open door," she said. "Override code
Kemal two, two, eight, nine."
 "Access denied," the computer said.
    Arguing with the computer was useless. She kicked the
center of the door, then kicked again, knocking it out of
its guide slots. She grasped its exposed edge and pulled it
free.
    Dunbar was kneeling over Worf while he worked with
a tricorder, and he looked up as Astrid forced her way
into the room. Worf was alive, although unconscious;
Astrid could hear his labored breathing and the thudding
of his eight-chambered heart as he lay on the deck. A
cracked wooden statue lay beside him. Dunbar saw her
and reached for Worf's phaser. Astrid decided she would
have to fight him, and at once she hurled herself at
Dunbar.
    Dunbar forgot about the phaser and sprang at her. She
danced out of his way. Dunbar looked surprised as his
first lunge missed her, but he spun around and charged
her again. This time he slammed into her and they
went sprawling on the carpet. Dunbar rose to his
knees and sent a fist crashing into her side. Astrid
grunted at the impact, but Dunbar's position had made ú
it impossible for him to use his full strength and she was
not seriously hurt. Astrid grabbed his wrist with both
hands and held on, squeezing as hard as she could.
She twisted the arm, forcing Dunbar down onto the
floor.
    Dunbar swung with his free arm, but instead of
delivering another blow his hand clawed at the floor.
Astrid saw him grasp the phaser. She twisted around on
the floor, still clutching his wrist as she planted her feet
against the side of his chest, while he set the weapon to
its most powerful level and tried to aim at her. She
kicked as hard as she could and felt his ribs snap under
the impact. She kicked a second time and Dunbar went
limp. Astrid held on to his wrist until the lack of a pulse
assured her that she had killed him.
    She crawled over to Worf, who had regained con-
sciousness. His face was gray and sweaty. "It's all right,"
Astrid told him. "He's dead."
    Worf answered with a rasping snarl. His eyes had an
unfocused look. Astrid touched his forehead and real-
ized he had a high fever. "Transporter room, medical
emergency," she called, picking up his phaser. "Two to
sickbay."
    The transporter engulfed Astrid and Worf and put
them in the sickbay. Astrid forced down the fear she
felt at her presence here as she scooped up the man and
put him on the nearest biobed. "He's sick," Astrid
said as Dr. Crusher came out of her office. Her chest
hurt from where Dunbar had hit her; she ignored the
knifing pain.
    Crusher ran a scanner over Worf, then blinked in
amazement at the readings. "Where in hell did he get
vorag fever?" she demanded.
    "The Herans," Astrid said. Despite herself she took a
step back from the doCtor and her anger. She felt more
afraid now than she had while fighting Dunbar. "Dunbar
attacked him. I killed him," she added bleakly. The
realization settled on her soul like a block of neutro-
nium. She had killed, as efficiently and unthinkingly as
any weapon.
    Crusher ignored her. She produced a hypospray and
injected Worf. "Thank God the transporter bio-
filters eliminated the virus. That's all that kept the infec-
tion from killing him. As it is, it's going to be touch and
go." Worf snarled quietly as the doctor worked over
him.
    Astrid watched the man stir. She could understand
why the Herans would want to kill Worf, but why had
they used a biological weapon? After a startled second
that thought made everything fall into place; the answer
became so obvious she wondered how anyone could
have missed itmand what better way was there to
conquer the galaxy? "The Herans caused that epidemic,"
she said.
    "Really?" Crusher asked as she worked on Worf.
"Even assuming they could transport a virus aboard this
ship, why would they want to make half the crew slightly
ill for a few hours?"
    "You haven't analyzed the genetic material in the
virus, have you?" Astrid asked.
 "No, I haven't had the time."
    "I suggest that you analyze it, Doctor," Astrid said.
"Then compare it with Heran DNA, normal human
DNA, and DNA from people who had the fever."
    Crusher looked up from Worf, who was beginning to
stir. "What am I supposed to look for?"
    "The virus was a genetic-engineering tool," Astrid
said. "They were trying to give Heran genes to old--to
normal humans, so we'd pass them on to your, uh, our
offspring."
    "What's so special about Heran genes?" Crusher
asked.
    "Run the tests, Doctor," Astrid said. She felt her nerve
slipping. "You'll be surprised."

    The conference began six hours after Picard learned of
the killing. His command staff seemed unsettled as they
took their seats in the conference room. Worf still
glowered with anger and shame, which was to be ex-
pected; he had been no match for Dunbar in hand-to-
hand combat. Riker, Deanna, Geordi and Crusher
seemed distressed and bewildered in various degrees.
Data looked perplexed, as though faced with a situation
beyond his comprehension.
    Picard called the meeting to order. "Dr. Crusher, is
my crew in any immediate danger?." he asked.
    "No, sir," she said. "The vorag spores and the virus
have been eradicated. Lieutenant Worf is fit for duty,
and the rest of the crew's physical health is excellent. But
over four hundred people, half of the ship's human
complement, had the plague. I expect psychological
problems."
    "We'll discuss that in due course," Picard said. "Mr.
La Forge, what about the computer system?"
    "It's been tampered with--by a genius," Geordi said.
"I ran a diagnostic and I just barely found evidence
of several programs. They erased themselves with-
out a trace while I watched. At least the computer
is clean now. And now we know why the sickbay
instruments registered the Herans as normal humans,
while Dr. Par'mit'kon got some wild readings on his
trieorder. One of the items in Blaisdell's kit let him
insert false data into Dr. Crusher's instruments, as
long as he was within a few meters of them. He wasn't
around to do that when Par'mit'kon checked Dunbar in
Engineering."
    "Very well," Picard said. "Mr. Worf, have you any
idea of how the Herans introduced these diseases on to
the Enterprise?"
    The Klingon nodded. "Commander Data and I have
examined Dunbar's 'tricorder.' It was more than a
tricorder. The device destroyed itself, but not before we
proved that it could construct microorganisms atom by
atomre"
    "Test-tube life?" Crusher asked. "No one has ever
synthesized a living organism from the ground up."
    "The evidence proves that the Herans can do so,"
Data said.
    "It seems the Herans make very good use of their
biological skills," Picard said. "Mr. Worf, their attempt
to murder you implies that they believed you were about
to expose a secret."
    "It does," Worf agreed. "I was investigating Hera and
its possible link to genetic engineering, and it is clear
now that they were monitoring my computer activity.
They must have decided to eliminate me before I could
uncover their plans."
    "Your death li~om vorag would have made us suspi-
cious as hell," Riker said.
    Worf shook his head. "Vorag spores are sometimes
found in khrolat wood, and my statue of Kahless was
made of khrolat. Dunbar broke the carving and poisoned
its inner grain. My death would have seemed a bizarre
accident."
    "Why was he waiting in your room?" Riker won-
dered. "It seems like a perfect set-up without his pres-
ence."
    "Vorag is not instantly fatal," Worf said. "I might have
reached the sickbay before I could die. Dunbar--"
Picard saw the shame on his face as he glowered at the
tabletop. "I fought Dunbar to no avail. I was like a child
in his grip."
    "Thank you, Mr. Worf," Picard said. "It's vital that
we know their abilities. You will find ways to fight
them." He saw Worf straighten in his chair at the praise.
"Did your computer search uncover anything about the
Herans?"
    The Klingon shook his head. "They appear to be
nothing more than misguided cultists."
    "Well, they're not," Crusher said. "I've run a few tests
on the surviving Herans, and the results are startling.
Their strength and stamina are incredible. Their im-
mune systems are perfect. Their metabolism is highly
efficient. Reflexes, bone strength, muscle tonemWorf,
you needn't feel ashamed. They're more like fighting
machines than people."
 A sudden uneasiness swept over the captain.
    "We should all bear in mind that her actions in this
matter have been commendable," Picard said. "Doctor,
can you verify her statement that this virus was a
genetic-engineering tool?"
    "Yes," she said. "Computer, display the viral RNA
map."
    Picard and the others turned their seats to look at the
wall display. Crusher got up and walked over to it. "This
shows the layout of the genetic material inside the virus.
The first point to note is that there is twice as much
material here as is normal in a virus. The second point is
the behavior of the virus in an infected body. Except
under one circumstance, when the virus invades a cell it
replicates itself like any other virus.
    "The exception occurs when it infects the reproduc-
tive organs. Then this RNA generates over five hundred
changes in the host's DNA, effectively rewriting certain
portions of it. This guarantees that the host's offspring
will be genetically identical to Herans, and this limita-
tion to the reproductive system makes the changes
harder to detect than a whole-body transformation."
The display shifted, showing side-by-side comparisons
of two DNA maps. Red lines highlighted differences
between the two data sets.
    "This plague is a diabolic means of conquest," Worf
said. "Within a generation, one's enemies would be
Herans--Commander?" Riker had muttered a word:
Ilknice.
    "Plague," Riker said, raising his voice. "This explains
why Temenus was on its way to Aldebaran II. Consider-
ing all the traffic that goes through the Aldebaran ship-
yards, it's the perfect focal point to launch a plague, just
like medieval Venice accidentally did with the Black
Death."
    "I agree," Crusher said. "Standard quarantine proce-
dures wouldn't stop every case. Somebody could climb
aboard a ship on Aldebaran, go to Earth or any of
a hundred planets, take a shuttle down to the surface,
and..." She let her voice trail off suggestively.

    "But our quarantine procedures are good," Geordi
said. "We wouldn't spread a plague. So why did the
Herans infect us?"
    "This may have been a last chance," Picard suggested.
"Even before I told Blaisdell to return to Hera, it must
have been obvious to him that we would expel him from
Federation space."
 "I don't buy that," Riker said. "Why didn't they just
go home, wait a few months, then try for Aldebaran
again? Or Earth, for that matter?"
    "That would have been a sound strategy," Worf said.
"We can be glad they did not do this."
    "At least we've contained this disease," Picard said.
"Doctor, I take it that everyone who's had this disease
has undergone a genetic change. I want you to investi-
gate methods to reverse the damage. I expect a report in
twenty-four hours."
Crusher hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Excellent," Picard said. Putting some spirit into that
word seemed to take all his effort. To think that this
minor ailment could create such a drastic change--he
forced himself not to think about his own situation.
"Counselor Troi, I think it's safe to assume that we have
a major morale problem on our hands."
    "We do," Deanna said. "Several hundred people have
been assaulted on one of the most basic levels possible.
It's still too soon for people to know how to react--"
    "I can tell you how I'm reacting," Riker said, an edge
in his voice.
    "You're outraged," Deanna said. "But for most people
on the Enterprise, this is just now sinking in. They're still
stunned."
    "It's more than that, Deanna," Crusher said. "We're
being used, against our will, by people who admire the
likes of Khan Singh. It's bad enough that they've.
changed several hundred people so that any future
children of theirs will match Hera's version of 'perfec-
tion.' What's worse is that, as of now, we're only aware of
the physical changes that will appear in such children."
  "What might we expect, Doctor?" Picard asked.
  "Certain personality factors are influenced by our
  genetic inheritance," the doctor said. "Suppose that
  these changes include factors that will push these poten-
  tial children to act like Khan Singh? Jean-Luc, would
  you want to raise a child who was predestined to become
  a conqueror?"
 "The question is what we do now," Riker said. "The
Herans have committed an act of war. We can't ignore
that."
    "Nor will we," Picard said. "But I don't intend to rush
blindly into this, Number One. There are too many
unknowns." Far too many unknowns, he thought as the
meeting ended. And the meeting had gone badly. It had
felt disorganized, and propelled more by anger and
confusion than by determination to find answers. Picard
suddenly understood how medieval humans must have
felt when confronted by a bad omen.

    In a way it was unfortunate that Kemal had not died
while fighting Dunbar. Worfowed his life to her, but that
did not change the dishonorable way in which she had
concealed her identity. He found it awkward to be in her
debt.
    At least he was not in Blaisdell's debt, and the Heran
had information that Worf needed. As soon as the
conference had ended Worf went to the brig. The Heran
was busy inspecting his cell's food replicator when Worf
walked up to the force door. "I'm still not going to
answer your questions," he said. He continued to study
the replicator as though Worfs presence meant nothing
to him.
    "I already have many answers," Worf said. "I know
that the virus was a genetic engineering tool."
Blaisdell's head snapped around. "Who betrayed us?"
"You did," Worf said. "You were foolish to unleash
this plague on the Enterprise. Our scientists--"
    "PrimaIs could not have figured this out unaided,"
Blaisdell said.
    "Did you expect us to ignore an epidemic on this
ship?" Worf demanded. "Did you think there would be
no investigation? Were we to consider your presence a
coincidence?"
    "Yes. You had no other evidence. Most peculiar."
Blaisdell returned his attention to the replicatot.
    "Have you spread this plague to other planets?" Worf
asked.
    Blaisdell ignored the question. After a moment Worf
went to the duty post, where Ensign Yamato stood
watch. The Klingon pushed the sound-suppress button
on the console, isolating Blaisdell. "Has the prisoner
said anything?" Worf asked Yamato.
    "No, sir," the ensign answered. "He's spent the time
inspecting his cell."
Worf grunted. "Keep me informed of his activities."
"Yes, sir. Sir?" Yamato hesitated. "I've heard this
rumor that Kemal is one of them." He nodded toward
the cell.
    "Then you have also heard that she killed Dunbar,"
Worf said.
    Yamato nodded. "I have, sir. I was just wondering if
you wanted me to get a cell ready for her, too."
    Worf glared at him. "Why do you believe that is
necessary?"
  The human wilted. "I just thought--"
    "That is not your assignment," Worf said. He left the
brig in a foul mood. Yamato's words did not sit well with
him. Kemal had behaved dishonorably by hiding her
nature, but that did not justify Yamato's suggestion--
and Kemal's actions had somewhat redeemed her honor.
    Worf took the turbolift to sickbay and went into Dr.
Crusher's office. She sat behind her desk, skimming over
a series of test results. "I wish to know about this
epidemic," Worf said. "Have there been similar occur-
rences elsewhere?"
    "I haven't had the time to check," Crusher said. "How
soon do you need to know?"
    "Now," Worf said. "Blaisdell is unresponsive to ques-
tioning. Information will give me leverage."
    "Dr. Par'mit'kon can help you," Crusher said. "I have
to go back to the physiology lab in a moment. We're
running more tests on Kemal. We've got a lot to learn?'
    Worf grunted. "You held back information at the
conference," he said, in what he hoped was not an
accusing tone.
 "I did," Crusher said. She leaned back in her chair and
rubbed her eyes. "Worf, you're not human. Maybe you
can be objective about this, and God knows I need some
objectivity--and some secrecy."
"If there is something about the Herans--" he began.
"It isn't them," Crusher said. "It's us. The captain
told me to look for a cure for this... this situation,
some way to return everyone to normal. I already have,
and our genetic-engineering tools are too crude to re-
verse what's been done to us. There is no cure."



Chapter Eight

"WE'vE BEEN CAUGHT FLAT-FOOTED," Admiral Allen Trask
said. Starfleet's senior intelligence officer possessed the
classic lean and hungry look, and he sounded grim as he
spoke to Picard. Behind him, the ready room's view-
screen showed the confusion in his office at Starbase 171
as aides called up computer data and sorted through
secret, hard-copy files. "We've been working nonstop
since we got your message yesterday. All our information
on Hera says it's nothing more than a crackpot colony.
Captain, if I didn't know your record I would suggest
you are wrong."
    "Yes." Picard tapped his fingers on his desk. "Do you
have any information at all that's not in the general
files?"
    The admiral gestured to one of his aides, who handed
him a data pad. "There have been a number of deaths
and ship disappearances on and around Hera," he said
after reading the display. "They've all been adequately
explained--piracy, accidents, plasma storms, and so on.
There was also some sort of crisis on Hera about twenty
years ago. We don't know its nature, but we estimate that
some two hundred Herans left the planet. The small
number suggests they were government officials fleeing a
purge. We didn't develop much interest in this because
all of the refugees went to non-Federation planets."
 "Including Zerkalo," Picard said.
    "I know," the admiral said. 'TI1 send someone to
Zerkalo to investigate the Kemals. Meanwhile, how soon
can you deliver the Herans to us?"
    "We can reach Starbase One-Seven-One in two days,
Admiral," Picard said. "We can hand over Captain
Blaisdell at that time."
    "And the other one," Trask said. "We'll want Kemal
for interrogation, too."
    "Are you requesting that I transfer her, sir?" Picard
asked.
    "I'm telling you to arrest her." The admiral eyed him.
"You're going to be difficult about this, aren't you?"
    Picard weighed his words carefully. "I intend to obey
the letter of the law, Admiral."
    Trask sighed. "Picard, the Simon Tarses affair left us
all with some bad memories, but we can't afford to let it
distort our judgment."
    Picard nodded gravely. "On what charge shall I arrest
her, Admiral?"
 "On deliberate falsification of identity."
    "That is not sufficient grounds for an arrest, sir,"
Picard said. "You cannot prove criminal intent."
    "I will. Arrest her. That's an order. Trask out." The
Federation seal replaced his image.
    An eager beaver, Picard mused, recalling a peculiar
American idiom. Allen Trask had only recently been
appointed to command of Starfleet Intelligence, in the
wake of several debacles that had almost proven disas-
trous to the Federation. Starfleet Intelligence had failed
to uncover the Romulan attempt to invade Vulcan and
their involvement in the Klingon civil war, Ambassador
T'Pel's true identity as a deep-cover Romulan spy, a
Romulan assassination plot involving Geordi La
Forge's kidnaping and brainwashing, the Antidian at-
tempt to disrupt the Pacifica conference, various Cardas-
sian preparations to absorb disputed border areas--and
my own capture by the Cardassians, Picard thought with
a shudder. Starfleet Intelligence had been fooled by the
Cardassians into sending Picard into a well-designed
trap. The Cardassians had ruthlessly stripped him of his
dignity, and then subjected him to hideous tortures in a
meaningless effort to break him. The Cardassians had
quite literally brought Picard to his limit before Starfleet
had negotiated his release. He could easily imagine how
Astrid felt, alone among hostile aliens and not knowing
what fate to expect.
    The realization of empathy produced a strange sensa-
tion. Picard had always held eugenics in contempt, yet
Astrid Kemal had not asked to be what she was, and she
had shown loyalty to the Federation. "Computer, display
Dr. Kemal's personnel file," he ordered.
    Picard selected the salient facts as data marched
across the screen. Born on Zerkalo, age twenty-two-
point-one years. No records were available from her
home planet; as a matter of principle the anarchic
Zerkalan government refused to divulge personal infor-
mation. Brilliant academic record, doctoral degree at age
nineteen, short but impressive record at the Daystrom
Institute. Species, human, according to a routine physi-
cal exam--an exam given by an Andorian physician,.
whose records made it clear she was not overly familiar
with human physiology. "Picard to Dr. Crusher," he
called. "Can I see you in my ready room?"
    Picard called the bridge and ordered the course
changed to Starbase 171. The doctor appeared a few
minutes later and seated herself at a gesture from Picard.
"Doctor, does Astrid Kemal meet the legal definition of
a human being?" Picard asked.
    Beverly Crusher ran her fingers through her auburn
hair. "Sir... I don't know how to answer that. Geneti-
cally she's almost identical to normal humans, but there
are several differences."
    Picard forced himself to remain patient. "I'm not
asking for a simple yes or no. Can you make a case for
her humanity?"
    Crusher looked at him across the desk. "What exactly
do you want, Jean-Luc?"
    "I want to avoid an injustice," Picard said. "Now,
what are these differences you mentioned? How signifi-
cant are they?"
    "Well, the physical differences aren't too important.
There are slight changes in her muscle tissue and bone-
cell structure that give her enormous strength. Her
immune system is perfect, her metabolism is highly
efficient, and we still don't know the limits of her
endurance; we've put her through some strenuous tests
that would exhaust even Worf, and she quite literally
hasn't even worked up a sweat. Healing--she broke two
ribs during her fight with Dunbar. By the time we
noticed them, three hours later, they were almost fully
healed.
    "Then there are the differences in her central nervous
system," Crusher continued. "You're aware of how com-
puter enhancement can improve a video image. The
Heran brain contains several neural sets which perform
similar functions. The result is a remarkable increase in
visual acuity. When I gave her a standard eye test and
told her to read the bottom line on the chart she
responded, and I quote, 'Chart Fifteen-A, Vance Opto-
metrical Institute, copyright 2361.' Most people can't
even see that line.
    "Her senses of hearing, smell, touch and balance are
equally enhanced. She's ambidextrous and has an almost
Vulcan ability to disregard pain. Her reflexes are almost
as good as Data's. She can follow two conversations at
once. She had clear memories of conversations she heard
when she was three months old. She can read at least ten
thousand words per minute and do some sophisticated
mathematical calculations in a matter of seconds. None
of this has shown up on any of her medical exams."
    Picard nodded. "It seems inevitable that she would
have held back during an examination. But none of this
is truly significant, Doctor."
    "Well, this is," Crusher continued. "She's incapable of
a panic reaction. You can startle her, but there's no
increase in adrenaline levels. I've found that she has a
neural network that acts as a... well, call it a damping
circuit, a safety valve, to hold down any strong emotion.
I don't know how that affects the rest of her emotional
makeup."
    "That doesn't disqualify her as a human being,"
Picard said. "We recognize healers, telepaths and meta-
morphs as human--"
    "There's a difference," Crusher said. "I could go into a
courtroom and swear up and down that she's human. No
one will care. The fact that she's genetically engineered,
and that she concealed this, will decide the issue."
    "Perhaps," Picard said. "But no decision has been
rendered yet. Until then we owe it to her to defend her.
I'd like to see her now, if you can spare her from your
tests."
    "I can." Crusher stood up. "Jean-Luc, she fits the legal
definition of a human being. An impartial court would
back that up. But before you throw away your career to
defend her, you'd better find out if she thinks she's
human."

    Worf was not due on the bridge for another hour, and
his first stop as he went back on duty was at the security
department. K'Sah was on duty with one of La Forge's
technicians, and together they were examining the com-
puter systems. La Forge swore that the system was clean,
but the Herans had proven themselves too clever for
Worf's comfort. He wanted to make sure they had no
more tricks to play.
    K'Sah looked up from the computer terminal. "Noth-
ing so far, Lieutenant," he said. "Finding something
here is harder than picking a pocket on a Starfleet
uniform."
    "Keep looking," Worf ordered. "Is Blaisdell still in his
cell?"
    "Yeah, and eating like a pig," K'Sah said. "Dunbar
acts like he's dead, but I think he's up to something."
    "He's dead, Lieutenant," the technician said in dis-
gust. "We've looked at that body a dozen times."
    K'Sah looked at her in suspicion. "Count on humans
to stand up for one another."
    She glared at K'Sah. "If you think any decent human
will stand up for maniacs like--"
"Enough," Worf said. "Have you found anything?"
The woman shook her head. "Lieutenant, I've tried
every test I know on the computer system. All I can say
is, either there's nothing there or the Herans are too
damned good for me."
    Worf dismissed the technician, then glowered at
K'Sah. "You were ordered to maintain good behavior.
Explain yourself."
    "It's the humans who need explaining, Lieutenant,"
he said. He looked at the door, which had slid shut after
the technician had left. "Now I know why they smile all
the time. They really are up to something!"
 "What is it that you suspect?" Worf demanded.
    "I'd think even a Klingon could see it," K'Sah said.
"The humans have found a way to reconfigure their
whole species. More brains, more muscle, the works.
Give them twenty years to breed a generation of super-
humans, and they'll try to conquer the galaxy. And the
way they pretend they're upset over this--it's a nice
little act, isn't it?"
    Worf could think of only one answer to that. "Plakh,"
he swore. The obscenity derived from an ancient term
that meant "the absence of war," which until lately had
been the nearest word the Klingons had to "peace." It
left a foul and satisfying feel on Worf's tongue.
    K'Sah rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Don't tell me you
trust them!"
    "I do," Worf said. "They would not act so dishonor-
ably."
    "There you go with that 'honor' noise again," K'Sah
grumbled. "What makes you think humans have honor?
What is honor, anyway?"
    "At the moment," Worf grated, "honor is all that
keeps you alive."
    The Pa'uyk made a rude noise. "What good is staying
alive if the humans are going to wipe us all out, Klingon?
What makes you think you can trust them?"
    "I know them," Worf said. "I was raised by them.
Cease these insults now/"
    "And they say Tellarites are touchy," K'Sah muttered,
backing away from Worf. "Whatever happened to good
old Klingon suspicion?"
    Worf bared his teeth and growled. K'Sah kept backing
away. The door opened behind him and he backed out of
the room. The door seemed to snap shut at Worf's final
growl.

    The woman who entered Picard's ready room seemed
in full possession of herself. "Dr. Crusher said you
wanted to see me, sir," Astrid said.
    Picard nodded. "Please sit down, Doctor. Are you
aware of your legal position?"
    "Yes, sir," she said. "Falsifying personal information
is a crime."
 "If you've falsified anything," Picard said.
    "I was born on Hera, not Zerkalo," she said. "And I
didn't tell anyone I'm genetically engineered. Add my
lying to the fact that I've been working in classified areas,
and that I'm not a Federation citizen, and you have
excellent cause for suspicion."
    "Quite," Picard said. "There will be an investigation,
of course, and you are hereby restricted from access to
the ship's computer and all areas normally off-limits to
civilians. I hope this will be only a temporary inconven-
ience. For the present I have a larger problem to face.
What information can you give me about Hera?"
 "Not much, sir," she said. "There's what I remember,
and the things my parents told me. The trouble is,
everything is eighteen years out of date."
    "That could still be informative," Picard said. 'Tm
calling a meeting of my senior officers at thirteen hun-
dred hours tomorrow. Would you share your knowledge
with usT'
 "Yes, sir."
    "Very well," Picard said. "I want you to know that I
appreciate your actions in this matter, both in stopping
the Herans and in revealing yourselfi That can't have
been easy. You must be apprehensive about the conse-
quences."
    "I am," Astrid said, and hesitated. "But... it's a
relief, in a way. We've got this saying back home, that
after your house burns down you don't have to worry
about the roof falling in. I've always been scared that
people would find out what I am, but now I can stop
waiting for the worst to happen."
    "With any luck there will be no 'worst,'" Picard said.
"Your actions persuade me that you are not a Heran
agent. Mr. Worf's investigations of your activities on this
ship absolve you of any involvement with Blaisdell or
Dunbar. Now, if I know Dr. Crusher, she's put you
through every test in the medical inventory in the past
few hours."
    "No, she hasn't," Astrid said. "Dr. Crusher didn't
conduct any mental tests. She may have missed some-
thing important. My parents always told me we were
designed for high intelligence," she added.
    'TII mention this to Dr. Crusher," Picard said. He
pushed his chair back from his desk, bringing the inter-
view to an end. "You must be looking forward to a rest."
 "Yes, sir." Astrid got up and left.
    ! did not handle that well, Picard thought. He knew
Astrid needed more reassurance than he had given her,
although it was hard to judge what she felt. Astrid
masked her feelings well, and even her admission about
being scared had a conversational quality. Picard found
himself comparing her to Simol~ Tarses, who had seemed
so forlorn and hapless when he was exposed as part
Romulan. He found it hard to accept her detachment.
No doubt her calm was a product of her genetically
engineered nature, but it seemed arrogant, as though
anything mere humans could do to her was trivial.
    That's the plague thinking, Picard told himself. He
realized he was upset by what had happened to him, and
hewould have to guard against its effects on his thinking.
    The situation was bad enough. The human comple-
ment of the crew was disturbed by what had been done
to them, and Deanna Troi was already hard at work
helping them cope. The plague's victims had been hit
hard. Any children they had would be... changed,
Picard thought. Not fully their children, in a sense. The
physical changes were trivial, and might be seen as
beneficial--but what of the mental changes? How would
these children act when they grew up? Would they
become power hungry creatures like Khan Singh, or
would something in them make them subservient to any
would-be tyrant?
    There was no way to know. The future seemed fraught
with menace.

Chapter Nine

THERE WAS ONE SILVER LINING to the crisis, Geordi
thought: It would let him hang on to the Temenus a while
longer. Enterprise had a brilliant design, of course, but
the things he'd seen aboard the Heran courier had
already suggested several improvements in the systems.
He wasn't sure yet, but he believed he might find a way
to boost the Enterprise's top speed by at least halfa warp
factor. Geordi couldn't wait for the chance to start
tinkering.
    Studying the Temenus wasn't easy. "I could swear this
warp damper is pure iron," Geordi told Reg Barclay as
he scanned part of the drive. "And I don't see how it can
work with just one element in it."
"It m-must be the crystal structure," Barclay said.
"It can't be that," Geordi said. "Iron crystal structures
are pretty well known, and none of them are suitable for
warp damping."
    "M-maybe the Herans found a new structure," he
said. Suddenly his words poured out in a torrent. "Or, or
a new way to grow crystalline structures? What if they
 assembled different crystal forms, one over the other?
 The layer interactions could give the overall structure an
 enhanced damping ability."
    "Could be," Geordi said. He adjusted his tricorder
and took a new reading. "I'm picking up some major
quantum amplitude changes, but I can't get a good
enough reading on a tricorder. Let's take this back to
Engineering and see what we can find." Geordi started to
detach the damper from the warp drive's housing.
    "If you don't mind I want to stay here," Barclay said.
"I want to, to take another look at the nav sensors."
    "Sure." Geordi smiled despite himself. Barclay was a
bundle of apprehensions. "Still nervous about riding the
transporter?"
    "No, I'm over that," Barclay said. "It's just, just that
going back to the ship, the plague and everything--"
    "We've got the virus cleaned out of everything,"
Geordi said.
    "It isn't the plague that scares me," Barclay said. "It's
just that, it, it's--" He squeezed his eyes shut as though
concentrating on how to force the words out. "It's the
crew. People act different. Wrong. Like the plague did
something to their minds and they didn't notice. And it
isn't just the people who had the plague, it's everybody.
Being on the ship is like spending a night in a haunted
house, all day long."
    "I hadn't noticed," Geordi said. "I guess I've been too
busy being scared myself."
 That clearly startled Barclay. "Scared? You?"
    Geordi nodded. "Yeah, me." He unconsciously fin-
gered his VISOR. "Dunbar made no bones about hating
people like me, even when I was fixing his ship. When
you mix arrogance like that with the sort of intelligence
the Herans have, and their technology--" He shivered
despite himself. "It gives me a bad feeling, like some-
body painted a phaser target on my back."
    "Well, the, the Herans won't be a problem anymore,"
Barclay said. "I mean, we've got a handle on the situa-
tion, the plague I mean, and what can they do against
Starfleet? They, they tried something foolish, but they're
going to have to come to their senses now."
    Geordi sighed. It was a hell of a thing, he thought,
when Reg Barclay was less uptight than you were. "I
guess we've both got our fears," he said, and discon-
nected the damper. 'Tll take this back to Engineering
myself."
    Geordi signaled the Enterprise and was beamed into a
transporter room. He nodded to the transporter techni-
cian on his way out. The woman seemed only half-aware
of his presence, as if she were a zombie going through the
motions of her job. As Geordi stepped into the corridor
he remembered what Barclay had said about haunted
houses.
 "Geordi?"
    Geordi froze at the sound of Astrid's voice. He wanted
to ignore her, but he was an officer and Starfleet de-
manded a certain sense of propriety. He turned around
and looked at her. "What is it?" he asked, his voice
rougher than he had intended.
    She walked up to him. "I hear you're working on the
Temenus. I'm not busy. Maybe I can help."
    "I don't need any help," Geordi said. The last thing he
wanted was a Heran hovering around him.
    "You could use me," she said. "That ship was de-
signed for use by Herans. You may have missed some
things."
    "I haven't," Geordi said. "I know what I'm doing,
Doctor." He turned away and headed for the nearest
turbolift.
    Astrid followed him. "Have you found the weapons
yet?"
    "There aren't any." Anger made his throat tighten.
Anger--and fear, he admitted. He was the sort of person
the Herans would eliminate in their conquest. An omi-
nous phrase from ancient mythology floated into his
mind: You have been weighed and found wanting.
    "There are weapons," she insisted. "They're hidden as
something else, but they are there. I'd check the shield
systems first."
    "You would? Fine," Geordi said. "You check them.
Engineering," he said as he stepped into the turbolift.
The door slid shut on her.
    Geordi waited for his anger to subside while the lift
slid toward Engineering. He couldn't believe her gall.
First she had pretended she was human, and now she
was acting like nothing had happened. He had every
right to be angry.
 So why did he feel like such a heel?

    Enterprise was twenty hours away from Starbase 171
when Worf noted activity in the long-range sensors.
"Picking up a ship," he announced to the bridge crew.
"Bearing zero-three-eight, mark zero two, approaching
at warp factor eight. Configuration--it is an Aeolus-class
scout. It will rendezvous in ten minutes."  "Hail them," Riker ordered.
    "Belay that," Picard said, standing up. A ship on that
bearing must have come from Starbase 171. He felt no
surprise that Admiral Trask had jumped the gun. "Num-
ber One, you have the bridge. I'll be in transporter room
three."
    Picard left the bridge for transporter room three.
When he entered the room he found it occupied by a
transporter technician and Astrid Kemal, who stood by
the platform with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
The transporter technician was studiously ignoring her.
"Dr. Kemal?" Picard asked. "Where are you going?"
    "I just got a message from the Marconi," she said.
"I'm under arrest."
    "No, you are not," Picard said. "This arrest has no
legal basis."
    "That won't stop them," she said. "There's nothing I
can do."
    For all her calm demeanor Picard heard the despair
behind her words. He had known that brand of hopeless-
ness while a prisoner of the Cardassians, and it roused
his sense of--not anger, but of combativeness. "Doctor,
you must not surrender to an injustice," Picard said in a
quiet, insistent voice. "You will survive only by standing
up for your rights... and by knowing that you are not
alone."
    For a moment she seemed at a loss for words. "Thank
you," she said at last.
    Picard nodded as the intercom signaled. "Captain,
we've just rendezvoused with the Marconi," Riker's
voice said. "There's a message for you."
    "Down here, Number One," Picard said. He smiled
grimly. "Admiral Trask, this is Captain Picard."
    "You don't sound surprised to hear me," Trask's voice
answered.
    'Tve been expecting you, sir," Picard answered. That
was a slight exaggeration, he reflected, but one that
might keep the admiral off-balance.
"I see," Trask said. "Do you have what I ordered?"
"Have your transporter room stand by," Picard said.
He looked to the technician. "Beam Captain Blaisdell
from his cell to the Marconi's brig."
    "Aye, sir." The technician worked her control console.
Blaisdell appeared briefly on the transporter pad, but he
did not fully materialize before he vanished.
    Trask spoke again after a few seconds. "Where's the
other prisoner?" he demanded.
    "There is no other prisoner, sir," Picard said. "Admi-
ral, may I beam over and explain the situation?"
    "No Captain, you may not," Trask said. "I'm going
over there."
    "Yes, sir," Picard said. "Picard to bridge. Number
One, Admiral Trask is transporting over. Raise the
shields after he arrives, and do not lower them except on
my order."
  "Yes, sir," Riker answered.
    A few seconds later the admiral materialized on the
transporter stage. "Welcome aboard, Admiral," Picard
said, holding the irony from his voice.
    Trask ignored him and looked at Astrid. "Dr. Kemal?
You're under arrest. Come with me."
    Picard held up a hand, stopping her. "On what
charge--"
    "Let's skip the dancing, Picard," Trask said. He
touched his corem badge. "Mr. Chen, lock on and beam
us over."
    Nothing happened, and Picard cleared his throat.
"Our shields are up. Admiral, I suggest we discuss this in
private."
    Trask's lips had compressed into a thin, angry line.
"Very well," he said. "We'll use your ready room--while
it still is your ready room, Captain."
    "Certainly." Picard turned to Astrid. "If you'll excuse
us, Doctor?"
    Picard and Trask left the transporter room. They
walked past several people on their way to the turbolift,
all of whom shied away from the senior officers as though
they were carrying a new plague. Picard wondered if his
own anger was as obvious as Trask's. He forced his
feelings down, burying them in his professionalism.
    Trask turned on Picard as soon as the ready-room
door had slid shut behind them. "Are you bucking for a
court-martial, Picard?"
    "No, Admiral." Picard waited until the admiral had
taken a seat before he sat down behind his desk. "I might
ask you the same question. You have no legal grounds on
which to arrest Dr. Kemal. Certainly Starfleet lacks the
authority for an arbitrary arrest."
 "I have my own authority," Trask said.
    Picard nodded. "In that case you could be charged
with false arrest, as well as with ordering a subordinate
officer to participate in a felony. Those charges are
themselves legal grounds for an arrest."
    The admiral stared at Picard. "I honestly think you'd
arrest me," he said slowly.
    "I would, Admiral," Picard said. "But there's no cause
for either of us to go to extremes. If all you require from
Dr. Kemal is information, you'll find she's willing to
answer your questions."
    Trask glowered at Picard. "You don't understand the
situation. We can't allow a possible enemy agent to run
loose--"
    "So you propose to arrest her without a proper charge
and hold her indefinitely without a trial." Picard settled
back in his seat. "Admiral, the Federation is not a
twentieth-century police state. We cannot suspend our
principles for vague reasons of 'national security' or 'law
and order.'"
 "Don't lecture me!" Trask snapped.
"I'm merely stating my position," Picard said.
"You're also verging on insubordination." The admi-
ral drummed his fingers on Picard's desktop. "Kemal's a
known liar. Can I trust her to tell the truth now?"
    "Yes, sir," Picard said. "She was lying to protect
herself, not to aid Hera."
 "And you trust her," Trask said. "Why?"
    "I've no reason to distrust her," Picard said. "She's
been cooperative, and I cannot convince myself that her
actions are anything but those of an honest, if frightened,
individual."
    "Maybe," Trask said grudgingly. "I won't arrest her--
now. Maybe she'll slip up and reveal something, if she
thinks we trust her. But if she steps out of line by a
micron I'll have her in the brig."
    The intercom signaled before Picard could respond.
"Bridge to captain," Worf said. "We have a message for
Admiral Trask."
    "In here, Mr. Worf." Picard turned his computer
screen to face the admiral, then stood up. "If you'll
excuse me, Admiral?"
    "Stick around." He gestured for Picard to stand
behind his chair, then touched the screen's activator.
"Trask here."
    Vice President Chandra appeared on the screen. "Ad-
miral Trask," the Federation's second-in-command said
in a neutral voice. The dark, delicate old woman wore a
sari, and she spent a moment adjusting it, as if to
impress the admiral with his relative unimportance.
"You were due to report a half hour ago."
    "My apologies, Mrs. Vice President," Trask said.
"We've just rendezvoused with the Enterprise and taken
Blaisdell into custody. We'll interrogate him at Starbase
One-Seven-One."
  "What about the other Heran?" she asked.
"Sir, I don't believe it's necessary to arrest her--"
"You don't?" Chandra demanded. "Admiral, ques-
tions are already being asked about your competence.
Your intelligence service has let us down--again. Can
you prove that Kemal isn't a Heran agent? Are you going
to compound your errors?"
    Trask appeared to count to ten before he replied.
"Mrs. Vice President, it is my judgment that it would be
an error to arrest Kemal just now. She's more useful
where she is."
"And you think she can be trusted?" Chandra asked.
"No," Trask said, "but Kemat is the one who exposed
the Heran actions, and I don't know how cooperative
she'd be in the brig. Besides," he added shrewdly, "she
isn't going anywhere."
"So be it," Chandra said curtly. Her image vanished.
Picard let his breath out. He was impressed by the
admiral's ability to make a quick decision--and by what
he had seen. It was past time to apply some diplomatic
tact to the situation. "I wasn't aware that you were under
such intense pressure, Admiral."
    "It goes with the job, Captain." Trask leaned back in
his seat and closed his eyes for a moment, as though
consulting some inner oracle. When he opened his eyes
again he looked straight at Picard. "I've managed to get
us off on the wrong foot."
    "I've been somewhat less than diplomatic myself,
Admiral," Picard said. "But we share the same
problem--the well-being of the Federation."
    "That we do," Trask said, and sat up in his chair. "Do
you play chess?"
 "Not very often," Picard said.
    "I'm a grand master," Trask said. "In fact, I was
getting ready to leave for the Moscow Tournament when
this crisis brewed up. The chance to beat T'Chel of
Vulcan again--well, I'll get her next year. Chess is a very
good game for an intelligence agent, especially one who
runs an intelligence bureau."
    Picard nodded. "I can see how the game would teach
one to develop his strategies."
    "And to keep his options open," Trask said. "I forgot
that when I tried to arrest Kemal. You were right to stop
me; aside from violating her rights, it might have cost us
the chance to learn something about Hera--if she's one
of their agents."
 "'If,'" Picard repeated.
    "I hope she isn't," Trask said. "But she might be an
agent with a very effective cover. Or, even if she's
innocent, Hera might have maneuvered her into this
position as a diversion. It wouldn't be the first time some
spymaster sacrificed an innocent pawn."
    Picard nodded in agreement and wondered what piece
he represented on Trask's personal chessboard, and what
position he occupied.

    The capsule had stopped at a maintenance station.
Maria had followed Selig Thorn and his nephew Dallas
up an access ladder, to emerge in the heart of a pine
forest. The irregular placement of the trees and the
mixed nature of the secondary vegetation suggested this
was a natural forest, seeded by the first settlers centuries
ago and left to run wild. That told Maria she was in the
Dryad Hills forest. She had ridden the capsule for less
than thirty minutes, and the only other woodlands that
close to the Modality complex were industrial forests,
where robot-tended trees grew in geometrical rows.
 Knowing where she was did not put Marla at ease. The
Dryad Mountains were a popular vacation area, and this
was no time to be spotted by a patriotic camper. "Where
are we going?" she asked Selig as they walked away from
the station. Her whisper seemed abnormally loud in the
cold, damp air.
    "To my home," Selig said, and pointed up the slope.
"It's on the other side of this hill, in Tethys. There's no
trail, so we aren't likely to run into anyone."
    "Let's move," Dallas said uneasily. "I don't want to
wait around and find out if they're following us."
    The walk over the hill was long and slow. Marla did
not like walking by starlight; the light was not bright
enough to let her see clearly, and she had to be careful of
every step on the uneven ground. Once she thought she
heard breathing in the distance, and she spent a bad
moment before she realized it was only the sound of her
own breath echoing off a rock ledge. The sound faded as
she and the others drew away from the granite block.
    It was still night when they entered Tethys. Several
early risers were up and about, but no one seemed to
notice the new arrivals walking down the main street.
"Don't worry," Selig told Maria in a quiet voice. He had
guessed at her nervousness, if he did not share it. "No
one will report you. The Modality may have power, but
it has no authority here." "1 see," Marla said.
    "No, you don't," he said in sympathy. "Not yet,
Unless you know why we rescued you."
    "I don't," she admitted. "You can't be that desperate
for recruits."
    Selig chuckled. "We're not. We have tens of thousands
of people who want to change the government; we no
longer need numbers. We're doing this for the same
reason you sabotaged the Temenus."
    Marla thought that over as she followed Selig and
Dallas into a domed house. After the night's damp chill
it was good to enter a warm and welMit building. A
tawny cat greeted them as they came in, rubbing against
Selig's lower legs and purring loudly. "Koshka, this is
Marla," Selig told the animal. "She'll be staying with us
for a while."
    Marla knelt down and stroked the cat as it greeted her.
She felt its presence in her mind as it probed her and
decided she was a friend. After a moment the animal
followed Dallas out of the room, and Marla sat down
while Dallas fed the cat. "You said you rescued me for
the same reason Lee and I attacked the Temenus," Marla
said to Selig. "I don't see the connection."
    Selig produced glasses of mulled wine from the repli-
cator. He gave one to her and sat facing her. "Why did
you and Lee try to stop Unity?"
    "Well..." Marla shrugged helplessly and drank some
of the heated wine. Its warmth felt good. "Somebody
had to."
    "But why you?" Selig persisted. "You took a great
risk."
    Maria nodded. "It didn't look like anyone else could
stop Unity," she said. "And... look, we had a chance to
stop it, and we couldn't just stand aside. That..."
Marla shook her head. The explanation seemed as
obvious as gravity, and as hard to define. "That would
have been wrong."
    "That's why we got you out of jail," Dallas said from
the next room. "We knew you were there, we knew
Central Security planned to execute you, and we knew
how to get you out. Not doing this would have been
wrong."
    "We think that's why Central let us know they had
you," Selig said. "They must have hoped to catch us
when we made our move."
    "Bait in a trap," Maria said. "I wondered why they
kept me alive. But how do you know I'm not their
agent?"
    "We don't," Selig said. "But sometimes you have to
take a chance."
    Maria nodded slowly; Lee had understood that.
"Thank you for getting me out of there."
"You're welcome," Selig said. He finished his wine.
His cat padded into the room, licking its lips as it rubbed
back and forth against his leg. When Selig scratched it
between the ears it sat down and thumped its tail against
the floor. "You'll have to lay low; we can't have Central
picking you up again. Dallas is our sensor expert. He'll
tell you how to duck the surveillance 'bots, after you've
had breakfast and a good morning's sleep. And Koshka
is our empathic expertmwhich is another reason I trust
you. He's quite good at spotting hostile people." The
cat's purr deepened at the praise.
    "I see." She felt weary, both physically and mentally.
Even so there was a matter which could not wait. "What
do I have to do to join your organization?"
    "You joined when you decided to sabotage the
Temenus," Selig said. "Rest now. You can make your
decisions later."

Chapter Ten

DEANNA TROI AUTOMATICALLY took the measure of the
command staff's feelings as they entered the conference
room and took their seats. Geordi seemed worse than
unhappy. Worf's anger still smoldered. Beverly Crusher
was merely harried, and Data, as unreadable as ever.
Will Riker was concentrating on the present; perhaps
that was the only way he could avoid sinking into
despair. The captain and Admiral Trask entered togeth-
er, and sat down at the head of the table. Deanna sensed
a professional alertness from the admiral, a sensation
that gave her the impression of a master chess player
contemplating a difficult game.
    Astrid Kemal entered the room last. Deanna found it
difficult to gauge her emotions. She felt frightened,
ashamed and depressed, but each time those emotions
intensified something happened to moderate them. Bev-
erly Crusher had mentioned some oddities in Astrid's
neural structure, and now it was obvious that the doctor
had underestimated their importance.
 "Our first order of business is to understand the
Herans," Picard began. "Dr. Kemal has volunteered to
enlighten us on Heran history. Doctor?"
  "Why are you doing this?" Riker asked.
    Astrid faced him. "I'm a citizen of Zerkalo. The
Herans are a threat to my world--"
    "Only to its human population," Riker said. Deanna
sensed how his professionalism struggled to control his
anger. "You've been less than honest with us before.
Why should we trust you now?"
    Astrid hesitated. "Commander, why don't you hear
what I have to say, and then decide if I'm sincere?"
    "I'm willing to accept your words at face value,"
Picard told her. "If you'll begin, Dr. Kemal?"
    "Yes, sir." She folded her hands and placed them on
the conference table. "First of all, everything in the
computer is true, as far as it goes. The first colonists
landed in 2073, and they were unmodified humans.
They believed in eugenics, and before they left Earth
they screened themselves for genetic damage--"
    "That must have limited their numbers," Crusher
said.
    "It did," Astrid said. Deanna was surprised by the
sudden rise in Astrid's fear, although she gave no out-
ward sign of it. "There were lots of mutations from both
pollutants and fallout from the Eugenics Wars, and they
needed several years to find enough suitable people.
The first colonists only numbered two thousand, but-
they calculated that was enough to create a stable gene
pool--"
    "It wasn't," Crusher said. "They'd have had severe
inbreeding and genetic drift after a few generations. And
I doubt they weeded out all of the mutations. Twenty-
first century medical technology wasn't sophisticated
enough for that."
    "They didn't know that," Astrid said. Her fear had
grown so strong that it made Deanna uncomfortable,
and this time it did not fade out. Deanna realized that
Astrid felt threatened by the doctor... physically
threatened. "The original colonists had this mystical
belief that they were creating the conditions in which a
superior race could evolve. They thought that a pristine
gene pool and an unpolluted environment would allow
the forces of evolution to work unimpeded--"
    "Evolution doesn't work that way," Crusher said
impatiently. "It's a blind process of adaptation, not a
directed force."
    "I said this was a mystical belief." Astrid faced Picard
as though trying to ignore the doctor. Deanna sensed
how Astrid felt trapped in the conference room. "After
two centuries, inbreeding and latent mutations had
caught up with them. The average life span dropped to
forty years, most pregnancies miscarried, and half the
population carried one or more lethal genetic diseases. A
century ago the colonists admitted they were doing
something wrong and began a crash effort to develop
genetic engineering. They succeeded and were able to
cure their health problems.
    "Ideas change over time, and by now the founders'
dogmas had turned into a concept of manifest destiny,"
Astrid continued. "Even though their doctrines had
failed, the old humans still believed they could become a
superior race. Genetic engineering gave them the tools to
accomplish this, and even before they had cured all their
diseases they began to design an improved human being.
The originators--the genetic engineers who directed the
project--planned to stick to the basic human type while
pushing its limits as far as possible."
    "That's reasonable," Deanna said. "Everyone wants
their children to be as much like them as possible."
    "That also makes it harder to tell Herans from human
beings," Riker said. "That's the perfect disguise for an
enemy agent--or a weapon."
    "I agree," Astrid said. "And we were designed to be
weapons." Deanna sensed how that statement troubled
Astrid more than admitting she had lied. Her knuckles
had turned white as she clenched her hands together
atop the conference table.
    Admiral Trask cleared his throat. "We were discussing
Hera," he said. Deanna sensed that he was suspicious of
Astrid, as befitted an intelligence agent, but the sharp-
ness of his voice was a deliberate ploy. He hoped to goad
the suspected Heran spy into revealing something.
"Kemal, we know there was some sort of crisis there
about twenty years ago."
    "I'll get to that, Admiral," Astrid said. "The geneti-
cists made a final design, encoded all of the changes into
a virus, and unleashed it. This was some seventy years
ago. After 2300 every child born on Hera was like me.
But the virus was crude and it had an unexpected side
effect. The old humans who were exposed to it found
their health was suffering. The virus had changed the
DNA in every cell nucleus in their bodies, and that
degradation accelerated the aging process." 
"Are we at risk?" Riker asked Crusher.
    "I'll set up some tests," Crusher said, "but I don't
think so. We've undergone a more limited transforma-
tion here."
    "Maybe," Riker said. "'Old humans.' Is that supposed
to be polite?"
    "Yes, sir," Astrid said. "There's this term, 'primaIs,'
that means--"
"I can guess," Riker said curtly. "Crude. Barbaric."
Deanna decided to get the conversation back on
course. "Dying young and ill must have devastated your
ancestors," she said.
    "It had that effect on some of them, Counselor,"
Astrid said, "but it made the others more fanatical. They
wanted to see Hera fulfill its 'destiny' in their lifetimes.
The Modalitymthe Heran government--started push-
ing for a war of conquest against humanity.
    "That provoked the crisis. The old humans had indoc-
trinated their children with a belief in manifest destiny
and Heran superiority. Some of the children grew up
believing that, but others had their own ideas. My
parents told me that three factions that opposed con-
quest sprang up, for different reasons."
    "What were their reasons?" Deanna asked, sensing
that Astrid felt reluctant to talk. She was not keeping a
secret, however; her hesitation made Deanna think of a
Victorian matron trying to discuss a gross indelicacy. "I
can sense that they aren't your opinions." Astrid still hesitated. "Well..."
    "Talk," Trask snapped, clearly thinking she might be
hiding a secret. "And don't tell us that it's too compli-
cated for mere primaIs to understand."
    "All right." Astrid's face darkened in embarrassment.
"Some people saw no reason to attack anyone who
hadn't harmed them, but they were a minority. A second
group held that a war of conquest would be suicidal;
Hera didn't have the means to win. And the third faction
... the majority... said that old humans weren't worth
conquering."
    Only Astrid's embarrassment kept Deanna from
laughing. She was half human herself and she might have
taken offense, but this casual dismissal of the human
race was too deliciously funny. The shock that radiated
around the conference table only made it funnier. Only
the captain seemed to take her comment with any
humor. There was a faint smile on his lips, the first
Deanna had seen since the plague broke out.
    Worf recovered first. "We Klingons thought humans
were worth conquering," he said.
    "Thank you, Mr. Worf," Picard said, while Deanna
fought down a new urge to laugh. Picard's smile was no
longer quite so faint. "It's good to know that somebody
still appreciates us. Doctor, I gather that the pro-war
faction lost out in the crisis."
    "Eventually they did," Astrid said. "The few remain-
ing old humans tried to put them in power, but there
weren't enough fanatics to keep them on top. In the end
they ordered an invasion of the Federation's colonies
near the Neutral Zone, but that backfired before it even
got going and started a civil war. That's when my parents
ran off; they didn't want to get caught in the crossfire.
They--"
    "Is this relevant?" Trask asked. "If it isn't, we need to
stick to more immediate concerns. I need to find out if
you Herans have any more surprises in store for us."
    "Count on it," Geordi said. Deanna sensed that
Astrid's presence evoked a sense of shame in the engi-
neer, and he could not look at her. "The Temenus is
unarmed, but it isn't defenseless. Its shields are as good
as ours, and they've got a structure which lets them
reflect a phaser beam back at its source. Plus, there's a
modulated interference effect which interacts with a
tractor beam to neutralize its pull."
  "These are mere defensive weapons," Worf rumbled.
    "And they make me wonder how much effort the
Herans have put into offensive weapons," Geordi said.
    Astrid nodded. "Hera has been fighting various aliens
for over a century, as well as old-human pirates. To
survive, their tactics and weapons have to be excel-
lent--"
    "That's obvious," Trask said. "I'd like to discuss this
with your tactical staff, Pieard--without a Heran pres-
ent." He gave Astrid a pointed look.
    Astrid stood up and left the conference room. The
admiral looked at Geordi and cleared his throat.
"There's something you didn't want to say in front of
Kemal, isn't there?"
    Geordi nodded. "I've been all over that ship," he said.
"Temenus is better than anything we have."
    "And that disturbs you," Deanna said. She didn't
need her empathic sense to realize that.
    "It intimidates me," Geordi answered. "From what
I've seen on the Temenus, I'd say that technologically the
Herans are fifty to a hundred years ahead of us. Fighting
them could put us in the same position as the Aztecs,
They outnumbered the Spanish conquistadores a thou-
sand to one, but their bows and arrows couldn't defeat
men with guns, horses and armor."
"They can't be that far ahead of us," Riker said.
"They are," Geordi said flatly. "The design of that
ship is more than a work of genius; it's the end product
of a very sophisticated technology. And when I think
about how easily Blaisdell and Dunbar learned to use
our engineering equipment, and subvert our computer
system--well, I wonder if we can even begin to under-
stand how advanced they are."
    Picard nodded. "When I spoke with Dr. Kemal yester-
day she raised the matter of Heran intelligence, and
suggested that Dr. Crusher conduct a full intelligence
test on her."
 'Tll arrange that," Crusher said.
 "I'd like you to wait a few days," Deanna said.
    "We can't afford a delay," Trask said. He paused,
cleared his throat again and went on, "Understanding
the enemy's mental abilities is vital. Doctor, run those
tests now."
    "I won't allow that," Deanna said. "Astrid is in no
condition to undergo any tests and yes, Admiral, I have
the authority to veto any testing," she added, sensing his
objection.
    "What is the problem, Counselor?" Picard asked. "Dr.
Kemal seems to be taking events quite well."
    "'Well'?" Riker echoed. "She looks like the cat that
ate the canary."
    "Maybe so," Deanna said. "But despite appearances
she's upset and frightened. What's more, she's absolutely
terrified of you, Beverly."
    "I find that hard to believe," Crusher said, although
the comment disturbed her. For all her anger over the
plague, Deanna knew that the doctor felt no need to hurt
Astrid. There was nothing vengeful in her. "Her design-
ers made some significant changes in her brain. One
thing they gave her is a--well, call it a neural circuit
which deflects and neutralizes certain strong emotional
impulses."
    "That 'circuit' can be overloaded," Deanna said.
"Every time you spoke to her I thought her heart would
stop. It isn't a rational fear; it's as though you embody
some childhood bogeyman. Add that to everything else
that has happened, and I'm certain Astrid is close to her
breaking point."
    "All right, Counselor," Trask said in a rough voice.
"Calm her down and do it fast. We still need her
cooperation."
  "Do we?" Riker asked. "Can we trust her?"
    "She's driven by a very powerful sense of guilt,"
Deanna said. "She's trying to make amends for lying to
us. That's why she's answered our questions as truthfully
as possible, even when she felt ashamed of what she
said."
    "That still doesn't tell me if we can trust her," Trask
said. "There are too many unknowns... in... her--"
Trask stopped and was suddenly wracked by coughs.
    Deanna sensed Crusher's alarm. The doctor rose from
her seat, went to the admiral and ran a medical tricorder
over him. "My God," she said in flat disbelief. "Admi-
ral, you've got the plague. Transporter room, medical
emergency, two to beam to sickbay." They vanished.
    Deanna gaped at the space where the two people had
been. "I thought the ship was clean," she said.
    "It is," Geordi said in bewilderment. "I supervised the
decontamination myself. I know we didn't miss any-
thing."
    "Then there is a second source of contamination,"
Data said.
    "But where?" Deanna asked. Baffled looks were her
only answer.

 "Will, wait."
    Riker had left the conference room alone after the
meeting broke up. He walked quickly, as if trying to
outrun an impending disaster, and now Deanna hurried
to catch up with him. He thought she looked unhappy.
"We need to talk," she told him. "About what?" Riker asked.
    "About what this plague is doing to you," she said. "I
don't have much time before my next appointment, but
I'll cancel it for you."
    With a sigh he stopped his quick walk and faced her.
"There's not much to say, Deanna. I'm angry. The
Herans are using me as breeding stock, to perpetuate
their own species, and I feel--I don't know. Used.
Maybe I'll get over it in time..."
      "Not if you don't talk about it," Deanna said. "What
role do you think Astrid has played in all this?" 
 He shrugged. "I haven't thought about that."
    "I know, Will," Deanna said. "And if you haven't
thought about that, then why do you feel such animosity
toward her?"
    Riker began to protest, then checked himself. "I'm
uncomfortable with what she is," he said. "You heard
her. She thinks she's superior to everyone else, that she
has the right to inherit the galaxy. She thinks this plague
is the best thing that could happen to us prirnals."
    "Is that what she thinks?" Deanna raised an eyebrow
in aristocratic surprise. "Why, Will Riker, I had no idea
you were a telepath."
    Her teasing irritated him. "You wanted to know what I
think, didn't you?"
    "And now you know what you think," she responded.
"That isn't like you."
  "This is realism, Deanna," he said.
    "No, realism is what I sense in her, and what you trust
in me." Deanna looked up at him. "Will, at times I think
we're like two planets in orbit around one another.
Sometimes we move apart and sometimes we move
closer together. Now it's as though you're in an escape
orbit. You're moving in a direction that will take you
away from me forever."
  "What do you want from me?" he asked.
    "Get to know Astrid," Deanna said. "Talk to her for a
while. Otherwise you'll never get over this; you'll just
make it a part of you."
  Riker sighed. "I never could say no to you."
    "And don't think I wouldn't take advantage of that."
Deanna smiled at him, then walked away.
    Riker stood in the corridor for a long moment, then
asked the computer for Astrid's location. The response
sent him to Ten-Forward. The lounge was full, and he
saw Astrid standing at the bar. Despite the crowd there
was an empty space on either side of her; people were
avoidin.g her. Guinan was handing Astrid a glass of
orange jmce when Riker stepped up to the bar next to
her. Guinan nodded to Riker. "What'11 it be?" she asked.
    "The usual." Riker looked at Astrid. "What brings you
here?"
  Astrid shrugged. "This is a good place to be."
    "To see how the "old humans" act?" Riker asked as
Guinan filled a glass in front of him.
    Astrid shook her head. "I'm just tired of lying and
hiding. Besides, maybe they should see how the enemy
acts."
"I thought you claim to be on our side," Riker said.
"Maybe I don't know which side I'm on," Astrid said.
She looked at him. "Never mind what I say. Do I act like
I'm on your side? If I did, Worf wouldn't have nearly
died, and maybe this plague wouldn't have happened,"
  Riker felt puzzled. "What are you trying to say?"
  "That only a damned fool would trust me."
    "Riker, you shouldn't try to meet women in bars,"
Guinan said easily. "You don't have the knack. Here."
She had been mixing a drink while they spoke. Now she
pushed the glass in front of Astrid and took away her
orange juice.
 Astrid looked uncertain. "I don't drink, Guinan."
    "I know, and I think I know why," the hostess said.
"You've been afraid that you would relax too much and
tell people about yourself. It's a bit late to worry about
that, isn't it?"
    Astrid regarded the drink with obvious ambivalence.
It was large, and Riker estimated it held a liter of fluid.
"If I lose control--" she began.
    "Don't worry," Guinan said. "I had a drunk in here
the other day who was a lot nastier than you could ever
be, and I handled him without any trouble."
    "Well..." Astrid shrugged, picked up the drink and
sipped it. "Nice," she said. "What's it called?"
 "It's a roofraiser," Guinan said. "Hurry up; if you
don't drink it within a few minutes of mixing it, it loses
its flavor."
 "Okay." Astrid started drinking in earnest.
    Riker sipped his drink. "Who was the drunk?" he
asked Guinan.
    Guinan smiled. "K'Sah. He tried picking a fight before
I pulled my pulse-rifle on him. Then he was a good little
spider."
    "That sounds like K'Sah," Riker said. He'd heard
Worf grumble about the exchange officer, and a few other
people had passed on some unlikely stories about his
lack of manners. "Guinan, is it just me, or does everyone
have a problem with K'Sah?" he asked.
    "I don't know," Guinan said. "Here's the funny thing,
Riker. I think he liked being held at gunpoint. Either it
was a great act, or he's crazy."
    "It's neither," Astrid said. Half of her drink had
vanished. She blinked hard, several times, as though she
and her eyes had a difference of opinion over focusing. "I
heard a bit about Pa'uyk. Nastiness is their version of
good manners. You know, like the way we think
Klingons act rude? The poor guy thinks all our smiling
and politeness is a trick, like all that stumbling I did."
"That was an act?" Riker asked. It didn't surprise him.
Astrid nodded. "My folks told me it would help keep
you old humans from getting suspicious. Whoever heard
of a monster tripping over her own feet? I mean, can you
imagine Khan Singh taking a pratfall?"
    "No," Riker said. He remembered a picture of Khan
Singh in a history book, and he had to smile at the image
of the proud, cruel-faced man sprawling on the floor. But
the smile faded at once. He was not going to let her
manipulate him, even though, dammit, there was some-
thing about her that made him want to like and trust her.
     Guinan picked up the conversation as Riker sipped his
 drink. "I guess you really were scared of people finding
 out about you."
     Astrid nodded. "When I was a kid Mom and Dad
 always said if anyone found out I'd be lucky if they only
 killed me. Told me the old humans would put me in a
 zoo or carve me up in a lab." She laughed nervously.
 "Were wrong. Yesterday I walked out of that lab."
     "Why would they tell you things like that?" Riker
 asked. "We don't use people as lab animals."
     Astrid looked him over. "Where were you when I was
 five?" she asked at last.
     Riker didn't want to think about the implications of
 her words. He might never like her, he told himself, or
 trust her, but that was no excuse for rudeness. "I'm sorry
 I've been rough on you," he said.
     She nodded in acceptance of his apology. "This can't
 be easy for you, either."
    "It isn't," Riker admitted. "Combat and away team
missions are one thing. At least there you expect danger.
But this? It isn't even an act of war." He told himself to
stop talking before he said the wrong thing to her.
    "Treating you like something in a zoo," Astrid said.
"The K!ingons would say jay' lulonqu' batlb."
    "They would," Riker agreed: They have abandoned
honor. "An eloquent people, the Klingons."
    "Yes." Astrid looked around the lounge, then rested an
elbow on the bar and leaned closer to Riker. "Maybe you
can tell me. Why're they so scared of us?"
  "Which 'they'?" Riker asked. "The crew?"
    "Old humans," she said. "Even before the plague I'd
hear things about superhuman monsters. It can't be just
because of Khan Singh, I mean, come on, four hundred
years is a long time to carry a grudge. So what have you
people got against us?"
    Riker shook his head, not knowing how to answer.
Guinan answered for him. "Look at human history," she
told Astrid. "Europeans almost exterminated the Amer-
inds and Australian aborigines. They also killed every
last Khan. Deep down, humans have always feared that
somebody would do the same thing to them." 
"That isn't it!" Riker protested.
    Guinan smiled at him. "That's how it looks to this
nonhuman. If you've got a better answer, I'm listening."
    "Maybe we just don't like the idea of somebody
replacing us," Riker said, "which is what the Herans
have in mind."
    "A week ago you didn't even know about us," Astrid
said. "Take you, for instance. You're the one who was
talking about homo arrogans. So why do you think
Herans are the worst thing since..." Her voice trailed
off, and then her face brightened. "Oh, that's right.
You're from Alaska."
    The non sequitur puzzled Riker. "What's that got to do
with anything?" he asked.
    "Uh... nothing. Just that, uh, you big, strong fron-
tiersmen don't like the idea that there's something bigger
'n' stronger than you. Meaning no offense." She held out
her empty glass to Guinan. "Could I have another,
please?"
    Riker was about to press her on the change of subject
when the lounge door opened and Dr. Par'mit'kon
walked in. Most humans found his fishlike face unreada-
ble, but Riker had learned how to decipher his expres-
sions. The physician was in a grim mood. He walked up
to one of the human diners and spoke to her. Riker
couldn't hear his words, but the woman's olive face
turned an ashen color. Par'mit'kon scanned her and
gave her an injection. "Something's wrong," Guinan
said.
     "Yeah." Astrid seemed to listen while Par'mit'kon
 spoke with another human. "There's a second outbreak
 of plague," she said. "The viral protein coat has changed
 and the old vaccine won't work now. They're reim-
 munizing everyone." Astrid shook her head. "Ought to
 leave now."
  "There's no reason for that," Guinan said.
     "Folks will feel bad enough without me around,"
 Astrid said, "I'll go."
      Guinan watched her walk out. "They don't make
 monsters like they used to," she commented dryly.
  "Meaning what?" Riker asked.
  "Meaning that for somebody who's supposed to be an
arrogant, cold-blooded killing machine, she's awfully
meek. Not only that, she obviously feels guilty over what
she did... or didn't do. When was the last time you saw
a monster with a conscience?"
    "Maybe she's putting on a good act," Riker said.
Synthehol lowered a drinker's inhibitions in much the
same way as alcohol would, but synthehol's effects could
be consciously dismissed by the drinker. Kemal might
have been talking freely because she was drunk, or she
might have been feigning intoxication.
    Guinan smiled at him. "Riker, I was getting people
drunk when your ancestors were telling one another that
'aeroplanes' were a wild idea that would never work. You
saw the genuine article there. If I were you, I'd wonder
what makes her act that way."
 "So you think it is an act?" Riker asked.
    Guinan picked up a cloth and began to wipe down the
bar. "Listen to me," she said patiently. "There's some-
thing very civilized about her, and if you know anything
about history, you know that civilized people make the
most dangerous warriors."

    "Staying ahead of Central Security isn't too hard,"
Dallas Thorn told Mafia. The boy had spent much of the
day showing her how to defeat Central Security's surveil-
lance techniques with null fields and probability multi-
pliers, and Maria now carried a packet of defense chips.
m her pocket. "Central doesn't have our motivation.
Sometimes they're so careless you'd think they were a
bunch of primaIs."
    "'Old humans,' not 'primais,'" Selig said as he en-
tered the workshop. He sat down with them. "'Primal' is
a Modality buzzword. Don't let them do your thinking
for you, nephew."
    "I don't," he said. "It's just that I hear the word so
much, it gets to be second nature."
 "We all have to look out for that," Selig said.
    Marla felt puzzled. "What's the big deal?" she asked.
The two terms seemed interchangeable.
    "'Primal' makes the old humans sound stupid," Selig
explained, "which they aren't--they made us. We can't
hide from them forever, and when we have to come out
into the open we'll have to deal with them. Insulting
them and telling ourselves they're backward won't make
that any easier."
 "If we can deal with them," Dallas said.
    "We're supposed to be smarter than they are," Selig
said. "We'll find a way. And don't forget that the
Modality wants us to think of them as primals. That's
why they use the word in the schools and newsnets. It
helps justify their plans if we think of the old humans as
something inferior."
    Marla nodded in understanding. She had never
thought about the subject before, but now the implica-
tions seemed obvious. "Thinking of them as 'old hu-
mans' reminds you that they were here first," she said.
"And that they've got a lot of experience."
    "Yeah, great experience," Dallas muttered. He got up
and walked out of the workshop.
    Mafia kept silent until she heard him leave the house.
"I said something wrong, didn't IT'
    "In a way," Selig told her. "His parents were at the
Delphi outpost when it was destroyed."
    "Oh." Hera had established a base in the Tau Delphi
system five years ago; Tau Delphi IIl was a class M
planet, and the ideal site for Hera's first colony. A group
of weapon smugglers from inside the Federation had
simultaneously decided that the world made an ideal
pirate base, and when they found the colony they ruth-
lessly wiped out the pioneers after they had surrendered.
The few survivors reported that the old humans had
killed the settlers because of what they were. The Modal-
ity had chosen to ignore the massacre; retaliation would
have accomplished nothing, and it might have drawn
attention to Hera. "So Dallas resents old humans,"
Marla said.
     "He does," Selig said. His cat slinked into the work-
 shop and rubbed against his knee. Almost absently Selig
 scratched the tawny animal between its ears. "How do
 you explain what they did? How can anyone be smart
 enough to handle a starship, and have everything they
 could want, and still go around killing people and
 breaking their own laws?"
     "I can't explain that," Marla said. "I can't even
 explain some of the things the Modality does."
     "They want power," Selig said. "That's the basic flaw
 in the Modality. Its founders set it up so that only the
 'best' people could join it, and the idiots defined 'best'
 in their own terms. Ruthless, power hungry--" Selig
 stopped and took a calming breath. "It's hard to be
 objective about this."
    "I know," Maria said. His anger reminded her of
something that had happened during her captivity.
"Selig, the Senior was there during my interrogation.
Ulyanov asked me if I knew something about a secret
file. He called it the 'originator file.' Have you ever heard
of it?"
    "No, but that proves nothing," Selig said. "The Mo-
dality has a lot of secrets. Exactly what was said?"
    Marla thought. "Very little. Ulyanov said, 'Yes, but I
wonder why the Sukhois have such a high opinion of the
primaIs.' Then he asked me, 'Have you seen the origina-
tor file?' I answered, 'The what? I don't know what that
is.' Then he said, 'Do you? Tell me what you think about
the originators.' I said, 'Evil, murdering--' and I choked
up. Ulyanov said, 'She hasn't seen the files.' The way he
said it made it sound as though something in the files
would change my mind about the old humans. He was
also concerned that what I had heard about this origina-
tor file might turn people against the Modality."
  "Odd," Selig said.
    "Maybe I misunderstood him," Maria said doubtfully.
"I was heavily drugged at the time."
    "Perhaps," Selig said. He hoisted the cat onto his lap
and idly scratched its ears. For a moment Maria watched
the animal luxuriate in the attention. She envied the cat;
it knew nothing about conspiracies and lost families. It
looked up and made a rowling noise to Selig. "But
Koshka doesn't think there's anything wrong with your
memory."
    "Could he be wrong?" Marla asked, a question which
drew an affronted look from the animal. "I can't imagine
anything that would make me stop hating the origina-
tors."
    "Neither can I," Selig said. Then he added in wonder,
"But it seems the Modality can."



Chapter Eleven

"I'VE IDENTIFIED THE SOURCE of the new infection," Bev-
erly Crusher said to Picard and Admiral Trask. She sat
down behind her once desk. "It's Paul Sibio, one of my
orderlies. He was one of the first people to catch the
original plague."
"Wasn't he properly treated?" the admiral demanded.
"Treated and cured, Admiral," Beverly said. "But he
started showing symptoms about the same time you~
beamed over. They were mild and he thought the prob-
lem was only overwork, but when I checked him his
body was saturated with the new virus. We've treated
him and he's no longer contagious. We've immunized
everyone against this new virus, and there were only
seventeen cases, so we're all right for the moment.
    "But we will have more epidemics," she continued.
"The plague carries a bit of programming that I missed.
This extra program is inserted into a few random cells
around the body, along with the rest of the viral genetic
material. Some time after the original infection ends it
comes to life and causes the contaminated cells to start
producing a new virus. This virus contains the same
genetic information as the original, but it constructs a
new protein coat, one which the immune system and our
immunization shots don't recognize. Every victim of the
plague can become a new source of infection days,
months, even years after the original infection."
    Picard looked at the data on the screen. "This would
explain why Blaisdell infected the Enterprise," he said.
"We thought we had eliminated the plague. Instead we
could have spread it across the Federation, contaminat-
ing dozens of colonies. It's our good fortune that we
made no planetfalls before we uncovered the plague, and
that we had Dr. Kemal's help here. Blaisdell couldn't
have expected that."
    "Bless his arrogant little heart," Admiral Trask said.
He rubbed at his eyes. Picard doubted the man had slept
last night. "This is a good way to saturate a population
with the plague."
    Beverly nodded. "Someone might escape the first
round, or have a natural immunity to one form, but
eventually they would catch it. I'm looking at means to
combat this, but until I find an answer I'm ordering the
Enterprise be quarantined. Nonhumans can come and
go, because they can't carry these viruses--"
    "What about Blaisdell?" Picard asked. "Could he have
infected the Marconi after we beamed him aboard?"
    "No, sir," Beverly said. "Herans can't carry diseases;
their immune system is perfect. But until we can elimi-
nate the disease we don't dare have any contact with the
rest of the human race. That could be permanent," she
concluded.
    "Understood," Picard said, and looked closely at the
doctor. There were bags under her eyes, artfully hidden
by makeup. "Beverly, did you get any sleep last night?"
    "I caught a nap this morning," she said. "Don't worry
about me, Captain. I know my limits."
    "This ship and your patients won't be served if you
push yourself to those limits," Picard said. "Consider
what overwork did for Mr. Sibio's judgment. Get a good
night's sleep. Captain's orders," he said with the ghost of
a smile.
    The intercom signaled then. "Bridge to Captain Pi-
card," Riker said. "Sir, we're receiving a distress signal
from Deep-Space Seven."
    "On my way," Picard answered. Trask strode out of
the room with him, and the two men reached the bridge
a moment later, where Riker relinquished the command
chair to Picard. "Report, Number One," Picard said as
he sat down.
    "It was an automated distress signal," Riker said. "All
it gave were the bare facts--three cloaked ships ap-
peared and opened fire on the station's outer defenses.
The ships appeared at bearing twelve-mark-thirty-two."
    "Right on a line with Hera," Trask said, in a voice
which said he was only half guessing.
      Data swiftly ended any need for guesses. "Receiving a
new message from Deep-Space Seven," he reported.
  "On screen," Picard ordered.
    An Andorian in the uniform of a Starfleet captain
appeared on the main viewscreen. "This is Deep-Space
Seven," he said in the whispery voice common to his
people. "Captain Tharev broadcasting to all ships in our
sector. We have been attacked by unknown ships. They
have retreated, but we expect further attacks. All ships in
sector should beware of possible attacks. All ships in
sector, please respond."
    "This is the Enterprise," Picard said. "Captain
Tharev, what is your status?"
    The blue-skinned man checked the console in front of
him. "We have lost our defense capabilities," he said. "I
am surprised that we have no casualties. This was a very
precise attack, but we cannot resist another such attack.
Can you come to our assistance?"
    Picard glanced at the tactical display. "Not in less than
five days."
    The cuplike antennae atop Tharev's head writhed as
he nodded. "I understand, Captain."
 "Can you identify the attackers?" Trask asked.
    Tharev nodded again. "Their configuration is un-
known, but we have definite sensor scans." He gestured
to someone off-screen, and Picard saw information ap-
pear on Data's console. "Their power was remarkable."
    As Picard read the data he realized that was an
understatement. Then he looked at the sector chart.
"The Belfast, Discovery and Cutty $ark are all within
twelve hours of you," he told Tharev.
    "We await them," Tharev said. "Deep-Space Seven
out." The Andorian vanished from the screen.
    Trask was on his feet. "Data, let's see the information
on the attackers."
    "Yes, sir." The android's hands moved and a starfield
image filled the main viewscreen. As data reeled across
the bottom of the screen, a graceful white shape flickered
into visibility. Phaser bursts snapped from its needle
nose with a rapidity that exceeded that of any weapon
in the Federation's arsenal. Then it vanished again,
ahead of a phaser barrage from the station's defenses.
    Data assimilated the image and information without
any of the dismay Picard felt. "This is an automated
ship," he said. "Sensors detected no life on board.
Shields are equivalent to that of a Galaxy-class starship.
The cloaking system was absolutely undetectable by the
defense sensors. The energy-utilization curve matches
that of the Temenus."
    "It even looks like the Temenus," Riker observed.
"What is this? A show of force?"
    "It's only a robot ship," Trask said. "It won't be much
of a problem."
    "Automated war machines do lack the versatility of
organic minds," Data agreed. "But given the capabilities
which this ship has demonstrated, it may present a
considerable challenge if it applies hit-and-tun tactics."
The comm system signaled and he turned to Picard.
"Captain, you have a message from Starfleet Com-
mand."
  "Let's have it," Picard said.
    Admiral Huang, Starfleet's Chief of Staff, appeared on
the screen. He was a small Chinese man, and only his
iron gray hair suggested his true age. "Captain Picard,"
he said. "How much progress have you made in your
investigation of the Heran situation?"
    "That's difficult to assess, Admiral," Picard said.
"We've found that the Herans and their technology are
more impressive than we expected. We've also discov-
ered that this plague is more sophisticated than we
thought. Anyone who has had the disease can produce a
new form of the virus long after being cured. In effect, I
have a ship full of Typhoid Marys."
    "I see." Picard thought that Huang looked distracted.
"One more problem... I'll require transmission of all
your data on the Herans within the hour, Jean-Luc. I
know you haven't had time to prepare full reports, but I
cannot wait. The situation is degenerating."
    Trask nodded. "We've just heard about the attack on
Deep-Space Seven. The ships came from Hera, no ques-
tion about it."
    "We know, Allen," Huang said. "We received a decla-
ration of war from Hera, ten minutes after the attack
began. They denounce the Federation for numerous
alleged attacks against Hera and promise to conquer us
if we do not surrender at once. Conquer or surrender,
they promise to expose the entire human race to this
genetic plague. And they seem to think we'll enjoy that.
The arrogance of this 'Modality' astonishes me.
    "There is more," Huang continued. "There have been
other attacks against Federation ships at several scat-
tered points. There have been no injuries, but the Herans
have disabled their warp drives and left them drifting. A
few hours ago our long-range sensors detected three
ships, similar to the Temenus, as they left Hera on
divergent courses--for Federation space. Our analysis
suggests that they will make a further effort to spread
this plague."
    Trask nodded somberly. "I concur. Can we intercept
them?"
    "That's problematic at best," Huang said. "Not that
it matters. Starfleet Command is now organizing a task
force, one Galaxy-class starship, four heavy cruisers,
eight destroyers and sixteen troop transports, under the
command of Admiral Hoskins. It will reach Hera in ten
days. If the Herans won't negotiate a peace, we have to
be ready."
    "What about the diplomatic option, Admiral?" Picard
asked.
    "We've tried contacting the Herans," Huang said.
"Their only response to our subspace hails is to repeat
their demand for our surrender. But we should continue
the effort. Jean-Luc, take the Enterprise to Hera and see
if you can accomplish anything. But proceed with cau-
tion. You are not to place your ship at unnecessary risk.
Huang out." The transmission ended.
    Worf growled quietly. "These attacks are a diversion,"
he said.
    "They look halfhearted," Riker agreed. "But what
were they diverting?"
    "Our defenses," the Klingon said. "Now we must send
ships to defend Deep-Space Seven against further at-
tacks, and to aid the crippled ships. This will leave fewer
ships available to intercept other Heran craft. A sound
move," he said in grudging admiration.
    "It's time for a move of our own," Picard said. "Mr.
Data, hand the Temenus over to the Marconi. Then set a
course for Hera, warp factor eight."
  "That's a bit fast, sir," Riker said.
    Picard nodded. "We'll require nine days to reach
Hera, Number One. That puts us just one day ahead of
that task force. That won't leave us much time, but it will
have to do."
    "I'm not convinced that we should resist this war,
Picard," Trask said. "The more I learn about the Herans,
the more dangerous they seem. Defeating them may be
our only choice for survival."
  "No," Picard said stonily, as the Enterprise's engines
came to life and she turned for Hera. "We will find
another choice."
    "If the Herans give us a choice," Trask said. It was an
admiral's prerogative to have the last word, and he
exercised that right by leaving the bridge before Picard
could reply.
    A moment later Picard gave control of the bridge to
Riker and went to find Astrid. The computer located her
in Ten-Forward, and when Picard entered the lounge he
found her sitting at a table at the front of the lounge,
where she looked out the observation window. To his
irritation Picard noted that no one sat at the tables near
her, despite the large number of people in the lounge.
"May I join you, Doctor?" he asked.
    "Of course, sir." She kept staring out the window.
"We're going to Hera aren't we?"
  "I suppose it's an obvious move," Picard said.
    Astrid looked at him as though reading his mind.
"Something new has happened," she stated.
    Picard nodded. "Hera has just declared war on the
Federation and demanded our surrender. There have
been several attacks. The Enterprise has orders to negoti-
ate a peace settlement, if possible. I'll need your advice
on how to proceed."
    She nodded. "I can tell you one thing that might help.
There's an active resistance to the Modality on Hera. It
knows about the plans for this plague; that's why it
sabotaged the Temenus."
 "You're certain?" Picard asked.
"Quite. It's the only explanation that fits the facts."
"I see," Picard said. "Blaisdell claimed that the sabo-
tage was the result of a power struggle among Hera's
leaders."
    "He lied," Astrid said. "He played to your preconcep-
tions. The only information you have on Hera implies
that Herans are like Khan Singh--conceited, arrogant
and egotistical. You'd expect people like that to be stupid
enough to fight among themselves, and to be ruthless
about it. He was trying to get you to underestimate us
and dismiss us as fools."
    "Counselor Troi has said much the same thing,"
Picard told her. He found himself trusting what she said.
There was something almost contagious about her air of
self-assurance. "Have you any idea of how extensive this
resistance might be?"
    Astrid shook her head. "There have always been
Herans opposed to war and conquest, but I don't know
how much things have changed in the past eighteen
years. I know their first interest will be in Hera, so I
wouldn't count on them being friendly to the Federa-
tion."
    "Nonetheless, one may hope they are," Picard said.
He looked up as Guinan approached the table with a
tray. "Guinan," he said in greeting.
 She nodded pleasantly. "Mind if I join you?"
    "Not at all." The three identical goblets on her tray
told Picard that she had planned to sit with him and
Astrid. "Your company is always welcome."
    "Especially when the place seems so empty." She
handed out the glasses and looked around the lounge as
she sat down. The tables near them remained empty.
Well, Picard thought, at least people are seeing that I will
not shun Astrid; they would have to draw their own
conclusions from that. Sometimes leadership was a
quiet, subtle thing.
    Astrid was clearly aware of the way people were
behaving--or not behaving--around her. "It's their
business," she said.
    Guinan shrugged. "Maybe so, but I hope you donat go
in for getting even. It could be awkward."
    "I've given up acting awkward," Astrid said, and
inspected her glass. "Is this another roofraiser?"
    "No, it's wine. Real wine," she added, and smiled at
Picard. "I want to see if our resident vintner can identify
it. How about it, Captain?"
  Picard took a sip, and during the next hour he found
himself discussing wines with the two women. His
family owned a sizable vineyard in France and produced
a well-regarded vintage, which made him something of
an expert on the subject of wines; he finally identified
Guinan's offering as a recent Falernian. Astrid seemed
intrigued by the talk, and she clearly regretted its end
when Picard had to leave. That had to be loneliness,
Picard thought. Her position could not have been an
easy one.

    In theory the Enterprise could maintain warp eight
indefinitely, but as a practical matter Geordi disliked
prolonged flight at that speed. Warp eight pushed every-
thing to the limit and accelerated the wear and tear on
the ship's systems. It also meant he had to stay in
Engineering and maintain a closer watch on a lot of
different functions. He didn't mind the extra work,
however, and he was in no mood to stir around the ship.
"Something wrong, Commander?"
    "Huh?" Geordi looked behind him and saw Gakor.
The Tellarite's pink, snoutlike face showed curiosity.
"No, everything's fine. Why?"
    "Well, you've checked that panel five times in the past
hour, and I wondered if you'd spotted a problem."
    Geordi shook his head. "It's just things," he said
vaguely.
    "You mean it's that plague," Gakor said. "I don't see
why you humans are so upset. The Herans are doing you
a favor."
    "You think so?" Geordi was too dispirited to feel
angry. He knew that Gakor was only looking for an
argument; it was a Tellarite custom to argue over every
imaginable topic, to see if anything new or interesting
could be uncovered by a discussion. "Look, how would
you feel if somebody decided to 'improve' your people
without your permission?"
    "It depends on the improvements," Gakor said. "Give
my children higher intelligence, great strength, perfect
health, sharpened senses..." He squinted myopically at
Geordi. "I'd roll in the mud with that any day, Com-
mander."
    Geordi almost smiled. Gakor knew that his people
resembled Terrestrial pigs--a point he liked to work into
his jokes. "And suppose they grew up to be like Dunbar
and Blaisdell?" Geordi asked.
    "Or Kemal?" he countered. "That's personality. A lot
of that depends on how the kids are raised. I'd say Kemal
was raised right."
    "Maybe," Geordi said. His level of self-irritation
reached the critical level. "Keep an eye on things. I have
to take care of something." He left Engineering and went
to Deanna's office.
    He found the Betazoid empath taking a short break
between patients. She sprawled on one of the office's
chairs with her eyes shut as the computer played Vulcan
lyrette music for her. Geordi found the tones and
rhythm too alien for enjoyment. "I've been listening to
human problems all day," Deanna explained. Her eyes
remained closed, which did not offend Geordi. He knew
that her empathic sense meant more to her than mere
sight. "I need something unhuman."
    "Oh." Geordi sat down. He hoped his problems
weren't adding to her burden. "Have you had the chance
to see Dr. Kemal yet?"
    "Why?" Deanna said. "Do you think Astrid has some
special problem I should know about?"
    "Aside from being the only Heran on the ship--"
Geordi stopped and shook his head. He wasn't fooling
Deanna any more than he was fooling himself. "I really
hurt her feelings. Maybe I should work this out by
myself, Deanna."
    "Tell me what happened," Deanna said. "At the
conference the other day I noticed that your feelings
about her were very confused. I'd really like to hear
about this, Geordi."
    "Well, the day after the plague broke out she looked
me up and offered to help me analyze the Temenus. I just
saw red when she started talking to me, and I was rude as
hell. The thing is, the day before I'd been joking with her
in Ten-Forward. She must have expected a lot better
from me."
    "And you don't know what to do about it," Deanna
said.
    "No," Geordi said. "I don't. I... guess I've been
hiding out in Engineering, so I could avoid thinking
about this."
    "Then you'd better stop hiding from her," Deanna
said. She opened her eyes and stood up. "Well, I have
another visitor in a few minutes. Thanks for telling me
all this, Geordi."
    "What's to thank?" he asked. "You have enough
trouble without my problems."
    "Yes, but you're the first person who's come in here
feeling sorry for somebody other than himself." Deanna
stretched her arms over her head as though basking
in the sun. "I was beginning to forget people could feel
that way."

Chapter Twelve

A WARRIOR'S HONOR demanded that he offer formal
thanks to one who had saved his life, and Worf had
postponed that duty long enough. He went to Astrid's
quarters and signaled, and stepped in when the door slid
open. Astrid was seated on her bed, and she stood up for
him. "Nuqneh?" she asked in Klingon: What do you
want?
    Worfgave her a formal nod. "I have come to thank you
for saving my life. I owe you a debt of honor."
    "You owe me nothing, Lieutenant" she said. "Had I
spoken when honor required, you would not have been
in danger."
    "I know," he said. Her dishonorable silence had kept
him from thanking her... or was it dishonorable? "Did
you keep silent only for yourself?." he asked.
    She shook her head. "I was protecting my parents as
well."
 "That is honorable," Worf said. "My debt stands."
    Astrid spread her hands. "I accept this. Will you
accept my hospitality in return?"
"I shall." Worf sat down. "I have found this duty less
than easy," he admitted.
    Astrid bowed her head in agreement. "You must feel
like Kavargh," she said.
    "There is a certain dilemma," he said. Kavargh was
the hero of one of his favorite operas: a warrior who
owed a debt of honor to a disgraced and treacherous
noble. The dilemma was not entirely unwelcome,, it gave
him a unique sense of his Klingon heritage, something
he did not always feel while surrounded by humans.
    The intercom signaled. "Lieutenant Worf, report to
the conference room. Dr. Kemal, the captain requests
your presence in the conference room."
    Worf scowled as they left Astrid's quarters. "I am
curious," Worf said. "Would you think it is possible for a
Klingon to defeat a Heran in close combat?" His defeat
at Dunbar's hands still rankled.
    She looked thoughtful as they entered a turbolift. "It
would be difficult," she said after a moment, "but any
Heran you fought would think he could defeat you, so he
might be overconfident. And Dunbar put all his strength
into a direct attack, like a wild targ. You will also
remember that I broke K'Sah's hand. That happened
because he startled me; we can be surprised," she said as
the lift stopped.
    Woff scowled as they stepped out of the turbolift. Her
response amounted to a tactful no--and it held another
form of denial. "You sound eager to find weakness in
yourself."
    "My parents told me I was designed as a weapon," she
said. "I do not want to think of myself as a killing tool."
    "You should not deny what you are," Worf said as they
walked into the conference room. Picard and the rest of
the command staff sat at the table, along with Admiral
Trask. Distantly, he heard the blunt-toothed babble of
human speech. He ignored it.
    "I am not pleased by what I am," Astrid said as she sat
down next to Worf. "I want to know that my soul is my
own, not--"
    "Lieutenant," Admiral Trask said in the human
tongue. "Mind letting the rest of us in on the conversa-
tion?"
    Worf tried not to look ruffled. "We were discussing
philosophy, Admiral."
    "Oh, really?" The admiral looked at Astrid. "Let's
continue the discussion. What sort of 'philosophy' lets a
Heran work for the Federation?"
    "It's what I wanted to do, sir," she said. "You work
with the very best people--"
    "Including primaIs who might put you in a zoo, or
chop you up as a lab specimen?" Trask leaned forward.
"I talked to Guinan. She said that you had some
interesting comments. If you're so scared of humans,
why did you take a job where you'd be surrounded by
them? Sooner or later we were bound to find out about
you."
    "Maybe something inside me wanted people to find
out," Astrid said. "Try living a lie; it's like burying a
piece of yourself every day. You have fear where other
people have trust. You can't have friends, because you
can't let anyone know the real you. It's no way to live."
"But you're still scared of us," Trask said. "Why?"
    Astrid folded her hands on the tabletop. "When I was
a girl my parents always warned me that old humans
were crazy and violent, and if you found out what we
were we'd be lucky if you only killed us. After we moved
to Zerkalo they taught me to do things like trip over my
feet so I wouldn't attract attention. They were always
afraid I'd do something that would alarm the old
humans--they never had a second child because they
said raising me was risky enough."
    "'Crazy and violent,'" Picard repeated. "What gave
them that impression of non-Herans?"
    "Sir, it's a common attitude on Hera," Astrid said.
"The old-human colonists wanted to conquer the galaxy,
which is a crazy idea by itselfi The originators made us
to be weapons, and they destroyed their own health in
the process. They tested hundreds of designs before they
came up with us, and these 'designs' were children; when
they didn't work out, they were euthanized. Murdered,
in the same labs where they were created.
    "And there were incidents on and around Hera in-
volving old humans. A month before my family left
Hera, a survey team in the Delta Medea system was
almost wiped out by some old-human smugglers. The
survivors said they'd been cooperating until the smug-
glers figured out what they were, and then the prospec-
tors bombarded them from space. Then there was a case
where another old-human pirate crew blackmailed the
Modality. They wanted a hundred tons of dilithium
every year, in exchange for not telling anyone what we
are,"
"None of that could have left a favorable impression
of what you call 'old humans,'" Deanna observed.
    "Counselor, it all left a frightening impression of old
humans," Astrid said. "We--"
    "Which brings me to another point," Trask said. Worf
watched him lean forward and jab a long finger onto the
tabletop. "If Herans are so damned scared of us, why
didn't these monsters just exterminate us? They could
have arranged that a lot more easily than this genetic-
engineering bug, and it would have been safer for them."
    "They need us alive," Riker suggested. "If humanity
died off overnight it would destabilize this entire quad-
rant. You'd literally have a half-dozen empires--Gorn,
Romulans, Orion pirates, Ferengi, Cardassians, even the
Klingons--fighting over what was left of Federation
space. Hera could be destroyed in the chaos. We protect
them just by existing."
    "I can think of a simpler explanation," Picard said.
"The Herans shrink from extermination for the same
reasons we would. They are not murderers."
    Admiral Trask frowned at him. "But they are our
enemies."
    "No, sir," Picard said. "I recognize them as adversar-
ies, but not as enemies."
    Trask grunted. "That's a noble sentiment, Picard. The
Herans may carve it on humanity's tombstonew
dammit, what is it?" The intercom was demanding his
attention.
    "Bridge," a woman's voice said. "We have a message
for Admiral Trask from Zerkalo."
 "Put it on the screen," Trask said.
    A battered young human in the uniform of a Starfleet
security lieutenant appeared on the room's viewscreen.
Worf thought he looked defeated, both physically and
mentally. "Admiral Trask," the man said in obvious
relief. "You have to get us out of this mess."
"What 'mess'?" Trask asked. "Report, Lieutenant."
"The Zerkalan police, sir." The man seemed to shake
himself before he made his report. "Pursuant to our
orders, Commander Zawara and I came to Zerkalo and
attempted to locate the two suspects. The local authori-
ties gave us permission to question them, and we
thought--sir, Commander Zawara did everything by the
book, but when we entered the Kemals' home they
overpowered us and expelled us. We were retrieved by a
medical team who reported us to the Zerkalan police.
We're charged with..." he hesitated, "... trespass,
forcible entry, assault, possession of weapons and use of
weapons."
    Worf heard the admiral grind his teeth; his flat human
molars made an unpleasant gritting sound. "Where's
Zawara" he demanded.
    "He's still in the hospital," the man said. "Sir, can
they do this?"
    "They can," Astrid said. "Lieutenant, what's your
name?"
 He blinked in surprise. "My name? Hans McDowell."
    She nodded. "Were my parents hurt, Hans Mc-
Dowell?"
    "Your parents?" McDowell looked dismayed. "Uh,
Ivan Kemal burned his hand when he grabbed Com-
mander Zawara's phaser. The power cell ruptured when
he crushed it. I managed to stun Lenore Kemal, but my
shot was ineffective and she tossed me through a window
before I could fire a second burst."
    "I see." Astrid ran a hand over her eyes. "When you
have permission to question somebody on Zerkalo, it
means you wait for them to show up at the police station.
If they feel like cooperating. Going to their home is
illegal, unless you have evidence of criminal intent on
their part. And weapons? Even our police don't carry
anything stronger than sonic stunners."
"We didn't know about that," McDowell said.
"Somebody should have told you," Astrid said. Her
fingers drummed lightly on the tabletop. "There are
some people who don't want us to join the Federation.
Maybe the right person kept quiet to stir up an incident.
I'll talk to a few people and see if I can straighten this
out. Don't let yourself worry, Hans McDowell."
    Riker looked suspicious as the connection broke.
"You're going to help? Why?"
    Astrid looked puzzled. "Shouldn't I? They were set up
and I want to see my planet join the Federation. It's in
our best interest. Operator, connect me with Judge
Selemanaban."
    "Judge Selemanaban is unavailable," a masculine
computer voice replied.
 "Can you get President Stoneroots?"
 "One moment."
    Worf felt surprised. "This is your planetary president?
This seems informal."
    "That's how we do things," Astrid said. "The govern-
ment is just a part-time thing for us. Besides, Sto's
known me since I was four."
    Worf saw a new scene appear on the conference room's
screen: a cluttered workshop. A massive Dereve tree
stood in the center of it, its roots planted inside a mobile
hydroponics tub that soaked them in nutrients. It turned
an eyestalk toward the phone, then pulled several tenta-
cles from a disassembled robot and waved them at the
phone. Astrid smiled and returned the gestures. The
Derevo's tub floated it across the workshop to a bench,
where Stoneroots touched its tentacles to a yoder pad on
its workbench. "Okay, 'trid," the pad said. Its voice was
rich and resonant, with what Worf thought of as a
standard Federation accent. "We'll talk mouth-style for
your friends. I guess you heard the news."
"I heard some of it, Sto. Are my folks okay?"
"They're fine," it said, giving her a speculative look
with several bobbing eyestalks. "When we asked these
Federation oops why they were here, they gave us this
wild story about genetic plagues and secret agents, and
you and your folks being genetically engineered."
  "We are," Astrid said bleakly.
    Stoneroots waggled a tentacle at her. "I always thought
you were too pretty to be just human."
    "Th-thanks," Astrid said. Worf watched her knuckles
turn white as she clasped her hands together. "Sto, are
my folks having any problems?"
    The Dereve waved a tentacle in dismissal "Aside
from these cops everything's been peaceful."
    "Good," Astrid said. "I was scared I'd get them in
trouble."
    "Over what?" Worf thought Stoneroots seemed genu-
inely perplexed. "It would've been polite if they'd men-
tioned this, but that's their business. Say, you aren't
having any trouble, are you?"
    "Nothing I can't handle," she said. "Sto, what are you
going to do to those cops? What happened was a
misunderstanding. Somebody didn't brief them on our
procedures. You can't blame them for that."
    "I can't, but other people can," Stoneroots said.
"Don't worry, all we'll do is deport thems after we--"
    Trask looked shocked. "'Deport' my agents?" he said
to Stoneroots. "Who do you think you are?"
    "Well, they tell me I'm the president of this opensair
loony bin." Several of Stoneroots's eyestalks peered out
of the screen. "Are you that admiral these cops talked
about?"
 "I'm Admiral Allen Trask," he said.
      The tree seemed to nod. "Keep yourself available.
We're going to extradite you for a trial." 
 "You can't do that!" Trask said.
    "Guess again," Stoneroots said. "We really object to
having our citizens abused. A lot of people are worked
up about this." The eyestalks swiveled toward Astrid.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
    "I've had a few problems," she said, "but Captain
Picard's helping me. I'm all right."
    "I see." It hesitated as though certain she was hiding
the truth. "Call me if there's anything you need, 'trid."
    Trask turned to Picard after the connection broke.
"Zerkalans seem to be your sort of people, Picard," he
said.
    "I find much to admire in President Stoneroots's
attitude," Picard replied.
    "Dammit." Astrid slowly bent over the tabletop as if
caught in the grip of a massive gravitational field. She
hid her face against one arm, and her shoulders shook as
she pounded a fist against the table. The blows punctu-
ated her words. "Dammit--dammit--they told mere
had to be careful--dammit, this didn't have to happen!"
Her fist smashed the tabletop. Half-meter-long cracks
radiated through the composite material.
    Worf saw that her hand was bleeding. Crusher got up
and went to Astrid. When the doctor reached for her
hand Astrid pulled away, and for a brief moment Worf
saw the animal fright on her face. It faded, however, and
Astrid put out her hand. "You've broken the fifth meta-
carpal bone," Crusher said after she had examined the
injury. "Go to sickbay. You might feel more comfortable
with Dr. Par'mit'kon," she added.
    "Thank you." Astrid stood up and spoke in a level
voice, as though the pain did not touch her. "Doctor,
you were supposed to run some more tests on me."
    "Counselor Troi wanted to wait," Beverly said. "She
says you were upset the last time I tested you."
    "I was." Astrid paused, an introspective look on her
face. "I can handle it now."
    Deanna looked dubious. "I don't think it's a good idea
yet, Astrid."
    "Counselor, I want to do this," she said. "There are a
lot of things my parents never told me about myself.
Maybe they didn't know themselves. I need to find out,
to know what I am."
    "We'll talk about this after your hand has healed,"
Deanna said. Astrid nodded and left the conference
room.
    "She does not behave like a weapon," Worf said,
looking at the cracked and dished-in tabletop. He knew
the material's strength, and it surprised him that Astrid
had suffered only a minor injury. "Her instinct is not to
attack what she fears."
    "Lucky me," Crusher said uneasily as she returned to
her seat. "Counselor, I take it we just saw an emotional
overload."
    "We did," Deanna said. "She's managed to control her
fear before now, but it was just too much when she
discovered that all her hiding and lying were unneces-
sary."
    "On Zerkalo, maybe," Geordi muttered. Worf won-
dered at the shame in his voice, but said nothing; the
plague had disturbed all of the ship's humans in different
ways. "I wonder if her 'designers' understood what they
were doing."
 "What do you mean?" Riker asked.
    "Well, like Worf said, she doesn't act like a weapon,"
the engineer said. "Maybe her emotional differences
would serve a purpose in combat, but I'm not sure these
designers thought about the effects they'd have on people
when they weren't fighting."
    "I have to agree with that," Deanna said. "In my time
with her I've noticed several oddities about her emotion-
al makeup."
 "What are they, Counselor?" Picard asked.
    "First of all, she has a strong tendency to feel guilt
when she does something she considers wrong," Deanna
said. "It's been raised to an almost pathological level On
the surface that seems like a good idea. A Heran soldier
would probably rather die than disobey an order or run
away from combat."
    Worf growled thoughtfully. Guilt was not a Klingon
emotion, although he suspected it was similar to a sense
of dishonor. "Dunbar apologized to me when he at-
tempted to kill me," he said. "Was that guilty behavior?"
    "Yes," Deanna said. "Normal humans don't enjoy
taking life, even when necessary. It produces guilt, which
could make a soldier hesitant about going to war, or
starting one. Astrid feels guilty about killing Dunbar,
even though she knows it was the only way to save her
life--and yours, Worf. It's a very strange emotion to
build into would-be conquerors."
    "That didn't stop the Herans from attacking us,"
Trask said. "What else have you found?"
    "She's not very aggressive," Deanna said. "Herans
have a genetic predisposition toward extreme aggres-
sion, but they're taught to control it at an early age in
'aggression classes.' She took the first of these classes
before she left Hera, and her parents continued this
training after they reached Zerkalo. Astrid says that
these classes are unpopular because the necessity of
taking them reminds the Herans that they were designed
as weapons."
 "And you believe that?" Trask asked.
    "She believes that," Deanna replied. "And it fits what
I know of her and the other Herans. Aggression can be a
useful trait, but too much of it can disrupt a society."
    Worf grunted; that observation ran counter to every
Klingon's experience in daily life. "Soldiers should be
aggressive," he said.
    "That's true," Picard noted. "But off the battlefield,
aggression can be a dangerous trait in a soldier."
    "Khan Singh had a lot of aggression in him," Riker
said. "What else can you tell us?"
    "Most humanoids have an instinctive need to belong
to a peer group," Deanna said. "A tribe, a family, a
society. Again, this sense has been amplified in Astrid. It
produces a powerful sense of loyalty, which is a useful
emotion in a soldier, but it's closely related to empathy.
Astrid finds it easy to empathize with her enemies,
which is not a soldierly trait."
    "Pertlaps somebody sabotaged the designers' plans,"
Worf said.
    "That is improbable-," Data said. "Sabotage in a
genetic-engineering project would not result in a healthy,
functional entity. The results we have observed in Dr.
Kemal would require a large amount of careful plan-
ning."
    "Then maybe the designers outsmarted themselves,"
Trask suggested. "But there's no question that these self-
appointed superhumans are willing to attack us, no
matter how unhappy they feel about fighting."
    "There is another matter," Worf said. "We know little
of Herans beyond what Dr. Kemal has told us."
    "I know," Trask said. "Even if she's totally honest, we
can't assume she's a typical Heran. We have to guard
against thinking that just because she seems like a decent
kid, the others are like that." Worf nodded in approval of
the admiral's sentiment; for a human, Trask had a lively
sense of suspicion.
    "Bridge to captain," a man's voice said over the
intercom. "Sir, we have a transmission from Starfleet
Command."
 "Pipe it down here," Picard said.
    Admiral Huang appeared on the screen. Worf thought
he looked unhappy, which in a Starfleet admiral sug-
gested the pleasant prospect of trouble. "Captain Picard,
if you can negotiate with the Herans, the Federation
Council wants you to obtain a cessation of hostilities and
an assurance that these assaults will end. But if you can't
deal with them, you are to scout their system and deliver
a tactical report to Admiral Hoskins."
 "And then we'll crush them," Trask said.
    "No, Allen," Huang said. "We'll blockade their planet
and neutralize their military forces. There is one bright
spot," he continued. "The Klingon Empire is sending a
fleet to aid us in our operations against Hera. Huang
out."
    "He didn't say when the Klingons would join the
party," Riker observed as the admiral's image winked
out.
    "They will coordinate their attack," Worf assured
him. "Captain, I suggest that I contact the Klingon force
and make certain they understand the situation."
  "Make it so," Picard said.
    Worfgot up to leave. He did not share Picard's dismay
at the thought of war. He wanted to avenge the dishonor
of his defeat at Dunbar's hands, if the Herans were
capable of giving honorable combat. Whatever they
were, they had a very peculiar notion of how to fight a
war.

Chapter Thirteen

"I DON'T RECALL seeing you in here before, Commander,"
Slava ibn Abdalla said. The ship's senior botanist deftly
snipped the thorns from one of the roses he had cut for
Geordi. Ibn Abdalla cultivated the arboretum as a hob-
by, and he somehow managed to make plants from a
score of incompatible ecologies flourish. The air was a
riot of clashing odors: sweet, spicy and musty, along with
several scents that could only have pleased a thoroughly
nonhuman nose. "I guess engineering doesn't leave you
much free time."
    "Well, it leaves me enough time to put my foot in my
mouth," he said. He watched as ibn Abdalla wrapped
the rose stems in translucent plastic. "I hope this does
the trick."
    "Roses are a good way to begin an apology," ibn
Abdalla said. He gave Geordi a quizzical look. "Al-
though I doubt you could have hurt a woman's feelings
badly enough to need a dozen long-stemmed roses. You
don't seem the type."
"I'm a man of many talents," Geordi said as he took
the roses. "Thanks, Lieutenant."
    Geordi left the arboretum and asked the computer for
Astrid's location. She was in one of the observation
galleries on deck ten. He felt nervous, but he reminded
himself he had put this off too long out of embarrass-
ment.
    The observation gallery was a section of corridor
along the outer hull, set with large windows. Geordi
found Astrid looking at the starfield off the ship's port
side. Astrid was the only person in the gallery, and she
looked at Geordi as he walked up to her and held out the
flowers. "I'm sorry for the way I acted," he said awk-
wardly. He felt himself floundering, unsure of what to
say next.
    "Thank you," Astrid said as she took the roses. Geordi
thought she looked pleased. "How have you been?
    "All right," Geordi said. He wished he wasn't so
nervous; it had been a long time since he had felt this
uncomfortable around a woman. He told himself that it
was not because she was genetically engineered. "I've
been kind of busy... you know."
    "Same here," she said. She sat down on the window's
sill, bringing herself down to his eye level. Geordi found
that he liked that. "I've been taking psychological tests,
recording what I remember about Hera--things like
that. Intelligence ought to be able to deduce something
from that."
    Geordi nodded. "I want to thank you for that advice
about the Temenus. I should have given you credit at the
conference, and I wish I'd had enough sense to have you
look at Temenus with me," he added.
    "I don't think there was much else to find," she said.
"The Herans wouldn't have put much secret equipment
on it. There was too much risk of a ship like that being
captured. Probably--"
    A sharp, piercing whistle interrupted her. "Hi, mon-
ster!" somebody shouted from the far end of the gallery.
Geordi looked and saw a tall, massive spider-creature
shamble toward him on four legs.
    "K'Sah," Astrid said in quiet resignation. "Geordi, do
you know anything about K'Sah?"
    Geordi nodded. "Worf warned me about him, but
Counselor Troi tells me he's been learning to mind his
manners," he added.
    "Good." Astrid looked at K'Sah as he stepped up to
her. "What can we do for you?"
    "It's what I can do for you," K'Sah said. "Worf told
me to keep an eye on you, so here I am... you know,
the old Starfleet obey-your-orders bit. Say," he added, as
if seized by a pleasant idea, "you've known old wrinkle-
head quite a while, haven't you, La Forge?"
    "I've know Lieutenant Worfever since they commis-
sioned the Enterprise," Geordi said. He thought about
tacking on a Pa'uyk-style insult, then decided against it.
K'Sah was trying to accommodate himself to a human-
style sense of decorum; it might confuse him if a human
suddenly spoke like a Pa'uyk. "How are you getting
along with him?" Geordi asked.
    "Weird." K'Sah turned his faceted eyes on Geordi.
The engineer suddenly understood how some people felt
when confronted by his VISOR; there was no way to
read any emotion into the Pa'uyk's gaze. "Uh, I don't
mean Worf, or you, okay?" K'Sah went on. "Or Kemal, I
guess. I just mean--" His mandibles snapped open and
shut several times. "Things are simple back home. When
you want to do business, you talk a good fight, so no one
thinks you're hiding what you feel. When you don't tell
some creep how you can suck the juices out of his
squishy, soft-shelled body--uh, nothing personal, it's
not your fault you evolved without chitin--it means
you're probably planning to fight.
    "But you people make no sense!" he continued.
"You'll be polite and smile, and you won't fight, or you'll
turn around and vaporize the person you were being nice
to. Or you'll threaten someone, then make friends with
them. Or maybe kick them out the airlock. So who
knows what to expect from you?"
    "Give it time," Astrid said. Geordi could understand
the sympathetic look she gave the arachnid. Like her, he
was alone amid incomprehensible, possibly dangerous
beings. "There are rules--"
    "That's exactly what I mean!" K'Sah said in exaspera-
tiom He slammed a pair of fists against the observation
window. "Everything here has rules, and one rule is that
the rules change every time you think you've sunk your
pincers into them. And Worf--he should make sense,
only he doesn't. Ask him why he acts the way he does,
and he says something about honor, whatever that is.
Any idea what he means by 'honor'?"
    Geordi shrugged. "'Honor' is what makes Worf do
what's right, even when he'd be better off doing some-
thing else."
    K'Sah seemed irked. "It sounds like those wrinkles on
his scalp go all the way down to his brain. What's
'honorable,' and what isn't? How do Klingons tell the
difference?"
    "Look at it this way," Astrid said. "Honor keeps you
from doing something you could get away with doing,
and if you have to ask yourself if you can get away with
it, it isn't honorable."
    "That's another rule, isn't it?" K'Sah sounded bleak.
"The explanations aren't allowed to make sense."
    "Give it time," Geordi said, echoing Astrid. "Look,
the next time you use the holodeck, ask the computer to
set you up with a simulation of Kahless the Unforgetta-
ble. He's the Klingon who came up with their concept of
honor."
    K'Sah seemed to eye Geordi in astonishment. "And
people say you never have ally good ideas. I'll try that."
He sauntered away.
    Geordi watched K'Sah leave the observation gallery.
"So much for him obeying Worf's orders," he said.
"I don't need a bodyguard," Astrid said. "But why do
you suppose he kept asking those questions about
Klingon honor?"
    "He's probably looking for new ways to annoy Worf,"
Geordi said. He sat down on the windowsill next to her.
"How have you been? Really?"
    "Okay," she said. "People have calmed down. Any-
way, you've probably got some questions about the
Temenus. "
    "Well..." he began. A couple of crewmembers, hu-
mans, walked into the gallery. Astrid couldn't have seen
them from where she sat, but they spotted her, stopped
and turned around. The hostility on their faces made
Geordi realize how lonely she must be. "I'd rather hear
about Zerkalo. Why don't we talk about it in Ten-For-
ward?"
 She looked dazed. "I'd like that."

    The Dixon Hill mystery novels had been written in the
twentieth century, and they had been lost in the chaos
that had followed the Eugenics Wars. From time to time,
librarians stumbled across a "new" Hill novel, misfiled
amid other books or hidden in an obscure archive, and
downloaded it into the Federation publication network.
Picard had flagged the ship's computer to notify him
whenever a Hill novel appeared in the net.
    Picard was about to bed down for the night when the
computer informed him that The Final Account was
available. Smiling in anticipation, Picard went to the
replicator. "The Final Account, hardcover format," he
said. "Leather binding and rag-cloth paper."
    A book appeared in the replicator, but not the Dixon
Hill novel that Picard had requested. Instead the book
bore a large red title: Francis Bacon: The True Bard of
Avon.
    Picard was not amused. Over the centuries, many
people had tried to claim that the plays associated with
William Shakespeare had been written by someone else.
The mere thought of this angered him.
    "Computer," he said, and repeated his request for the
Dixon Hill novel. Another Copy of The True Bard of
Avon appeared.
    "Computer," Picard said, "where did this book'come
from?"
    "It is a gift from Lieutenant Worf," the machine
answered.
    Picard sighed. Worf would never play a joke on
anyone; the Klingon viewed humor as a curse. "Picard to
Worf. I'd like to see you in my quarters."
    Worf appeared moments later. He scowled as Picard
handed him the book. "Yes, sir?" he said, looking with
distaste at the large volume.
    "The computer claims it is a gift from you," Picard
said.
    "That is not true," Worf protested. "Shakespeare had
the soul of a Klingon. I would never..."
    "I didn't suspect you of anything," Picard said. "It
would appear we are both the victims of a rather
infantile joke. I would ignore this if it did not involve
tampering with the computer."
    "I will investigate, sir," Worf said. He glowered at the
book as though wishing it had a throat to rip out.
    "Very good," Picard said. He smiled as Worf left the
room, and wondered if he or Worf had been the intended
butt of this joke.

    It was ship's evening and Riker had the bridge. Every-
thing was quiet, which suited him. He was in no mood
for trouble. The only break in the routine of reports was
a coded message for Admiral Trask, and that only added
to the evening's reassuring feel of normality. Private
messages were just one more part of the routine.
    Riker was halfway through his watch when Deanna
came in. She looked upset. "Are you all right, Counsel-
or?" Riker asked.
    "No." She sat down next to Riker. "I just had this
nightmare. I was watching the Enterprise, and I was very
frightened--of us. I... in this dream I felt like I was
Astrid Kemal, but she's awake, so I wasn't picking up
one of her nightmares."
    Riker barely hesitated. "Yellow alert, captain to the
bridge. Mr. Data, I want a full sensor scan for Heran
ships. Find whoever's watching us."
    "Aye, sir." Data had been sitting at the navigator's
position. He went to the science officer's station and
searched the space around the Enterprise.
    Riker stared at the bridge's main viewer. The screen
showed nothing but the starfield ahead of the ship. Riker
hoped that something would show up, to give him the
chance to give the Herans a taste of their own medicine.
    Very carefully, Deanna touched his wrist. "How did
you get along with Astrid in Ten-Forward?"
    Riker let out a sigh. Deanna, either through her
question or her touch, had drained the anger from him.
"Not as well as I should have," he said. "She didn't stay
in Ten-Forward long, and I haven't had the time to look
her up again. Deanna--"
    "I know," she said. "This isn't the time or the place.
We'll talk later."
    Data spoke. "Commander, there is heavy interference,
but I have fragmentary readings on two ships at bearing
thirty-eight-mark-zero two, range approximately one bil-
lion kilometersmodd," the android said, as his hands
moved over the control panel before him. "I now read
only one ship."
    Deanna got up and joined him at the science station.
"Could it be a sensor ghost?" she asked.
    "That is probable," Data said. "The one positive
sensor contact is generating unusual interference pat-
terns. I can barely detect it."
    "But we have one solid contact," Riker noted. "Helm,
come to that bearing and pursue," he ordered.
    "Aye, sir," the helmsman said. Enterprise hummed
with power as she entered a slow turn.
    Data remained at the science officer's station and
made a further report as Worf, Picard and Admiral
Trask entered the bridge. Woff took over his station
while Picard and Trask seated themselves. "I now have
partial readings on a ship similar to the Temenus. It is
heavily shielded and changing course to evade us. It has
a crew of three."
    "A picket ship," Trask suggested, reading the tactical
information on a viewer. "A sentry. Its position places it
almost directly between Hera and the Federation."
    "And it knows we're here," Picard said. "Mr. Worf,
hail that ship."
    "Aye, sir." Worf touched a spot on his control panel,
then touched it again. "No response, sir."
"Apparently they have nothing to say," Picard said.
"It's running away from the Heran system," Riker
said, reading the data on the main viewer. "Almost as
though it's trying to distract us."
    "I agree," Picard said. "Resume course for Hera. Let's
see how it responds."
    Enterprise turned slowly and the ship was only half-
way through the maneuver when Data spoke again. "The
Heran ship is turning to bearing two-twelve-seven, mark
six two," he said. "Accelerating to warp nine-point-nine-
five."
    "Intercept course," Worf reported. "It is charging
phasers."
    "Red alert," Picard ordered. "Time to intercept?" he
added as the general alarm sounded.
    "Fifty-seven seconds," Worf said. "They are firing
torpedoes--correction, one torpedo."
    "Only one?" Riker asked uneasily. He couldn't shake
the feeling that the Heran ship was as dangerous as it was
arrogant, and that its torpedo would outclass its Federa-
tion equivalent.
    "One is enough," Picard said. "Helm, steer evasive.
Mr. Worf, return fire with photon torpedoes, tight
spread."
    "Aye, sir." Seconds later Riker heard the torpedo
tubes discharge their first volley.
  The Heran torpedo struck as the tubes were reloading.
The bridge seemed to shudder with unusual force at the
explosion. "Impact on forward shield," Worf reported.
"Down fifty percent."
    "They've got something new," Trask said. Riker nod-
ded in agreement. One torpedo shouldn't do that much
damage.
    Seconds later the Enterprise's torpedoes found their
target and the Heran ship was lost in the glare of
annihilating antimatter. "Their forward shield is down
only fifteen percent," Worf reported as the glare cleared.
Riker and Picard traded a surprised look at the small
ship's power.
    The tubes fired again as the Heran ship pressed its
attack. Unlike the Enterprise it made no evasive turns,
accepting a second torpedo hit as it closed the range
between itself and the Federation vessel. "They want to
get within phaser range," Riker said to Picard, recalling
Geordi's analysis of the Temenus's shields. The Enter-
prise would be unable to use her torpedoes at that short a
range; the detonations would endanger her as much as
they did the enemy. Phasers could be equally dangerous.
    Picard saw that as well. "Helm, tie into the weapons
station," he said. "I want the tightest possible turn as we
fire phasers. Slow to warp three."
    "Do you think we can dodge a reflected beam?" Trask
asked.
    "Perhaps, Admiral," Picard said as the tubes launched
a third round. "A phaser beam's speed isn't infinite.
We'll have a chance."
    A torpedo hit rocked the Enterprise's starboard side,
and then the Heran ship was within phaser range. Its
phaser beams laced into the saucer-shaped primary hull,
and the bridge lights dimmed as the computer rerouted
power to the shields. Enterprise returned the fire, and its
shots seemed to glance off the enemy ship as harmlessly
as flashlight beams striking a mirror. The shields re-
flected the energies back toward their source, but the
Enterprise's tight maneuvers spoiled their aim. Even so,
Riker realized that the near misses were just barely that.
    Alarms sounded as a shield burned out. Enterprise
continued to pump energy into the Heran ship, and for
all its courage the attacker was no match for the Enter-
prise's phasers. In an instant its shields overloaded and
collapsed, and its metal skin peeled away like foil as
sequential explosions rippled through its hull. Then the
reactor detonated, and the main viewscreen dimmed
against the flood of light.
    Riker let out his breath. "Indeed, Number One,"
Picard said dryly. "Secure from red alert. Report dam-
ages and casualties, and resume course for Hera."
    "Aye, sir." Riker looked at the main viewer, where
glowing fragments of the Heran ship still tumbled
against the stars. "If they all fight like this..." He shook
his head as his voice trailed off.

    Underground meetings are by necessity secret, and
Maria had a bad scare when Alistair Molyneux materia-
lized in Selig Thorn's doorway that night. "Don't wor-
ry," Selig told Marla, seeing how startled she was.
"Director Molyneux recruited me into the resistance."
    Molyneux was the last person Maria would have
suspected of radical leanings. He was in charge of Hera's
military defenses. "You?" she blurted.
    Molyneux's grin made him look even more boyish
than normal. "Me and half of my staff," he said as he sat
down with the other people in the front room.
    Maria shook her head. "Now I know how to destroy
the Modality. Tell them and give them all heart failure."
    "I wish that could work," Molyneux said above the
chuckles in the room. "I'd try it, because we've run out
of time."
    That brought silence. "Unity," Nanda Yee said. She
looked unsurprised, as though she had always expected
the worst. "The old humans have already found out
about the plague?"
    "Yes," Molyneux said. "Everything has gone wrong.
The Temenus's crew was rescued by a Federation star-
ship. Blaisdell repaid his rescuers by infecting them with
the Unity virus. We've intercepted subspace messages
which prove that the old humans know what was done to
them, and they know what we are. Just as bad, the
Modality sent a trio of high-warp robot cruisers to raid
human space. They stopped short of murdering anyone
during the raids, but they did considerable damage to a
station and at least a dozen starships. The Modality
followed this with a declaration of war." 
"Why?" Maria asked in shock.
"To provoke the old humans, of course," Dallas said.
"Or to provoke Hera," Molyneux said. "The Modality
has released a false version of events, making it sound as
though we're the victims of old-human aggression. The
idea is to make us fight first and think later. In any case
the Federation has reacted exactly as we feared, and as
I'm sure the Modality hoped. They've dispatched an
invasion force which will arrive in six days, now. A few
hours ago the Modality sent all five of our primary
combat ships to intercept the attack force.
    "There's more. A short while ago they launched three
couriers--Heraclidae, Arcadia and Pelasgus--with or-
ders to infect Earth and two other old-human worlds
with Unity if Hera is attacked. In addition, the Modality
has activated its ground defense plan. Among other
things, they're going to issue programs to allow house-
hold repticators to make weapons."
    The realization that Lee's sacrifice had been for noth-
ing had numbed Maria, but now she shared the dismay
that hung in the room. "Are they stupid?" John Yakov-
lev demanded, in the worst insult one Heran could apply
to another. "Do they think everyone's going to fight to
the death to defend the Modality?"
    Molyneux shook his head. "They think that if every-
one is armed, the Federation will think twice about
invading us."
    "That's probably right," Dallas said acidly. "Instead
they'll stand back and fry us from orbit."
    "I agree," a young woman said. She had introduced
herself to Marla as Serai Tsu-Chang, a historian special-
izing in old-human societies and psychologies. "The old
humans will fight to win, no matter what the cost. They
won't care how many of their enemies they kill. That's
their traditional approach to war-making."
    "And they devastated whole planets during the
Klingon Wars," Molyneux said. Marla thought he looked
weary. "I know our military position better than anyone
else. We can't keep the old humans from destroying us."
    "Why not?" someone asked. "They outnumber us, but
we can make better weapons, and we were designed to be
weapons ourselves. And they're not much better than
savages. Why not turn against them?"
    "Khan Singh thought that way," Tsu-Chang said. "So
did an old human named Custer."
    "And any war against the old humans would be one of
annihilation," Motyneux said. "Even if we could win, I
took this job to defend Hera, not to become a butcher.
Our best option is to surrender before the old humans
invade, and hope to negotiate a peace before we're wiped
out. It's a gamble, but the alternative is certain destruc-
tion."
    "There's one thing wrong with that plan," Selig said.
"The Modality will never surrender."
    "Can we overthrow them before the Federation at-
tacks?" Yee asked. "We could form a provisional govern-
ment and surrender."
    Selig shook his head. "We don't have the resources for
a direct assault."
    "Can we make it impossible to fight?" Mafia asked.
When the others looked at her she continued, "If we can
keep the Modality from handing out weapons, we'll
knock out a big part of their plan. And if there's some
way to immobilize Combat Operations and Central
Security, it won't matter what orders they give."
    "My group has studied something that might work
here," Yee said. "We've developed a fractal worm pro-
gram. It infiltrates and disables a computer system, and
when it senses it's being erased by the safeguards, it
reproduces itself--with enough changes so the system
has to develop a new approach to erase it again. It will
keep a system disabled for at least a week."
    "That should be long enough to force a surrender,"
Molyneux said. Dallas got up and walked out then.
Mafia gestured to Selig to wait, then followed the boy
outside.
    There was a small grove of fruit trees behind the
Thorn house, and Maria followed Dallas into them.
When she caught up with him he was sitting under a tree
with Selig's cat. "Terrific," the boy said as he scratched
the cat's head. "Surrender to the primals and trust
them."
    Mafia sat down with him. "Can you think of a better
alternative?" She watched him shake his head in the
starlight. "Neither can I."
    "Nor I," Molyneux said as he came out of the house.
He sighed. "I'm a hell of a defense director. My first real
war, and I'm looking for a way to surrender before it
starts."
    "Your job isn't to fight," Mafia said as he walked over
and sat down with them. "It's to defend Hera. You can't
defend it by letting it be destroyed."
    "It still galls me," he said, and shook his head. "It
means trusting the p~fmals to be reasonable, which is
chancy. Damn the Modality for getting us into this
mess."
    "Why did they do it, anyway?" Dallas asked. "You're
one of them. You should know."
    "They claim it's for the best," Molyneux said. "We'll
raise the old humans to our level, which will do them
good. And when the changes take effect in another
generation, that'll spell an end to the attacks, and to the
danger of our being discovered as something different.
We'll look like just one more planet afflicted by this
unknown process."
    "Sometimes I think the Modality just wants power,"
Mafia suggested.
    "I agree," Molyneux said. "If Unity had worked, we
would have conquered the human race without it even
knowing, and the senior leadership thinks it's inevitable
that any Heran would follow the best leaders around."
  "Who just happen to be them," Maria said.
  Molyneux nodded. "The Modality believes its own
  doctrines. Now all they're doing is compounding their
  mistakes. If they can't conquer the galaxy with brains,
  they'll do it like savages."
    "They act like they all flunked basic aggression,"
Dallas said. "Or did they decide not to control it?"
    "I don't know," Molyneux said. "Me, I have my
aggression buried so deep I hardly even feel it. Most
people do. But maybe you need to let it come to the
surface to rule a planet and deal with the old humans."
He shook his head. "Anyway, Marla, Selig told me that
you heard something about an 'originator file' during
your interrogation."
    "I didn't hear much," Maria said. "Just enough to
convince me that they think the file could change our
attitudes about the originators. Don't you know any-
thing about it?"
    Molyneux shook his head. "I know it exists. But what
it contains--well, people have disappeared just for hav-
ing heard about it. The question is, what's so important
about changing our attitude? The Senior acts like it's a
threat to the Modality. If--"
    The cat growled. "Trouble," Dallas murmured.
"Where is it, Koshka?"
    The cat growled again and rose to its feet, aiming its
body toward the west. Marla heard the hum of a high-
speed transport in the air. The hum's decreasing pitch
told her it was slowing rapidly.
    Light glared and the Thorn house exploded. Through
the tree trunks Marla saw phaser beams slice down from
the sky and pick off people who ran out of the burning
structure. Maria held still, not daring to breathe.
    Molyneux pulled a cloth from a pocket and unfolded it
on the ground. "Stunner," he whispered, and a handgun
appeared atop the pocket replicator. He gave the weapon
to Dallas, then armed himself and Marla. "Koshka, are
there any more assault carriers out there?" The cat shook
its head.
    Marla waited. The carrier landed between the house
and the grove, and a half-dozen Central Security opera-
tives climbed out. They circled the house as it burned,
scanning it and applying quantum modulators to the
flames, strengthening the chemical bonds in wood and
other materials until they became too strong to break
and release their energy. "Okay, they're all dead," a man
said a moment after the fire went out. "Where are you
going, Amalthea?"
    "I heard something in those trees," a woman an-
swered. Maria heard her walking toward the grove. At
once Koshka got up and padded toward the ruined
house, growling quietly.
    "You heard a cat," the man said in annoyance. "Come
on. We have to get back to base." The Central Security
agents returned to their vehicle, and a moment later it
accelerated into the night sky. Marla started breathing
again.
    Dallas clipped his stunner to his belt. "They wiped us
out," he said numbly. Maria could only nod. By destroy-
ing the resistance's leaders now, they had neutralized the
resistance at a crucial moment. There would be nothing
to interfere with the Modality's plans.
 Molyneux had reached the same conclusion. "They've
won."
    "No," Maria said, surprising herself. She had not
come so far only to see everything lost. "Do you have
any other contacts with the resistance?"
    "I know some people in South Mytilene," Molyneux
said. "Assuming that CS hasn't wiped thom out, too."
    "They wouldn't bother taking out more than the top
leaders," Maria said as she stood up. "That would be
pointless. We'd better get moving."
    "In a minute," Dallas said. He stood up and stared at
the wreckage where his uncle had just died.



Chapter Fourteen

"I CAN TELL YOU what they hit us with, but I can't tell you
how they did it," Geordi told the people gathered
around the conference table. Picard thought that the
young engineer seemed bewildered. The rest of the
command staff and Admiral Trask listened intently to
him. Only Astrid, who sat next to Geordi, appeared
calm. "That torpedo wasn't armed with antimatter. Its
warhead was a quantum black hole, with a mass of
approximately ten tons. A black hole that small isn't
stable; it evaporates through quantum tunneling, losing
mass one particle at a time until its blackbody tempera-
ture rises exponentially and--"
    "I think we're all familiar with elementary physics,"
Admiral Trask said.
    "Then you know that when a quantum black hole dies,
it instantaneously releases all of its remaining mass as
energy," Geordi said. "The end result is the same as a
matter-antimatter reaction--a burst of high-energy
gamma rays. But our photon torpedoes only carry ten
kilograms of antimatter. This is a lot more potent."
    "Quantum black holes are rare," Riker said. "Does
this mean the Herans can make them?"
    "Yes, but don't ask me how," Geordi said. "And don't
ask me how they can make them explode when they
choose. It's theoretically impossible--which means they
have better theories than we do. This is what I was afraid
of. They're so advanced that they could be a match for
the entire Federation."
 "We were a match for that ship," Trask said.
    "Just barely," Worf said. "The enemy vessel was no
more than a scoutship, yet it was almost as heavily
armed as the Enterprise. A more powerful ship could
prove--challenging."
    "And we're likely to face bigger ships when we reach
Hera," Picard noted. He felt grimly amused by Wetifs
tone. "Their home planet won't be defenseless."
    "I concur," Trask said. "We have to fight but, dammit,
going to war is always a gamble, and I don't know the
odds on this bet."
    "Does this mean you're willing to negotiate with
Hera?" Picard asked him.
    "No." He looked grim. "It means I got a coded
message from Starbase One-Seven-One before the at-
tack. Blaisdell tried to escape. He was being transferred
from the Marconi when he got loose, killed two guards
and stole a runabout. The Marconi chased him down,
and when he wouldn't surrender they destroyed him.
Blaisdell almost made it, too. Somehow he coaxed warp
nine from that runabout. The Marconi damaged its warp
drive during the pursuit."
    "So you would rather not fight people who are that
determined," Deanna Troi said.
    "That's right, Counselor," Trask said. "People who'll
fight to the death are dangerous. I just hope this isn't the
shape of things to come."
    "As do I," Picard said. He turned to Astrid. "Doctor,
when we spoke in Ten-Forward you mentioned the
likelihood of a Heran resistance movement. We may
hope that they are more amenable to peace than the
tteran government. Have you any thoughts on them?"
    "Beyond the fact that somebody sabotaged the
Temenus?" She nodded calmly. "If they're like me,
they're scared. If they know about the Modality's ac-
tions, they're going to be unhappy with it. Not only
has the Modality endangered Hera, but--attacking
people--Captain, we'll fight when we're attacked, we'll
defend ourselves, but the idea of starting a war--it...
it..."
 "It makes you sick," Geordi said.
    "I guess that's the word," she said. "I don't know what
it feels like to be sick, but what I feel now is horrible."
    "But you aren't in this resistance," Trask said. "You
don't know what they're thinking--if this underground
exists."
    Astrid shook her head. "It exists. Hera has always
been divided into factions. You're right, I can't know
what they're thinking, but I know what they feel. Give
them a chance for peace and they'll take it."
    "How?" Riker asked. "From what you say, they're
convinced we're a bunch of genocidal maniacs. What
would make them think otherwise?"
    "Maybe we should show them that we want them to
survive," Geordi suggested. "They know things we'll
want to know. They have to know we'd lose all that if we
wiped them out."
    "They're bound to have a cure for what they did to
us," Crusher said. "That would be more important."
    "It sounds terrific," Trask said in a sour voice. "We
tell them to disarm, let us occupy Hera, and hand over
all their secrets, in exchange for which we graciously
allow them to continue breathing. Suppose they don't
buy it?"
    "Then we'll have a problem," Picard said. "But it
could form the basis for negotiation."
    The intercom signaled for attention. "Go ahead,"
Picard answered.
     Ensign Rager spoke. "Captain, we have a message for
 Dr. Kemal from Zerkalo."
Picard nodded to her. "Go ahead," Astrid said.
President Stoneroots appeared on the conference
room's viewscreen. "Hi, 'trid," it said through its com-
puter translator. "Why didn't you tell me they tried to
arrest you?" It held up a tentacle. "I know, I know. You
didn't want anyone to worry. So, what's going on?"
    Astrid sighed. "It's pretty much a dead issue now," she
said. "Captain Picard talked them out of arresting me."
    "No, he didn't," Stoneroots said. "I just called Am-
bassador Bakhra on Earth. She says there's a warrant for
your arrest and she can't get it rescinded, even though it
hasn't any legal basis. Is that admiral still around?"
 "I'm here," Trask said.
    Stoneroots eyed him coldly. "We now give you the
same message we gave to your Federation. If you don't
stop mistreating one of our citizens, Zerkalo will end its
negotiations to join the Federation. And if anything
happens to her, Allen clan-Trask, we shall hold you
personally accountable."
Trask glowered at him. "If you're threatening me--"
"We are," Stoneroots said. "And we keep our threats.
We have already filed extradition papers on you, and we
are holding your agents as material witnesses. If you
want to face some extra charges at your trial, then keep
acting the way you have. All." Its image winked out.
    "Sto means it, Admiral," Astrid said. "When a Derevo
starts talking in the plural, it--"
    "I've studied Derevo customs," Trask said. "But if
that oversized fruit tree thinks it's going to be easy to
extradite a member of Starfleet, it's wrong. And if
Zerkalo wants to walk out on us, let them. The Federa-
tion doesn't need them."
    "No more than we 'need' any other planet," Picard
said. "And this withdrawal could have unpleasant reper-
cussions on other worlds. The Bajorans in particular are
quite sensitive to any perceived bullying."
    "If the Zerkalans follow through," Trask said, "They'd
lose a lot by withdrawing, especially when it comes to
commerce."
    "Sto doesn't bluff,'~ Astrid told him. "And if you think
it said that just because it's my friend, you're dead
wrong. We Zerkalans put a lot of value on individual
rights."
    "I take President Stoneroots's promises seriously,"
Picard said, "but I am confident that we can resolve your
problem without further inconvenience to you, or aggra-
vation to your world. Dr. Kemal, have you any sugges-
tions on how to negotiate with the Herans?"
    "Be straightforward with them, sir," Astrid said. "If
they want a way out of this mess, they'll take it."
    "If," Riker said. "Captain, they've gone too far to back
down. They'll fight, and they'll have something up their
sleeves."

    The Heran attack had burned out a shield generator,
and the crawl space still reeked of ozone and scorched
metal. Geordi spent an awkward half hour on his back as
he struggled to remove a damaged control unit and clean
the blackened contacts in its receptacle. Finally he was
able to slide the replacement into position. His test
equipment assured him that it was working properly,
which was a relief. His task would have been a lot harder
if the deflector grid itself had been damaged. "La Forge
to bridge," he reported. "You should have full function
on the starboard shields now."
    "I do not," Worf answered crossly. "The computer is
displaying an error message."
    "I'll come up and check it," Geordi said. He wormed
his way out of the crawl space and headed for the bridge.
    Captain Picard was not on duty, and as Geordi
entered the bridge he saw Will Riker seated in the
command chair. Geordi went to Worfs station and ran a
diagnostic on the shield controls. As he had half ex-
pected, the new control unit was not quite identical to
 the old one, and the minor differences in its circuits
 generated confusion in the computer. Geordi adjusted
 the programming while he thought unkind thoughts
 about manufacturers who changed the design of "stan-
 dard" units.
     Riker walked over to Geordi and Worf as he finished.
 "I understand you saw Kemal yesterday," he said qui-
 etly.
    Geordi nodded, although the question made him
uneasy. Will Riker was one of his best friends, and
Geordi didn't want the man's dislike of Astrid to put
them at odds. "Astrid and I had dinner in Ten-Forward,"
he said.
    "Did you have any problems?" Riker asked. "Deanna
tells me that a few people are still grumbling about her. I
want to nip any trouble in the bud."
    "There wasn't any trouble," Geordi said. "We had a
long, quiet dinner, and went for a walk in the arbo-
retum."
    Riker nodded. "Have you found out anything about
that practical joke?"
    Geordi was glad to change the subject. "No, and I
don't think I will. There's no evidence of tampering in
the computer."
    "Evidence will exist," Worf rumbled. "Someone has
assaulted my honor, and I shall have vengeance."
    Geordi nodded. To a Klingon, honor was ~l-
important. A dishonored Klingon could become an
outcast, so distrusted that few Klingons would willingly
deal with him or his family. By making Worf appear to
have offended the captain, someone had placed his good
name in jeopardy. "This narrows your list of suspects,"
Geordi said. "You're not just looking for a computer
expert. You're looking for somebody who either doesn't
care how important your honor is, or who wants to see
you dishonored."
    "It might be K'Sah," Riker suggested. "He seems to
have it in for you, Worf."
    Worf growled in agreement, then shook his head.
"Unfortunately, there is evidence that K'Sah is not
guilty."
    Geordi nodded. "The duty log shows that he was on
the bridge when the captain got that book, and he wasn't
using the computer."
    "He could have set up a delayed program," Riker
suggested.
    Geordi shook his head. "A trick like this had to be
done in real time; I could find the trace from a booby-
trap program like that. Besides, K'Sah isn't a cyberneti-
cist."
    Worf growled. "K'Sah is a--" An alarm flashed on the
tactical display, interrupting him. "Someone is transmit-
ting a subspace message," he said, "It is not authorized."
    "Yeah." Geordi glanced at the readouts, then began
working the controls. "They aren't sending from any of
the usual comm stations. And I can't get a fix--damn."
The transmission ended.
  "Nothing?" Riker asked.
    "Nothing on our end," Geordi said. "The signal was
aimed at two-oh-eight-mark-twelve, but sensors indicate
nothing at that bearing. WhatmI don't believe this.
Commander, I recorded that transmission, and it just
erased itself."
    "Somehow I'm not surprised," Riker said grimly.
"Bridge to captain."
"Go ahead, Number One," Picard answered.
"Captain, somebody on this ship just sent a coded
subspace message. We can't identify either the source or
a destination."
    "Understood," Picard said. "Number One, Mr. La
Forge, Mr. Worf, meet me in the conference room. I'll
notify Admiral Trask."
 "Aye, sir." Riker nodded to the other. "Let's go."
 Captain Picard and Admiral Trask were already in the
 conference room when they arrived, along with Data and
 Astrid. Geordi sat down next to her. "Let's hear about
 this message," Trask said.
    "There's not much to tell, Admiral," Geordi said. "It
was a low-power transmission with limited range. It was
routed through the computer system, and there was no
way to identify the point of origin on this ship. It didn't
seem to be aimed at anything, either. What's more, the
message contained some sort of self-destruct program.
The recording erased itself so thoroughly that I couldn't
recover it."
    "It sounds like we're dealing with a computer special-
ist here," Trask said. He looked at Astrid. "What were
you doing fifteen minutes ago?"
  "I was in my quarters. Alone."
    "You can't deny that you could have done it," Trask
said.
    "I can't," she said. "My access to the computers has
been restricted, but that couldn't stop me. Just the
samere"
  "--you didn't do it," Trask said sourly.
  She nodded. "I didn't do it."
"So why don't I believe you?" Trask asked.
"Admiral, I believe her," Geordi said. He touched his
VISOR. "I can sometimes see changes in people when
they lie--increases in skin temperature, shifts in body-
electric fields, other things. I don't see those signs in her.
I think she's telling the truth."
    Trask snorted. "You're forgetting something, La Forge.
Her entire physiology has been modified. What works
for a normal human won't work for a Heran. Lie to him,
Kemal. How long have you been spying for the Cardas-
sian Empire?"
    Astrid hesitated, as though needing to shift mental
gears before she could lie. "Ever since you recruited me,
Admiral."
    "Damn," Geordi muttered. His VISOR hadn't re-
vealed the barest flicker in her physiological responses.
"That still doesn't prove anything, Admiral. As for this
computer problem, it isn't the first incident we've had
lately."
 "I know. Picard told me about his little 'gift,'" Trask
said. He faced Astrid. "Kemal, we're at war with Hera.
Someone has been playing games with the computer.
We've been attacked by a Heran ship. Now someone
transmits a coded message, contents and destination
unknown, and we just happen to have a Heran computer
expert on board this ship."
    "That's circumstantial evidence, Admiral," Picard
said.
    "Yes, and if this were peacetime I'd be laughed out of
court," Trask said. "But this isn't peacetime and giving
her the benefit of the doubt could cost us this war, not to
mention the lives of everyone on this ship."
    "Perhaps Counselor Troi would be best qualified to
determine whether Dr. Kemal is telling the truth," Data
suggested.
    Trask shook his head. "I'd like to think that she could
give us an easy answer, but I don't know how reliable her
talents would be when the brain she'd be sensing has
been modified. Worf, take her to the brig." Worf glow-
ered at the table for a moment, then stood and nodded at
Astrid.
    Geordi watched in helpless frustration as they left the
conference room, "I don't buy it," he said. "She killed
Dunbar and she's been cooperating all along. Why would
she turn around and send a message to Hera?"
    "Because she could still be a Heran agent," Trask said.
"The best liars are the ones who tell the truthwbut not
the whole truth. Her parents claim to be refugees, but
this wouldn't be the first time that undercover agents
have pretended to be refugees, or that they recruited
their child into the family business. Why do you think
we got so worked up about Simon Tarses?"
    Riker nodded thoughtfully. "You're suggesting that
Kemal represents a Heran faction that doesn't believe in
spreading this plague, but that still wants to conquer us."
    "I am," Trask said. "That's the funny thing about
master races. They need inferiors to prove they're supe-
flor, and to do their dirty work for them. They wouldn't
want to make us their equals. And her presence here
might not be a coincidence. We're opening up Hera's
sector for colonization. They'd want an agent on this
ship to monitor us, and she pulled a lot of strings to get
onto this ship."
    Picard smiled slightly. "A rather large number of
people have 'pulled strings' to join my crew, Admiral."
    "Suppose I prove she didn't send that message?"
Geordi asked.
    "That is improbable," Data said. "It would imply that
someone else made the transmission. There is no reason
to suspect a second Heran agent aboard the Enterprise."
    "Herans aren't exactly inconspicuous," Geordi agreed
reluctantly. "But maybe Blaisdell and Dunbar left a few
surprises for us."
    Picard nodded. "It is possible that we didn't uncover
all of the programs they put in the computer. See what
you can find, Mr. La Forge."
  "It's a waste of time," Trask said.
    "Perhaps," Picard said affably. "Admiral, might we
have a word in private?" He glanced at his subordinates.
Geordi, Data and Riker got up and left the conference
room.
    Riker stopped Geordi as soon as they were in the
corridor. "Geordim"
    "What?" he said. "If you're going to tell me I'm
wasting my time--"
    "Take it easy," Riker said. "I think you're right about
her. Trask's logic is as flimsy as a Cardassian apology...
and that transmission was too clumsy to be hers. If she'd
done it, she could have sent it without our knowing."
    "This has disturbing implications," Data said. "If Dr.
Kemal did not send the message, who did? And why?"
    "That's what we'd damned well better find out," Riker
said.

    Picard looked at Trask for a long moment after the
others had left the room. He felt a well-controlled anger
at the admiral's actions. "Admiral, I demand to know
why you arrested Dr. Kemal."
    "You demand?" Trask touched his collar insigniaú "In
case you've forgotten, captains don't demand things
from admirals. !t works the other way."
    "I'm aware of protocol, Admiral," Picard said. "I'm
also aware that the law must be obeyed even in time of
war--perhaps most especially then, when the tempta-
tion to break it is greatest. This arrest is questionable."
    "No one's going to question it," Trask said. He
drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "I've got reason-
able cause to arrest her--more than reasonableú Better
safe than sorry."
    "Better for whom, Admiral?" Picard studied the man
as he remained silent. He could see the admiral's true
motive easily enough. Starfleet Intelligence had been
shaken by its repeated failures to uncover alien threats,
and Trask's predecessor, Admiral Henry, had been
forced to resign in disgrace. An arrest now would make
Trask appear to be on top of the situation. Inaction, on
the other hand, could be read as proof of incompetenceú
"It appears all I can say now is that I shall log my protest
of this action."
    "You do that," Trask said. "And I hope you're right,
Picard, because if I'm right, I've allowed a Heran agent
the free run of your ship until now. Which may mean
none of us will live long enough to take the stand at my
court-martial."
    The intercom signaled. "Bridge to captain," Ensign
Rager called. "Sir, we're picking up activity on the long-
range sensors. The readings are unsteady, but they're at
bearing three-ten-eight, mark eleven three."
"Sounds like another Heran ship," Trask said.
"Indeed," Picard said. "I'm on my way, Ensign."
The sensor readings had improved by the time Picard
and Trask reached the bridge, and the main viewer
showed a precise array of five small white ships.
"They're approaching us at warp nine-point-eight,"
Rager reported as Picard took his seat. "Their shields
are up and their weapons are armed. Interception in one
minute."
    Picard read the tactical display as Worf and Riker
entered the bridge. Each ship was better armed than the
picket vessel that had attacked the Enterprise; their
individual firepower surpassed that of the Galaxy-class
starship. "Readings indicate five Herans per vessel,"
Worf said. "Each ship is heavily automatedú They would
be highly vulnerable to casualtiesú Recommend we go to
red alert."
    "Belay that," Picard said. The Enterprise could nei-
ther outright nor outrun this squadron. A belligerent
display now might provoke the Herans into destroying
the Federation ship. "Hail them, Mr. Worf."
    An image appeared on the main viewer: a spacecraft
cockpit, with five massive people wedged in among
control consolesú All wore silvery pressure suits with
open helmets. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the
Federation starship Enterprise," Picard said. "With
whom am I speaking?"
    "Captain Jane Nkoma, Heran frigate Comet." The
dark woman seemed as calm as Astrid Kemal. "Sur-
render."
"She comes right to the point," Riker observed dryly.
Picard nodded. "Captain Nkoma, I have orders to
negotiate a peace settlement with your world before
hostilities break out in the Heran system."
    "Hostilities broke out a long time ago," Nkoma said.
"We've lost hundreds of lives in old-human attacks."
    The dark, red-haired man at Nkoma's right side
glanced at a computer display, then leaned closer to her.
"Picard," he said in a half-audible whisper, "... pri-
marily a diplomat... never engaged in any deceptions
ú.. hardly even acts like a primal."
 Nkoma looked at the man. "Anything else?"
    He nodded once. "He's never attacked anyone first
ú.. known to refrain from making counterattacks while
under fireú"
    "And his ship isn't on combat alert now. Most pecu-
liar." Nkoma's gaze seemed to turn inward for a mo-
ment. "Proceed, Captain," she said at last. "You under-
stand we still have to stop that task force. Nkoma out."
Her image on the screen was replaced by the five Heran
ships against the starfield. The small frigates veered away
from the Enterprise.
    "Funny thing, Picard," Trask said. "Somebody makes
a secret transmission, and a few minutes later we're
intercepted by Heran warships. I suppose it's just a
coincidence?"
    "I believe it is," Picard said, returning his gaze. He
stood up. "If you will excuse me, Admiral, I have to
contact Starfleet Command--after I make a log entry."

    "We're too late," Joseph Doving said. He pushed a
chair toward Maria and seated himself on the living
room's hearth. Molyneux tossed a log into the fire, then
sat down between Maria and Dallas. "The Modality
distributed its weapons programs right after the raids,
and they've been flooding the comm net with horror
stories about that invasion fleet. Everyone will be ready
to fight by the time the old humans land."
    "We had plans to counteract their propaganda," Moly-
neux said. "We could still implement them, if enough
people have survived. How long will it take to reorganize
the resistance?"
    "At least another day," Doving said. "The damage--
computer, display flowchart sigma."
    A holograph appeared in the air, a seemingly amor-
phous tangle of red, green and yellow lines. "That's the
best information we have on what's left of the organiza-
tion," Doving said. "They hit us just hard enough to
paralyze us for a few days."
    "Just long enough to keep us from interfering," Moly-
neux said. "We'll have to go with what we've got. Can we
manage to take control of one territorial zone?"
    "Possibly," Doving said. He got up and pointed into
one green area of the holograph. "The Macedonian
Plains are our best bet. We lost our primary leadership
there, but the battle crippled Central Security's zonal
force. There's a chance it could work. What have you got
in mind?"
    "Setting up a parallel government, independent of the
Modality," Molyneux said. "The Federation only deals
with recognized governments. Maybe we can keep them
from destroying part of the planet."
    "We need something else," Marla said. "Something to
make dealing with us worth their while. If you were an
old human and you'd had the Unity virus, what's the one
thing you'd want?"
    "A cure," Molynenx said. "Assuming there is such a
thing. I doubt the Modality would bother developing
one."
    "It could be done," Dallas said. He idly scratched his
cat's ears. "You could replace the modified DNA in a
pri--in an old human, with DNA from their unmodified
cell nuclei. You'd only need a good biocomp and a viral
synthesizer, and a genetic library." Koshka growled in
reaction to his distaste for that idea. Marla shared the
feeling. It seemed criminal to replace healthy genes with
sick ones, even if the old humans would regard it as a
restoration of normality.
    "That could work," Doving said. "We could lift the
data from the Modality's labs and replicate the instru-
ments. But how do we contact the old humans and
convince them to trust us?"
    "One thing at a time," Maria said. "First we need
those plans."



Chapter Fifteen

WORD CAME THROUGH the next morning that the Heran
squadron had intercepted Admiral Hoskins's task force.
The first reports spoke of a skirmish, which developed
into a series of feints and strikes. There were no casual-
ties on either side, but each clash slowed the task force. It
looked like the Herans wanted to buy time.
    Geordi had paid little attention to the combat reports.
"Let's try another pathway interrogation," he told his
engineering team. He ran his hands over the engineering
computer console. "But this time, let's reconfigure to
watch for address label changes."
    "Commander, we, we already tried that," Reg Barclay
said. "We didn't find anything."
    "It won't hurt to try again--" Geordi stopped and
looked at the people around him. Barclay was wilting in
exhaustion, while Gakor was fighting down a yawn. The
technician at the computer display was sagging in her
chair. "No, you're right, Reg. Let's call it a night."
    "Where I come from, we call this 'morning,'" Gakor
grumbled. The all-night session hadn't sat well with the
Tellarite, although he'd contributed his share of ideas to
the work. Despite that, the computer had stubbornly
refused to reveal any evidence of tampering or to yield
any proof that Astrid could not have sent the coded
transmission. There was not even a record that Captain
Picard had received a certain offensive book.
    Barclay hung back as the others left Engineering. "I, I
don't think we're going to find anything, Commander,"
he said. "Whoever did this wouldn't leave anything in
the computer. They must work with an independent
unit, like a p-portable computer, something they plug
into the system. We, we could set up a monitor program,
to watch for a modem link with an outside unit."
    Geordi nodded. That was probably their best bet, but
it would take time to produce results, and meanwhile
Astrid would languish in the brig. "Okay," he said, and
shook his head. "But I can't get over the idea that we're
missing something."
    Barclay nodded wearily and left. Geordi started for his
quarters, then changed his mind and rode the turbolift to
the brig. K'Sah, who was on duty at the security console,
idly toyed with his phaser as Geordi went to Astrid's cell,
where she sat on the bunk. "Hi," Geordi said. "How are
you doing?"
"All right," Astrid said, standing up. "You look tired."
"It's been a long night," he admitted. "I wish I could
give you some good news, but I can't. We haven't found
anything in the computer."
    "Thanks for trying," she said. "I guess you checked
the reset registers and shadow-RAM?"
    "Yeah, and the archiving functions, too," Geordi said.
"Even the power-use records don't show any untoward
activity. All we can do is keep an eye on the comm
system and wait for our friend to send another message."
    "That's what I was thinking." She sighed. "I half wish
I had sent it, just so I'd know how it was done."
    "If it helps, Will Riker doesn't think you did it,"
Geordi told her. "That's despite the fact he doesn't trust
you. And Captain Picard is pushing Trask to let you go."
    "Maybe he shouldn't," she said. Astrid sat down on
the bunk and gazed at the floor. "Maybe I did make that
transmission."
    That startled Geordi. "What's that supposed to
mean?"
    "It means maybe the designers added something to my
mind," she said, "something to make me loyal to Hera.
Some extra neural circuit, some compulsionú I don't
remember doing it, but I keep thinking I could have been
sleepwalking, or I could have been in a trance--I don't
know." She hit her fist on her knee.
    "Then why did you kill Dunbar?" Geordi asked.
"Why did you turn in Blaisdell, or volunteer for all those
tests, or try to get those two officers out of jail on
Zerkalo?"
    "I don't know," Astrid repeated. "I thought I was
trying to prove that Hera doesn't control me, but maybe
it's because I was engineered to be loyal to whoever's in
charge of me. Maybe I'm nothing but a weapon that has
to follow a leaderú Maybe--Geordi, you can't under-
stand this. You weren't designed. You don't know what
it's like to wonder if everything you feel is you, or if it
was built into you because some maniac thought it
would make you into a better weapon."
    "No, I understand," Geordi said, hearing the resent-
ment in her voice. When her head jerked up in disbelief
he went on, "I've always been scared of people like you.
It's stupid and I'm ashamed I thought that way. I never
really asked myself why I was scared."  "Why?" Astrid asked.
    "I wish I knew," Geordi said. He rested a hand against
the hard metal of the cell's door frame, as if to steady
himselfú Talking about this to a genetically engineered
superhuman did not come easy. "Maybe it's the things
we hear when we're kids. You go to school and you
learn about Hitler and the Khans and Kodos the
Executioner--all the monsters who wanted to improve
the race. You find it in historical plays and novels and
jokes, too. I guess it sinks in and pops up when you don't
need it. Like now." Yet he shook his head, feeling that he
was no closer to an answer than before. "I know, it
wasn't built into me, and I can get rid of it. But it's still
as if somebody didn't give me a say in what I'd want to
think."
    "I never thought of it that way," Astrid said, and
sighed. "I don't really understand old humans. When I
was a kid I spent most of my time around Kalars. They
aren't the same as you."
"They can't be that different from us," Geordi said.
"They are," she said. "They're less aggressive, but they
have less curiosity, too. Maybe that's why none of them
noticed I was a bit odd for an old human. And other
things--Geordi, what do you know about getting even?"
she askedú
 "You mean, like revenge?"
    "I'm not sure what I mean," she said. "Guinan said
something to me the other day about 'getting even,' and
I've been trying to figure out what it meansú"
    "Oh." Geordi rubbed his chin. It figured that she
wouldn't understand something like that. "Getting even
ú.. It's revenge, but it has this humorous connotation to
it, too."
    Astrid thought it over. "I don't get it," she admittedú
"How can revenge be funny? I always thought it was
seriousú"
    This could be tougher than explaining a joke to Data,
Geordi thought. "Well, revenge is serious if you're
Hamlet, or a Klingon, but not all things call for trans-
warp retaliationú If somebody does something mildly
unpleasant to you, or deliberately annoying, you get even
by doing something similar to him. Usually the best
technique for getting even is the sort of practical joke
that upsets your victim without injuring him."
    "It sounds like a Kalar justice riteú" Astr/d smiled
weaklyú "Geordi? What would Trask do if he knew I'd
helped Worf rewrite the brig's security software? Maybe
he'd get upset if he thought I'd given myself a way to
break out."
    "That would just get you in more trouble," Geordi
said.
    Astrid squeezed her eyes shut. "Geordi, Geordi, never
tell a Zerkalan there's a way to get into more trouble. It's
like waving money in front of a Ferengi."
    "It isn't worth it," Geordi said. For a moment he was
afraid she would call Trask and tell him. "Besides, it
doesn't have the right feel for getting even. Look, they
tell me living well is the best revenge. Just imagine how
bad he's going to look when we prove you're innocent--
and you are innocent."
    The intercom signaled. "Crusher to La Forge. Geordi,
I need you in sickbay right away."
    "On my way." He paused. "Astrid, I'll be back the first
chance I get."
    As Geordi left the brig he saw that K'Sah was no
longer at his post. Puzzled, he consulted the computer,
which told him that K'Sah was in the corridor outside
the detention area. Geordi stepped outside and looked
around, but the Pa'uyk was nowhere to be seen. Geordi
repeated his question to the computer.
    "I'm here," K'Sah answered. Geordi looked for the
source of his voice and saw that the spider-being had
removed the grille from a ceiling vent and climbed into
it. "One thing I like about this ship is it has lots and lots
and lots of comfortable little lairs."
    Geordi looked up at K'Sah. Only his head jutted from
the opening, as though he were about to spring on his
prey. "Aren't you supposed to be on duty, Ensign?"
    "Why bother? Kemal isn't going anywhere. Be-
sides..." His serrated mandibles twitched nervously.
"1 feel safer here."
 "'Safer'?" Geordi repeated. "Why's that?"
    K'Sah's twitching increased. "Because of that/This
politeness crud is driving me nuts! Back home, the only
time anyone acts like what you call polite, it means
they're ready to kill you. And you people always act that
way!"
 "I see," Geordi said. "Would it make you feel any
better ifI told you that looking at you makes me glad I'm
blind? I'll bet you climbed into that vent just to stink up
the air system."
    "This ship needs something decent to cover up that
salty human stench of yours." The Pa'uyk climbed out of
the vent and dropped to the corridor deck, making a
perfect landing on its four feet. He headed for the
detention area door, while Geordi left for sickbay.
    Sickbay was busy when Geordi walked through its
door. Half of the staff was at work, and three people
occupied biobeds. One of them was Reg Barclay, who
idly kicked his feet as he sat on his bed's edge. Geordi's
VISOR showed him that Barclay's temperature was up,
and his body-electric fields were oddly subdued. Another
epidemic, Geordi thought. "Reg, are you all right?" he
asked.
    Barclay looked at him and let out a string of powerful,
wracking sneezes that almost lifted him from the bed
before they ended. "I'm fine," he said lazily. "Doc
Par'mit'kon had to give me a sedative. Know something
funny? All my imaginary fears, and I can't handle one
real fear. You'd think I'd be immune by now."
    Beverly walked up to Geordi and scanned him. "This
is your lucky day, Geordi," she said, and injected his
arm. "We've had another plague outbreak, but you
weren't infected."
"This time," Geordi said. "Have you got a minute?"
"A short one," she said. "We're getting ready to
immunize everyone again. What is it?"
    "I was talking with Astrid when you called. Is there
any way you can tell if she has something in her mind
that could make her do things she's unaware of doing?"
    "No," Beverly said. "I'd have to map out her entire
neural structure, synapse by synapse, and run a dynam-
ics analysis. That sort of project would take weeks to
complete. Why? Do you think she's been doing things in
a fugue state?"
    "No, but she thinks she might have," Geordi said. "It
scares her. I was hoping there's a way to disprove that."
    "There's no direct way," Beverly said. "But indirect-
ly--we're monitoring her while she's in the brig;
that's a standard precaution against suicide attempts. If
she slips into a fugue state, or something similar, we'll
know. I'll let you know," she added.
    "Thanks." Rubbing the injected spot on his arm--he
hoped these immunizations wouldn't get to be a regular
thing--Geordi returned to his quarters, had a sketchy
dinner and went to bed. He knew he wouldn't get much
sleep; he was on-duty again in six hours, and he was too
wound up to doze off as he normally did.
    Geordi got even less sleep than he had hoped for; he
woke up after a dream in which he had been a cat burglar
robbing an ancient combination safe. It had been a safe
in his own office, and it had been packed with diamonds.
A strange dream, he thought. Even if he'd had a safe in
his office, why wouldhe keep diamonds in it? There was
nothing valuable about diamonds. You could replicate a
ton of them in a minute, and their simple crystalline
structure held no data. Information was the only valu-
able thing in the galaxy; everyone learned that in grade
school.
 He rolled over in bed and tried to go back to sleep.
    "We lost." Mafia didn't recognize the voice; it wasn't
Doving. That, and the scratchy sound of the voice-only
transmission, told her how badly the Macedonian Plains
revolt had gone. Halfway around the world from its
origin, the voice echoed flatly from the dome's walls.
"CS beamed in forces from all over Hera, jumped them
all over the place. They've got something new."
    Mafia nodded absently. "The Hephaestos Institute
was testing a new transporter system. It must work."
    Molyneux didn't seem to hear that. "What are our
losses?"
    "Almost total. If it helps, we accounted for over half of
CS's troops. Delta three-eight out."
The carrier signal's low hum replaced the voice. "All
we did was to weaken Hera and make it easier for the old
humans to beat us," Dallas said.
    "They could do that anyway," Molyneux told him.
"And we're not going to win this one by fighting. Unless
you want to kill off all the old humans?"
    "No," Dallas said, but only after a long pause that
filled Mafia with unease. "So how are we going to win?"
 "By staying alive," Molyneux told him.



Chapter Sixteen

"I HOPE THIS IS IMPORTANT, Doctor," Trask said, as
Beverly Crusher entered Picard's ready room. Despite
the orders Picard had given her, he thought she still
looked overworked; it was clear she had taken only the
bare minimum of rest in the past nine days. "We're only
twelve hours away from Hera. The tactical situation--"
    "That's what I want to discuss," Beverly said. She sat
down and handed a data pad to Picard. "Captain, I've
been monitoring Dr. Kemal for almost five days now.
These are the latest biomonitor readings on her. They
say that she's slightly fatigued, but otherwise in excellent
health."
    "How is this relevant, Doctor?" Trask asked impa-
tiently.
    "Admiral, she hasn't slept or eaten since she was
locked up. She drinks a half-liter of water when she gets
thirsty, which is about once a day. A normal human who
tried that would be half-dead."
    Picard nodded. "And you're saying that the crews of
the Heran squadron are capable of the same effort."
    "If anything, they're probably in better condition than
Dr. Kemal," Beverly said. "On the other hand, you can
imagine the shape Admiral Hoskins's crews are in."
    "Readily," Picard said. "They may not be too weary to
fight, but fatigue will handicap them. It's one more
reason to avert this battle. We'll only take heavier
casualties than we might otherwise expect."
    "I think this would make the Herans more determined
to fight us now," Trask said. "A truce would just give our
people time to rest up. They won't throw away their
edge."
    "They may be more interested in survival than in an
'edge,' Admiral," Beverly said. "The more I study Dr.
Kemal, the less certain I feel about the Herans. I can take
any one point about them and say, yes, I'd want this in a
conqueror. But when I put everything together, it doesn't
add up to 'conqueror.'"
 "Despite everything we've seen?" Trask asked.
    "Or because of it," Beverly countered. "For example,
all three of the Herans I've studied have unusually high
serotonin levels, and almost twice as many serotonin
receptor sites in their brains as we do." "Proving what?" Trask asked.
    "Just this," Beverly said. "Serotonin and its receptors
are linked with some well-established types of positive
social behavior, specifically, self-assurance and a lack of
aggression. The Herans have that in abundance."
    "Self-confidence is just another form of arrogance,"
Trask said. "And it's the prime ingredient of charisma.
We respond to people with large amounts of self-
confidence. We find it easier to follow them. That's what
made the Khans so dangerous."
    "You're missing my point, Admiral," Beverly said. "A
healthy form of self-confidence means that a person is
too secure to feel an irrational fear of strangers. These
people don't need to fight. When they're threatened or
attacked, they have to make a conscious decision to fight
back. And this isn't a matter of social customs, or
training, or environment; it's entirely genetic."
    Trask frowned. "Doctor, you sound pretty sympathet-
ic with the Herans."
    "Maybe I am," she said. "Dr. Kema! is a very likable
young woman, and the way she acts... well, what if
they really are superior?" She held up a hand before
Trask could comment. "I know, superiority is an out-
dated concept. But the more I study the Herans, well,
there's a lot we don't understand about them."
    "I understand that they attacked us," Trask said.
"That's pretty basic."
    "You're correct when you say we don't understand
them, Doctor," Picard said. "Can you find what it takes
to provoke an aggressive response from a Heran?"
    'Tll see what I can find from my records," Beverly
said. "But I can't conduct any experiments with Astrid
while she's locked up--"
"Are you concerned about her feelings?" Trask asked.
"Of course," Beverly said. "She's my patient, and
she's had it drummed into her since childhood that
'primaIs' would love to experiment on her. You saw how
she reacted when I tried to examine her hand." The
doctor looked melancholy. "I've never frightened any-
one in my life. I'm not about to terrorize her."
  "She's an enemy alien," Trask said, "not--"
  "Experimenting on enemy prisoners is a war crime,"
  Beverly said, standing up. "Any way you look at it,
  Admiral, I will not use her as a guinea pig. If you'll
  excuse me?"
    Trask watched her go. "Computer, get Counselor Troi
in here."
"Is something wrong, Admiral?" Picard asked.
"That's what I'd like to know," Trask said. "I can
understand why Stoneroots would sympathize with her,
but I don't expect that sort of disloyalty in human
beings."
    Picard frowned. "I think President Stoneroots's
attitude--"
    "--is easily explained," Trask interrupted. "It used to
be nothing but a robot repair technician. Good at what it
did, but not outstanding. Then, eighteen years ago, it
began to file a string of patents for modifications to
household robots--brilliant modifications, and the sort
of modifications you'd want if you were raising a child in
a world with an inferior technology, which is how
Herans view us."
    "'Eighteen years,'" Picard repeated. "That would
be--"
    "--right after the Kemals arrived on Zerkalo," Trask
said. "Those patents made Stoneroots a wealthy vegeta-
ble, which financed its political career. It's obvious that
the Kemals fed it information on Heran technology, so
it's in their debt. That may have been their true motive
in giving it Heran secrets."
    "So you've investigated President Stoneroots," Picard
said in distaste.
    "Of course. There's something strange about the way
it's acting here. Nobody threatens to ruin important
diplomatic negotiations over one person."
    "Nobody but a Zerkalan," Picard said. "I've studied
their world, Admiral. Their 'anarchy' is in fact a highly
structured system which places great emphasis on indi-
vidual rights and personal responsibility toward others;
they keep their government weak because they believe
that governments become more interested in their own
power than in the well-being of individuals. Your actions
seem almost designed to provoke the Zerkalans."
    "It can't be helped." He looked annoyed. "A lot of
things can't be helped. This conflict--the more I learn
about Herans, the more respect I find for them. I almost
wish we could bring them into the Federation."
 "'Almost,' Admiral?" Picard asked.
    "They're too dangerous," Trask said. "I don't mean
just their strength, or their intelligence. The real threat is
their belief in their own superiority, which seems to have
been designed into them. They'll never admit that
they're wrong, or that they have to coexist with us; they
can't. Take them in, and they'll destroy us from the
inside."
    Picard looked at the admiral for a moment. He had
the uneasy feeling that Trask was sounding him out, to
see how the captain might respond to a possible course
of action. "Then how do you propose to handle
them?"
    "'Handle them'? I don't know yet. The way things
look now, they may be a threat for generations to come."
Trask looked around as Deanna Troi walked into the
ready room. "Counselor, how does this ship's crew feel
about Kemal?"
    "There are a lot of mixed feelings about her, Admi-
ral," Deanna said. She looked stern, which told Picard
that Trask had forced her to interrupt a counseling
session. "The hostility is fading. There's some conill-
sion, but nobody blames her for anything Hera has
done."
  "How about sympathy?" Trask asked.
    "That's also present," Deanna said. "She's a charming
young woman in a bad position and, frankly, your
actions are making her look like a martyr."
    "I see," Trask said grimly. "What's the attitude toward
Hera itself?."
    "There's anger, but it's turned into a very bewildered
anger," Deanna said. "People want justice, but they also
want to know why the Herans made this attack. There
are enough odd stories about the Herans to make people
wonder if the situation is as clear-cut as it seemed at
first."
    "And you approve," Trask said. He looked to the
captain. "Picard, there's a lot of unwarranted sympathy
on this ship for somebody who is almost certainly a
Heran agent. What are you going to do to improve
morals?"
    "I see no need for an improvement, Admiral," Picard
said. "If we must fight, my crew will fight to the best of
its ability. They will not let their sympathy for one
innocent woman"--he spoke the words as though
twisting a knife--"interfere with their duty."
    "See that they don't," Trask said. He stood up and left
the ready room.

    As the days passed the dishonor grew like tarnish on
an ill-kept knife. To have someone abuse his good name
in an affront to the captain, to leave the offense una-
venged so long--Worf had a strong urge to carve his
enemy into a human-skin rug. He would not indulge that
particular wish, but once he identified his enemy...
well, dishonor is always avenged.
    The thought of vengeance made him growl pleasantly
as he entered Ten-Forward. It was too bright and cheer-
ful a place to spend the eve of a battle--assuming that
Picard would relent and permit a battle--but it was a
good place to judge the spirit of the crew. As he looked
around he found no discouragement here, no fear, no
unseemly deprecation of war.
    Worf saw three familiar faces at a table: Deanna,
Geordi and Barclay. The Betazoid counselor looked
weary; she had been working overtime with plague-
infected humans. La Forge and Barclay looked ex-
hausted, and they picked at their dinners. Worf ordered a
meal from one of Guinan's assistants and went to the
table.
     Geordi nodded to him as he sat down. "Your statue is
 fixed, Worf. You can pick it up any time."
     "Thank you," Worf rumbled. The damage to his
 statue of Kahless annoyed him. Esthetics aside, it was a
 reminder of his rough handling by Dunbar. "Were the
 repairs difficult?"
     "N-no, they were easy," Barclay said. "Khrolat wood
 is easy to work with, you'll, you'll never know the statue
 was broken."
     "That is good," Worf said, and looked at the humans.
 "Is all well?"
     "Yes," Deanna said, while the two humans nodded.
 "Geordi was just telling me about these dreams he's had
 lately."
     "They're weird," the engineer said. "Usually my
 dreams are pretty mundane, but these--well, take last
 night. I dreamed I was a pirate, and I was digging up my
 office floor to get at some buried treasure."
     "It is good to dream that one is a pirate," Worf
 rumbled.
 "It is?" Barclay asked. "What, I mean, why is that?"
 "Because it is good to be a pirate," Worf explained
 patiently. He reminded himself that one had to make
 allowances where humans were concerned. "A pirate
 commands his own destiny. He takes orders from no one
 and obeys no law but his own honor. To dream of finding
 pirate treasure is to view your life as a success."
     "Too bad I'm not a Klingon," Geordi said. "The funny
 thing about these dreams is that I keep finding diamonds
 and other jewels in them, but I toss them away."
    "Waste," Deanna said. Worf heard the playful note in
her voice, which told him she was relaxing. Compared to
the problems with which she had dealt lately, Geordi's
dreams must have presented a pleasant diversion. "Jew-
els are valuable. They're beautiful and they can have
historical or sentimental value."
    "That isn't what I'm thinking in the dreams," Geordi
said. "It's like there's supposed to be something in the
diamonds, and when I can't find it, they're worthless."
    "You're, you're looking for an answer to your prob-
lems," Barclay said.
    "Yeah, and I'm not finding it," Geordi said disconso-
lately. "I'm no closer to getting Astrid off the hook now
than I was when Trask locked her up."
  Worf grunted. "I share this dishonor."
    There was a moment of awkward silence. "I wanted to
ask how you're doing, Reg," Deanna said, breaking the
quiet. "You seem calmer than you did a few days ago."
    "I, I, I am calmer," he said. "Having the p-plague isn't
as rough as waiting to get it. And, and, it doesn't seem so
bad. The changes, I mean."
    That surprised Worf. Barclay was the last human from
whom he would have expected a calm response to
sunrise, much less the plague. "Your line will become
one of mighty warriors," he said. "That is enviable."
    Barclay shook his head. "I wasn't thinking that way,"
he said. "It's just, I've always been so wound up, even my
shadow jumps. Nerves run in my family--well, they
kind of skitter around in my family. Only now they
won't. I mean, my kids won't have ulcers when they're
ten."
    Worf looked up as Guinan came to the table. She bore
a perplexed look instead of his dinner. "Guinan?" he
asked.
    "I'm having some trouble with the replicatot," she
said. "Geordi, you'd better have a look. I think we've got
another practical joke on our hands."
    "I hope you're right," Geordi said, He went to the bar
with her, followed by Worf, Deanna and Barclay.
    A dinner tray rested on the bar. Gagh swarmed in a
bowl next to a tall, cool glass of prune juice, and a
roasted targ haunch sizzled on a platter. However, a
beribboned box replaced Worf's usual slab of rokeg pie.
"'To Daddy from AI,'" Geordi said, reading the label.
"It's a joke, all right."
     "Indeed," Worf rumbled. Alexander never called him
 anything but "Father"--and the boy was on Earth now.
     "This proves Astrid hasn't tampered with the comput-
 er," Deanna said. "She definitely has an alibi."
     "She, she still doesn't have an alibi for the transmis-
 sion," Barclay said. "But maybe whoever did this sent
 the message, too."
     "If that is so..." Worf mused. He picked up the box,
 determined to investigate it.
 "Don't open it," Geordi warned. "Whatever it is--"
 The warning came too late. The box fell apart in his
 hands, and Worf found himself holding a live tribble. He
 sprang back and snarled in disgust as the loathsome little
 parasite spat at him. "Plakh!" he bellowed over the
 laugb. ter ringing through the lounge.
     Deanna scooped up the hissing, spitting tribble and
 carried it out of the lounge. '7 swear vengeance/" Worf
shouted, further enraged by the chuckles. No one
showed enough sense to back away from him. "This time
my enemy has dishonored MY SON!"
    "'This time,'" Geordi repeated, as if hearing the
combination of words for the first time in his life. "Of
course, this time, boy, am I an idiot!"
    "M-m-me, too," Barclay said excitedly. "There's no
telling how long this has been going on!"
    "And the diamonds--" Geordi smacked his forehead
with a palm. "So that~ what I've been trying to tell
myself. Valuable crystals, that's what the dreams mean!"
    "The flight data recorders," Barclay said. "They're
pseudodiamond crystals, they're, they're stored in your
office--"
 "What the Hu'tegh is this?" Worf demanded.
    "You'll see," Geordi said. "Let's get down to my
office."

    Enterprise had just entered the Heran system when
Data detected an incoming message. "Captain, we are
being hailed by Hera," the android said.
    "On screen," Picard said. A swarthy man with vaguely
Mongolian features appeared on the main viewscreen.
He appeared to be of similar size and mass as Dr.
Kemal, with an approximate age of thirty standard
years--although Data noted that there were uncertain-
ties in the Heran aging rate. The file pictures of Dr.
Kemal's parents showed a man and woman who ap-
peared to be only slightly older than their daughter. He
wore a beard and mustachios similar to those affected by
Worf, and his slanting eyes added to the Klingon impres-
sion. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the Federa-
tion Starship Enterprise."
    The man nodded. "And I am Carlos Ulyanov, Senior
of the Modality. Surrender."
    Oddly, Picard smiled. "We've already discussed that
course of action with Captain Nkoma," he said. "Senior,
I believe it is possible to negotiate a peace between Hera
and the Federation. The effort is certainly worth
making."
    "I don't see where we have anything to negotiate,
Captain," Ulyanov said. His voice grew dry. "Your
people will try to exterminate us. We, of course, will
dispute that."
    "The Federation has never exterminated any race,"
Picard said. "Nor do I intend to see that happen here.
Senior, time is running short, but we do have time. Is
there any harm in our meeting to discuss possibilities?"
    "Yes; I don't think you have the authority to make a
binding agreement, but you might demoralize our peo-
ple." Ulyanov paused, his face momentarily blank. "But
I could be wrong. I'll await your arrival in my office. And
if your ship doesn't attack us," he added, "we won't
attack you." A starfield replaced his image.
Picard turned to Deanna Troi. "Counselor?"
"Captain, I sensed no deception or arrogance in him,"
the Betazoid erapath said. "He believes he's the ag-
grieved party, fighting for survival... and riddled with
guilt over what he sees as the necessity for some ugly
decisions. He doesn't trust us, but if he sees a way to end
this war, he'll take it."
    "Sir," Data said, turning to face Picard, "precisely
how will you negotiate a peace settlement?"
    "By persuading the Senior that his planet will not be
harmed," Picard said, "and that an 'unconditional sur-
render' will not be a draconic measure. But that will
require--"
     The turbolift door opened and Trask strode onto the
 bridge, Data found his posture and facial expression
 suggestive of a confrontational attitude. "Picard, the
 computer says you just talked to the Herans. Why wasn't
 I notified?"
     "The Herans contacted us," Picard said, "and I
 deemed it wiser not to keep them waiting. I've been
 invited to a meeting with their leader when we reach
 Hera."
 "You're not going alone," Trask said. "I'll be there."
 "Certainly, Admiral." Picard smiled slightly. "I will
 also require Dr. Kemal's presence. The Herans may
 listen to her."
  "And risk having her defect?" Trask asked. "No."
     "She would not do that," Picard said. "But if I am
 wrong, what harm can she do?"
     "Let's not find out," Trask said. He returned to the
 turbolift, effectively terminating the conversation.
    Data puzzled over the exchange. By all rights, Captain
Picard's logic should have persuaded Admiral Trask to
release Dr. Kemal from detention, at least for the
purpose of negotiating with the Herans. Clearly logic
had been overridden by some nonlogical force. Data had
noted that certain humans defended erroneous positions
with increased vigor when confronted with superior
logic; his research suggested that this was connected with
something called "ego." Admiral Trask's stubbornness
suggested that he had a large and powerful ego.
    A message came through from Engineering. "La Forge
to bridge. Captain, I can prove Astrid didn't send that
message."
    "Indeed?" Picard asked. "Meet me in the conference
room. Picard to Trask. Admiral, there's been a new
development. We'll meet in the conference room in five
minutes. Number One, you have the bridge." Picard
nodded to Data, who left the bridge with him.

    "Proof," Trask said, as Worf and Geordi sat down at
the conference table. Picard thought the word left a bad
taste in his mouth. "Let's have it, Mr. La Forge."
    "It's been in the flight data recorders all along,"
Geordi said. "I've been so busy trying to prove that
Astrid didn't send this one particular message that I
missed the obvious--that other messages could have
been sent before she came on board the Enterprise."
    Geordi set a pair of data crystals on the table. "These
are cartridges from the flight data recorders. Each con-
tains a day's worth of engineering and navigational data,
including information on subspace transmissions. Now,
neither has a direct record of any unregistered messages,
but they contain housekeeping data that says that such
messages were sent. Power consumption, antenna aiming
commands, computer message routing--it's all here.
This cartridge"--he held up one of the glittering
rectangles--"was made while that message was sent,
and this one has identical data, but it was made the day
before Astrid came on board."
"You're certain this isn't a fluke?" Trask asked.
Picard saw Geordi smile. "Positive. Astrid couldn't
have tampered with the records; these are holographic
crystals, and any attempt to change their contents would
ruin them. The same goes for replacing them with forged
replicas--the structures are designed so they can't be
replicated."
    "Maybe," Trask said. "And maybe Herans have some
trick--skip it. Tell me this. If Kemal didn't do it, who
did?"
    "The culprit remains unknown," Worf said. "Howev-
er, we have identified a similar pattern in my assault
by"--his natural grimace deepened--"practical jokes."
    "So you see a connection," Picard said. "This could
narrow the list of suspects, Mr. Worf. The only person
who would play a practical joke on you would either be
someone who is woefully ignorant of the Klingon atti-
tude to such behavior--or a mortal enemy."
    "I have been too genteel to acquire such enemies
aboard the Enterprise," Worf confessed. "But some
humans find amusement in destroying one's dignity.
This behavior must be... corrected."
     "This would explain the messages, too," Geordi said,
 shivering at WoWs tone. "Maybe they were just random
 signals meant to drive you up the wall."
     "Except it's taken you all this time to notice them,"
 Trask pointed out. "You only caught this last one be-
 cause it was made when the ship was at yellow alert.
 Jokes are meant to be noticed."
  "I agree that we should treat this as more than a joke,"
Picard said. "And we must accept Dr. Kemal's inno-
cence. Mr. La Forge, we'll reach Hera within the hour.
Would you tell Dr. Kemal that I would like to see her at
her convenience?"
    "Yes, sir." Geordi left the conference table, and Trask
raised no objection to her release.

     Worf loathed visiting a planet unarmed. He was reluc-
 tant to go anywhere without a weapon, and his distress
 deepened as the transporter placed him on the Heran
 surface with Picard, Kemal and Trask. Memories of his
 fight with Dunbar only strengthened his awareness that
 he could not prevail against a Heran. Where was the
 honor in being a security chief who could provide no
 security?
    The foursome had materialized in a parklike setting.
Alien buildings with white marble columns rested on
grassy knolls, while tall hedges and clusters of flowering
bushes provided natural cover for combatants. All of the
buildings showed the restrained bulges of phaser and
shield barbettes.
      "That one," Astrid said quietly, pointing to a nearby
structure. "That's the central Modality office." 
 "It resembles the Parthenon," Picard noted.
    "It's an old-human style," Astrid agreed. "Greek
mythology is popular here. Heran society is loosely
patterned after the ancient Greek city-state as well.
Everything is divided up into units of five thousand or so
adult citizens."
  "But with machinery instead of slaves," Picard said.
    "And a dictatorship instead of a democracy," Trask
said.
    "I know," Astrid said. "In theory, the Modality is only
a service organization that coordinates the economy and
keeps the public utilities running. It's run by people who
are tested for their aptitude for the job. Unfortunately,
the tests were created two centuries ago by ambitious,
power-hungry people."
"Old humans, no doubt," Trask muttered sourly.
"Yes, sir," Astrid said. "As I was saying, these tests
place a high value on ambition, the urge to give orders,
and the willingness to ignore other people's rights. We
have people like that, too." The Heran shrugged. "I
never said we were perfect."
    Worf led the way as the humans chattered. The build-
ing's foundation was surrounded by more of the flower-
ing bushes, which ran up to the main doorway. As he
neared the building Worf saw the bushes sway toward
him, almost like a time-lapse recording of plant growth.
Vicious thorns bristled gorgeously along the stems.
    Astrid saw it as well. "Interesting," she said to Worf.
"I don't remember anything like this. It must be new."
    "Moving roses," Trask said in disdain. "So what?
Let's not waste our time admiring the flowers."
    WoWs opinion of the admiral dropped a notch as they
entered the building. He could see how the Herans
would use their genetic technology to turn a rosebush
into a defensive weapon. Any assailant who attempted to
climb through a window or place an explosive charge
next to a wall, would be ensnared in the thorny stems. It
was all a part with the landscaping and architecture. The
fact that the Herans had so heavily fortified their capital
district intrigued the Klingon. Such preparations sug-
gested they feared their own citizens.
    The interior of the building was a marble corridor,
long and large, with rows of unmarked office doors on
either side. "Senlot's office," Astrid said, and in re-
sponse a holographic line glowed in the air. They fol-
lowed it to the door at the end of the corridor. Worf felt
that its size was designed to intimidate visitors by
impressing them with the Heran government's power.
    On the other hand, he thought with a glance at Astrid,
beings of her size would need an uncommon amount of
room. Perhaps this architecture was not just a childish
attempt to overawe newcomers.
 The Senior's office was an austere place of white
marble walls and a single barren desk. The only two
chairs in the room were behind the desk, and Herans
occupied them. One was a handsome man; his compan-
ion was a dark, attractive female with black hair. Both
wore loose, flowing garments of white.
    The man raised an eyebrow. "What do my eyes
behold? Into our room of bliss advance creatures of
other mold--earth-born, perhaps?"
    Picard's lips twitched in cold amusement, but Astrid
showed as much annoyance as Worf had ever seen on her
dark face. "Oh prince, oh chief of many throned powers,
who led the embattled seraphim into war--if you have
to quote Milton at us, could you at least get him right?"
    The man sighed. "Embellishment is a fine art. Who
are you?"
 Trask spoke up. "I'm Admiral Allen--"
    "Not you," Ulyanov said. He gestured at Astrid. "I'm
only interested in people. Who are you?"
    "He's Admiral Allen Trask, of Starfleet Intelligence,"
Astrid said. "You've already spoken with Captain Pi-
card. The Klingon is Worf, son of Mogh, security chief of
the Enterprise. I'm Dr. Astrid Kemal of the Daystrom
Institute."
    "Ah, Kemal," Ulyanov repeated. "Your parents would
be Ivan and Lenore Kemal? They were my students in
college. They're well?"
 "Yes. They're living on Zerkalo."
    "That's supposed to be the most congenial planet in
primal space," the woman said. "I'm Anya Dunbar.
What happened to the Temenus's crew?"
    "They all died," Worf said. He owed Astrid a debt; he
could not let her take the blame for Dunbar's death in
fi'ont of his widow--or his sister. "Three died when the
Temenus was sabotaged. Blaisdell died attempting to
escape from a starbase. Dunbar died after attacking
me." That bit of misdirection, he reflected, was quite
true, and perhaps not as dishonorable as a direct lie.
    The woman nodded silently. "We'll expect you to
return their bodies," Ulyanov said.
"You're in no position to make demands," Trask told
him. "We're here--"
    "--to discuss a peace settlement," Picard said firmly.
"To that end, we shall of course return their remains.
And I believe the next step is to learn why your people
attacked us, Senior. I'm not aware of any provocation."
    "We've been continually attacked by primaIs,"
Ulyanov said. "Over the past twenty-one years, seven
hundred thirty-two of our citizens have died in forty-five
different incidents. Their only motive has been hatred of
what we are. Now your Federation is moving into our
sector. That can only mean an increase in these attacks."
    "You're talking about criminal activity," Picard said.
"The Federation has never sanctioned any such attacks,
and we would want to bring the perpetrators to justice. It
would be to our mutual benefit to cooperate in this
matter."
    "I'm curious about these 'attacks,'" Trask said.
"Forty-five of them? We've heard nothing of this, not
even rumors. What happened to these attackers?"
    "We obliterated the attackers in thirty-nine of the
incidents," Ulyanov said. "There have also been seven-
teen other incidents which ended without any casualties
on our side."
    "Dead men tell no tales," Worf said, hearing the
implicit boast in the man's words. "What of the other
incidents?"
    "We've bribed them into silence," Ulyanov admitted.
"Exposing us would end the bribes, and I doubt that a
criminal would boast of his actions to your Federation."
    "I see," Picard said. "Under the circumstances, you
cannot be faulted for your handling of the situation.
However, a strong Federation presence in this sector will
mean an end to such attacks."
    "After you accept our unconditional surrender," Anya
Dunbar said. "With no conditions, how could we keep
you from exterminating us after we surrender?"
    "They wouldn't do that," Astrid said. "Old humans
aren't as monstrous as some people say they are. I've had
trouble"--Worf saw her glance at Trask--"but Captain
Picard has risked his career to help me, and I've made
friends with some of the old humans on the Enter-
prise--"
    "The fact is," Trask said, "you don't have a choice,
Ulyanov. Surrender now, and get off lightly. Fight, and
we'll hammer you into the ground."
    "Then bring your finest hammer," Ulyanov said, in a
tone that filled Worfwith admiration. "We stand on hard
ground."
"There is no need for combat," Picard insisted.
"Not unless you're mad enough to think one world can
stand against the Federation and our allies in the
Klingon Empire," Trask said. "We'll have your system
swarming with ships."
    "Really?" Ulyanov chuckled. "You make it all sound
intriguing--but 'what folly then, to boast of what arms
can do.'"
    "There's a large invasion fleet on its way," Astrid
answered. "'Read thy lot in yon celestial sign.'"
    He nodded. "'Satan, I know thy strength.' Dr. Kemal,
by siding with the primals you've committed treason
against Hera. If you return, we'll execute you at once."
    Astrid's laugh impressed Worf. "That's the best offer
I've had all week," she said.
    "No, the best offer is our order that you surrender,"
Ulyanov said. "Captain Picard, I did not permit you to
land to listen to your empty demands. I expect you to
accede to our demands. Your portion of the human race
is to submit to our authority. We plan no vindictive
moves, but your people will be required to undergo
genetic modifications which will bring your descendants,
at least, up to our standards."
 Trask looked disgusted. "You can't be serious."
    "I am," Ulyanov said. "But I don't expect you to
surrender. Your limited intelligence makes you stubborn
and foolish. We'll have to pound you into submission.
You may leave." He turned his attention to his desktop's
computer display, dismissing them.
    Picard signaled the Enterprise and the transporter
took them away. "'Milton'?" Worf asked as they materi-
alized in transporter room three.
    "A Terran poet," Astrid said. "Khan Singh used to
quote from his Paradise Lost all the time. My parents
said that's a Heran tradition too, but I think that
Ulyanov quoted Milton to offend Captain Picard and
Admiral Trask."
    "I agree," Picard said, and smiled wryly as they
stepped off the transporter stage. "'Words which no ear
ever to hear in Heaven expected.' I'm puzzled at his
threat against you, Doctor. It seemed pointless."
    "The Senior was trying to scare off a peacemaker,"
Worf said. He felt disgusted by the ludicrous position in
which the mission had placed him. Picard, his com-
mander, had been plotting to create execrable peace,
while the dishonorable Trask had struggled for war.
Sometimes it seemed there was no justice in the uni-
verse.
    "I'd say you're right, Lieutenant," Trask observed.
"Those monsters want war. I wish I knew if they're just
arrogant, or if they've got more tricks to pull on us."
    The intercom signaled. "Bridge to Picard," Riker's
voice said. "Captain, we've just intercepted a message
from Hera to Nkoma. The Heran fleet has been ordered
to destroy Admiral Hoskins's task force."
    Riker sounded scornful of the orders, but it was news
to gladden the heart of any self-respecting Klingon.
"Now there will be no peace," Worf observed happily,
before he recalled that he was not supposed to want a
war here. He found enough good grace to took abashed.
    "No," Picard said. "The Senior is trying to thwart
efforts for peace, which suggests he thinks peace is still
possible."
    Astrid nodded. "He knows that'll be harder once the
shooting starts, but we can do it. I know there are people
down there who want to deal with the Federation, even if
I haven't seen them in eighteen years. They--"
 "You're guessing," Trask said.
    "I'm not guessing that somebody sabotaged the
Temenus. I'll have to--" She stopped and fought clown a
massive yawn. "Sorry. I'll have to go back down there.
Later, after I get some sleep. If you'll excuse me.'?"
    "Wait a minute," Trask said. "What have you got
planned?"
    "Right now I plan to get two or three hours of sleep,"
she said. "In a real bed, with sheets and pillows. In
quarters with a shower, and a private bathroom, and
without a sleazy Pa'uyk guard who keeps asking me
if I think Kilngens make better lovers. Then I'm going
to--"
 "Listen," Trask said angrily.
    "No, you listen," Astrid said, looking down at him
with eyes as cold as space. "I've had it with you pushing
me around and interrupting me, and the next time I hear
you use the words 'Heran' and 'monster' in the same
sentence it had damned well better be an apologyl" She
turned and strode out of the transporter room.

    Molyneux's pocket computer showed the situation
outside the system. The five Heran ships had formed
into a tight cluster and were accelerating toward the
Federation's sixteen troop transports. A combat force of
five capital ships and eight destroyers had deployed
between the two groups, screening the transports. It
was getting dark, and the display seemed to glare in
the waning daylight. Mafia was glad when Molyneux
dimmed the display.
    Squatting under the rock ledge with Maria and Moly-
neux, Dallas idly scratched Koshka's head as he watched
the holographic projection. "We can't stop them, can
we?" he asked.
    "No," Molyneux said. "But if we do enough damage,
they may retreat."
    "And come back with a world-wrecker," Maria said.
All she could feel was the futility of fighting hundreds of
billions of old humans. The future might come to what
she had now--hiding in a cave with other stragglers, not
knowing what had become of her children, waiting for
the old humans to destroy Hera with a single bomb.
    "Shhh," Dallas said. A thin voice whispered from the
disptay's speaker, reeling off attack directives. They
meant nothing to Marla, but she saw Molyneux nod in
approval. She hoped that meant they had a chance.
    The Heran squadron seemed to pause in a last mo-
ment of peace before it turned and accelerated toward
the invaders. The squadron opened fire at extreme range
with its missiles, which raced ahead and tore into the
attackers. The data matrix alongside the display showed
the results: a missile dodged here, a shield crippled there,
another missile destroyed by a well-placed phaser shot.
One Federation destroyer lost all of its shields to a direct
hit, but it came on with a dogged persistence. Then it
entered a wide turn at warp eight, clearly out of control.
"One down," Molyneux muttered. And how many peo-
ple did we just kill? Marla asked herself. She had seen
battle-damaged ships land at her spaceport, and she
knew what those bright lights and precise figures meant:
mangled bodies in shattered hulls, lives ruined beyond
any hope of repair. She forced herself to dismiss those
thoughts. This battle was the only thing that would keep
the old humans away from Hera--and her children,
wherever they were now.
    The invaders moved to intercept the Herans, answer-
ing their attack with volley after volley of photon torpe-
does. They concentrated their fire on one ship, which
dodged and turned under the relentless attack. The
steady barrage detonated in a ripple of flashes, and the
frigate went dark as its power failed. Then the four
remaining ships were amid the invasion force, and the
range was too close for missiles and torpedoes. They
converged on the largest ship, battered its shields down
and turned away from it. The Federation ship flew on for
a moment, then spun out of control. "That was their
flagship," Molyneux said quietly. "That may disrupt
them."
    If that loss had any effect on the old humans it ended
in a matter of seconds. The invaders regrouped and
again positioned themselves between the transports and
the frigates. At least they don't understand our tac-
tics, Marla thought. There was no need to attack the
troopships. They were lightly armed, and by themselves
they could never penetrate Hera's perimeter defenses.
Only the larger ships could hope to take on the
defense satellites and the ground-based missiles. With-
out the front-line ships the transports could not land
their troops.
    She drew thin satisfaction from that thought as the
two forces reconverged. The bulk of the old-human fleet
concentrated its fire on a single Heran ship, and the
frigate found itself caught amid five Miranda-class ships.
The three split apart and went in pursuit of a second
frigate. Their target staggered and spanned as its shields
overloaded under the attack, but then another frigate
homed in and dealt a fatal blow to its power plant. The
puny frigate was turning toward a destroyer when a burst
of torpedoes from another cruiser, fired at dangerously
short range, knocked out its warp coil. Wallowing under
impulse power, it became easy prey for the Federation
ships, which dispatched the damaged ship in a matter of
seconds.
    The last frigate fought on, stubbornly dodging amid
the warships that held it at bay. One old-human ship was
lost to a reflected phaser beam which sliced through its
weakened shields and reduced its warp nacelles to scrap.
Then, while engaging a destroyer at point-blank range,
the last frigate's shields collapsed. In the display, the
Federation ships rejoined the transports and resumed
their advance on Hera.
    Dallas reached out and turned off the computer. "We
did our best," he said. "It wasn't enough."
    "Yes." Molyneux squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned
back against the rock ledge. "'See with what heat these
dogs of Hell advance, to waste and havoc yonder
world.'"
    The sun was down, and Mafia was astonished to find
that the battle had lasted almost an hour. She felt
stunned; some of the people on the lost ships had been
her friends. Jane Nkoma had introduced her to her
husband; Joachim Liu had helped her get her first job at
the starport.
    "We may hand them a few more surprises," Molyneux
said. He took his computer, folded it and slid it into his
hip pocket. "If everything went well, we'll have a few
hundred prisoners to use as bargaining chips. Or a few
thousand."
    Mafia felt alert. So that was why the Hephaestos
Institute had wanted to borrow a courier on the day/he
Temenus left. "The transporter experiments?"
    "Yes." Molyneux's smile was wolfish. "It's not over
yet."



Chapter Seventeen

TRASK FOLLOWED PICARD into his ready room when the
message from President Jaresh-Inyo arrived. "Captain
Picard," he said, as soon as the screen had cleared, "I've
just spent a very difficult afternoon with the Zerkalan
ambassador. She demands that we immediately remove
Kemal from any possible danger. I want you to put her
on a shuttle and send her to the nearest starbase."
    "That might not be safe, Mr. President," Picard said.
"A lone shuttle would be vulnerable to attack by Heran
raiders. In addition, Dr. Kemal has volunteered to help
us negotiate with the Herans. We have evidence of an
active resistance to the Heran government. If she can
help persuade the resistance to side with us and over-
throw its government--"
    "If there's a resistance," Trask noted. "We only have
Kemal's say-so about that."
    "We also have the evidence of our eyes," Picard said.
"The Heran capital is rather heavily defended against
internal attack. It seems the Modality does not trust its
own people. And somebody on Hera sabotaged the
Temenus. "
    "I see," Jaresh-Inyo said. "So you think you can drive
a wedge between the Modality and its citizens."
    "That's why I need Dr. Kemal," Picard said. "She
may help me find that wedge."
     Jaresh-Inyo nodded. "I agree, but the Zerkalans are
becoming impossible. They want Kemal out of danger."
 "Or else what, Mr. President?" Trask asked.
    "Or else they'll withdraw their request for Federation
membership, and negotiate an alliance with the Romu-
lans."
 "A bluff," Trask said.
    "I can't count on that," Jaresh-Inyo said. "This inci-
dent is turning into a major embarrassment for the
Federation. We do not want to drive a potential Federa-
tion member into the Romulan camp. Captain, you are
to do everything you can to protect Kemal. You may also
inform her that we've dropped all legal proceedings
against her." The transmission ended.
    "Well, Picard?" Trask asked. "What are you going to
do about Kemal?"
 "I intend to allow her to return to Hera," Picard said.
 "Against your orders to protect her?"
    "She's probably safer on the ground than on a starship
in a war zone," Picard said. "And the danger will vanish
once a peace is negotiated."
    "If it can be negotiated," Trask said. "Picard, have you
considered the impossibility of enforcing a peace here?
The Herans believe they're superior to us, so why should
they subjugate themselves to us? And with their brains,
how long would it take them to find a way to slip out of a
peace treaty and attack us again?"
    "I'm willing to assume they'll negotiate in good faith,"
Picard said.
  "Why?" Trask asked. "Because Kemal's a nice kid?"
     "Because I have no reason to think otherwise, Admi-
 ral," Picard said. "Despite the Senior's words, ! think
the Heran people want nothing more than to live in
peace. There must be a way to make that possible, and I
will find it."
    Trask said nothing in response, but the cold look in his
eyes warned Picard that he would do everything in his
power to prevent that.

    The air in holodeck three was thin and cold and filled
with blowing snow. Ice covered the craggy cliffs; to
Geordi, it looked as though the chamber had been
adjusted to simulate the high Himalayas. Starfleet uni-
forms were designed to keep their wearers comfortable
under a variety of conditions, but Geordi still shivered
in the biting cold. "Astrid?" he called. He felt out of
breath, and he realized the simulated altitude must be
extreme.
    Almost lost in the mist, several massive humanoid
shapes loomed on the ridge above him. Geordi was
thinking of the yeti legends just before one of the figures
clambered down the rocky slope and turned into Astrid.
"Computer, reconfigure program, set weather to mild,
air pressure to standard," she said. The storm was
replaced with orange sunlight in a clear, frigid sky, and
as the air thickened Geordi swallowed to relieve the
sudden pressure in his ears. Shaggy Kalars looked down
at him from the ridge. "This is my favorite camping spot
back home," Astrid told Geordi as she came down the
rocky slope. She idly brushed snow from her bare
forearms. "All the time I was cooped up in the brig, I
kept thinking how much I wanted to come here, feel real
weather and stretch my legs."
    Geordi nodded; he'd never heard anyone say that the
brig was oversized, and someone with Astrid's physique
would need an enormous amount of exercise. "I don't
know if you've heard the news," he said. "Those Heran
ships fought our task force about three hours ago."
  "How bad was it?" she asked.
    "The Herans were wiped out," Geordi said. "But we
lost seven ships, including the Eando Binder and the
Raymond Z. Gallun. We've got almost fifty people
known injured and over two thousand missing."
    "Long-range transporters," Astrid said. "It's possible
for a transporter to operate over a range of light-
centuries; the Triskelion gamesters could do it."
    "So can a few other races," Geordi said. And so, he
decided, could the Herans. "But what's the point in
abducting--oh. Prisoners."
    "They'll make great bargaining chips," Astrid said.
"Failing that, they could make Starfleet reluctant to hit
Hera too hard. We wouldn't want to hurt our own
people."
    Geordi nodded. That explained the Heran tactics;
instead of destroying ships, the frigates had veered off as
soon as a Federation vessel had lost its shields. Without
shields, there was nothing to keep somebody with a
transporter from abducting crew members. It was the
sort of mild tactic he had come to expect from the
Herans. "Astrid, I talked with Captain Picard a while
ago," Geordi said. "He says you want to go back down
there. Do you think you can accomplish anything?"
    "Yes. If we can get in touch with the resistance, maybe
we can find a way to end this war. And the way they took
prisoners suggests they want to talk. You only need
bargaining chips if you plan to bargain."
    "You're going to need help," Geordi said. "If you can
use me, I'll go."
    "I was hoping you'd ask," she said. "Kemal to Captain
Picard. Sir, would it be possible to meet with you,
Lieutenant Worf and Mr. Data in the conference room."
    They walked out of the holodeck. "Worf told me you
had an argument with Admiral Trask," Geordi said as
they went down the corridor. When she nodded he went
on, "What happened? Losing your temper isn't like
you."
    "l didn't lose it," she said. "I threw it away. I'm an
anarchist, remember?"
    "And you're not supposed to let the government push
you around," Geordi said. "Is that it?"
    "It's more than that," she told him as they entered the
turbolift. "I realized something in the brig. If I have to
spend the next couple of centuries in the stockade on
Jarus Two, I don't want to have to tell myself that I
didn't fight it."
    "I understand," Geordi said. He tried to think. "As-
trid, right now people are scared and confused, and
Trask is taking advantage of that. But once this blows
over, everyone will come to their senses and he won't be
able to exploit their fear. So don't do anything now to
make things worse."
    To his surprise she laughed, a sound with a nervous
edge to it. "He wants to lock me up for the rest of my life
and have me used as a guinea pig. How can he make
things worse?"
    "He'll find a way," Geordi said. "Something tells me
he's good at that."
    "I see your point." She looked thoughtful. "Geordi,
can you tell me something about Captain Picard? Some-
thing personal?"
    The change of subject surprised him. "I can try. What
is it?"
    "What's wrong with his heart? I can't hear his pulse
when I'm around him. Just this strange rushing noise.
It's been driving me crazy."
    "He has a bionic heart," Geordi said. "I don't know
how he lost the original--an accident, I guess. I know
it's strange. Every time I look at him, I can see the
pump's electric fields instead of the usual body-electric
fields."
    "That must be wonderful," she said. He thought she
sounded wistful. "All the things you can see."
    "I like it," Geordi said. "Having the VISOR helps in
my work, but what's really fun is to look at the sky.
People say the sky is black, but that's because they can't
see radio waves and gamma rays and neutrinos. It's like
... like..." He fumbled for words, then gave up.
"There are no words for it. And people--there are these
electric fields that surround everyone, that make it look
like life is a force as real and solid as gravity. Dr. Crusher
keeps trying to convince me to get 'normal' eyes, but I
don't see how I can give up what I have." Even as he said
that Geordi felt surprised. He rarely admitted that to
anyone.
    The ship's full command_ staff was in the conference
room, along with Admiral Trask, who seemed less
pleased than usual to see Astrid as she entered the room.
Geordi wondered just what had happened down on
Hera; if there had been trouble beyond the failure to
make peace, Worf and Picard had not mentioned it.
    Data opened the meeting. "At Dr. Kemal's request, I
have made a survey of biological research installations
on the Heran surface. Although there are fifty-seven such
facilities scattered around the planet, there is only one
which appears to be dedicated to biowar research. Dr.
Kemal, am I correct in assuming that it is this facility
that interests you?"
    "It is," Astrid said. "If there's a cure for this plague, or
the information that could make a cure possible, it's
there. That makes it the most important place on Hera
to us. The Modality knows that and so does the resist-
ance. If they want to deal with us, they'll have someone
waiting in the area to meet us."
    "That seems our best chance," Picard agreed. "Do you
intend to go alone, Doctor?"
    "Geordi's volunteered to go with me, sir," she said.
"And I'd like to take Worf along, as well as Commander
Riker." Geordi noted Riker's surprise at that request.
 "Why them?" Trask asked.
    "Geordi can handle their technology, and Worfknows
security systems," she said. "If things don't work out,
that would give us a better chance of grabbing the secrets
behind their genetic technology. Commander Riker--I
don't mean to cast any aspersions on him, but he's not
too trusting of Herans in general, or me in particular.
That could be useful."
 "Why is that?" Riker asked.
  "Suppose I'm wrong," Astrid said. "Suppose I'm
 leading us into a trap. With your experience, you're
 more likely to spot it than I am. That could save us."
    "I don't know," Trask said. "La Forge is one of
Starfleet's best engineers and Worf is an outstanding
tactician. Riker is a valuable, well-informed command
officer, and a key element to running this ship. The
Herans could learn a lot from them if you turned them
over. That's a lot more credible than your story about
meeting the Heran resistance."
  "I find her logic persuasive," Picard said.
    "I don't," Trask said. "She makes too many assump-
tions. One is the good intentions of this so-called resist-
ance."
    "I could be wrong," Astrid admitted. "If you want me
to go alone, I will, but--"
    This time the intercom broke into her words.
"Bridge," Ensign Rager said. "Captain, we're picking up
a transmission from Hera. It's Admiral Hoskins," she
added in surprise.
  "Pipe it down here," Picard ordered.
    Admiral Hoskins appeared on the briefing room's
screen. He seemed uninjured to Geordi. He was flanked
by two Herans. One looked rather like a Klingon, while
the other was a woman who might have been Astrid's
sister. "Hoskins to task force," the admiral said. "Who
has command?"
    A woman's voice answered. "Captain T'Kir, on board
the Titov. Are you under duress, sir?"
    "No, but I'm still a prisoner," Hoskins said grimly.
"Carry out the task force orders, Captain. Link up with
the Klingons and hit 'em hard."
    "If you do that," the Heran man said, "you may
endanger our prisoners. We have twenty-one hundred
and seventeen Federation citizens in our custody, in-
cluding two hundred and fifty-three civilians."
    "Understood," T'Kir's voice answered. "Are you
threatening to place your prisoners in a combat zone?"
 "No," the woman said. "But it seems our entire world
is to become a combat zone. We'll keep them as safe as
possible. If they're harmed, it will be your doing."
 "Understood," T'Kir repeated. "Out."
    Geordi looked to Picard. "Captain, a while ago Astrid
figured out that the Herans had long-range transporters,
and that they took prisoners to serve as hostages. I think
we can rely on her assumptions."
    "I agree," Picard said. "And if we are to negotiate with
the Herans, we'd better hurry. The Klingons will be here
in an hour. Mr. La Forge, Mr. Worf, Commander Riker,
you will accompany Dr. Kemal on her mission."
    "Thank you, Captain," Astrid said, and stood up.
"Let's go."
    While Beverly Crusher, Deanna Troi and Data left for
the bridge, Geordi accompanied the others to the nearest
transporter room. Once there Geordi checked out a
tricorder. He wasn't too thrilled by the thought of
beaming down into an impending war zone, but that was
part of the job.
    "I don't think it's a good idea to take that along,"
Astrid said as Riker picked out a phaser. "This is a
diplomatic mission, and if a Heran sees you with a
weapon, you're dead,"
    "Maybe," Riker said grimly, "but I'm not going into a
combat zone unarmed. Regulations," he added.
    Astrid looked to Picard, who seemed about to speak.
"Captain, please let me handle this," she said. When
Picard nodded she stepped over to a bulkhead and
leaned against it, crossing her arms in front of her. Her
manner seemed casual, almost lazy. "All right, Com-
mander, if you can shoot me, I won't question your
decision to take that phaser."
  "I'm not about to shoot anyone," Riker said.
    "Try it," she urged him. "I won't move until you draw,
but ! guarantee I'll take it away from you before you can
pull the trigger." Riker merely looked stubborn. "Come on,
try it, little fellow. It's open season on Herans; shoot! blmoH
'ej SoSlij DutuQmoH tlhaQ!" she snarled in Klingon.
    Riker glared at her goading. "I won't shoot an
unarmed--"
    Geordi barely saw what happened next. Trask had
been carrying a phaser. He drew it, and Astrid moved
with a speed and agility Geordi would have sworn was
impossible. She seemed to bounce off the admiral, and as
he slammed against a bulkhead she came away with his
phaser. She stopped in front of Riker and held the
weapon's business end scant millimeters from his nose.
Riker had barely begun to draw his phaser, and with her
free hand Astrid took his weapon and tossed it to the
transporter chief. Then she ejected the power cell from
Trask's phaser and crushed the weapon in her hand. Her
face remained impassive throughout the entire action,
which lasted less than three seconds.
    "Impressive," Worf muttered to Geordi, as Astrid
handed the ruined phaser back to Trask. "I would have
to use both hands."
  "What did she say to Will?" Geordi asked.
    "'You are ugly and your mother dresses you...
funny.'" Worflooked pained by the feeble insult. Geordi
decided that offensive behavior wasn't Astrid's forte.
    Her next words confirmed that. "I'm sorry if I embar-
rassed you, Commander," Astrid told Riker, "but you
had to see how dangerous a Heran can be. You could
have shot me at a greater distance, but at close quarters
an old human doesn't stand a chance against a Heran.
Your reflexes aren't good enough."
    "You've made your point, Doctor," Picard said. "If
you're ready to leave--"
    The transporter room door opened and K'Sah saun-
tered in. "You are not wanted, Ensign," Worf said.
"Depart."
    "Okay," the Pa'uyk said. He stepped onto the trans-
porter stage. 'Tll depart with you. 5bu need me. Doesn't
it make you happy to hear that?"
    Suspicion burned in Worf's eyes. "Why would you
volunteer for a dangerous mission?" he demanded.
    "What, and miss a chance to loot a brand-new world?
Besides," he added proudly, "if there's anything worth
stealing down there, I'm your spider."
    Astrid spoke to Picard. 'Tll take him, Captain," she
said. "I can use him."
 "As targ-bait," Worf muttered.
"Make it so," Picard said. "And good luck, Doctor."
Geordi stepped onto the transporter with the rest of
the away team. "Astrid," he asked quietly, "why would
you want to take him along?"
    "For the same reason I'm taking Worf and Riker," she
said, and gestured to the transporter chief. "You see--"
    The transporter came to life, and the team materia-
lized in a ravine. Overhead, the sky was dark with
night.
 "--they aren't old humans."

    "No, Admiral, I do not usually tolerate such behavior
among my crew members." Picard kept his eyes fixed on
the turbolift door. K'Sah's last-minute offer to join the
away team might have been amusing in a less dangerous
situation. "But I do make allowances for Pa'uyk cultural
behavior, and as an exchange officer, Ensign K'Sah is not
a normal crew member."
    The turbolift stopped and the two men stepped onto
the bridge, where an image of Hera's surface filled the
main screen. "I still don't like the idea of sending Riker,
La Forge and Worf down there with Kemal," Trask said.
"I don't think she was telling us everything. She was too
logical about this."
    "She did have a hidden motive, Admiral," Deanna
Troi said, as Picard and Trask seated themselves. "She
isn't consciously aware of this, but she feels safe around
Geordi. She's hanging on to him like--"
 "--a security blanket?" Trask suggested.
    "More like a life preserver, Admiral," the counselor
said. "He was friendly to her when other people wanted
nothing to do with her, and he did everything he could to
get her out of the brig. In a way, she's falling in love with
him."
    "Only in a way?" Trask asked. "Did her makers leave
that emotion out of the package?"
    "She's capable of love, Admiral," Deanna said. "But
she still fears what she calls 'old humans.' What's worse,
her belief that she's some sort of weapon gives her a
feeling of worthlessness. That limits what she can let
herself feel for Geordi."
    "Incoming message from the Titov," Ensign Rager
said.
  "On screen," Picard said.
    A Vulcan woman appeared on the main viewer. "Cap-
tain Picard," she said. "In the interests of coordinating
our attack, I am placing the task force under the com-
mand of the Klingons. Pursuant tO task force orders, you
will also place your ship under the command of Admiral
Vorkhas."
    "That's not possible, Captain," Picard said. "We are
engaged in negotiations with the Herans. It would be
inappropriate to engage in battle with them."
    "Captain, a refusal to obey this order could be con-
strued as insubordination," T'Kir replied evenly.
    "I'm aware of that, Captain," Picard said. "But I am
on a mission of peace. I understand that Surak took even
greater risks in the pursuit of peace."
    "Correct." Although the Vulcan's face showed no
emotion, Picard thought he heard approval in her voice.
Mentioning Surak, who had led the Vulcans into the
ways of peace and logic, had been a sound move. "Peace
and prosperity," she said, raising a hand in the Vulcan
salute.
    Picard returned the gesture. "May you live long and
prosper."
    A view of the Heran globe replaced T'Kir's image, and
the peaceful scene filled Picard with melancholy. The
Heran fleet had fought Hoskins's task force with desper-
ate courage as they stood between their homes and
invasion. That battle had been a foretaste of horrors to
come, if the away team could not make peace with the
Herans.
    "What do you mean, I'm not human?" Riker de-
manded as the away team materialized in the ravine.
Geordi heard the anger in his voice. "Is this your idea of
a joke?"
    "No," Astrid 8aid quietly. Geordi noticed how she
pulled away from him, as if she were afraid of him--or
of hurting him, he mused. "And quit shouting. Half the
planet can hear you."
 "I wasn't shouting," Riker said.
     "What's he griping about?" K'Sah asked Worf. "The
enemy spy finally says something nice to him--"
 "Silence," Worf growled.
    Geordi scaled the side of the ravine. He raised his
head over its edge and looked around, scanning the
terrain in infrared light. The ground was rough and
rolling, and cluttered with heavy shrubs and thick
grasses. There was no one in the area--wait, his VISOR
was picking up a patch of distortion in the distance. It
might have been from a jammer that didn't quite cover
all of his VISOR's frequencies.
    "Company," Geordi said, dropping back down the
side of the ravine. "I think somebody's about one
kilometer east of us."
    "They can wait," Riker said. "Let's have an explana-
tion."
    "I'd like to hear one, too," Geordi said, still looking at
Riker. He was never going to forget the look on Will
Riker's face. "Astrid, if this is your idea of getting even,
it's a doozy."
    "It is?" she asked, sitting down on a flat rock. Geordi
sat next to her, while Worf and K'Sah remained alert.
She seemed just as puzzled as Riker had seemed in-
sulted. "Am I supposed to get even with him for some-
thing?"
    "Well, not really," Geordi said. "Let's talk about it
later."
    "Okay," Astrid said. She looked to Riker. "Command-
er, I didn't say you weren't human, just that you aren't
 old human. Not entirely, to be precise. Do you know
 much about the Khans?"
    "Only what everyone knows," Riker said. His anger
had faded rapidly, but it was clear that he felt far from
amused. "Most of the Khans were wiped out after the
Eugenics Wars. A few of them tried to make it to Tau
Ceti, but eventually they were killed, too. Are you saying
that some of them survived?"
    "No," Astrid said. "Maybe you don't know that a lot
of them took old-human spouses. The Khans loved these
people enough to make formal, public marriages with
them, and to raise children with them. The Khans may
have been genetically engineered, but in the matters that
counted they were as human as anyone else. They loved
as well as you can, Riker, and they never stopped to ask
if their mates were genetically superior. They knew how
unimportant that is.
    "After the war, many of the men and women who had
married Khans were hunted down and lynched. Their
children were killed just as ruthlessly. But the Khans did
not love foolishly. Their husbands and wives were people
of high intelligence. Most of them found ways to survive.
    "Ask yourself this, Commander," Astrid continued.
"If you had a child, and if you and that child lived under
a death sentence, what would you do?"
  Geordi answered for Riker. "I'd hide."
    Astrid nodded. "You'd go someplace where you
weren't known. Someplace where life was so difficult
that your intelligence would be an asset and people
wouldn't question your background or ask awkward
questions about your children. You'd go to a frontier--
the Sahara Reclamation Zone, Mars, the Moon,
Alaska--"
    Geordi laughed suddenly. "Sorry," he said, seeing the
baleful look he drew from Riker. "Astrid, I'm not sure I
buy that. A lot of people lived in Alaska before the
Eugenics Wars. Even if what you're saying is right, these
half-Khan children would only be a small portion of
Will's ancestors."
    "Alaska was almost abandoned during the wars,"
Astrid said. "And there wasn't much immigration after-
ward. The several hundred half-Khan children who were
brought there formed a respectable percentage of their
generation's population. Quite a few of them are bound
to be Commander Riker's ancestors. That's why I shut
up in Ten-Forward," she said to Riker. "I figured you
knew; your talk about homo arrogans sounded like some
sort of verbal camouflage. That was the only explanation
that made sense to me."
    "So you were trying to protect me?" Riker asked.
Geordi thought he sounded incredulous.
    "I didn't want to get you in trouble," Astrid said, and
shrugged. "But I guess you didn't know?"
 "And I don't believe it, either," Riker said.
    "Why not?" Astrid asked. "I've looked at some Terran
census records, and there are some odd omissions in
them that are best explained by people in the early
twenty-first century covering up their Khan ances-
try. And you're well above normal by old~human
standards--larger, stronger, smarter."
    "Why tell me this?" Riker asked coldly, while Geordi
struggled to keep from laughing. Astrid looked perplexed
by Riker's reaction, and Geordi wondered if she thought
she was flattering him.
    "Two reasons," Astrid said. "One is that you should
know who and what you are. In addition, if the Herans
think you're only part old human, they may be less
hostile to you. That could make negotiations easier."
 "Oh, really?" Riker demanded.
    "Yes, really," she said patiently. "Old humans de-
signed us as weapons. You can't understand how much
we resent that. Unless you like the idea of being an
expendable killing machine?"
    Riker let out a Klingon-like grunt. "No. But why is it
important to have nonhumans here?"
    "They seem less threatening than old humans," she
said. "You heard how my parents acted when those
Intelligence agents visited them. I know you mean well,
but between the Modality's propaganda and these out-
law raids, things could be awkward."
"Point taken," Riker said. "What about Geordi?"
"Name one person who doesn't like Geordi," Astrid
said. "There's something about him--look, we need an
old human who can show Herans that he can deal with
us on an equitable basis, and that's Geordi. Besides. ú ú
well... it seemed like a good idea."
     Geordi thought she looked flustered, and he decided
 to change the subject. "You make it sound like Khan
 Singh is a folk hero on Hera," he said. "I guess you
 wouldn't look at him the way we do."
     "We've got a lot in common with him," she said.
 "Such as being created by a bunch of raving maniacs,
 and having certain people try to wipe us out. And you
 find a lot of people named after him and his followers--
 my dad's father was named Khan. But the Modality has
 slanted history to make the Khans sound a lot more
 civilized than they were."
     "Like they weren't really products of the twentieth
 century?" Geordi suggested.
     Astrid nodded. "Or at least as though they were better
 behaved than their creators. The Modality's aim is to
 make enmity between us and you seem inevitable. Some
 of the things they teach--" She paused, then stood up.
 "Worf, I hear three or four people out there."
      The Klingon noddeck "Three humans and a large
  animal," he said. "They are downwind of us."
      "I can still smell 'em," K'Sah complained. "You
  wanna go meet them, Lieutenant?"
      "Let them come to us," Worf said. "And be silent.
  They may hear our words."
      "Don't worry, Worf," Astrid said. "They can hear our
  breathing a hundred meters away--" She stopped.
  "We're from the Federation Starship Enterprise," she
  said to the empty air. "We're here to negotiate an end to
  the war.. ú no, we're not going anywhere. ú ú yes, but
  we're all unarmed ú ú ú okay."
    "What's all that?" Geordi asked her. It was um,,,,~, ,v
hear only one side of a conversation.
    "I guess you couldn't hear them," Astrid said. "Those
three people and their cat are from the resistance. They
said they've been waiting for someone to show up.".
    ' So you were right again. Geordi lowered his voice.
"How are you holding up?"
  "Fine." Astrid shook her head. "Scared. Maybe I
 shouldn't have come here."         mind. "Nothing's
   Geordi could guess what was on her
               ou switch sides," he said, putting an arm
 going to make y .......;~,, made him feel awkward,
 across her snoutaers. net ~,,~,~
 but she clearly welcomed the gesture. "You stood up to
 the Senior, right? Whatever the originators did to you,
   e didn t turn you into a puppet."
 th y    ' , .....     e~,~ ~iohed Geordi thought she
   "I hope you re right. o,,~ oir~, ú
  might put an arm around him as well, but something
  seemedto høld her back.
     GetSrdi heard footsteps. There was only a little star-
 light, but in infrared light his VISOR let him see two
 men and-a woman come down the side of the ravine.
 From the way they moved Geordi could tell that they
 had no trouble with the near-total absence of visible
 light. They were big, and two of them seemed even larger
 than Astrid. "You're sure they're from the resistance7
 Riker asked uneasily.
      Astrid chuckled as she and Geordi stood up. "I don't
  think the Modaiity would send only three people, and
  especially not a fourteen-year-old."
     "'    '     'is lare as Worf. He approached Geordi
      I m thirteen, the smallest of the trio said. Whatever
   his age, he was . ge ......ú them as though they were
   and Riker ano stareG uu,,,, ......
  the most peculiar creatures he'd ever seen. Then he faced
  Astrid. "These are old humans?" he demanded.
       "Geordi is," Astrid said. "The bearded one, Will
   Riker, is part Khan. The Klingon is Worf, son of Mogh.
   That's K'Sah. I'm Astrid Kemal."
      The man nodded. "Are you in charge?"
       Astrid shook her head. "No, Commander Riker is.
   He's also the Enterprise's executive officer. Is something
 wrong?" she asked the boy, who was still staring at
 Riker.
     "No." The boy shook his head in bewilderment. "It's
 just that... I guess I wasn't sure what I expected old
 humans to look like. I mean, they're so little .... "
     Worf looked amused as the Heran man stepped up to
 Riker. "I'm Alistair Molyneux," he said as he shook
 Riker's hand. "My friends are Maria Sukhoi and Dallas
 Thorn. You're looking for this, of course." He handed a
 tricorder to Riker.
     Geordi joined Riker and looked at the instrument.
 "This has the data on your genetic plague?" Riker asked.
     "That, and several alternate cures," Marla said. "It
 can synthesize the corrective viruses, assuming we've
 made the right guesses about your physiology."
    "You probably have," Geordi said, glancing at Astrid.
He hadn't placed a lot of confidence in her plan to find
the resistance, which had involved more guesswork than
he'd liked. Now he saw how badly he had underesti-
mated her intelligence. "But why are you just giving this
to US?"
    "Maybe to give you a reason to trust us," Molyneux
said. He looked up at a low, feline growl. "Yes. We'd
better move before Central Security locates us."
    Geordi saw something move on the ridge above his
head. A tawny shape flashed through the starlit air
toward the boy, who caught it in his arms. Astrid had
mentioned a cat, but this animal was the size of a
mountain lion. "I suppose the cat's been genetically
altered?" Geordi asked the boy.
    "Not Koshka," Dallas said, draping the animal over a
shoulder. It began purring loudly. "He's natural-born.
But his ancestors were synthesized from different Terran
felines, and they were given enhanced intelligence and
psychic talents," he added. So don't try fibbing around
him, Geordi finished silently. As if in response the cat
turned its head and gave him a look of feline smugness.
    Molyneux started leading the company down the
ravine. "Where are we going?" Riker asked him.
    "There's a tube station forty kilometers north of
here," the man said. "We can be there in an hour,
and--"
 "An hour?" Geordi asked.
    "We can't move any faster over rough ground like--"
He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Oh. How fast
can you travel?"
    "If I push it, I can do that in four hours," Geordi said.
"But why walk? The ship can beam us there, or any-
where else."
    The boy snorted in derision. "And Central Security
would show up in a minute. You can't miss a transporter
beam."
    Riker smiled grimly. "Your secret police are going to
be too busy to bother with us soon. The invasion force
will land in less than an hour."
    Molyneux sighed. "That still gives CS more than
enough time to react, but we'll have to risk it."
    "There's something we can try," Geordi said. "Enter-
prise, eight to beam up."
    The transporter beamed up the group in two separate
parties. Geordi came up last, and as he stepped off the
transporter stage he felt that four oversized Herans, a
Pa'uyk and a Klingon made the transporter room seem
unusually cramped. Worf, who was standing next to
Dallas and his cat, began to sneeze. "Sickbay," Worf
said, touching his combadge. "Send a medical techni-
cian to transporter room three."
    "Is there a problem?" Beverly Crusher asked. When
Worf answered with more sneezes, she went on, "Under-
stood, Worf."
    Geordi went to one of the wall panels, opened it and
started rearranging its circuit modules. "Our transport-
ers use a subspace pulse to lock on to a transport site,"
he explained to Dallas, who joined him and peered over
his shoulder. "I'm going to code this to give several
thousand pulses, spread all over the near side of Hera."
     "They'll still pick up our energy trace when we beam
 down," the boy said. He pointed to one of the modules.
 "Heterodyne that resonator with the main coherer.
 Central Security uses a polyphase detection system--"
     "--and the multiple resonances will make our beam
 down look like a random energy flux," Geordi con-
 cluded. "Good thinking."
     Molyneux had joined them. "That should buy us an
 extra fifteen minutes before they can pinpoint us," he
 said. "By then we'll have our own defenses set up."
     Geordi nodded. "Just where do you want to beam
 down?" he asked.
    "There's a communications complex two kilometers
north of the capital," Molyneux said. "When we take it,
we can communicate with everyone on Hera and block
most of the Modality's communications at the same
time."
    "What about Central Security's backup systems?"
Astrid asked.
    "We staged an uprising a few days ago," Molyneux
said. "We managed to destroy the backup networks. CS
won't have restored more than a third of its emergency
systems by now."
Geordi closed the circuit panel. "Ready here," he said.
"Then let's go," Riker said. He took one step toward
the transporter stage, then stopped dead in his tracks. He
looked at his empty hands in bewilderment.
    K'Sah let out a piercing whistle, then held up the
tricorder that Molyneux had given Riker. "Lose some-
thing?"
    Riker seemed ready to explode. "Ensign, how in hell
did you get that away from me?"
    K'Sah snickered. "Now why would an honest, upright
Starfleet officer want to know how to swipe something?"
He tossed the tricorder to Worf, who had just received an
injection for his cat fur allergy from a medical techni-
cian. "But if you're really interested, I give lessons."
    Worf growled at K'Sah, then handed the tri›order to
the orderly. "Give this to Dr. Crusher," he ordered.
Geordi noticed that Astrid had fixed K'Sah with a
sharp, suspicious look, an unusual display of emotion for
her. "We're wasting time," she said. "Let's move."
    Geordi stepped onto the stage with Astrid, Riker,
Worf and Molyneux. "Energize," Riker ordered, and
seconds later they stood in a clearing near a white dome.
The sun was low on the horizon, but still bright in the
clear blue sky. The air's warmth told Geordi it was late
evening here rather than early morning.
    K'Sah and the other two Herans materialized a few
seconds later. "What now?" Geordi asked.
    Dallas checked a tiny instrument that he pulled from a
pocket, then pressed a signal button. "Our people will be
here in a few minutes," he said. "Then we'll take that."
He nodded at the white dome.
Riker looked the dome over. "Is anyone in there?"
"Just some workers and the automatic defense sys-
tem," Dallas said. "It's too tough for me to crack by
myself, but--"
    Thunder and lightning rumbled in the distance.
"What the heck?" Geordi wondered; he had seen a lot of
strange things on various worlds, but a storm in a clear
sky was new to him.
    Riker had his tricorder out. "It's a Klingon space
raid," he said. "They're invading."



Chapter Eighteen

CONCERN FOR THE SAFETY of his ship had led Picard to
order the Enterprise to pull away from Hera as the first
wave of ships broke into orbit. As the Enterprise waited
in a high orbit Picard paced his bridge and consulted
different tactical and navigational displays. It was clear
that the Herans had never expected an assault on this
scale, and the combined Klingon and Federation forces
quickly overwhelmed their defensive satellites.
    That action carried a high cost. A Klingon battle
cruiser was so badly damaged that it was forced to
withdraw, limping away from Hera at warp two. A
Federation destroyer was smashed by one of the last
Heran satellites, and the Enterprise's sensors told Picard
that this time the Herans were unable to beam off any
survivors before the ship's reactor blew up.
    The invasion force began making pinpoint attacks on
Hera itself, cutting at ground defense installations with
phasers and disrupters. Meteors in reverse, clusters of
torpedoes rose from the surface and tore into the fleet. A
Federation cruiser lost one of its warp nacelles to the
attack, and a Klingon scout ship was left drifting without
power.
    The defense was futile. Screened by the combat ships,
the transports began beaming down their troops even
before the last installation was destroyed. Picard called
for a tactical surface display, and the bridge's main
viewer showed that the Klingon commander was con-
centrating his force around the Heran capital--and
around the Enterprise's away team. It would be far too
easy for a stray shot to destroy the team, Picard thought,
and while such teams were in theory expendable, that
theory overlooked years of friendship and the value of
each individual. "Mr. Data, who's in command of the
Klingon task force?" Picard asked.
    "Genera[ Kateq, sir," Data responded from his post.
"He was one of Gowron's main supporters in the
Klingon civil war. He is an expert at leading ground
assaults. He is now on the surface."
"Hail him," Picard said, taking his command seat.
Trask occupied Riker's usual seat, from which he had
watched the assault in stony silence. "You're worried
about your away team," Trask said.
    "I'd like to make certain there are no accidents,"
Picard said.
    A stout Klingon with graying hair appeared on the
main viewer. He stood on the Heran surface, in an open-
air command post set up on the side of a grassy hill.
Other Klingon warriors bustled around him as they set
up equipment. "What do you want?" Kateq demanded.
 "I have an away team in your area," Picard said.
 Kateq grunted. "We will try not to kill them."
    "They're trying to bring the Heran resistance move-
ment on to our side," Picard said.
    "Good," Kateq said. "That will make their surrender
easier."
     "They may not surrender," Trask said. "Herans are
 tough, General. You may have to fight them to the
 death."
     "Good," Kateq repeated. "Qaplah!" He broke the
 contact abruptly and vanished from the viewer.
     Deanna Troi had listened quietly from her seat at
 Picard's left. Now she looked at him in concern. "Why
 do you want to exterminate the Herans, Admiral?" she
 asked.
  "I don't," Trask said.
"Perhaps not consciously--" Deanna began.
"Counselor, what I want to do is win," Trask said. "If
the Herans surrender, fine. If they insist on fighting to
the death, well, better them than us." He stood up and
left the bridge.
    Deanna spoke as soon as the turbolift door had shut
on him. "Captain," she said urgently, "he doesn't just
want to win. He wants to wipe out the Herans."
    Picard didn't doubt her, although that was a mon-
strous thing to find in a human. "Can you say why?" he
asked.
    She shook her head. "It's not resentment over the
plague. He doesn't hate the Herans, either. He's moti-
vated by something cold and calculating."
    "Is he looking for a way to advance his own career?"
Picard asked.
    "No, sir," Deanna said. "If anything, he's willing to
sacrifice his own career in exchange for exterminating
the Herans. I don't understand it."
    "Neither do I." Picard rubbed his chin in thought. He
had believed Trask to be what he appeared to be:
dedicated to the Federation's well-being, opposed to the
injustice of the Heran actions--and nothing more than
that. The captain would have liked to maintain that
belief, but he knew better than to doubt Deanna Troi's
wisdom. "I can think of nothing more evil than geno-
cide. Is he insane?"
    "Morally, yes, but not legally," Deanna said. "He
doesn't regard the Herans as people, which makes this
decision easy for him."
 Picard nodded. "He's consistently spoken of the
Herans as monsters, and that would explain his eager-
ness to arrest Dr. Kemal. Isolating her from the crew
would make it that much harder for us to see her as a
person."
    Data had been quietly working at the conn. Now he
turned around in his seat. "Captain, I have lost contact
with the away team."
    "'Lost contact'?" Picard repeated. "Can you find
them on sensors?"
    "No, sir," Data reported. "Sensors and communica-
tions are being jammed from the surface. I can find
nothing."

    "We're in the middle of a triangle," Riker said as he
checked his trioorder. Geordi saw him point in different
directions. "Klingons that way, Federation troops that
way, Herans that way, and all of them in a bad mood."
    "Plus there's some kind of subspace jamming in
effect," Geordi said as he checked his tricorder. He'd
never seen jamming like this, but whatever it was, it
meant communicators and transporters wouldn't work.
It was also screwing up his VISOR, although he could
still use enough frequencies to see by. "We're sur-
rounded and cut off."
    K'Sah cringed and looked to Wore "Don't you just
hate it when that happens?"
    "Silence," Worf said. "I see no problem. We are not at
war with anyone."
    Geordi heard the regret in his voice. "And we've got to
stay that way," he said.
    "Correct." Molyneux turned toward Riker. "We've
got less than a day to end this, Commander. There are
three couriers on the way into old-human space.
They'll reach their destinations tomorrow, and when
they do, they'll infect Earth and two other planets with
the Unity virus."
    "We know about the couriers," Riker said. "I take it
that 'Unity' is your name for the plague?"
    "Yes," Maria said. "And there's only one way to stop
those ships. That's to depose the Modatity, put the
resistance in charge, and hope that those ships accept

orders from us."
  "That doesn't sound like much of a hope," Riker said.
    "If you've got a better idea, I'm open to suggestions,"
Molyneux said.
    "I'm the one who wants suggestions," Riker said. "We
kick out the Modality and put you in charge. What's to
keep you from turning against us?"
    "What's to keep you from wiping us out after we
surrender?" Maria countered. "Nothing. But you could
wipe us out anyway. And you will, if this war goes on. Or
if we renege on a surrender."
    "We aren't going to wipe you out," Geordi said. "The
Federation doesn't work that way."
    The cat made mewling, rowting noises. "Maybe he's
telling the truth, Koshka," Dallas said. "But he doesn't
make Federation policy."
Worf eyed the boy. "You can read minds?" he asked.
"No," Dallas said. "I just know Koshka's language."
"bljeghbe'chugh vaj biHegh!" a Klingon voice roared
from nearby. Although Geordi's command of the lan-
guage left much to be desired, he recognized this phrase,
which was a useful phrase to know when dealing with
Klingons: surrender or die.
 Astrid snarled an answer. "yiyach'qu jay' yiH/"
    Geordi looked to Worf, who shook his head in disgust.
"Do I want to know what that means?" Geordi asked.
    K'Sah snickered. "Translated into human, it would be
'go pet a tribble,'" he said, and snickered again as Worf's
glower deepened. "Just the thing to tell a bunch of kill-
crazy Klingons. Damn, Worf, she really is your kind of
woman."
    "She must learn worse manners," Worf said, and
muttered a few Klingon words that might have enhanced
Astrid's vocabulary.
    A skirmish line of Klingon warriors crept into the
clearing, weapons at the ready. They looked wary; being
insulted in a war zone was enough to put them off-
balance. "Identify yourselves!" one commanded.
    Riker stepped forward. "I'm William Riker, first offi-
cer of the Starship Enterprise. I want to see your com-
mander."
    The leader grinned nastily. "General Kateq will want
to see you, prisoner. This way." He gestured with his
disrupter.
    To Geordi's relief none of the Herans tried to argue.
Worf, however, demurred. "We are not your prisoners,"
he grated.
    "Oh?" The leader grinned again. "We have weapons
and you do not, and I find you consorting with Herans in
a war zone. So what does that make you?"
    Worf straightened. "I am Worf, son of Mogh. What are
you?"
    The leader thumped his chest with a gauntleted fist. "I
am Commander Kharog--and I am not unarmed." The
other Klingons laughed at his wit.
    Astrid tugged at Worfs sleeve. "Worf, if you want his
weapon...
    "No," Worf said. He looked as though he were near
the end of his patience. "His weapon is dirty."
    "Let's skip the unpleasantries," Riker said, while
Kharog glowered at Worfs insult. "Kharog, these Herans
are our allies. Take us to Kateq. Now."
    Kharog glowered at Riker, but he barked a command
at his men and pointed east. Klingons, Federation per-
sonnel and Herans started walking. They marched in
silence for a half hour, until they came to a group of
Klingons in a meadow. Geordi saw that the grassy field
was busy with the invaders' activities. While Klingon
technicians fussed and hammered at large pieces of
equipment, a small cluster of officers shouted at one
another over a portable disrupter cannon. Other officers
bellowed at one another across a map projecting table.
    Kharog led the group to the table. "General Kateq,"
he said, amid the outraged howls of the Klingon com-
mand staff. "This is Riker, from the Enterprise. He is--"
     "Shut up," Kateq said. He looked up from the table
 and glared at Riker. "What treachery is this? We land,
 we deploy, our weapons fail!" He slammed a fist on the
 cannon, denting its projector. "Nothing works!"
     "Central Security," Molyneux said. "They had a lot of
 tricks up their sleeves."
    Geordi and Astrid already had their tricottiers out,
and Geordi felt pleased that he beat her to the answer.
"Nanites," he said as he scanned the clumsy-looking
weapon. The Enterprise had once been infested by
similar virus-sized robots, and Geordi was painfully
aware of their destructive potential. "They've disabled
the power links."
    Kharog gaped. "These people contaminated their en-
tire planet?"
    Geordi shook his head. "Herans aren't stupid," he
said. "I'll bet these nanRes are programmed to attack
nothing but weapons, and deactivate themselves after a
certain length of time."
    "You think well," Molyneux said, and sighed. "If all
the invaders are disarmed, we'll have a harder time
overthrowing the Modality."
"The--" Kateq peered at Molyneux. "Who are you?"
"Alistair Molyneux, former head of Heran Combat
Operations. Let's see. You'll need weapons. Shields, too.
They're a dead giveaway to our sensors, but you proba-
bly don't need to hide. How are your communications
holding up?"
    Kateq looked as though Molyneux were several jumps
ahead of him. He turned to Riker, who as a Starfleet
officer was at least a familiar object. "What is this?"
    "Molyneux leads the resistance to the Heran govern-
ment," Riker explained. "There's been a change in
plans, General. Molyneux's people have joined us. They
intend to overthrow the Heran government, then form a
provisional government and surrender."
    "We still must fight," Worf said, assuring the Klingons
that their visit to Hera would not be wasted.
    "I'm afraid you're right," Molyneux said, as he pulled
a handkerchief from his pocket. He draped it over the
cannon's flat upper surface. "Stunner," he said, and a
hand weapon appeared on it.
    "Oh, wow," Geordi muttered, as Molyneux tossed the
weapon to Kateq. Portable replicators were supposed to
be impossible. He wanted the war to end right now, so he
could find out how the Herans managed that trick.
    Maria Sukhoi and Dallas had produced their own
pocket replicators and were helping to arm the Klingons.
Most of the Klingons looked pleased to hold live weap-
ons again, but Kharog looked at his gun in disgust. "A
stunner," he said. "No warrior fights with veQ like this."
    Kateq ignored his comrade and turned toward Moly-
neux, not quite aiming his new weapon at the Heran.
"Weapon parameters?" he demanded.
    "It has a range of fifty meters," Molyneux said. "At
that range, it will incapacitate a Heran for at least a
minute. Point-blank, it'll knock one of us out for an
hour. It won't penetrate a wall, but the government
forces can't interfere with its functions."
 "Good," Kateq said.
 "Bad," Kharog sneered.
  "You talk too much," Kateq said in irritation.
    Kharog ignored that. "Are we to trust our enemies'
weapons?"
  "Yes," Worf said.
    "And invite betrayal?" Kharog threw his weapon to
the ground. "Never!"
    Worf almost purred as he spoke to Kharog. "You know
much of betrayal."
    "You toDSaH.t" Kharog snapped. He would have said
more, but Kateq punched him in the face, silencing him.
    "Later," Geordi muttered to Astrid, when she gave
him an inquiring look. Now he saw why Kharog had
taken an instant dislike to Worf. During the Klingon civil
war Worf had been instrumental in helping Supreme
Councilor Gowron defeat the Duras family. Worf had
helped expose the Duras family as traitors who worked
with the Romulans, the blood-enemies of the Klingons.
Kharog might swear loyalty to Gowron now, but it was
clear he had sided with the Duras family. He wouldn't
forgive Worf for exposing the dishonor of his side.
    Riker was looking at the stunner Dallas had given him.
"Fighting Herans can be a problem," he said. "Kateq,
have you been warned what they're like?"
    "I heard WoWs report," Kharog said, and grinned at
Wolf. "You lost a fight with a Heran, didn't you? Well?"
"Yes!" Worf spat.
    "No wonder they impress you," Kharog said. He
chuckled and turned to Kateq. "The losers always exag-
gerate their enemy's strength. It makes their defeat look
less dishonorable."
    "You are not one to speak of dishonor," Worf said.
"General, we need a plan. I suggest--"
    "You suggest?" Kharog sneered. "Why should we
listen to one who wears the uniform of a child?"
    Worf clenched his fists. "Do you fear my words?" he
demanded.
    "Fear you?" Kharog laughed. "One who lives with
humans? Do you also visit dentists? Do you like opera,
too?"
    Geordi thought that Riker looked as offended as Worf,
and even the other Klingons seemed annoyed by
Kharog's boorish opinion of opera, but before anyone
else could respond Astrid reached out, grasped Kharog's
leather-clad shoulders, and raised the warrior until his
feet dangled a half-meter above the ground. Eyeball to
eyeball with the enraged Klingon, Astrid bared her teeth,
snarled and broke into a Klingon shriek:

       "Be silent, weak and foolish one/
       At battle's start we saw you run/
       Oh, how to punish such a one?
       Tell me, Klingons,
            what shall be done?"

    Kharog squirmed and kicked as he tried to break free
of Astrid's grip, a struggle she easily ignored. The other
Herans cringed and covered their sensitive ears while
Astrid sang, and the cat raised his head to wail at the sky.
Worf, however, beamed in delight at the stirring lyrics.
He and the other Klingons roared into the booming
chorus with her, their fists swinging to the rhythm:

   "Give him to Fek'lhr, who sees his dishonor/
   Lock him in Gre'thor, pit of the horror,
    To rot in shame forevermore/"

    Astrid dumped Kharog on the ground and looked
down at him. "I like opera," she said. "Now please pick
up your stunner."
    Kateq and the other Klingons bellowed their approval
as Astrid turned away from Kharog, who hastily picked
up his stunner. Geordi's ears felt bruised, although he
knew that his universal translator had shielded him from
the worst of it. "How's your throat?" Geordi asked
Astrid.
    "Intact," she said. "Think I should sing that for
Trask?"
    He chuckled. "Still working on this getting-even
stuW?."
Astrid nodded. "Everybody needs a hobby."
"Yeah--hey, you're hurt," Geordi said in dismay. Her
knee was bleeding from where Kharog had kicked her
with his spike-toed boots. As she sat on the grass Dallas
came over and made some medical instruments with his
replicator. The tools were similar to their Federation
counterparts, and Geordi looked over the boy's shoulder
as he tended Astrid's injuries. A trimensional scan
showed only cuts, bruises and a small fracture in her
kneecap. All of the injuries were easily treated.
    The Klingons ignored the first-aid work. "You had an
idea, Worf," Kateq said. "Talk."
    "The Modality would wish us to attack their strong-
hold," Worf said. Geordi nodded at that; attacking a
strong point was always a tough mission. "It is bad to do
what the enemy wishes."
  Kateq mulled that over. "Talk more," he said.
    Worf talked. "Let us surround their stronghold and
wait. While we wait, we will declare that we have
neutralized the Modality, and that we recognize Moly-
neux as the new ruler of Hera. Then our enemies must
attack, to prove us wrong and restore their power."
    "And we attack when they come into the open?"
Kateq laughed evilly. "Not a bad plan... for a Starfleet
lapdog."
    "We Klingons are the ones to attack!" Kharog pro-
tested. "Leave these others out of it."
    As if in response, Kateq eyed Astrid. The sight of a
mere human toying with a Klingon warrior had clearly
made him thoughtful, which, Geordi realized, must have
been exactly what Astrid had had in mind. "I said we
would attack when they come into the open," Kateq said
in a decisive tone. "We will. Let's go. Where is the
enemy?"
 Maria pointed. "The Modality's headquarters are that
way,~

Chapter Nineteen

WORF THOUGHT the central Modality building looked
undefended, but Molyneux refused to let anyone ap-
proach within a hundred meters of it. "They've got other
tricks beside stunners," Molyneux said.
 Kateq looked unimpressed. "Such as?"
    "A mental suppression field," Molyneux said. The
parklike setting held a scattering of marble benches, and
he sat down on one. "It inhibits neural activity. Get
within range while it's on and your brain will cease to
work, permanently."
    "A dangerous weapon," Kateq conceded, and glanced
at Kharog. "For some."
    "It's not much of a weapon," Dallas said, while
Kharog glowered at his commander. The boy let his cat
drop to the ground. "It's too big to be portable, and it
doesn't have much range."
    "But it will force us to keep our distance," Worf said.
The cat approached him and purred as it rubbed against
his knees. Worf wished it would go away. The orderly's
injection had alleviated his cat fur allergy, but the
 ghay'cha' drug had left him with a dry mouth and an
 unwelcome feeling of sweet mellowness. Worf had to
 fight to maintain his emotional equilibrium. "Have you
 any portable weapons?" he demanded of the boy.
    The boy shook his head. "None that will work here.
Central Security has defenses against every type of
weapon you can name: nuclears, explosives, biochemi-
cals, nanites, the works. Eveha starship's phasers
couldn't get through to them."
    "You said they could not interfere with a stunner,"
Worf said.
    Dallas nodded. "They don't need to. Those walls are a
half-meter thick. You could fire a sonic cannon at them
all day and all night, and it wouldn't do any good."
    "We are not going to fight them on those terms,"
Kateq said. "The plan is to make them attack. Kharog,
deploy our forces."
  "At once," Kharog said.
    "Of course at once, you idiot," Kateq snarled, as
Kharog strode off. Kateq looked away from his subordi-
nate, and Worf heard him mutter something that in-
volved in-laws, inbreeding and political infighting.
Meanwhile Kharog started shouting and waving his
arms, and groups of Klingons began to move into
position.
    Worf looked around the area. Aside from Astrid,
Molyneux and his two companions, there were no other
Herans in sight. According to Molyneux the civilians
had evacuated this area. Despite that he picked up the
distinctive scent of humans coming from the target
building--quite a few of them, in fact. If they chose to
launch a sally, they might overwhelm the Klingons. It
would be glorious, but it wouldn't last long.
    Molyneux stood next to him. "There's another prob-
lem here, Worf," he said. "The whole planet is going to
watch this attack. If it turns bloody--"
    "'Turns bloody'?" Kateq chuckled. "We start bloody,
human."
 Dallas snorted. "That's why the primaIs sent them,"
he said. "A bunch of bloodthirsty maniacs. Just the thing
to exterminate a planet."
    Kateq look pleased by Dallas's words, but Astrid put a
hand on his shoulder. "No one wants to exterminate us."
"Prove it," he said.
    "We can't," Geordi told him. "You're just going to
have to believe that we aren't as vicious as your origina-
tors were."
    Marla Sukhoi stared at him in surprise and anger,
Worf saw. He found the sight of Heran anger to be
impressive, and he had to respect the engineer for not
flinching. "What would you know about them?" she
demanded, in the few seconds before her calm demeanor
returned.
    "Just the obvious," Geordi said. "There's something
evil about people who would design their own children
to be weapons. You must hate them, and considering the
trouble you've had, you can't be blamed for thinking
we're like them."
    Dallas's cat made a strangely modulated mewling
noise. "He means that," the boy said in blank astonish-
ment.
    "Enough pleasantries," Worf said, "Molyneux, you
must capture the communications station."
    Molyneux nodded. "Of course. Commander Riker,
you should be present for this." He gave Kateq a cordial
nod. "If you'll excuse us, General?"
    "By all means," Kateq said, evidently deciding it
would be unwise to show the normal Klingon curtness to
a Heran.
    After Molyneux left with Riker and Maria Sukhoi,
Worf sat down on the grass and contemplated the
Modality building. It looked like nothing more than an
ornate heap of marble, but that said nothing of its
defenses. It was heavily defended, to be sure, yet there
had to be a way to assault it, in case the siege failed.
     Worf looked at the feline. It had sat down two meters
 in front of him, and it watched him with eyes far too
 intelligent for an animal. Displeased by the thought that
it was reading his mind, Worf growled at it. The cat
growled back, then stood, arched its back and raised its
hackles. Envying the display, Worf bared his teeth. The
cat hissed loudly at the Klingon and showed its claws.
Worf snarled at it. The cat crouched and prepared to leap
on Worf.
    Dallas walked over and picked up the cat. "Forget it,
Koshka," he said. "He's bigger than you are." The cat
growled nastily. "Sure, but what if he'ate you first?"
  "I might," Worf said. "I have not eaten today."
  "Oh, right," the boy said, as if eating were the sort of
  thing anyone might normally forget. He let his cat jump
  to the ground, after which he pulled a replicator cloth
  from his pocket. "I can only synthesize terran-stock
  foods. What sort would you like?"
    Worf grunted. Most Earth foods struck him as bland,
but the planet had spawned a few taste treats. "Prune
juice and goat meat," he said.
    "Okay," the boy said. "How do you want that
cooked?"
Worf did his best to look blank. "'Cooked'?"
"Never mind," Dallas said. He lay the replicator on
the grass and spoke a few words. A slab of red meat and a
jug of prune juice appeared.
    Worf sat back and ate while he continued to watch the
Modality building. He didn't doubt that its defenses
were too sophisticated for him to defeat. Perhaps the
Enterprise could blast away the building with her
phasers, but that destruction would only harm the Feder-
ation's cause here.
    On the other hand... "That building," he said to
Dallas as he finished eating. "How is it constructed?"
     "The building itself?." Dallas shrugged. "It's pure
marble, just like the original Parthenon back on Earth."
  "No reinforcement?" Worf asked.
    "No," Dallas said. "It doesn't need any. Why should
it?"
 "Defense," Worf said, and stood up. "I have a plan."
 Dallas looked interested. "What is it?"
    Worf flashed a ferocious smile. "Trust me," he said.
He looked around, found a stone and hefted it. The
cobble gave his hand a solid, gratifying feel. Worf gauged
the distance to the building, then hurled the stone. It
sailed through the air and smacked harmlessly into one
of the building's windows. A second later the window
opened. A Heran leaned out, waggled a finger at the
Klingon as though he were a naughty child, and then
graced him with a forgiving smile.
    Kateq laughed at Worf as the window slid shut. "Well-
done. You have struck the first blow. Already their
morale sags."
    Worf ignored him. What mattered was that the build-
ing was not protected against inert projectiles; the
Herans clearly had not expected an attack by such a
crude technique. It was a poor opening, but better than
nothing. "I need your replicator," he told Dallas.
    Geordi and Astrid walked up to him as the boy
handed Worf the cloth. "What have you got in mind?"
Astrid asked as Worf spread the cloth on the grass. "A
gun? They've got a damping field against explosives and
shock waves."
    "I bet I know," Dallas said as Worf grunted. "And a
pocket replicator won't be big enough. Medium con-
struction replieator." A thickly folded cloth appeared
atop the replicator. Dallas shook it out and spread it on
the grass, covering an area of a dozen square meters.
"Mind a suggestion, Worf? Use tritanium-osmium
spheres with a twenty~centimeter radius. They'll give
you higher density and the best kinetic energy yield."
    Worf grunted in acknowledgment of the suggestion.
"Catapult," he said.
    "I'll be damned," Astrid said, as light glared and a
massive wooden framework appeared on the replicator.
"Worf, that's so simple, it's brilliant."
    "He's never at a loss," Geordi said in admiration,
while several Klingons walked over to join Worf. Growl-
ing in approval, they lifted the catapult and turned it to
face the building. Worf ordered the replicator to produce
one of the spheres that Dallas had suggested. The high-
density metal sphere weighed more than a hundred ki-
los, and he did his best not to look strained as he carried
it over to the catapult. The other Klingons were grunting
and straining too as they wound the siege engine's elastic
band around its capstan. As Worf had surmised it would,
the replicator had delivered a machine best suited to
Heran muscles, and it was all the aliens could do to arm
the catapult.
    Worf dropped the sphere into the holding cup at the
end of the catapult's arm. He inspected the machine,
pretending to judge its aim and abilities while he looked
for a trigger. "Stand clear," he said at last, finding a
likely looking mechanism. He pulled the rod, and the
machine kicked as it flung its load toward the building.
There was a quick hiss as the ball sped through the air,
followed by an explosive crack/as it struck its target.
White chips flew through the air as a small fracture
appeared in the marble wall.
    The Klingons roared in delight at the damage they had
done. "I could get to like fighting Herans," one said as he
began to rewind the catapult.
    Worf grunted in agreement and went for another
projectile. The large replicator was in use, however;
Kateq and several other Klingons had decided to join the
fun by making their own catapult. Worf was glad for
that. It would speed up what promised to be a long
process.

    Riker often exercised by sharing holodeck adventures
with Worf, and those strenuous battles--the Klingon
liked to fight hand-to-claw with synthetic monsters twice
his size, and with dispositions even he considered vile--
kept the Enterprise's executive officer in superb condi-
tion. He was doubly glad for that now. The Herans
walked at a rapid pace, and he was able to keep up with
them without huffing and puffing.
 Even so, he knew they were accommodating him by
traveling at a rate they considered slow, and they had
more than enough breath for conversation. "It must be
difficult for you," Mafia Sukhoi said, as they followed a
narrow trail through some woods. "Being part Khan
among old humans."
    "I'm not sure I believe what Kemal said," Riker told
her.
Sukhoi looked over her shoulder at him. "No?"
"No," he said. "This is her idea of a joke. Even if it
were true, after three-hundred-plus years that sort of
ancestry would be so diluted that... hell." "What?" Molyneux asked.
    "Maybe I wouldn't be so annoyed if I didn't think it's
possible," Riker admitted. He didn't like the idea of
being even partly descended from the Khans; it was like
being asked to share the guilt for what they had done. It
was as galling as the sympathy the Herans were showing
him.
    "I can see why you'd feel upset," Sukhoi said. "I've
read some old-human history books. They aren't objec-
tive about the Khans."
    "It's hard ro be objective about mass murderers,"
Riker said.
    "I know what the Khans did in your Eugenics Wars,"
Sukhoi said. "They used their old-human subjects as
cannon fodder, and they were pretty casual about slaugh-
tering their opponents. But they did other things that
you don't have to feel ashamed of."  "Such as?"
    "Think," she said. "Before the Khans appeared, the
old humans only had one space station, they used
rockets to get into orbit, and they could barely reach
their moon. By the time the Khans were defeated, Earth
had ships good enough to reach the stars, except nobody
gives the Khans credit for contributing to Zefrem Coch-
rane's experiments on warp drive.
     "Maybe," Riker said. "But that doesn't cancel out
 what they did."
     "Nobody said it did," Sukhoi said. "Although if it
 matters, the Khans weren't any more brutal than some
 old humans, and they didn't try to wipe out humanity.
 And the Khans managed to end a lot of the old humans'
 tribal and religious conflicts."
     "Only because it suited their needs," Riker said. "And
 I suppose that deep down you think we prirnals should
 thank you for this Unity plague--"
    Her face blank, Mafia stepped in front of Riker,
blocking his path. "Listen, little man," she said coldly.
"My husband died trying to stop Unity. The Modatity
took away my children and sentenced me to death
because I tried to stop it. They've killed many good
people who tried to stop it. You may not like us, but by
God you will respect us."
    Riker looked up at her. "You're right," he said. "I
apologize."
    Marla nodded at that, and they walked on. Molyneux
broke the silence after a long moment. "If you're from a
ship named Enterprise, you're probably familiar with
Mrs. Sukhoi's namesake, Maria McGivers."
    The name jogged a memory. "She married Khan
Singh," Riker said, "after the original Enterprise rescued
him." That had been a well-kept secret until after the
notorious Genesis incident.
    "And after she committed mutiny to aid him," Moly-
neux said. "The story is famous here. All sorts of
dramatists, composers and artists have created works
based on their love. The theme of these works is that we
can get along with old humans. That's not a popular idea
with the Modality--"
    "--but your people don't always agree with your
leaders," Riker concluded.
 Molyneux raised an eyebrow. "Do yours?"
Despite himself Riker had to smile. "Touchd, "he said.
Molyneux smiled back as they entered a clearing.
Riker stopped and held up a hand; there were a dozen
Federation assault troops in the clearing. "Don't shoot,"
Riker said as they looked at him. "I'm Commander
William Riker of the Enterprise..."
    Riker's voice trailed off as he looked at the troops, who
milled about in obvious confusion. "What in hell?" he
muttered. He found a man with lieutenant's pips on his
collar. "Report," Riker ordered him.
    "I'm, uh, ensign, I mean--" The man shook his head.
"I'm an ohqcer. From the Crazy Horse. We've captured a
prisoner, sir," he added proudly. "She's around some-
place, but she won't escape, because we're guarding her,
so don't worry about her escaping."
 "What's your name, Lieutenant?" Riker asked.
    "Was I promoted? Oh, right. I've got a name, sir. And
a prisoner. You've got, let's see, one, two--well, a lot of
pips on your collar, so, uh, you outrank me, right?"
    "That's right," Riker said. Baffled, he turned to Moly-
neux. "What happened to him?"
    "I'm not sure," Molyneux admitted. "It could be
confusion gas, a neural stunner or a psionic scrambler.
The effects will wear off in a few hours."
    The lieutenant nodded. "That's right, there was some
gas, but it didn't do anything, even if we did get gassed,
because we're all okay despite the gas we're all on top of
the situation is under control. Say, you're in Starfleet,
right?" He watched Riker nod, then drew his phaser and
casually pointed it at Riker. "What am I supposed to do
with this?"
    Riker felt faint, even after he saw that the weapon's
power cell had been removed. "Just put it back," he said.
    "Oh, thanks," the man said in evident relief. "Say, are
you in Starfleet?"
    Riker turned away from him as a Heran entered the
clearing with two more Federation soldiers. She looked
harried. "Please give me a hand," she said to Molyneux
and Maria. "There are at least twenty more primals lost
in the woods around here. A couple of them have hurt
themselves, too."
    "We can't stay," Marla said. "There's a communica-
tions station in the area. We're going there."
    "It's about two hundred meters that way," the woman
said, pointing. "Tell them I need help. The primals keep
wandering off."
  "No one's wandering off," the lieutenant said.
    The woman nodded. "That's right, I'm your prisoner
and you have to stay here to keep me from escaping.
Hey, you with the beard!" she said, as Riker started to
leave with Molyneux and Maria. "You have to stay here
and make sure I don't escape!"
"It's all right," Molyneux said. "He's with us."
They took a different clearing out of the trail, and
returned to the clearing where they had beamed down.
Phaser marks now scorched one side of the dome. "We
can go in," Molyneux said as he made a scan with his
tricorder. "Our people have neutralized the defenses."
    Riker and Marla followed Molyneux through the door.
Three Herans worked at control panels inside the build-
ing's main chamber, and as Riker came in all three of
them pointed hand weapons at him. "It's all right,"
Molyneux said. "Commander Riker is here to help end
the war."
    "Oh," one of the technicians said. They all looked
mildly embarrassed as they put their weapons aside.
"Sorry," one man said, "but we had some trouble with
other Federation people a while ago, after our defenses
failed."
 "Was anyone hurt?" Riker asked,
 "I don't think so. Is the war really over?"
    "It will be shortly," Molyneux said. "We're surrender-
ing to the Federation."
    The technicians looked puzzled. "Is that a good idea?"
one of the two women in the station asked. "The
Modality claims we're winning."
    "We're winning this battle," Molyneux said. "But the
Federation has more resources than we do, and they've
wiped out our fleet and ground defenses. We can't stop a
second assault, especially not if they decide to use a
world-wrecker."
 "You're saying we don't have much of a choice," the
first technician said. "I'm not sure I like the idea of
surrendering to the primals. I know how they act."
    "No, you don't," Riker said. "Not all of us." He
looked to Molyneux. "And we wouldn't destroy Hera.
That's one thing we won't do--exterminate an entire
people."
    "Commander Riker is living proof of that," Maria
said. "Some of his ancestors were Khans. He even looks
a bit like Khan Singh, don't you think?"
    Riker tried not to appear affronted while the techni-
cians looked at him. "Well, maybe," one of them said
grudgingly. "What happens if we surrender?"
    "The resistance has formed a provisional govern-
ment," Molyneux said. "The Federation is willing to
deal with us, which implies they'll accept Hera's contin-
ued existence."
    "And you need to broadcast that message," the wom-
an said. She gestured to the other technicians. "Jackson,
Kwame, let's get set up."

    The Klingon and surviving Federation ships had un-
disputed control of the space around Hera. The tactical
display on the bridge's main viewer proved it. No Heran
weapons remained operational in space, and the star-
ships covered the planetary starports with their weap-
ons, while several small Klingon ships formed a loose
perimeter at the edge of the Heran planetary system.
Despite that Picard felt ill at ease. Something in the
tactical situation felt wrong. It was as though the Herans
had conceded the first round, but had not yet begun the
next phase of their assault.
    Five ships, Picard thought. Five small ships and their
crews had devastated one of the largest Federation forces
since the battle of Wolf 359. A dozen satellites and
surface installations had done still more damage to the
invading fleet. He had to wonder why the Herans hadn't
fielded a larger force, with more potent weapons. With
the resources of their world, they could have done so
easily.
    Admiral Trask paced back and forth in front of the
main viewscreen. It showed an overhead view of the
Heran capital. Individual humans and Klingons ap-
peared as dots on the edge of visibility. "Can't you get a
better image?" he asked, stopping in front of Data's
station.
    "No, sir," the android said. "The Herans are generat-
ing interference all across the spectrum. I cannot even
ascertain that we are viewing actual events."
    "You mean we could be looking at a hologram?"
Picard asked.
    "That is correct, sir," Data said. He paused as new
information appeared on his instrument board. "I am
picking up a Heran transmission."
  "Put it on the main viewer," Picard ordered.
    Will Riker and two Herans appeared on the viewer,
seated at a table in front of a bare wall. Riker appeared
dwarfed by the man and the woman who sat with him. "I
am Alistair Molyneux," the Heran man said, "acting
head of the resistance. Speaking on behalf of the resist-
ance, I hereby declare that the Modality no longer has
authority to govern our world, and that the resistance
will serve as a provisional government until a democrat-
ic replacement system can be organized.
    "My first order is that all hostilities against the Federa-
tion and their allied forces cease, both on the ground and
in space. The Federation has offered peace terms that are
acceptable. We have every reason to believe that the offer
is made in good faith." He nodded to Riker.
    "I'm Commander William T. Riker of the United
Federation of Planets," he said. "This war is being
waged in response to an attack made by the Modality
against the Federation. Our only goal is to ensure that
Hera will not launch another attack. After the surrender
your world will be administered temporarily as a Federa-
tion trust territory--"
    Trask's jaw sagged. "Who gave him permission to
make Federation policy?" he demanded.
"No one," Picard said. "Commander Riker is merely
citing well-established Federation policies."
    "It may not be our policy this time," Trask said.
"Dammit, he could be committing us to anything!"
    "--assure you that it is not our intention to harm
anyone," Riker continued on the screen. "The Federa-
tion is not founded on violence or extermination. One of
our first missions here will be to prevent the sort of
trouble you've had with old-human outlaws. Further-
more, our presence will be as unobtrusive and limited as
possible. We are confident that cooperation is possible
between Hera and the Federation..."
    Static drowned out his voice as the image dissolved
into a jagged raster pattern. The screen cleared and
Carlos Ulyanov appeared. "Well, well," Trask said ac-
idly, recognizing the leader of the Heran government.
"Now for the rebuttal."
    "I am the Senior of the Modality," Ulyanov said
formally. "As such, I assure our citizens that the Modali-
ty is intact and functioning, despite certain inconven-
iences. Although Hera has been invaded and the primaIs
control the skies above us, 'the issue remains in doubt.'
As I speak a relief fleet is on its way and will arrive
within a matter of hours. More to the point, we have
other weapons at our disposal. We anticipate that within
the day we will force the primaIs to surrender. Continue
to fight; we shall survive." He vanished from the screen.
Picard looked to Troi. "Counselor?"
    "That's no bluff, sir," she said. "The 'other weapons'
must mean those ships we tracked leaving Hera."
    "And the 'relief fleet'?" Picard wondered. "Mr. Data,
begin a long-range scan for Heran ships. I think we can
expect company soon."

    The catapult assault had gone on for almost three
hours when Riker, Molyneux and Marla Sukhoi rejoined
the away team. Geordi thought Riker looked a bit
winded, but he was obviously working to hide that.
"What's up?" he asked Geordi.
    "We're trying to get into their headquarters," Geordi
said. Another metal ball cracked into a battered wall.
"Worf decided to try knocking on the door. Once we get
it open--"
    A triumphant Klingon bellow cut off his words.
Geordi looked at the building and watched a large chunk
of the outer wall fall away, exposing a room and a half-
dozen Herans. It was obvious that the Herans had
anticipated this. They immediately broke out into the
open and ran pell-mell toward a group of Klingons.
Stunners knocked two of the Herans to the grass outside
the building, but the others dodged and weaved too
rapidly for the Klingons to strike them with their shots.
In seconds the three remaining Herans were in the midst
of a dozen Ktingons.
    Kateq glowered as his men were pummeled and tossed
about like rag dolls. "The Romulans would die laugh-
ing," he muttered in disgust. Nearby Klingons fired their
stunners into the melee, but one Heran escaped their
barrage. Picking up a Klingon, he used the man's body to
shield himself as he dashed back into the damaged
building.
    Geordi watched as the man and his prisoner vanished
through a doorway. "Now why did he do that?" he
wondered.
    "You didn't hear?" Dallas asked. "Naguma--she's the
acting head of Central Securityretold them to bring
back a prisoner."
    "Old-human hearing is not acute," Worf said. He drew
a veil of silence over Klingon hearing; if anyone had
called an order from the building, Geordi doubted Worf
had heard it.
    One of Kateq's aides spoke to him in a quiet, intent
whisper. "Rescue a prisoner?" Kateq snarled at him. As
if in answer to his own question he spat on the grass.
    "It must be what they expect," the aide said. "This
means they must have lowered that mental-suppression
field. This could give us a chance to rush in and over-
whelm them."
 "With their own laughter," Kateq grumbled. "Shut up
before somebody confuses you with my Qip son-in-law."
 There followed a long moment of silence, after which a
 door opened in the building and the captured Klingon
 was shoved into the open. He walked stiffly across the
 ground toward Kateq, who looked mortified. "Kharog,"
 he muttered.
    Kharog looked enraged as he reported to Kateq.
"They offer to surrender," Kharog said.
    Geordi thought the Klingon general looked as aston-
ished as he felt. "They do? Why?" Kateq demanded.
    "They say they would like to avoid further blood-
shed," Kharog said. "They say they have fought honora-
bly and will surrender their world to the Klingon Em-
pire. They--" He cursed in Klingon.
    "It's a trick," Astrid said. "The Modality is angling to
hold on to its power."
    Worf grunted in agreement. "Surrender to the Empire,
and the Modality remains in power as its servants," he
noted. "A clever move."
    "And they don't have to worry about what the old
humans might do to us," Molyneux said. Geordi
couldn't read his impassive face, but he thought the man
sounded tempted by the idea.
    Kateq's aide spoke quietly in the general's ear. "Sir, I
say--accept! We would become mighty indeed, if we
absorbed them into the Empire."
    Kateq chuckled, grabbed the man by the throat and
pulled his face close to his own. "And what if they
absorbed us?" he demanded, before he shoved the man
away. "This offer is a trick. Let them surrender to the
Federation." He chuckled again. "Let humans handle a
human problem."
    "I say destroy them!" Kharog shouted. "Butcher
them! Slaughter them! Vaporize them!"
    With an exasperated snarl Worf grabbed Kharog by
the shoulders, faced him and slammed his forehead into
Kharog's ridged scalp. Geordi winced at the thud of the
impact. "Thank you," Kateq said in heartfelt Federation
Basic as the unconscious Kharog fell to the grass. He
turned to Riker. "This is a human problem, human."
    "So it is." He looked at the shattered building, then
gestured for the rest of the away team to follow him.
"Let's go."

Chapter Twenty

"THERE 1S STILL NO SIGN of Heran ships, sir," Data told
Picard. He checked the instruments at the helm station
again. "Sensors detect no activity within two light-years
of the Heran system."
    "Maybe Ulyanov was bluffing," Trask said. "Unless
... Data, how much interference are you getting from
Hera itself?."
    "Large parts of Hera are still masked by interference,"
Data said. "However, the jamming is limited to the
surface and does not affect our long-range sensors."
 "So far as you know," Trask said.
    "I have independently verified sensor reliability, sir,"
Data said. "We are receiving accurate data--just a
moment. There is activity approximately ten light-hours
from Hera."
 "What sort of activity, Mr. Data?" Picard asked.
    "A ship has just emerged from a transwarp duct," the
android said. "Its configuration resembles that of the
Ternenus. It is bearing three-seven-nine, mark zero three
and accelerating to warp nine-point-five."
  "Another courier?" Trask asked.
     "No, sir," Data said. "It appears to be heavily
 equipped with sensors. This suggests it is a scientific
 survey vessel."
  "What is its course?" Picard asked.
    Data consulted his instruments. "It is on an intercept
course with a Klingon ship. Intercept in sixteen sec-
onds."
    Data put an image on the main viewer. A small
Klingon Bird-of-Prey appeared, its image rendered in-
distinct by distance. As it began a turn a sleek white
shape flashed past it, easily dodging a spread of photon
torpedoes from the Klingon vessel. The Heran ship fired
no weapons of its own, but seconds later the corvette
began to dissolve like a lump of sugar dropped into
water.
    "Incredible," Ensign Rager said in awe, staring at the
screen from her seat at the conn. "What happened?"
    Data had already surmised the answer from his instru-
ment readings. "It appears that the Heran ship attacked
the Bird-of-Prey with nanitc disassemblers," he said.
"They took the ship apart atom by atom." 
 "But... so quickly?" Trask asked.
    "The nanites could have converted the ship's material
into more nanites, which would cause the rate of de-
struction to grow geometrically," Data said. "It is an
intriguing and irresistible weapon. Shields are not de-
signed to stop nanites." He saw new activity on his
sensors. "Detecting a second Heran ship. It is at bearing
three-twenty-nine-mark-fifty-zero-five, and moving to
intercept a second Klingon ship." "On screen," Picard ordered.
    The main viewer now showed a second Heran ship as
it flashed toward, and past, a Klingon vessel. The
Klingon ship fired its disrupters as the Heran craft
neared it. Then a gaping hole appeared in the Klingon
ship's engineering section, and it began a slow tumble as
its power died. "More nanites?" Trask asked.
    "No, sir," Data said, as he slowly deciphered his
sensor readings. "It would appear that the Heran ship
struck the Klingon ship with an antigluon beam. Gluons
hold together the quark packets which make up most
subatomic particles--"
     "I've studied physics," Trask said sourly. "I take it
that our shields are useless against antigluons." 
"That is correct, sir," Data said.
    "And I take it that this second Heran ship was a
modified science vessel," Trask said.
    "The readings do suggest that, sir," Data said. "Its
weapon system was not an integral part of the vessel.
Indications are that it was"--he found an appropriate
term--"jury-rigged."
    "They're showing off," Trask muttered. "Letting us
know that they can invent new weapons in a hurry."
    "Incoming message, Captain," Rager reported. "It's
from the Heran ship."
 "Put it on the main screen," Picard ordered.
    A space-suited Heran woman appeared on the screen.
"Enemy fleet," she said. "We have more ships on the
way. Surrender or be destroyed. You have thirty minutes
to decide."
    "Hail them," Picard said as the woman vanished from
the screen.
    Rager touched her controls, then shook her head.
"They're ignoring our hail, sir."
    "Damn," Picard muttered. "We can't go away and
leave our problems unresolved."
    "I concur," Trask said. "Hail that Klingon admiral,
what's-his-name."
  "Admiral Vorkhas," Rager said.
    The commander of the Klingon task force appeared
on the main screen a moment later. "The peacemakers,"
he said in contempt, seeing Trask and Picard. "What do
you want?"
    "We've got less than thirty minutes to settle this
issue," Trask said. "If we don't do it now, we'll never be
rid of the Herans. Beam up your forces--then bombard
every military and industrial site on Hera."
     "And what about these attacking ships?" Vorkhas
 asked. "We cannot resist them."
     "We can be done and gone before they show up,"
 Trask said. "There's no time for debate, Admiral. Our
 peace mission has failed."
     "It has not," Picard said. "Admiral Vorkhas, my away
 team is still trying--"
     "The mission has failed," Trask said firmly. "Picard,
 follow your orders."
    "Admiral," Picard said in a level voice, "we are too
close to a peaceful solution to throw it away."
    "There is no peaceful solution," Trask said. "You've
seen how these monsters fight. Give them a replicator
and they can create any weapon they like. We've got to
disarm them."
    On the screen, Vorkhas grunted. "Sensible talk. What
is an industrial site? Every house with a replicator?"
    "I intend to issue General Order Twenty-Four to the
Federation ships of the task force," Trask said. "Captain
T'Kir on the Titov will supply you with the appropriate
target parameters. Enterprise out." Trask turned to Pi-
card. "You'd better get your away team out of there."
    Data looked at Picard and decided that it would be an
appropriate metaphor to say that his face had turned to
stone. "Admiral, I refuse to obey that order. I also refuse
to allow you to contact the Titov."
    "I knew you'd say that," Trask said. "Computer,
General Order One-Eighteen. Authorization--"
     As the admiral spoke, Data moved his hands across
his control panel and entered a command of his own.
  "--Trask seven-gamma-twelve, initiate."
    "What is this?" Picard demanded. "General Order
One-Eighteen--"
    "--is only to be used in case of mutiny," Trask
finished. "Which is what we call it when a junior officer
refuses to obey a direct order in a combat situation. The
Enterprise is now under my command. We're bringing
this war to an end now--the only way it can end.
Computer, hail the Titov."
 "Order denied," the computer answered.
    Data turned to the admiral and spoke in a regretful
tone. "I locked out your command authorization before
you could complete your order, sir." Trask seethed. "This is mutiny!"
    "That is correct, sir," Data said. "However, I cannot
be a party to an act as immoral as the one you would
order."
    "What does a machine know about morality?" Trask
demanded.
    "Genocide is never moral," Picard said, as though
repeating the obvious to a backward child. "And that is
obviously what you want."
    "For the good of the human race," Trask said. "Piø
card, think. How did the Khans take control of a quarter
of the Earth? There weren't enough of them to grab it by
force. No, they swayed people into following them. With
their charisma and intelligence, they were irresistible,
natural leaders. And now we've got a whole world of
Khans on our hands! What happens if they decide to
take over? Do you think we'll have the strength of will to
resist them?"
    "I cannot say," Picard told him. "But I cannot con-
demn an entire people merely because you fear what
they might do. And even if you are correct--good! The
human race demands challenges. There is no better way
to develop character."
    "This challenge could destroy us," Trask said. "Or
enslave us. We need to exterminate them."
    Those words hung in the air. "I would rather see the
human race enslaved than commit genocide," Picard
said. He nodded to Ensign Kellog, who stood at Worf's
post. "Ensign, remove the admiral from my bridge."
    Data turned to Picard as Kellog led the admiral into
the turbolift. "Captain, there is the possibility that
Admiral Trask is correct."
     "Perhaps," Picard conceded. "But I think of'humani-
 ty' as a characteristic we could not maintain if we
 exterminated a foe. Such an act would cost us our souls."
    "I understand," Data said. "However, this does not
obviate the possibility that Admiral Trask is correct."
    Picard nodded. "In that case, we'll have to be very
careful, won't we?"

    "You haven't won yet," Ulyanov said as Riker led the
away team along with Mafia Sukhoi and Dallas Thorn
into his office. Riker noted how Worf looked around the
room as though searching for traps. K'Sah searched the
room as well, then looked irritated when he found
nothing worth stealing. Geordi took a chair next to
Astrid Kemal. "And you can't win," Ulyanov continued.
"We have a dozen ships coming in from our outposts.
They'll reach Hera in a matter of minutes."
    "Those are civilian ships with improvised weapons,"
Mafia said. "And with crews who aren't trained to fight
and kill. They may not be a match for the Klingons and
Starfleet. And what happens when the Federation sends
another task force?"
    Ulyanov smiled. "'Hast thou turned the least of these
to flight'? The relief fleet will buy us enough time to
finish building a fleet of robot warships. Then we'll
overwhelm our enemies."
    "Don't bet on it," Riker said. He seated himself in
front of Ulyanov's desk. The chair was scaled to fit
Herans and it almost dwarfed him. "You may win this
battle, but you'll lose the war."
    "Will we?" Ulyanov asked. "We have three ships
inside Federation space. They'll spread the Unity virus
to several old-human worlds--including Earth. You may
exterminate us on this world, but you'll accomplish
nothing."
    "Don't count on that, Senior," Riker said. "Your
plague ships haven't succeeded yet. Even if they get
through the different planetary defenses, we'll find a way
to reverse Unity's effects."
    "And even if everything goes as you plan," Astrid
added, "have you thought about what a victory will look
like? The old humans and their children will hate you as
much as we hate the originators. You'll find yourself at
war again in another generation, and this time you'll be
fighting your equals."
 "You can't know that," Ulyanov said.
    "It's a high probability," Mafia said. "But I guarantee
you won't live long enough to see the outcome. The
Modality brought this war down on us, and you've
forced us to fight and kill, as though we were nothing but
weapons. Now nobody trusts you. Either surrender or
see how long decent people let you live."
    "You're out of power, Senior," Riker said with a nod
at Maria. "Give all the orders you please, but nobody
will take them anymore. All you can do is cause more
ruin."
    Ulyanov was silent for a long moment before he finally
looked at Riker. "What are your terms?"
    "First, a cease-fire," Riker said. "Recall your ships.
Release your prisoners. Hera will be placed under the
authority of the Federation, in accordance with Chapter
Twelve of the Articles of Federation."
    "So we're to be a trust territory," Ulyanov said. "As
though we were a tribe of savages."
    "Not quite," Riker said. "Eventually you'll be allowed
to join the Federation--"
    "--where you can keep us under your thumbs,"
Ulyanov said. He scowled, then touched a pad on his
desk. "Naguma. 'The brazen throat of war has ceast to
roar.' Issue an order to all ships. Cease fire; we have
surrendered. Contact the invaders and transport all
prisoners to their ships."
    That took Riker by surprise. He had expected more
arguments from Ulyanov; this capitulation came as
suddenly as a chess player resigning from a lost game.
"You're surrendering?" he asked.
    "It's either that or be destroyed," Ulyanov said. "Not
that conquering us will do you much good. We won't stay
surrendered, primal. You may loathe us, but we hate you
with a strength you can't imagine, because this is an
intellectual hate, based on what every Heran knows to be
true."
    "They aren't the originators," Astrid said quietly.
Riker saw her move closer to Geordi.
    "They're no better than them," Ulyanov told her.
"They've killed at least five hundred people in this
assault. They've left us defenseless. They aren't going to
protect us from outside attacks, or even from their own
criminals."
 "We can trust them," Astrid said.
    "I doubt that Hera will agree," Ulyanov said. "We
know what primals are like."
    "Do we?" Marla asked. The look on her face reminded
Riker of the blank expression Data showed while proc-
essing a complex problem. "Let's look in the archives."
  "'The archives'?" Ulyanov repeated.
    Marla nodded. "During my interrogation you men-
tioned an 'originator file.' I think it's time to see what
you've been keeping secret."

Chapter Twenty-one

PICARD BEAMED DOWN ALONE, materializing in front of the
shattered Modality building. Despite his trust in the
Herans he felt uneasy. The situation was precarious, and
given the depth of Heran fears about human behavior, it
would not take much to provoke more fighting.
    And Admiral Trask would love that, he thought as he
entered the building. Picard feared that the man might
yet find a way to resume the war. In that case, the
extermination of the Herans might become inevitable.
That had to be avoided at all costs.
    He found the away team and several Herans in the
building's basement. The basement was a long, marble-
walled chamber that held several thousand white metal
cabinets filled with data cartridges, as well as several
display machines. Worf and K'Sah both looked alert and
were holding Heran weapons in place of their deacti-
vated phasers. Riker and Geordi La Forge aided the
Herans in their search of the cabinets. "You said you had
something, Number One," Picard said as he approached
Riker.
"Not yet," Riker said quietly. "Mrs. Sukhoi is looking
for a classified document about the originators."
    "Except that we can't locate it," a Heran woman said.
She spoke without looking up from the cabinet tray she
had been searching. "It has to be in here somewhere, but
it's been deliberately misfiled."
    Picard nodded thoughtfully. "Which suggests that this
document is dangerous to the Modality," he noted. He
recognized her as the woman who had appeared with
Molyneux and Riker in the transmission. "You're Mrs.
Sukhoi?"
    "Yes." She spoke without looking up from the tray.
"Please excuse my manners, Captain Picard, but the
recent past has been rather trying."
    "I quite understand," Picard said, unsurprised that a
Heran would apologize for not being perfectly cordial.
Of the other two Herans in the room, one was a young
boy who introduced himself as Dallas Thorn. A feline
the size of a mountain lion sat by his feet, and the boy
introduced the animal as though it were fully sentient.
Seeing the way in which the animal eyed him, Picard
found that a distinct possibility.
    Geordi was growing exasperated with the search.
"Maybe they destroyed what we're looking for," he said.
    "No," Astrid said. "They wouldn't do that, no matter
how dangerous the file was to them. The Modality had to
know the truth. But something that important should be
accessible. They should have hidden it some place
obvious."
    "Except they didn't," Dallas said. "The Senior knows
where it is, but he won't say, and even Koshka can't get it
out of him. We may have to read every file in here,"
    Marla Sukhoi looked at the endless ranks of cabinets.
"That could take days," she said, and shook her head.
"There's a pattern to everything the Modality does, even
in the way they keep secrets, but they haven't followed
the pattern this time."
 "Perhaps the Modality didn't hide this file," Picard
suggested. When the Herans looked at him in confusion
he pressed on, "If this secret file concerns your creators,
it might have been filed before your people came to
power, perhaps even before your ancestors came into
existence. The current Modality would only have to
know where they placed it."
    "That makes sense, Captain," Astrid said. "Our old-
human ancestors didn't think they way we do. They
weren't exactly open-minded and reasonable."
    "Vicious, secretive, power hungry, bloodthirsty--"
Dallas chopped off his own words, an embarrassed look
on his face. "But how are we supposed to figure out how
people like that thought?"
    Picard could have sworn that Worf smiled. "Allow
me," the Klingon said. "What became of your origina-
tors?"
    "They were executed for treason," Maria said. "They
tried to engineer us to be absolutely loyal to them. As
slaves," she added in barely controlled disgust.
    "That's what the history books say," Dallas said. "The
loyalty modification they had planned wouldn't have
worked, but the Modality executed them anyway, for
trying it."
    "This seems improvident," Worf said. "What if the
rulers had required their services again?"
    "They gambled that they wouldn't," Marla said. "In
fact, the Modality destroyed the records that told how
genetic engineering worked, to make sure that nobody
could repeat the originators' treason. They wanted to
keep power to themselves."
    "Was there a trial?" Picard asked. "Perhaps this
'originator file' is the record of their trial. It might be
filed as a legal document."
    "Hera doesn't have trials," Astrid told him. "Not like
the Federation. If you're suspected of a crime here,
you're interrogated under truth drugs. You either con-
vict yourself or clear yourself." Picard saw Marla nod in
agreement with that.
    "But there will be a record of this interrogation
somewhere," Worf said. "And you say these genetic-
engineering records were destroyed."
    "Not all of them," Dallas said. "I saw a reference to
some records of failed gengineering work. They must
have been overlooked, maybe because they wouldn't
have any useful information about genetic engineering."
"Exactly," Worf rumbled. "Let us see these records."
"This way," Dallas said. Picard had thought he might
need to check the filing system, but evidently the refer-
ence he had glimpsed was enough to tell him where to
find it. The boy led the others down a passageway
between a double row of towering cabinets, each
equipped with a dozen primitive slide-out drawers
marked with labels. But no locks, Picard noted, or any
other security arrangements to protect the files. It
seemed an odd omission for the security-conscious Mo-
dality.
    Dallas stopped in front of a cabinet identical to the
thousands of others that filled the basement, but it was
Geordi who spoke first. "Don't touch anything," the
young engineer said. "The molecular pattern in the floor
looks like it's taken some phaser hits."
    "A booby-trap," Riker said. He, Picard and Worf
looked around, and Picard spotted a security monitor in
the ceiling. The captain pointed it out, and Worf shot it
with his weapon. Picard had expected only a small puff
of vapor as the monitor was destroyed, but it went up in
a shower of high-energy sparks as a phaser power system
exploded. A few seconds later, Worf destroyed a second
phaser system, which had been concealed in an air vent.
That certainly explains the lack of locks, Picard mused.
    "We must be on the right track," Riker said. "They're
certainly protecting something important."
    "And I'd hate to be the clerk who opened the wrong
drawer here," Geordi said as he scanned the cabinet with
his tricorder. "I can't find any more traps."
    Dallas opened a drawer and extracted an old-style data
cartridge. "This has to be it," he said. "It's labeled as a
blueprint file of a failed genetic-engineering virus, but it
looks like an audio-visual recording instead. Let's see
what we have."
    Dallas handed the cartridge to Astrid. Picard and the
others followed her to a computer workstation, where
she sat down and placed the cartridge in a reader slot.
Geordi took the chair next to her, and they fussed with
the controls for a moment.
    "This might take a minute," he said. "This is an
antiquated recording, so we need to reconfigure this
machine to play it back.
    "There," Geordi said at last, as a group of people
appeared in the holographic tank.
    A pale, haggard man sat strapped to a chair in a barren
gray room. Picard thought the restraints were unneces-
sary; he seemed too frail to offer any physical resistance
to his captors. The two people who stood by his side did
not look any healthier; one was a middle-aged woman
wearing a respirator mask, while her companion, a dark,
white-haired man, wore crude power-assist bands on his
legs and arms as he checked a medical display in the
chair's side. Picard realized that these people were the
unmodified ancestors of the present Herans--and it was
a small wonder that they had developed genetic engi-
neering. Astrid had said that they had severe health
problems, but the sight of the three ailing people in the
holographic tank told Picard how bad the situation had
become on Hera.
    "That's Ivan McGinty," Marla said to Picard, with
quiet hatred in her voice. "The man in the chair. The
head of the damned originators. The others were Jana
Olsen, the Senior, and Khan Sabha, head of Central
Security."
    Picard nodded as one of the people in the recording
spoke. "He's under," Sabha said, his voice scratchy with
static. "One hundred percent."
    "Good," the woman said, her voice muffled by her
respirator. The anger in her words came through clearly
as she spoke to the man in the chair. "McGinty--why?"
"Had to," he mumbled. "Protect our children."
"You've ruined everything/" Olsen said. "Hera's whole
future, our destiny, our--" She stopped and wheezed
until she had her rage under control. "You've destroyed
our future."
    "Yours, not theirs." McGinty shook his head feebly.
"What sort of a future is it... for our childrex . . . design
them to fight and die?"
    "These aren't your children we're talking about, "Olsen
said to McGinty.
    "All of them are our children," McGinty said. "We
designed them, created them. Day after day... poured
our life into them. And the experiments... the mal-
formed babies we euthanized, the painful failures that
had no love... too much to bear. We want an end to the
evil."
    "'We,'" Sabha repeated. He leaned over the man in
the chair. "Which members of your team are involved in
this conspiracy?"
    '7 think it~ more a question of which ones aren't
involved," Olsen said. "I'm not sure if there are enough
loyal scientists to reconstitute the project."
    "You can't," McGinty said. "No one will help you...
and when you started rounding us up, the ones you didn't
catch... erased records, sabotaged equipment--"
    "Terminate him!" Olsen said. Sabha touched a control
on the chair, and McGinty faded out of consciousness.
"We're ruined, "the woman said as McGinty slipped into
death. "When the rest of the Modality learns about this,
they'll kill us."
  "They don't have to learn," Sabha told her.
    "They'll learn/" Olsen said. "When they see how those
children act, they'll know those weaklings aren't going to
conquer anything. No aggression, no xenophobia--
they're nothing?
    "Think this through," Sabha said. Picard heard the
electric hum of his power-assist bands as he hobbled
back and forth in the holotank. "The superchildren aren't
normal humans. So why shouM anyone expect them to
act human? And behavior is determined as much by
training as by heredity. They can be trained to behave the
way we want."
"The two of us can't do this ourselves," Olsen said,
"I know." Sabha's smile looked wolfish. "But there are
other people who have the same stake in this as we do.
They'd hate to have the rest of Hera rise up and hang
them."
    "Or you execute them," Olsen said, to which Sabha
nodded in agreement. "Speaking of which, you'd better
terminate McGinty's fellow conspirators, before one of
them talks to the wrong person. Put it out that we have
ironclad proof of the conspiracy and don't need any more
investigations--and classify the recording of this interro-
gation."
    The recording ended, and Picard found himself facing
an empty viewer. As he looked at the Herans in the
chamber with him he saw that Dallas looked thoroughly
bewildered. Astrid was still seated next to Geordi; Pi-
card saw her turn, bend down, rest her head on his
shoulder and start to weep in relief, while Geordi put an
arm across her broad shoulders to comfort her. "I don't
get it," Marla said. "Is this a forgery? A decoy to keep us
from finding the real secret?"
    "No," Picard said. "It's the key to a very complex
puzzle."
    "We were so close," Riker said. "When Worf suggested
that someone had sabotaged the genetic engineers' work,
he was right, but it never occured to us that the engineers
themselves could be the saboteurs."
    "Or that their sabotage was a deflection instead of
destruction," Picard said. "A very subtle form of sabo-
tage."
    "I don't understand," Maria said. She had the horri-
fied look of someone who doubts her own sanity. "What
are you saying?"
     "That your people weren't born to be weapons,"
 Picard said. "The clues lay before us all the time. Your
 lack of xenophobia might be explained as a tool to
prevent you from fearing your enemies, but the effect is
to keep you from feeling motivated to fight--in fact, to
make you want to like the people you might otherwise
attack. Your strong sense of guilt would restrain you
from unjust acts of aggression. Your self-confidence
would temper any aggression you might feel."
    "But we're made to be aggressive!" Marla said. "We
have to take classes to control it,"
    "Astrid's never taken an aggression class," Riker said.
He looked only slightly less bewildered than the Herans.
"And I've seen her back away or even freeze up when I
would have expected her to lash out. Face it, these classes
don't teach you how to control aggression; they teach you
to be aggressive."
    "Yes," Maria said, and Picard saw that she had already
regained her mental balance. "The class structure and
content fit that theory. And the classes are a good way to
spot people with a high natural level of aggression. When
we investigate, I think we'll find that the Modality
screened its highest members to make certain they were
highly aggressive."
    "By Heran standards," Picard said. And it was no
wonder that they had never spotted the deception, he
mused. Take a child, raise him to believe he is stupid and
worthless, and he will grow up believing that; no amount
of success in later life will persuade him otherwise. The
Herans knew they had been genetically engineered, and
they thought they knew the motives of their creators.
With no old humans around for comparison, it had been
easy for them to see what little anger and aggression they
could actually feel as monstrous levels of rage.
    Dallas shook his head after Picard had explained this.
"Then... then we aren't weapons," the boy whispered.
He leaned against a marble wall as though no longer able
to support his own weight. "The originators weren't
monsters."
    "The Modality has been lying to you," Riker said.
"Just to make it easier for them to hang on to power."
"No," Picard said. He could understand how upset the
Herans felt. While they had just heard good news, it had
wiped away something they had always believed. Even
relief can be disturbing under such circumstances. "I
think they sincerely believed we threatened Hera. They
withheld the truth to make their people fear us. The
Modality needed to motivate its citizens to fight us."
    "Or to avoid you," Marla said. "If we had known
about this, we wouldn't have avoided contact with your
Federation. We would have learned the truth sooner."
    "So everything that happened..." Dallas still looked
dazed. "You mean... we went through all this... for
nothing?"
    "No," Riker said. "You had good reason to feel afraid.
But that's over and done with."
    Not entirely, Picard thought. If nothing else, Admiral
Trask was still determined to eradicate the Herans.
"Releasing this recording may dispel some of the ani-
mosity Herans feel toward us, but that is only a first
step--on their side. We have work of our own in this
matter." And he thought he knew what had to come
next. Picard looked to Astrid, who held Geordi but no
longer leaned on him; she had evidently regained her
self-control. "Dr. Kemal, I may have a solution to our
problems."

    Riker had intended to go straight to the bridge upon
his return to the Enterprise, but as soon as he had
solidified on the transporter stage Beverly Crusher called
and ordered him to sickbay. When he entered sickbay he
found that the doctor looked harried, but pleased.
"We've got the corrective for the Unity virus," she said,
holding up a hypospray. "The tests show that it works
perfectly. Twelve hours from now you'll be back to
normal."
    "Is this going to make me sick?" Riker asked as the
doctor approached him.
    "You'll experience the same symptoms you did with
the original plague," she said. "That won't kill you."
"Can it wait a while?" he asked. "I have some unfin-
 ished business waiting for me. We've got to beam up our
 prisoners from Hera, set up communications with their
 provisional government--"
     "This can't wait," Beverly said. "All of the infected
 crew members have to be treated simultaneously, before
 one of you can reinfect the ship. Now hold still," she
 insisted. "Honestly, Will Riker, you're as much trouble
 as Reg Barclay."
     Riker grimaced as he was injected. There was no pain,
 but he didn't relish the notion of being sick again, even
 in a good cause. "What was Barelay's problem?"
    "Every time I called him into sickbay to be cured, it
seems there was a communicator malfunction, or he had
a work assignment in some remote crawlway, or the
computer couldn't locate him," Beverly said. "The truth
is, he didn't want to be cured. Somebody finally cornered
him in holodeck two. Can you believe that he pro-
grammed the holodeck to create a hundred replicas of
himself?. Dr. Par'mit'kon had to inject all of them, and
even then he wasn't sure he got the real Barclay. I still
don't understand that man."
    Riker chuckled, recalling what Worf had said about
Barclay's reaction to the plague. "How long will I be
sick?" he asked.
    "You should be better in twelve hours," Beverly said.
"Enjoy it; you need the rest. Now go to your quarters."
    Riker left the sickbay. At least I'm getting back to
normal, he assured himself. He decided he could sleep
through most of the illness. And after a day like this, he
knew he could use some sleep.
    But when he got to his quarters he decided there was
something that needed his attention first. He sat down at
his computer console and accessed the ship's library.
Paradise Lost appeared on his display.
    Geordi went into the Ten-Forward lounge, picked up a
drink and joined Astrid at the table she'd reserved.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her.
 "Very strange." She spoke quietly. "Finding out that
I'm not a weapon, that I don't have to be afraid of old
humans..." She shook her head. "l still don't know
how to react."
    "It's got to be a relief," Geordi said. Having her cry on
his shoulder had been a strange experience, but not an
unpleasant one. "I'm just glad I can't imagine how big a
relief it must be."
    "It's something I can get to like, though." She toyed
with her glass. "Like drinking with a friend. I could
never do that before."
    "But now you don't have to worry about saying the
wrong thing." Geordi picked up his drink. "Astrid,
there's something I've been wondering about. Everyone
was carrying on about how they felt about the plague...
uh, the Unity virus. Only, nobody ever asked how you
felt about it, did they?" "Are you asking?"
    Geordi nodded. "You don't have to worry about
saying the wrong thing," he repeated.
    Astrid looked thoughtful. "At first I couldn't under-
stand why everyone was so upset. From my point of
view, you, or at least your potential children, were
getting a lot--better senses, better minds, better health,
everything I've always taken for granted. If Blaisdell and
Dunbar had come to me and confided in me, I might
have helped them.
    "But I thought about it while I was in the brig, and
then I wasn't so sure. For one thing, I would have been
doing exactly what I hated the originators for doing.
More than that, what they were doing was taking away
everyone's right to decide their own future. I still think
that rejecting the Unity virus was the wrong decision,
but it wasn't a decision I wanted to take away from
billions of people."
     "I don't think Unity would have been good for us,"
 Geordi said. It surprised him that he could discuss this
 without feeling anger or fear. It was a pleasant surprise,
 as though he had freed himself of a burden--or a
 limitation. "Sometimes I think we're defined by our
limitations, and sometimes"--he fingered the golden
rim of his VISOR--"those limits force us to be more
than we ever thought we could be."
    "We Herans have our limits, too," Astrid told him.
"We find them just as challenging as you find yours, and
we wouldn't want to accept lesser limits." She smiled at
him, an expression as soft and warm as the bioelectric
fields that he saw surrounding her face. "You might want
to remember that the next time you have to persuade Dr.
Crusher that you don't want to replace your VISOR with
'normal' eyes."
    "Fair enough," Geordi said. He wondered about the
sort of limits a Heran might have. "Maybe some day
we'll be ready for greater limits," he said. "When we are,
Hera will still be there, to offer them to us."
Astrid raised her glass. "To greater limits, then."
Geordi returned the toast as the intercom signaled.
"Dr. Kemal, Commander La Forge, please report to the
conference room."
    They put down their drinks and headed for the confer-
ence room. Picard, Riker and Dallas Thorn were already
present and seated as they entered. "Where's Mrs.
Sukhoi?" Geordi asked Dallas, as he and Astrid sat
down.
    "She's trying to locate her children," the boy said.
"President Molyneux asked me to take her place today."
    Geordi nodded at that. Having a thirteen-year-old l~oy
sit in on a political conference was irregular--by our
standards, Geordi thought. He knew that the boy was
intelligent and educated, and that he had been an active
participant in the Heran revolt. Geordi decided that his
brains and experience made him better qualified for this
task than some adults he could name.
    Trask entered the room alone, as if to make clear his
separation from the others. "Computer," Picard said,
"contact Vice President Chandra... and President
Stoneroots."
    Chandra and Stoneroots appeared in a split image on
the conference room's viewscreen: Chandra in her office,
and Stoneroots in its workshop, up to its tentacles in a
broken robot. It straightened up and switched on its
computer translator as Chandra spoke. "Captain Picard.
Are the Herans prepared to formally surrender?"
    "They are, Mr. President," Picard said, and nodded at
Dallas. "Mr. Thorn has been authorized by their provi-
sional government to accept our terms."
    "Very well." Chandra accepted the boy's presence
without comment; she seemed more interested in Stone-
roots's involvement. "But why are the Zerkalans sitting
in on this?"
    "I've asked the Zerkalan government to participate in
this affair because I think it will help persuade them to
join the Federation," Picard said.
    "Really?" Stoneroots asked. Geordi thought that the
leafy anarchist sounded annoyed. "Why should we hang
around?"
    "For one thing, sir, the Federation has need of a world
with your attitude," Picard said. "Your defense of one of
your citizens speaks highly for your ethics."
    "You're calling me a good example?" it asked, af-
fronted.
"It's nothing personal, Mr. President," Geordi said.
Picard smiled slightly. "What I propose is this. The
Federation is to administer Hera as a trust territory,
until such time as it can become a full member of the
Federation--"
    "No," Trask said. "Vice President Chandra, we can't
coexist with them. Everything we've seen in this war
proves that. I know I was wrong about their intentions,
but even with the best of intentions they could still
overwhelm the human race."
    "They aren't going to start another war, Admiral,"
Geordi said. He reached out and patted Astrid's hand.
"The last thing they want to do is act like weapons."
     "I believe that," Trask said. "But you're forgetting that
 Herans were designed to be intelligent, imaginative and
 charismatic. They're natural leaders, Vice President
 Chandra. There may be ill will over their attack now, but
 what happens when that fades? You could see a Heran
 taking over your office. You could see them persuading
 us to accept this Unity plague, and that would be the end
 of the human race as we know it."
     The master chess player, Geordi thought, trying one
 last gambit to win his game. He could see how Trask had
 pitched his words to appeal directly to Chandra, and she
 was clearly mulling it over. "What do you propose,
 Allen?" she asked.
     "Keep them out of the Federation," Trask said. "Es-
 tablish a neutral zone between Hera and the Federation.
 They stay on their side of the border, and we stay on our
 side. With no contact--"
    "Admiral," Picard said, "are you saying that the
human race is so primitive that we need to be protected?
Are you invoking the Prime Directlye?" The captain
paused as Trask's final effort went down amid chuckles;
Geordi saw that Chandra was doing her best not to
laugh. Picard resumed speaking when a sense of deco-
rum had returned to the conference room. "As I was
about to say, according to Chapter Twelve of the Federa-
tion Charter, a trust territory is to be administered by a
member planet of the Federation. Vice President
Chandra, I propose that we assign the trusteeship of
Hera to Zerkalo, once it joins the Federation."
    "A planetful of anarchists--" Chandra began, and
chopped off her words. "This is an irregular suggestion,
Captain."
    "But one with certain advantages, Mr. President,"
Picard said. "The Herans are apprehensive about being
ruled by human beings. As the population of Zerkalo is
largely nonhuman, they might feel more comfortable
with Atrician supervision, and the Zerkalans have a
citizen who would make an ideal planetary commission-
er for the trusteeship."
    "Dr. Kemal?" Chandra asked. Geordi glanced at
Astrid and saw that the suggestion had not taken her by
surprise. He wondered if Picard had had any trouble in
getting her to agree to this course. It was an obvious
move and, he thought in regret, one that would take her
off the Enterprise.
    "Her presence would show the Herans that we wish to
be fair," Picard said. "Mr. President, all of the evidence
suggests that the Herans are a peaceful people. So long as
they do not feel threatened, they will not pose a threat to
anyone."
    "Picard, there's something wrong with your plan,"
Stoneroots said. "A lot of my citizens are ticked off at the
way the Federation treated one of our citizens. Why
should we stick around?" It weaved several tentacles into
a cat's cradle. "What's in it for us?"
    "Business," Dallas said. "As our administrator, your
planet will control our foreign trade operations. We'll
probably maintain those links even after we join the
Federation."
    "I get the picture," Stoneroots said dryly. "I doubt
anyone here will turn down an offer like that. But it will
require that we join the Federation, won't it?"
    Picard affected an innocent smile. "Why, so it will,
Mr. President. I look forward to seeing a Zerkalan sitting
on the Council."
    "Could be fun," Stoneroots conceded, while Chandra
tried not to cringe. "I can put it to a Board vote later
today, but I'll want something extra."
    Chandra looked chagrined. "If you require an o~fi-
cial apology for Dr. Kemal's mistreatment by Admiral
Trask . . ."
    "I do," Stoneroots said. 'Tll expect it on a general
subspace broadcast to the whole Federation. But there's
one other thing. Starfleet Intelligence seems to think it
can just waltz in and abuse our citizens. I want a
permanent liaison with Starfleet, somebody who will live
here and do his best to make sure this kind of thing never
happens again. And since Allen clan-Trask already un-
derstands the sort of problems we had..."
    Trask looked affronted. "You wouldn't," he said in a
chilly voice.
"I'd suggest you volunteer for that duty, Commo-
dore," Chandra said. "If you do, we'll forget about
court-martialing you and jailing you for the next fifty
years."
    Trask's look of anger deepened as his demotion sank
in. "On what charge?"
    "On a charge of attempted genocide," Chandra an-
swered. "Your attempt to issue General Order Twenty-
Four is a matter of record. I think that a few decades of
keeping anarchists happy might be just what you need.
Captain Picard, I see no objection to the course of action
you've outlined. I'll let you work out the details with Mr.
Thorn. Out." She vanished from the screen. Stoneroots
turned off its translator, then made a few sign language
gestures to Astrid before it broke contact.
    Trask growled, and Geordi saw how frustrated anger
made his face burn with infrared light. "This will never
work."
    "I think it will," Astrid said. She stood up and looked
down at Trask as she towered above him. "Let this be a
lesson to you, Commodore. Next time, pick on some-
body your own size."

Chapter Twenty-two

Captain's log, stardate 7332.1 The cease-fire is holding,
and Zerkalo has just voted to join the Federation. Mr.
Data is now briefing Commissioner Kemal on the legal
and technical aspects of her new post, which she will
assume when the peace negotiations are finalized. The
Herans have released their Federation prisoners, who
appear unharmed by their experiences. They are return-
ing to Starbase 389 aboard the remnants of the task
force, in the company o[ Commodore Trask. The Herans
have supplied a corrective treatment for the Unity virus,
and the last effects of the plague have been eradicated.
Mr. Worf continues his investigation of our idiosyncratic
computer problems, but he admits to being no closer to a
solution now than he was in the beginning.

THE HERAN SURVEY SHIP Rhea 'was a small vessel, not
much bigger than the Temenus, but it seemed comfort-
able to Geordi. Part of that was due to the ship's interior,
which had been scaled to fit Herans; Geordi found its
cabins and central corridor expansive. The ship's crew
was also friendly, which helped. They seemed to bear no
resentment over the war, even though all of them had
lost friends in the battle--an attitude that baffled him.
    "I'm not sure what you mean," Joachim Nkoma said,
as he and Geordi had lunch on the Rhea's bridge. "I miss
the people who died... especially my sister. But we all
did what we thought was right, and it's over now. What's
to resent?"
    "Never mind," Geordi said. Explaining resentment to
a Heran was about as hopeless as telling Reg Barclay how
to unwind. "I was wondering--"
    An alarm began to flutter on the conn. Keyed to the
acute Heran senses, Geordi found its indications barely
noticeable. "Odd," Nkoma said. "I'm getting signs of a
cloaked ship."
    "Maybe it's one of the Klingons," Geordi said. The
Klingon task force had headed home, but they might
have left a ship behind to watch Hera--and the Federa-
tion, just in case something suspicious happened. "Or
could it be an outlaw raider?"
    Nkoma shook his head as he checked the instruments.
"It's not Klingon," he said. "And it's not one of yours. I
don't recognize the configuration."
     Geordi looked over Nkoma's shoulder. "Same here--
wait. I've seen readings like that before." "Where?"
    "A couple of times recently the Enterprise has picked
up partial readings on a cloaked ship," Geordi said.
"These readings match what we saw. We thought it was a
cloaked Heran ship pacing us."
    "That power utilization curve is too inefficient to be
ours," Nkoma said. He ran his fingers over the control
panel as he worked the sensors. "And it's heavily armed.
It could wreck a planet if it weren't careful."
    "I see." Geordi rubbed his chin as he thought. "Cap-
tain, get your ship's weapon ready."
    "What for?" Nkoma asked. "That ship is just sitting
there."
    "I know, but I don't trust heavily armed, cloaked
ships," Geordi said.
    "If you say so," Nkoma said with a shrug. He powered
up the Rhea's improvised quantum inverter. Through
principles Geordi was struggling to understand, it could
cause antimatter to undergo a simple quantum change
and transmute itself into matter. At first glance that
seemed harmless, but it had deactivated the antimatter
in several Klingon ships, leaving them without enough
power to fight. If the Herans had used such weapons
against Hoskins's task force, Geordi thought, that battle
would have been a total disaster for the Federation. The
Herans, however, had not seen a reason to arm their
ships with anything more sophisticated than phasers and
missiles until the invaders had actually landed on their
planet. Then, of course, their inventiveness had created
weapons that could have obliterated the Klingons and
Federation forces, but they had preferred a peaceful
surrender to further carnage.
    Nkoma adjusted the weapon, then spotted something
on a sensor panel. "It looks like they're friendly after
all," he said.
 "Why's that?" Geordi asked.
    He pointed. "Well, somebody on your ship is sending
them a signal. You don't talk when you're going to fight,
do you?" he added in uncertainty.
    Geordi didn't answer. The transmission was in code,
and the code looked very familiar. He felt certain that
Worf would have approved of the suspicion he felt.
"Lock weapons onto the target," he said.
    "'Target'? Oh." Nkoma gave Geordi a peculiar look as
he worked the weapon's improvised controls. "You were
a holy terror in aggression class, weren't you?"
    "'Aggression class'?" After a puzzled second Geordi
almost laughed. "I never took a single class, Captain. I'm
a natural genius." He settled back in his seat and waited
to see what the cloaked ship would do next.

    "I don't know," Reg Barclay said disconsolately to the
people in Ten-Forward. Will Riker thought he seemed as
awkward as ever. "I, I wouldn't want to pass on a
disease, but, well, I was getting used to the idea of all
those changes. I sort of liked it, you know, the thought of
having super-kids some day."
    "So I'd heard," Riker said. He picked up his drink and
tasted the synthehol. "I can't say that I miss it."
    Worf grunted, although Riker couldn't tell if that was
in sympathy or disagreement. "The attack was dishonor-
able," he said, as though discussing the only point that
mattered.
    He seemed about to say more when Astrid entered the
lounge. Instead of going to the bar she went straight to
Worf. "Come on," she said in properly curt Klingon.
"You have an arrest to make."
    Worf looked irritated, although Riker was certain the
Heran had just made his day. "Who?"
    "The taHqeq who made the transmissions," she said.
"And pulled the practical jokes."
    That was all Worf needed to rise to his feet and follow
her out the door. Riker got up and hurried after them;
whatever was going on, he wanted to be in on it. "Who is
it?" he asked.
  "K'Sah," Astrid said.
"I thought he wasn't a suspect," Riker said.
"Apparently you assumed he couldn't do a brilliant
job of manipulating the computer," Astrid said. "But I
just caught him at it. Deck eight, section three," she said
as they entered a turbolift.
    Riker nodded as the lift started. "Somehow I'm not
surprised. He's had a problem With Worf all along. He
seems the perfect target for a troublemaker like K'Sah."
    "There's more to it than that," Astrid said. "One time,
he asked Geordi and me about the Klingon idea of
honor. When I was in the brig, he kept pestering me with
these really rude questions about, uh, Klingon romantic
customs. He's been rude to Worf, even though he minds
his manners around everyone else. And when we
beamed up from Hera and he stole that virus-creator
from you, Will, he gave it to Worf."
    "Proving what?" Riker asked. "He had to give it to
somebody."
    "Without at least trying to sell it back?" Astrid asked.
"I think he did that so he could see what Worf would do
with it."
 "Why?" Worf asked.
    "Because I think K'Sah is interested in you," Astrid
said. "What you do, what you think, what you feel. He
seems to be studying you."
    "That would explain the practical jokes," Riker said to
Worf. "They show how you react to dishonor."
    Worf muttered a Klingon curse in reply. Riker could
understand his feelings. K'Sah was the last creature any
self-respecting being would want for an admirer. As the
elevator stopped Worf drew his phaser and set it on
heavy stun. "He shall see exactly how I react."
    K'Sah was holding a knife in each of his four chitinous
hands as they came in. "Hey, Lieutenant," he said
cheerily. "You've got a hell of a knock there."
    Worf growled at him. "Drop your weapons," he said.
"Or disembowel yourself."
    K'Sah's serrated mandibles opened and shut several
times. "You know, that's not much of a choice."
    K'Sah raised his knives. The next thing Riker knew
was that Astrid stood behind the Pa'uyk, with one arm
around his throat and her other hand holding his knives.
"You aren't a nice person," she said to him.
    Riker sighed, while Worf and K'Sah looked equally
exasperated by her words. "The captain will want to see
you," Riker told K'Sah. "Let's go." Astrid virtually
carried K'Sah, her arm still locked around his throat in
case he produced more weapons.
    Riker led the others to the bridge, where Picard
watched their arrival with interest. "Dr. Kemal caught
our 'exchange officer' making one of those secret trans-
missions," Riker told him.
  "So you are a spy?" Picard asked him.
  "A scientific observer, baldy," K'Sah muttered.
  Ensign Rager spoke. "Captain, we're being hailed."
  "On screen," Picard said.
    The bridge of the Pa'uyk ship Throatcutter appeared
on the main screen. Its control stations looked like a
cluster of tiny lairs, with each spidery crew member
virtually enc/tsed in his or her position. The screen was
centered on the Pa'uyk captain, who seemed ready to
leap from her lair to capture her prey. "Enemy ship," she
said in a dangerously pleasant tone. "Return Dr. K'Sah
to us now, or we'll destroy you."
  "You and who else?" Riker asked coldly.
  "She can do it, chucko," K'Sah said.
    "That's right," the Pa'uyk captain said. "And if you
don't obey me, I'll destroy your ship, you soft-skinned,
fluffy--oh, why bother wasting good insults on you?"
She waved a couple of her hands in a chopping gesture.
"Blast them!"
    The Enterprise shuddered as a particle beam shot out
of the Pa'uyk ship and slammed into the shields. The
Pa'uyk captain laughed--a sound which ended as her
ship rocked around her. She shouted an order in her
language, while her bridge crew reacted in frantic haste
to failing lights and the howl of warning klaxons.
    Data spoke as he studied his instruments. "The Pa'uyk
ship has been struck by a quantum inversion field," he
reported. "It has turned the antimatter in their power
systems and torpedo warheads into ordinary matter. The
Pa'uyk ship appears to have lost its power."
    "That would be Mr. La Forge's doing," Picard said.
He looked to the creature on the screen. "Well, Captain,
it would appear you're no match for Heran weaponry."
    "Okay, okay!" the Pa'uyk captain said, fluttering her
mandibles in consternation. "Look, plug-ugly, we need
Dr. K'Sah. Give him back and we'll go home. We won't
even think about annihilating you, even though we
could."
    Riker spoke quietly to Picard. "Captain, she's being
rude. That means she's ready to negotiate."
    Picard nodded. "That does fit what we know of Pa'uyk
behavior, Number One."
    "Yes, and I'm in the right mood to handle these
negotiations. With your permission?" At Picard's be-
mused nod he addressed the Throatcutter's captain. "If
you really want K'Sah back, you spawn of a Melkotian
sea slug, you'll tell us why you're here. Now, damn it."
    "A mangy, dimwitted tree climber like you couldn't
possibly understand," the Pa'uyk captain said.
    "And maybe you're too mindless to explain, you blight
on the fabric of the space-time continuum," Riker
countered.
    The Pa'uyk captain sighed. "It's a matter of survival. I
hope that even a species as underbrained as yours can
understand that survival is a very good idea. K'Sah, it
was your stupid idea that brought us here. You tell
him."
    "I will if this idiot will quit strangling me!" he said. At
that, Astrid removed her arm from around his shaggy
throat and pushed him away. He stumbled, then stood
up on his four legs. He looked at Riker and Worf, who
both held their phasers on him. "It wasn't my idea to
come here," he said. "I just had the bad luck to get a sky-
high score on the self-control tests, which meant I could
work with you. I've had the displeasure of your stomach-
churning company ever since."
    "Serves you right," Riker said coldly. "You were
spying on Worf. Why?"
    "It's a matter of survival, you flea-eaten fool," K'Sah
said. "We do a lot of fighting among ourselves when we
aren't busy exterminating inferior races like yours. Every
so often, like now, we manage to build up a society, one
that takes us out of the caves. Then, sooner or laterl
usually sooner--we destroy ourselves. Blast our planets,
wipe out the fleets, that sort of thing. Then the survivors
spend the next half-million years trying to establish a
new civilization. We've done that sixty-three times so
far." He shrugged. "Maybe we've done it more. Who
knows? The records usually get wiped out."
    "So you blow yourselves to Hell, over and over,"
Riker said. "I feel sorry for Hell. What's that got to do
with the Klingons?"
    "Shut up and learn, tiny," K'Sah said. "We evolved
from creatures like your trap-door spider, which makes
 us about as sociable as hermit crabs. Our usual way of
 saying 'hello' to a stranger is to stick a knife in him.
 Working together is a real trick for us; we've never had
 the knack for making long-lasting societies the way other
 people do. And as Captain Cpuld can tell you, we're on
 the verge of blowing ourselves away."
    "That's true," the Pa'uyk captain said. "There's al-
ready fighting in the Outer Marches. We just received
word that the Mrav and Grost systems were vaporized
within the past lunation."
    "Aw, snork," K'Sah grumbled. "I knew people on
Mrav. They owed me money."
    "They're gone now, sucker." Cpuld leaned forward in
her seat. "We always thought these collapses were inevi-
table because of our nature. But recently we heard
rumors of a people much like us, fierce warriors who live
to fight--who somehow did not destroy themselves."
  "Klingons," Data observed.
    "Right," K'Sah said. He looked to Picard. "We've
been spying on the Klingons to see how their society
works. There's not another race in the galaxy like them,
and if we can learn the virtues that make them so
superior, then maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to
stave off our next collapse. This concept of 'honor'--"
He shook his head. "It's weird, it's sick, but it has a
certain appeal."
    Cpuld looked at him in fascination. "You've learned
something, lackbrain?"
    "I think so, powermouth." His faceted eyes glittered
with what might have been excitement. "They use a
concept called 'honor' to make things work. Worf is an
especially good example. He's a total warrior, bu~t 'hon-
or' lets him cooperate with anyone, even the most
bizarre and disgusting aliens you can name."
  "Humans," Cpuld said.
    "I wasn't going to name any names," K'Sah said, "but,
yeah, he can live with them without trouble, It's uncan-
ny. I was going to bring him home for some lab tests,
but--" He bit off his words and growled in frustration.
 "Maybe we won't need him," Cpuld said, "if you've
learned enough already. Of course, now that you've
gotten yourself captured, you u~y dimwit..."
    "You can have him back," Picard said. "I wouldn't
want to deny your people a chance to survive."
"You wouldn't?" Cpuld looked blank. "Why not?"
Picard sighed. "Never mind. Captain, we humans
have some experience at avoiding self-inflicted catastro-
phes. We could offer you the benefit of what we know."
    "Really?" Cpuld's faceted eyes glittered in curiosity.
"What about that, Doctor?"
    "He doesn't know what he's talking about," K'Sah
said. "His idea of a horrible catastrophe is something
like the war they just fought here."
    "They just fought a war?" Cpuld blinked. "You're
kidding."
  "Nope!" K'Sah said. "A real devastating war."
      "I didn't see any war," Cpuld said. "How many
planets did they destroy?"  "None."
    "Nm~e? How about battle fleets? How many were
wiped out?"
"I think a dozen or so ships were destroyed, all told."
Cpuld's razor-edged mandibles quivered in what
could only be a smirk. "Some war. How many billions of
people did they slaughter?"
  "None. There were a thousand killed, tops."
    Cpuld laughed. "That sounds like a quiet morning
back home."
    Picard seemed more bemused than offended by
Cpuld's mockery, but Riker could tell that he'd had
enough. He waited until the Pa'uyk stopped snickering
before he spoke again. "My dear Captain Cpuld--" he
began pleasantly.
     "Watch your mouth!" the Pa_'uyk said, snapping her
 mandibles for emphasis.
     Picard ignored her. "We've done our best to deal with
 you on your terms," he went on. "Now I think it's time
 for you to extend us a similar courtesy--"
     "Courtesy.t" Cpuld made the word sound like a shock-
 ing obscenity.
    "It's one of our customs," Picard said. "You've at-
tacked us and otherwise inconvenienced us, and Dr.
K'Sah's secret transmissions led to Dr. Kemal's incarce-
ration. I think you owe us something for that. So, if you
want Dr. K'Sah back you'll have to say 'please'--and be
polite about it."
    "'Polite?" On the screen, the Pa'uyk's head swiveled
as she looked around her bridge. "In J?ont of people?"
She sounded aghast, while her bridge crew managed to
convey a spidery sense of shock.
    "It's the only way you'll get him back," Picard as-
serted. "Of course, we could arrest him on a charge of
espionage, and then you could explain to your superiors
how you lost him, his knowledge, and your people's hope
of survival--"
  "You wouldn't," Cpuld grated.
    "Why not?" Picard asked. "Mr. Worf, would you be so
good as to break contact with--"
    Cpuld made a sound that suggested she wanted to curl
up and die. "May we... please... have K'Sah back?"
    "Why, certainly, Captain." Picard looked pleased as
he settled back in his seat. "Mr. Worf, escort Dr. K'Sah
to the transporter room and send him home. Mr. Wort?."
    The Klingon didn't seem to hear Picard. Riker looked
at him and saw that he wore an expression of exalted
surprise on his face. "I'11 take care of it, Captain," Riker
said. He nudged K'Sah with his weapon's muzzle.
"Move it, targ-breath."
    "Whatever you say, shorty." The Pa'uyk preceded
Riker to the turbolift, then paused at its door. "Just one
question."
 "What?" Riker demanded.
    "You've been making all this noise about primals and
genetic monsters," K'Sah said. "Would you mind ex-
plaining the difference between Herans and the rest of
you? For the life of me, I can't see it."

Chapter Twenty-three

Captain's log, stardate 7325.9. The Pa'uyk ship has
departed, and we have successfully concluded our peace
negotiations with the Heran provisional government.
Hera is now a trust territory of Zerkalo. After we leave
Commissioner Kemal on Hera the Enterprise will resume
her original beacon-laying mission in this sector, al-
though due to some temporary crew reassignments in
the engineering, medical and science divisions we shall
be rather shorthanded during the next four weeks. Al-
though we will no longer have Dr. Kemal's assistance
with the buoys, she assures me that they are fully
operational and ready for deployment.

"WE'LL HAVE TO REMAIN in the sector for the next month
no matter what," Picard said to Riker, as they rode a
turbolift to transporter room two. "The Federation
wants its flagship here as a show of force, in case any
Heran hard-liners consider resuming the war."
    "But you don't think that's likely," Riker said. "Cap-
tain, I'm curious about something. Why did you assume
that the Herans would be so willing to accept peace?"
    "Because I believe qualities the originators gave the
Herans could only strengthen their essential decency.
And the Herans' behavior supported my belief. An agent
who apologized while trying to kill his victim, combat
ships that fought to disable rather than to destroy, the
abduction of prisoners during battle--and how many
human worlds defend themselves with only five warships
and a dozen installations?"
    "Not many," Riker admitted. Most worlds built layer
upon layer of defenses, instead of just enough to do the
job. The Herans seemed to lack that fascination with
weaponry and combat. "We may not impress the Pa'uyk,
but we're still not a very peaceful people."
    "No, we're not," Picard said. "But as bad as this has
been, Will, it could have been worse. Even a few centur-
ies ago we might very well have impressed K'Sah's
people by annihilating the Herans, and their originators
might have felt no qualms about making them into true
warriors. Perhaps we've made a little progress over the
centuries."
    The turbolift stopped and released them into a corri-
dor, where Worf was waiting. The Klingon looked...
intent, Riker decided. His eyes gleamed. He also carried
a data pad, an uncommon sight. "Mr. Worf," Picard
said. "I thought you were packing for your leave."
    "I am packed, sir," Worf said. Earlier that morning he
had asked permission to spend a month on Qo'nos.
Picard had granted the request and authorized Worf to
take a long-range shuttle. "I shall depart later today, but
first, I wish to ask Commander Riker's opinion on a...
a personal matter, sir."
    "In a few minutes," Riker said. "Come on; we're going
to see Astrid off."
    Worf grunted and joined them in the transporter
room, where Astrid was placing her luggage on the stage.
Riker saw that she was carrying a bundle of preserved
roses, which must have come from the ship's arboretum.
"I'm ready to leave now, Captain," Astrid said. "But I
wanted to say good-bye... and thank you for every-
thing you did for me."
    "The Federation owes you its thanks as well, Commis-
sioner," Picard said. "And--unofficially--you have new
orders. The Federation Council wants Hera ready for
Federation membership within one year."
    "It does?" Astrid looked thoughtful. "That
shouldn't be a problem, not on Hera. But what about the
rest of the Federation?"
    "You mean the old humans?" Picard smiled wryly.
"We can be reasonable at times. Starfleet Command is
concerned about the possibility of a return visit from Dr.
K'Sah's people."
    Riker nodded. "We scanned the Throatcutter as it left
the Heran system," he said. "It had restored full power
within an hour of the engagement, and it had better
weapons than anything the Federation has. Given the
ease with which that science ship defeated the Throat-
cutter, the Federation can use a member lika Hera."
 "That makes sense," Astrid said.
    "There are other, better reasons to invite Hera into the
Federation," Picard said. "I for one would welcome a
people who are not naturally combative."
    The transporter technician spoke. "Hera is signaling,
sir. They're ready to receive the commissioner now."
    "Very well." Picard shook hands with Astrid. "And if
you'll forgive one last misquote of Milton, Mr.
Commissioner--'Well done, well have you fought the
better fight.'"
    For a few seconds her composure seemed to fade as
her lips trembled. "Thank you, Captain," she said, when
she had regained her equanimity. Astrid stepped onto
the transporter stage. "Good-bye, Will. Die well, Worf."
    The transporter energized and she faded out. "Your
words sounded odd, sir," Worf said to Picard, "as she
helped to end fighting."
     "No, it's appropriate," Riker said. He thought the
 Klingon seenled nettled to have heard a peacemaker
praised. "In Paradise Lost, when Satan incited his fol-
lowers to revolt, one angel refused to follow him, despite
all threats and arguments. That quote was the congratu-
lations he received for remaining loyal to the forces of
good."
    Worf grunted in understanding, while Picard raised an
eyebrow. "Number One, you continually surprise me. I
had no idea you were a Milton scholar."
    "I've... developed an interest in him lately," Riker
said. He didn't believe Astrid's suggestion about his
ancestry, and after all these centuries it wouldn't matter,
but, well, he told himself, it never hurt to be open-
minded. And whatever else the Khans had been, they
had also been human; the human race couldn't escape
responsibility for their deeds by denying them. "Any-
way, does she know Geordi is down there?" he went on.
"She didn't seem surprised when he didn't show up to
say good-bye."
    "It's rather hard to tell with her, isn't it?" Picard asked.
The Enterprise had left a team of scientists and engineers
on Hera, to begin the investigation of the planet's scientif-
ic and technological advances. Geordi had arranged to
stay with them while the Enterprise completed its beacon-
laying mission in the Heran sector. He had professed an
interest in Hera's inventions; Riker had refrained from
teasing him about his obvious interest in a certain Heran.
"But no one told her," Picard said. "Mr. La Forge wants
to surprise her--if that can be done."
    Worf cleared his throat; he had waited through the
farewell and discussion with what little patience he
could muster. "If you'll excuse us, Captain?" Riker said.
At Picard's nod Riker led Worf out into the corridor.
"What's this personal matter?" Riker asked.
    Worf thrust the data pad into Riker's hands. "I want
your opinion."
    Riker activated the padd and read the Klingon words
that flooded its display. "What is this?" he asked.
    "It is a... libretto," Worf said, as if challenging Riker
to laugh.
    "A libretto?" Riker didn't recognize the word; it
didn't even sound Klingon--wait. "The lyrics for an
opera?"
    Worf grunted in agreement. "I began work on it last
night, not long after K'Sah made his... statement. I
felt... "The Klingon groped for a word. "i felt..."
 "Inspired," Riker suggested.
    "Yes." He smiled slightly. "I believe the galaxy is
ready for an opera about the virtues of the Klingon
people."
    "And you're going home to find a composer," Riker
said.
    Worf nodded. "I have some ideas for the music, but !
need the help of a genius. For now, I need advice on the
libretto."
    "I'11 let you know," Riker said. He studied the data
pad in bemusement as Worf walked away from him.
"'World of genius, great and strong,'" he muttered in
translation, "'honor's emissary to the galaxy, listen to a
tale of glory'..."
    As if in reply, Worf's voice came ratcheting down the
corridor: "qo' wlgh, Dun je HoS, batlhDaj Duy qlbvaD,
bI'Ij lut--" The hiss of a turbolift door cut off his singing
like an axe blow.
    Riker touched his comm badge. "Riker to shuttle bay
one."
  "Shuttle bay," a woman's voice answered.
    "Is Lieutenant Worf's shuttle ready for departure
yet?"
    "No, sir, we're still prepping it for long-distance
flight."
  Riker sighed. "Well, get it ready--and hurry."