TUNNEL THROUGH THE STARS





Chapter One

SAM LAVELLE STRODE onto the bridge of the Orb of
Peace, hardly able to believe that he had given up a
spacious Cardassian antimatter tanker for this austere
Bajoran transport. He was sure he had gotten the
worst of the deal, especially considering that he
thought he was going to be rescued and sent home.
His last voyage had been a perfect example of Mur-
phy's Law, and this one promised to send him from
the frying pan into the fire.
    The cramped bridge had a strange viewscreen with
Bajoran writing all around it. He was able to translate
two phrases: "The devout will enter the Celestial
Temple," and "The Kai holds the lantern of Bajor."
Even without the platitudes, the stars glimmered
enticingly on the screen, making him wish that he
were going home.




    But Sam knew there was no escape from this war--
not until the Dominion was driven back to their part
of the galaxy.
    He spotted the slim Bajoran, Ro Laren, seated at
the conn. Both Captain Picard and Geordi La Forge
looked Bajoran--with nose ridges and earrings--but
Ro was the real thing. Sam remembered hearing
stories about her on the Enterprise, but he had only
seen her once, in Ten-Forward, just before her ill-
fated mission to infiltrate the Maquis. Now she was
captain of this Bajoran vessel.
    "I'm your relief, Captain," he said, keeping his
voice low in the dimly lit bridge.
    "Thank you." Ro Laren rose from her seat and
stretched like a willowy lioness, shaking her short-
cropped mane of dark brown hair. She was wearing a
Bajoran uniform which hugged the lanky contours of
her body, and Sam looked longer and harder than he
should have. Ro caught him staring at her, and her
eyes drilled into his. Sam knew he should look away,
but it had been a long time since he had gazed
lustfully at a woman, and he wasn't anxious to stop.
    "I'm sorry," he said, managing a shy smile. "I don't
know what got into me. It's funny what even a small
taste of freedom will do to a man."
    Her face softened, and she looked sympathetic if
still annoyed. "How long were you a prisoner of the
Dominion?"
    "About two months, I guess," answered Sam. "It's
hard to say, because we were never allowed to see any
chronometers, except when we were on work detail,
building that damn collider. And then, we only saw
shift timers. We were kept segregated from the wom-
en. I saw them every now and then on the worker
transports, but that was it."

"I know the Cardassiansmit must have been bad."
He nodded slowly. "Yes, it was, and a lot of good
people are still there. I wish we could do something to
help them."
  "There's no chance for a mass escape?"
    "I don't see how," Sam answered glumly. "The
complex where the prisoners are housed is near the
collider, but each pod of prisoners is isolated.
There's no way to get hold of a ship like we did--
that was a fluke. No matter when you do this,
thousands of prisoners will be working. If your
mission is to destroy the artificial wormhole, your
mission is to destroy them, too."
    Ro crossed her arms and wrinkled her ridged nose.
"You know, that's exactly what I've been telling
Captain Picard. And it sounds even worse coming
from you, because you've been there."
    "Yes, I've been there, and I can't believe I'm
thinking about going back. This isn't exactly the way I
envisioned my escape--going back to that place, on
purpose." Shivering, Sam sunk into the chair at the
conn and studied the unfamiliar instruments.
    "I'm sure Captain Picard would offer you a chance
not to go, if he could," said Ro. "But we only have this
craft, and no way to split up."
    Sam snorted a laugh. "Yeah, if you don't mind me
saying so, your demolition squad is a little short-
handed."
    "We had a whole crew and more than one torpedo.
But we lost five torpedoes fighting our way through
the Dominion border patrol, then we got shanghaied
by pirates in the Badlands, and hijacked by Romu-
lans--"
    "Pirates and Romulans?" asked Sam with boyish
curiosity. The smile faded from his lips when we saw




how upset Ro was about these incidents. "Hey, I'm
sorry if we lost more good people, but I'm sort of
burned-out on death. I can't even think about it, if
you know what I mean."
    "I know what you mean," admitted Ro, staring
down at the deck. "The Enterprise is supposed to take
us home, but only if we alert them with a subspace
beacon."
 "But how quickly could they get here?"
    "That's a good question." The Bajoran hovered
over Sam's shoulder and pointed at his console.
"You'll want to watch the hull pressure--right there."
    "Okay, thanks." Sam took some time to scan all the
readouts, finding them fairly easy to understand. It
wasn't nearly as complex as the antimatter tanker. He
tried to concentrate on his duties, but the Bajoran's
presence was bringing back memories and emotions
he had tried to push away, without much success.
    "I had a good friend who was Bajoran, Ensign Sito
Jaxa," he said with a wistful smile. "Her death was
the first casualty I really experienced in Starfleet, and
it hit me pretty hard. She was killed by the Cardas-
sians, and that act started the war for me a couple of
years early. I was gung-ho to get at them."
    "I followed Sito's career," said Ro, "but I never got
a chance to meet her. I think I was away at Tactical
Training while you and your friends were serving
aboard the Enterprise."
    Sam chuckled. "You couldn't help but to follow
Sito's career--she was full of zip. She got into a lot of
trouble at the Academy."
  "Along with Wesley Crusher," said Ro with a smile.
    While they shared an unexpected moment of nos-
talgia, Sam glanced at the striking Bajoran. It was too

bad that his life expectancy was so short, or he would
have been tempted to pursue the former Starfleet
officer. Of course it was wartime, and anything could
happen.
    Returning his mind to his duty, Sam adjusted the
viewscreen, and a brown-magenta cloud coalesced
into view, still some distance away. Pulses of light
blinked on and off within its murky depths, which
gave it an oddly cheerful glow, like a surreal Christ-
mas wreath.
  "The Badlands," he mused. "Is it all that bad?"
    "Worse," muttered Ro. "I wouldn't go back there,
except there's no other place to hide."
    "Well, if it's any consolation, you're within striking
distance of the artificial wormhole from here. It's just
that there's a fleet guarding it, and it's ten kilometers
long."
  "So I gather," replied Ro solemnly.
    They heard footsteps, and Sam turned to see Cap-
tain Picard come striding onto the cramped bridge.
He looked odd with his Bajoran earring, nose ridges,
and tufts of white hair; but his voice, bearing, and
stern demeanor left no doubt who was in charge.
Immediately, Sam stiflened in his seat and studied his
readouts until he was caught up.
    "Status?" asked Picard as he consulted the small
padd in his hands.
    "Estimated arrival time at the Badlands: one
hour," reported Sam. "No sign of enemy craft."
    "Thank you, Lieutenant. I haven't had an oppor-
tunity to say how good it is to see you again, although
I wish it were under better circumstances." "Me, too, sir."
 The captain looked somber. "I've talked to your




crew. I realize that we ruined your escape attempt.
I'm sorry. I'm sure you expected to get farther away
than the Badlandsm"
    "I wasn't really expecting to escape," replied Sam
honestly. "I just wanted to die like a Starfleet officer,
not a slave. I don't want to go back to that place--and
I doubt if this mission will work--but it's still a good
chance to die as a Starfleet officer."
    The captain's lips thinned. "I wish there was an
alternative, but there isn't. We can't allow the Domin-
ion to ever use that artificial wormhole."
    "I know, sir," admitted Sam. "I thought the same
thing every day, even while I was building it."
    Picard consulted his padd and looked around to
make sure they were alone. "I need an honest evalua-
tion of every member of your crew. You know what
we have ahead of us--a major sabotage mission with
a high degree of risk."
    Sam frowned thoughtfully. "The only member of
the crew I really know is Taurik, and I would trust
him with my life. As for Woil, Shonsui, Horik, and
Maserelli--they're all career Starfleet officers, who
ought to be fine in a crisis. But they've been through
some rough times lately, and they may be close to
cracking. I'm sure you could say that about all of us,
except for Taurik, of course. Many times during our
imprisonment, I wished I were a Vulcan."
    "I've often wished that I were a certain android,"
said Picard with a wistful smile. "What about the
scientist, Enrak Grof?."
    Sam winced, trying not to show his doubts. "Until
today, I would've said he was a traitor and a
collaborator--and an unpleasant one at that. He
could're stopped us but didn't, so I guess he's on our

side. As I'm sure he'll tell you, he's basically in it for
the science and the glory. Grof knows that artificial
wormhole backwards and forwards--he helped de-
sign it."
    "So he told me," said Picard. "None of the rest of
you have any in-depth knowledge of its workings?"
    "No," answered Sam. "Taurik knows some of the
theory, but we were grunt labor, only told what was
needed. Grof was right in there with the Vorta engi-
neers, on a buddy-buddy basis with our resident
changeling."
"You saw a changeling?" asked Picard with interest.
"Only once, when they put me in charge of the
tanker." Sam smiled nostalgically. "To tell you the
truth, Captain, I remember more about the food than
anything else. It was the first decent food I'd had in
weeks."
    Captain Picard allowed him a slight smile. "I know
this has been difficult for you, Lieutenant, and I wish I
could relieve you of further burden. But you know our
situation."
    "Not really," answered Sam. "Taurik and I were
captured early on, defending the outer colonies. We
volunteered for that service, if you can believe it. I've
heard rumors--if this ship is any indication of what
Starfleet can spare, I guess we're in a lot of trouble."
    The captain looked grave as he explained, "If the
Dominion manages to bring through reinforcements
from the Gamma Quadrant--either by clearing the
mines from the Bajoran wormhole or through their
new artificial wormhole--the situation will be des-
perate. We didn't even know about the artificial
wormhole until we encountered Ro and her passen-
gers. There wasn't enough time to do anything but




gather intelligence, which is why we're using this ship.
We've done that, we know it exists, and now it's time
to take the next step."
    The way Picard said it almost convinced Sam that
they could pull it off. He tried not to think about what
few resources they had at their disposal, even if the
Enterprise was out there somewhere. These people
have no idea what they're up against.
    After a few moments of uneasy silence, during
which no one voiced their obvious concerns, the
captain turned off his padd and set it on an empty
console. "It appears we have to depend upon this
makeshift crew, despite our doubts. Now I have to go
talk to the Romulan."
    Sam blinked at him. "Romulan? There's a Romulan
on board?"
    "A wounded Romulan," answered Picard. "He lost
an arm when we recaptured the ship, and he's in the
captain's quarters, recuperating. Had I known we
would have all these casualties to deal with, I
would've brought Dr. Crusher along."
    Hesitantly Sam asked, "Is Alyssa Ogawa still serv-
ing on the Enterprise?"
    Picard smiled. "Yes, we've managed to hold on to
Ogawa. She's now chief nurse in sickbay, and that's
quite a job in wartime. Do you feel confident with the
Bajoran conn, Lieutenant?"
 "Yes, sir. I'll contact you if I have any questions."
 "Good. Ro, will you please accompany me?"
 "Yes, sir."
    Sam couldn't help but watch Ro and Picard walk
off the bridge--they were two of a kind, calm and
controlled on the surface and wild-eyed gamblers
underneath. My life is now in the hands of those two.

He would have disobeyed anybody else in the uni-
verse who ordered him to go back to that monstrous
collider and the slave pens, but he had to follow
Captain Picard. If anybody could get them through
this insane war alive, it would be him.

    As Captain Picard descended the spiral staircase to
the lower deck of the Orb of Peace, he wondered what
he should do with their Romulan prisoner. Some
would say it was practical to execute him on the
spot--it was no less than he deserved--but such
actions were not in Picard's nature. Essentially, the
Romulan had been doing the same thing they were
doing, pretending to be someone he wasn't in order to
gather information about the artificial wormhole. His
methods were much different, however, in that he and
his comrades had murdered a dozen innocent people
trying to hijack the Orb of Peace.
    Picard turne0 to glance at Ro Laren, who was
striding behind him, a determined look on her angu-
lar face. He wondered if she thought they had a
chance to destroy the artificial wormhole, to get out of
this alive. But what could she tell him that he didn't
already know? They were behind enemy lines, con-
fronting overwhelming odds, and they had no choice
but to continue.
    Ro smiled at his concerned expression. "It's all
right, Captain. I've given up the dream of living to an
old age and retiring on a Starfleet pension."
    "! don't think anybody is enjoying their pension at
the moment," remarked the captain.
    With a rush of heavy footsteps, a burly figure bolted
from the mess hall and planted himself in front of
Picard and Ro, blocking the corridor. His eyebrows




and beard bristled, and the brown spots on his
forehead, temples, and neck seemed to pop out of his
skin, like mountains on a relief map.
    Enrak Grof scowled angrily. "Captain, I just heard
that you expect all of us to go with you on this insane
mission to destroy the wormhole! I can understand
why you and your crew would feel a need to sabotage
it, but it's simply impossible that I go. I'm the only
one in the Federation who understands this technol-
ogy-the only one who could possibly duplicate it.
It's imperative that you send me back to Starfleet
headquarters immediately!"
    The captain tried not to grit his teeth as he calmly
replied, "Believe me, Professor, I would like nothing
better than to send you back to Starfleet, but this
vessel and the people aboard it are all I have. You are
the only one who understands the technology of the
artificial wormhole, which makes you the most essen-
tial member of the party."
    "I can't argue with that," snapped Grof, "but the
information I possess in my head cannot die with me.
You must find a way to return me safely to Starfleet!"
    While Picard clenched his fists, and carefully con-
sidered his next words, Ro stepped in. "What if we
could find a way to return the information you possess
but keep you here with us--to help? Would that be
satisfactory?"
    "If this is your only ship, how could you do that?"
asked Grof skeptically.
    "I don't know yet," answered Ro, "but soon we'll
be in the Badlands, where almost anything is possible.
Let's keep our options open, because there must be a
way to safeguard your knowledge. In the meantime, I
suggest you go to the science station on the bridge and
start recording your notes."

    The Trill nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose I
should do that, anyway. What if I had an accident or
something? Good thinking. What did you say your
name is?"
 "Ro Laren, captain of this vessel."
    "Well, Captain Ro, I sincerely appreciate your
willingness to accommodate me. I am not exaggerat-
ing when I say this technology is crucial to the future
of the galaxy."
    Reluctantly, it seemed, Enrak Grof shifted his at-
tention from the attractive Bajoran to Captain Picard,
and his scowl returned. "Captain, you just don't
understand the import of the situation like Captain
Ro does. You want to destroy the greatest invention of
our times, but I won't let you destroy the knowledge
as well."
 "We'll find a way," promised Picard.
    "You had better." The Trill stomped toward the
spiral staircase and headed toward the bridge.
    The captain watched him go, then lowered his voice
to say, "Insufferable man."
    "I know that kind," said Ro. "Maybe if he does a
good job of transcribing his notes, we won't need
him."
    The captain nodded appreciatively, then grimaced.
"But we still have him, plus a murderous Romulan
and a handful of ex-prisoners who should be in
sickbay, not on duty."
    Ro gave him a smile. "This is how we assembled
crews in the Maquis--whoever showed up. Some-
times it works."
    'Tm glad you're here," said Picard gratefully. "Now
let's go see our prisoner."
    He led the way into the captain's quarters, the only
private cabin on the whole ship. Since the Orb of




Peace was a civilian transport, it had no brig or
interior force-fields, so they had turned the captain's
quarters into a temporary cell, with only a mattress. A
Cardassian prisoner had managed to escape, but so
far the Romulan prisoner had been docile. Of course,
he had lost an arm and a considerable amount of
blood; he had to be extremely weak.
    Nevertheless, Ro drew her Bajoran phaser as they
approached the door. Geordi had disabled the circuit-
ry which opened the door from the inside, and the
Romulan had been alone in there for several hours.
They had to be prepared for anything--from a dead
prisoner to a berserk prisoner.
    The captain nodded to Ro to be ready as he touched
the wall panel. The door slid open slowly, as if it were
still slightly damaged by the Cardassian's rampage.
Soothing red and turquoise lights lit the cabin, which
appeared empty except for a sleeping figure on the
mattress.
    The figure on the bed stirred slightly as they en-
tered. Ro stationed herself in the doorway, her weap-
on leveled for action, and Picard took a step forward.
The Romulan rolled over, gripping the bandaged stub
of his arm. Lying there helplessly, he looked younger
than Picard had remembered, the equivalent of a
human in his early thirties. Picard knew, however,
that appearances could be deceiving with these long-
lived races. The prisoner gazed at them not with
hatred or fear, but resignation.
 "How are you feeling?" asked Picard.
     He sighed. "Weak and ashamed over my capture. I
assume now you will execute me." "Don't tempt us," said Ro.
 Picard's jaw tightened. "I still don't see why you

had to kill my crew and hijack my ship, just to get
away from Shek and Rolf."
    "You don't know that Ferengi and his Orion hench-
man," muttered the Romulan. "We would have done
anything to get away from them, even if our mission
hadn't been almost finished. You happened along, and
we knew we might not get another chance to escape. I
sincerely doubt if you would have given us your ship."
    "Perhaps not," answered Picard, "but we might
have given you sanctuary, if you had asked. What is
your name?"
    "You can call me Hasmek, if you need a name for
your reports, but I refuse to be interrogated."
    "We know all about your mission," said Ro. "You
talked while you were in shock. You and your confed-
erates enlisted with the pirates to get close to the
artificial wormhole. Now that you know it exists, you
were going to advise your superiors to give up neutral-
ity and ally themselves with the Dominion. Have I
left anything out?"
    Hasmek sneered at them. "Only that I also know
your missioninto destroy the artificial wormhole. I
realize the Federation is given to fits of fantasy, but do
you have any idea how impossible that will be?"
    "We don't have much choice," replied Picard. "At
the moment, our problem is what to do with you."
     With a grimace, the Romulan sat up and stared at
him. "You mean, you haven't decided to kill me?"
  "That's not Starfleet practice," said Picard.
    "However," added Ro, hefting her weapon, "not all
of us are in Starfleet."
    "You're Bajoran, technically neutral like us. Or are
you a fake Bajoran, like him?" asked Hasmek.
 Ro shook her head with disgust. "We're getting




nowhere with him. I say we maroon him somewhere
in the Badlands, somewhere he'll never be found."
    The Romulan's cheerful disposition turned sour.
"Yes, leave me to starve to death--that's the humane
Federation way. If you don't execute me properly, I'll
make an escape attempt and force you to do it."
    Ro asked, "I wonder what the Dominion would do
with a Romulan spy?"
    "Probably the same thing they would do with
a Federation spy," answered Hasmek. "But they
wouldn't have the qualms about it that you seem to
have."
    "We can't let the Dominion find him alive, and he
knows it," said Picard. "We could conceivably give
him back to Shek and Rolf, if we could find them."
    The Romulan stuck his jaw out and assumed an
arrogant pose. "That would be as good as an execu-
tion, probably for all of us."
    The captain heard footsteps in the corridor, and he
turned to see the Vulcan, Taurik, slip through the
door. Even in the subdued light, Picard was surprised
by the similarity in the facial appearance of the
Vulcan and the Romulan. They were similar in age,
too, and both men had straight black hair that was
uncharacteristically long after their adventures in
Cardassian space.
    Hasmek was momentarily stunned to see his dou-
ble, then he slumped weakly back into bed. "A Vulcan
lackey."
    "Captain," said Taurik in a low voice, "we don't
wish to alarm the crew by using the comm system, but
Sam has detected a ship. They may be in pursuit."
  "What kind of ship?" asked Picard.
  "It appears to be Cardassian."
 The captain exhaled as if he had been punched in

the stomach. Relying on Bajoran neutrality, they had
talked their way past Jem'Hadar and Vorta sentries,
but not Cardassians, who couldn't resist harassing
Bajorans whenever the opportunity presented itself.
    "I'11 check on it." Ro shouldered past Taurik and
headed for the bridge, with the Vulcan right behind
her. Left alone in the room with his prisoner, Picard
turned and gazed at Hasmek.
    "The Cardassians have no qualms about torture
and execution, especially for spies," he said somberly.
"I know," answered Picard grimly.




Chapter Two

PICARD REMAINED in the captain's quarters, watching
his Romulan prisoner, who was watching him in
return. A crazy idea was percolating in his mind, and
he might have to act on it, depending on what Ro
discovered.
    A few seconds later, Picard's cornbadge chirped,
and he answered it with his code name, "Boothby
here."
    Ro's normally resolute voice sounded disheartened
as she reported, "A Cardassian Galor-class warship is
on an intercept course with us. Contact in approxi-
mately twenty minutes."
    "Any chance that we can make the Badlands in
time?"
 "None."
  We have one photon torpedo at our disposal, the

captain reminded himself. We'd be lucky if we couM
take out an unarmed shuttlecraft.
    "Replicate two Romulan uniforms," ordered Pi-
card. "Put one on Taurik and send the other one
down to the captain's quarters."
 "Yes, sir," answered Ro in a quizzical tone. "Out."
    Hasmek sat up in bed and looked suspiciously at
him. "What are you planning, Boothby?"
    Picard strode toward him and said, "I know you're
weak, but do you think you could remain on your feet
for a few minutes and do some talking?"
    Hasmek grinned at him. "Very clever. You're
planning to put me and the Vulcan on-screen and
say that Romulans are in charge of this vessel. I
didn't know Federation captains could be quite so
devious."
  "I'm learning," muttered Picard.
  "How do you know I won't betray you?"
    "You have nothing to gain and your life to lose.
Bajoran neutrality works with the Jem'Hadar but not
necessarily with Cardassians. I'm hoping that they'll
respect Romulan neutrality. There's hardly any bad
blood between your races."
    "Not yet," answered Hasmek. "Have you been so
foolish as to come here with no permission at all?"
    The captain's eyes narrowed--he wasn't used to
being addressed in this fashion. "We have documents
of passage in our computer, given to us on our first
stop. I don't think they've expired yet."
    With a flurry of footsteps, Sam Lavelle burst into
the room clutching a thick gray jumpsuit in his hands.
He looked quizzically from Picard to the wounded
Romulan and held out the bundle of clothing. "Is this
what you wanted, sir?"




    "Yes. Remain here to help me get Hasmek to the
bridge. Hasmek, this is Sam."
    "Charmed," drawled the Romulan, doing a comical
impression of a human accent.
 "Yeah," answered Sam doubtfully.

    With his good hand, Hasmek gripped the back of
the conn chair and held himself steady. His empty
left sleeve was tucked under the armpit of his uni-
form. The moody lighting on the bridge of the
transport had been arranged so that only he and
Taurik, at tactical, were visible. Picard and Ro
crouched in the forward shadows, phasers in their
hands, both aimed at the one-armed Romulan.
Everyone else was below.
    At his console, Taurik actually had command of the
ship and was poised to fire his lone torpedo and go to
warp if the Cardassians tried to board or attack. They
probably wouldn't get far, but escape was their only
option if talking failed... or the Romulan betrayed
them.
    Right now, a massive, bronze Galor-class warship
filled the small viewscreen and commanded every-
one's attention. It looked like a manta ray caught in
shallow waters under golden sunlight.
    Ro Laren told herself that she had to watch the
Romulan and not be distracted by the enemy, who
stood poised to vaporize them. As her sweaty hand
gripped her phaser, she glanced at Captain Picard,
who nodded to the Vulcan and the Romulan. She
leveled her weapon and waited for Taurik to send
commands from his console.
 "Gul Dubarok is on screen," said the Vulcan.
    Ro had seen enough Cardassians in her life to know
that she didn't have to turn to look at this one. She

could imagine the thick, muscular neck, pallid gray
complexion, severe black hair, and sunken eye sockets
which gave a cadaverous look to the haughty face.
Luckily, the one race which could match the Cardas-
sians in sneering arrogance were the Romulans, who
considered themselves vastly superior to everyone,
including the Dominion.
    Disdainfully, Hasmek declared, "I am Captain
Hasmek, and this is the Orb of Peace, under the
command of a Romulan crew. We have broken no
law--why have we been stopped?"
    Ro heard a woman's voice reply, "You are in a war
zone. State your business, and know that we have
scanned you. Why do you have such a mongrel
crew?"
    The Romulan drew himself up indignantly. "We
have a multiracial crew because we are a joint scientif-
ic mission, sponsored by governments which are
neutral in this war, principally Bajor and the Romu-
lan Star Empire. Our people have been studying the
Badlands for years--you can see that we're virtually
unarmed. In our opinion, the Dominion has total
control over this sector, and the Badlands are safer
than they have been in years."
    "You've had no contact with Federation vessels or
Federation sympathizers?"
    "Federation vessels?" Hasmek sneered and mo-
tioned toward his empty sleeve. "I lost this arm
fighting the Federation. If you think Romulans
would aid the Federation, your worries are baseless.
You've beaten those sniveling do-gooders, and I for
one am jubilant. By the way, we have traveling
documents, which we would be happy to transmit to
you."
 There came a pause, and Ro licked her lips ner-




vously. The Romulan appeared unflappable, but she
could see his knuckles whiten where he gripped the
chair for support. There were also blood spots seeping
through his folded sleeve--she hoped the Cardassians
wouldn't notice.
Finally the Gul replied, "Begin transmission."
Hasmek nodded to Taurik, who plied his console.
While the documents were being sent, the Romulan
casually sunk into the chair at the conn. Only those on
the bridge could tell that he had done so to keep from
collapsing.
  "Transmission complete," said the Vulcan.
    There were several more long moments while the
Cardassians digested the permits, and Taurik and
Hasmek nonchalantly checked their instruments.
They were both cool under fire, thought Ro. If the
Romulan weren't a cold-blooded murderer, he
would have made an interesting addition to this
crew.
    "Captain Hasmek," said the haughty feminine
voice, "the Orb of Peace is cleared for passage. Any
deviation in course from the Badlands will result in
expulsion from Cardassian space."
    Hasmek waved imperiously. "Understood. When
we meet again, we will toast to your victory and dance
on the bones of the Federation."
"We await that day," agreed the Cardassian. "Out."
The screen switched back to a view of the starscape,
dominated by the sleek bronze warship. This time Ro
watched as the Galor-class vessel glided slowly over
their bow, turned in a graceful arc, and disappeared
into warp with a brilliant flash. Only then did she
begin breathing.
    The Romulan slumped forward onto the conn and
rested his head on his forearm. Picard holstered his

phaser and approached the prisoner. "Well done," he
said. "You have acted with honor."
    "You mean, I lied with honor," murmured Hasmek
with a weak smile. "If you think we want to ally
ourselves with the Dominion, you would be wrong.
Romulans are a proud people, and we aren't eager to
serve anyone."
    Picard nodded resolutely. "Now I know what to do
with you. I've got to take you with us on this mission
to make sure that you see the artificial wormhole
destroyed with your own eyes. Then I'll get you back
to your superiors, so that you can tell them to remain
neutral in the war."
    Ro gaped at the captain along with the Romulan.
CouM he be serious? Although the Romulan had just
shown his worth, how could they add a treacherous
murderer to their already makeshift crew?
    "You won't regret this decision," said the Romulan
a moment before he closed his eyes and lost con-
sciousness.

    Will Riker stood in a nondescript corridor on
Starbase 209, torn as to which direction he should go.
One way led to the repair facilities, where the
Enterprise-E lay in space dock, undergoing extensive
repairs. In the other direction was the base command-
er's office, under Vice-Admiral Jack Torrance, a man
younger than Riker.
    In yet a third direction--below to the nineteenth
level--were the medical facilities of Starbase 209.
Riker was certain that members of his crew would be
there, either receiving outpatient treatment or, in the
case of Deanna Troi and Beverly Crusher, assisting
the overworked staff. According to their logs, they had
been helping out every day since the Enterprise's




 arrival four days ago, while Riker had been attending
 tactical meetings. Those meetings had been terribly
 depressing, because there was no way to disguise the
 fact that they were losing the war.
    To him, it seemed as if they had been at Starbase
209 for four months instead of four days. Even with
the unexpected diversion of his romance with Captain
Shana Winslow, he found it difficult to wait here
while the war raged elsewhere. He felt helpless, guilty,
and oddly relieved all at the same time.
    Most of all, Riker wanted to know that his com-
rades behind enemy lines were safe, and he wanted to
know that he would get his ship back in time to help
them. As Shana had told him, Starfleet had no person-
nel to dispense hugs and reassurance, and that was
what he needed most.
    On top of that, he had something else to worry
about--Shana's mental health. She was the cause of
his quandary, his indecision over which way to go in
the corridor. Riker took a few steps toward the base
commander's office, but stopped, knowing that he
couldn't go over her head without giving her a chance
to defend herselfi And he couldn't bring himself to go
to her workplace and put more pressure on her, not
knowing how she would react. He hadn't seen Shana
for a day and a night, since she broke down and cried
in his arms.
    No, decided Riker, I have to talk to Deanna Troi
before I do anything else. Feeling relieved with his
decision, he strode into the nearest turbolift and
requested level nineteen.
    He emerged into a broad, busy corridor. Two
occupied, robotic gurneys rumbled past going in
opposite directions, following invisible magnetic
strips embedded in the floor. A flock of medical

workers emerged from one room and ducked into
another, conversing in low voices as they walked. Two
orderlies jogged past in a big hurry, and a man in an
automatic wheelchair cruised slowly along the cor-
ridor.
    Riker wandered the hall, glancing at signs denoting
various departments, such as Surgery, Research, and
Recovery. He took a chance and walked toward the
door marked "Recovery."
    When the door slid open, Riker was immediately
plunged back into the war. Every bed in the im-
mense room was filled--row after row of injured
people from dozens of different races. Over each
bed, digital readouts pulsed with cheerful precision,
and workers carrying trays and hypos maneuvered
through the rows like overworked honeybees. A few
visitors clustered around individual beds, and
Riker wandered in the direction of one such gath-
ering.
    He glanced at the patient, a blue-skinned Bolian; he
was surrounded by uniformed officers, who were
joking and kidding with him, obviously happy to have
their comrade on the mend. Riker walked down the
outer row of beds, seeing several patients who looked
alert and well. But he saw many others who were
badly scarred, unconscious, and still in field dressings
and casts. The most disturbing were those who were
awake but were staring vacantly into space--they
were still at the battle site. A few patients who looked
bored and disgruntled reminded Riker uncomfort-
ably of himself.
    The medical workers and volunteers paid no atten-
tion to him as they bustled past. Evidently, visitors
were common in the Recovery section. Riker looked
for a familiar face among the workers, but there were




 none until he reached the last bed in the last row.
 There he spotted Alyssa Ogawa administering a hypo-
 spray to an unconscious patient.
     He walked closer to her and stood patiently until
 she finished. "Hello, Nurse Ogawa."
     "Commander Riker," she said with some surprise.
 "Can I help you with anything?"
  "Yes, I'm looking for Counselor Troi."
     The nurse stepped away from her patient and
 pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I believe I
 saw her in the psychiatric section, which is out the
 main door and two doors to the right."
    "Thank you," answered Riker with a friendly smile.
"I'm amazed how many patients there are in this
room. It's great to see so many people on the way to
recovery."
    "Not all of them are," said Ogawa sadly, glancing
back at her patient. "There aren't enough beds for
everyone. Some of them... we're just trying to make
comfortable."
    "I see." The smile faded from Riker's face. "It's
very commendable that you're working here, when
you don't have to be."
    Ogawa sighed and looked around at the hundreds of
casualties. "Oh, I definitely have to be here. They just
keep coming in--and these are the lucky ones. Excuse
me, Captain."
    "Certainly." Riker watched the slender, dark-
haired nurse return to her duties, then he wandered
between two more rows of beds, feeling disheartened
and ashamed. Here he was, worrying about a handful
of close friends, when death and destruction were all
around. It was hard to imagine that these people and
the crew of the Enterprise had been lucky, but they

were... when one considered the alternatives. Ac-
cording to Ro, thousands of Starfleet officers were
toiling in slave labor camps, where they were treated
worse than animals. He wanted to do something--
anything!--but all he could do was to concentrate on
his job, which at the moment meant sitting and
waiting.
    Riker almost didn't enter the door marked "Psy-
chiatric Care," knowing he could be pulling Deanna
away from patients. But he couldn't stop thinking
about Shana Winslow, her torments, and her in-
credibly important position. He had to talk to
somebody.
    Taking a deep breath, he walked into the most
depressing of the wards on Starbase 209, the place
where the casualties couldn't be cured by skin-
bonding, blood transfusions, and antibiotics. The
first room he entered looked like a typical recrea-
tion room, with Ping-Pong tables, video viewers,
game tables, and a food and drink replicator. Two
people were playing a game of three-dimensional
chess, and two more people were watching a science
program on the viewer. The only thing amiss was
the two-way mirror by the door, through which
the attendants were undoubtedly monitoring their
charges.
    A white-garbed attendant stood by the interior
doorway, which led to a corridor and many doors
beyond. He eyed Riker suspiciously and walked
toward him. "I'm sorry, Commander, but we don't
allow visitors here, except by special permission."
     "Understood," said Riker. "I'm looking for Com-
 mander Deanna Troi, who's the counselor aboard
 my ship."





  "She's a volunteer, right?"
  "Yes. She's been here about four days."
     "I think I know where she is. If you'll have a seat,
 I'll go look for her." The attendant hurried down
 the corridor, and the door whispered shut behind
 him.
     Riker strolled over to the chess game and studied
 the layout of the three main boards and five smaller
 boards. Then his attention shifted to the players: an
 older Vulcan woman and a young Merakan with
 orangish hair. They were so intent upon their game
 that neither one looked at him or acknowledged his
 presence.
    The Merakan reached out a fragile hand with
slender fingers and moved a white knight from the
center board to the top board. The Vulcan woman
raised an eyebrow at this and said, "That is not classic
Duranian Defense."
    "Yes, it is," replied the Merakan huffily. He looked
straight at Riker. "Isn't it?"
    "I wouldn't know," answered Riker with a friendly
smile. "Chess was never my game."
"Then why do you watch it?" asked the Vulcan.
Riker motioned around the almost deserted recrea-
tion lounge, then decided that he had better be ex-
tremely diplomatic with these people. "I wish to learn
about it."
    "Then take my place!" offered the Merakan, jump-
ing to his feet. Despite Riker's protests, he was soon
ushered into the seat across from the stoic Vulcan,
who would undoubtedly crush him in three-dimen-
sional chess.
 "I'm not a very good player," admitted Riker.
 "It matters little," answered the Vulcan. "We only

play games that have already been played. Famous
games--"
    "If we can remember them," added the Merakan.
"We're not allowed to play real games, becausem" He
looked puzzledly at the Vulcan. "What is it we do?"
  "We attack each other," she answered.
    "That's right," said the Merakan cheerfully. "There's
no dishonor in losing a game which has already been
lost."
    "Right," answered Riker doubtfully. He motioned
to the Vulcan. "Your move."
    The Vulcan stroked her chin. "At this point, black
makes a fatal mistake, is that not correct?"
    "That's it!" said the Merakan excitedly. "You mis-
take my retreat for an attack, and you break off your
relentless offensive in order to castle with your rook.
This moment of hesitation allows white to get the
momentum. It goes on for another four days, but
eventually you'll lose."
    The Vulcan shook her head. "Durania is famous for
beating such an incompetent?" Nevertheless, she
made the necessary castling move to continue the
game.
    Riker was relieved to see Deanna Troi stroll
through the doorway, brushing back a dark strand of
errant hair. He jumped to his feet. "Thanks for the
pointers. I'm Will Riker, and it's been nice to meet
you--" His voice trailed off expectantly, waiting for
them to furnish their names.
     "And I'm--" The Merakan raised his finger as if to
 answer, then he looked puzzledly at his chess oppo-
 nent. "Who am I?"
     The Vulcan shook her head. "I have no idea. I only
 met you today."




     Troi moved swiftly to Riker's side in order to rescue
 him from the awkward situation. "You're Lieutenant
 Anowon, and your friend is Captain Jobra. But it's
 been a very long day of playing chess--perhaps you
 should think about dinner, or a nap."
     "But there's a war going on," said Jobra. Riker
 stared at the Vulcan, thinking that her answer sounded
 extremely coherent, until she motioned toward the
 chess boards. She meant the game.
     "Absolutely!" exclaimed Anowon, dropping into
 the chair across from the Vulcan. In a matter of
 seconds, they were intent upon their game to the
 exclusion of the two visitors.
    Troi ushered Riker toward the door, and he
looked fondly at the beautiful Betazoid. Once the
love of his life, now a friend for life, sometimes
he felt that she would always be the only person who
really knew him. It was good to have somebody in
the universe with whom he could be totally honest
and vulnerable. Of course, Deanna bestowed a
feeling of trust and comfort to almost everybody,
but he had also known her love. Although they had
never been married, he often felt as if she were his
amiable ex-spouse, with more than a few sparks
of jealousy and physical attraction left between
them.
    When they reached the corridor and the door shut
behind them, Troi shook her head. "It's sad to see
those two," she whispered. "Head injuries gave them
a rare form of amnesia which starts all over again
every time they awaken. They can remember certain
things, like old chess moves, but they can't remember
that they know each other. We have to introduce them
every morning."

 "There's nothing you can do for them?"
    "After the war, Jobra could probably get help on
Vulcan, and there may be something the Merakans
can do for Anowon. But we have no way to transport
them, and no one we can spare to take them there. So
they sit here, waiting."
  "Just like us," muttered Riker.
    Troi grabbed his arm and gaily tossed her black
tresses. "But, Will, you didn't come down here to talk
about depressing subjects, did you? You're going to
whisk me away to someplace fun, make me forget that
there's a war going on! Right?"
    He shook his head glumly. "I'm afraid not. I will
buy you dinner, though, in someplace private, if you'd
care to hear what trouble I'm in."
    She gave him a disapproving frown. "If you've been
having fun, I'll really be mad."
    "Well, yes," he admitted, "but it didn't last too
long."
    "I haven't seen the aquarium yet," said Troi. "I
hear it's beautiful."
     Riker gritted his teeth, thinking of his memorable
 date with Shana. "Let's go."

    After staring at a proud lion fish, with its mane of
frilly orange and white fins, Will Riker thought about
what he had to do. Thus far, he and Deanna had
talked shop, including the scheduled time-frame for
repairs to the Enterprise, but he hadn't told her
anything about Shana Winslow. It was time to sum-
mort his courage and open up.
    Riker glanced around and saw that they were virtu-
ally alone amidst the bubbling turquoise tanks of the
aquarium where he had last come with Shana. De-




 anna was staring into a tank of Vulcan eels, which
 slithered like flaming arrows through a sea of under-
 water volcanic ash.
     "I've gotten involved with somebody here," he
 blurted out.
     "You don't say," remarked Troi, without a shred of
 surprise. She stepped to another tank and looked at
 miniature jellyfish lit by phosphorescent lights. "Head
 of the repair facilities--very impressive."
  He gaped at her. "You know all about it?"
     "You don't think a juicy piece of gossip like that
 could stay secret. Commander Winslow is a remark-
 able woman."
    "A remarkable woman with some very heavy re-
sponsibilities. She's in charge of us getting the Enter-
prise back in one piece. And she's deeply troubled--
nightmares, unexpected chills, moodiness. On top of
that, she has to cope with losing two limbs, a lot of
grief, and tremendous stress from her job. I'm not
sure she's coping."
    "Most of us are barely coping these days." Troi
stood up and fixed him with a sharp gaze. "Are you
officially reporting to me that her ability to do her
duty is impaired?"
    "I don't know." Riker shook his head with frustra-
tion and tried to keep his voice low. "I don't want to
do anything official, because I don't want to cause her
more problems. Let's just say, her ability to have a
personal relationship is badly impaired, and I want
you to talk to her."
    "All right. But, Will, I won't be able to discuss our
conversations with you. She has to have her pri-
vacy."
    "I know, I just want what's best for her," said
Riker. "With any luck, we'll be gone in a few days, but

she'll still be here, struggling with all of this. If I know
you're taking over, I'll back off and stay away from
her."
    "Do you really think there's a problem with the
ship?" asked Troi, now sounding more like a con-
cerned command officer than a ship's counselor.
    With a glance at the bubbling, turquoise tanks
which surrounded them, Riker decided that they
were alone. He leaned toward Deanna's ear and
whispered, "I checked around, and her shop is al-
ways behind schedule. It's usually double the esti-
mate, and she's already told us it would be a week. Of
course, with supply lines down and all the shortages,
it's quite possible that she's not at fault for the
delays."
  "Can't you get a status report?"
    Riker frowned and tried to find the Saurian lung-
fish in a display of coral. "I did, and there wasn't
anything on it. Shana won't speak to me, ever since
the night when... well, she got very upset. If Geordi
or Data were here, I'd send one of them down, and
we'd know in ten minutes if everything was all right.
Otherwise, I'd have to go over her head to the CO,
and I don't want to do that. She simply won't talk to
me."
  "What makes you think she'll talk to me?"
    "Because you're a sweetheart." He gave her his
most winning smile.
     Troi groaned, looking deeply troubled. "Of course
 I'll have a conflict of interest, too, because I'll be
 trying to get our ship released."
     "I've tried to get the Admiralty to follow through
 on the mission," muttered Riker, shaking his head,
 "but the Kreel system is now in enemy hands. To even
 find Data's shuttlecraft would require a miracle, and I




 don't want to think about how hard it will be to spot
 that beacon. If we don't go soon, nobody will be there
 for the captain and the others."
     Troi nodded grimly. "So we need the Enterprise
 back ASAP, no matter who stands in our way."

     A phaser blast jarred the Cook, a small personnel
 shuttlecraft with one aboard, a unique artificial life-
 form modeled after a human. The android absorbed a
 number of sensory and digital inputs at once, and he
 knew that, although his shields and systems were
 failing, he had enough power left to reach the emerald
 clouds of the Class-F planet just below him. He was
 already entering the outer atmosphere, a murky soup
 of chlorine, chlorine dioxide, and chlorine oxide. The
 chlorine was poisonous and corrosive, and the chlo-
 rine dioxide was explosive--so he didn't expect many
 visitors.
    Data knew that the planet's atmosphere could
damage his hull, but he didn't have much choice with
a Jem'Hadar attack ship on his tail. He had two
photon torpedoes on his specially outfitted shuttle-
craft, but he was determined to save them. This
lifeless planet, called SK-73%6 in Starfleet nomencla-
ture, would prove to be either his sanctuary or his
undoing.
    Another plasma blast grazed his hull, its energy
dissipating in the thick atmosphere. The tiny craft
shuddered and grew hot during re-entry, but Data
never took his attention off his instruments. He didn't
bother to stare in awe at the pea-green swirl of gases as
a human would; instead he searched his instruments
for solid ground amidst the shifting bogs. If the
Jem'Hadar had been foolish enough to follow him

into this uninhabitable world, then their presence
didn't show up on his instruments.
    More than likely, they had assumed an outer orbit
and would look for life-signs--life-signs they wouldn't
find. Twice before, he had eluded the Jem'Hadar by
escaping to barren planets incapable of supporting life.
Because Data wasn't a biological being, they had a
hard time tracking him once he shut down the shuttle-
craft systems. With any luck, they would assume he
had crashed and died.
    Unfortunately, every relocation like this brought an
inevitable break in his search for the subspace beacon,
the distress call from the away team. It also took Data
farther away from the Kreel system, where he had left
the Enterprise. If he could only find solid ground on
this unfriendly planet, then he would once again set
up his long-range scanner array to monitor the distant
Badlands. If he couldn't, then he would have to make
a break for it, before the Jem'Hadar attack ship could
summon reinforcements.
    After that it would be another mad dash to another
unlikely refuge, with the resultant delays. The lives
of Captain Picard, Geordi, and a dozen others--plus
the survival of the Federation--depended upon
his attention. He had to land and set up the array
soon.
    The android headed north to the polar icecap of
the planet, peering from his instruments into
greenish-yellow gloom. Although he found no level
terrain, he was encouraged by the sight of white hills
and plateaus pushing up through the clouds. It
wasn't real ice, of course, but frozen chlorine diox-
ide, which should be solid enough to support the
shuttlecraft.





    Almost an hour of searching revealed an ice floe
that was level and large enough for him to attempt a
landing. Not wanting to melt any of the surface with
prolonged thruster burns--or risk an explosion--he
cut his engines several meters off the ground and
came in hard with a resounding thud. Data remained
perfectly still as the craft's runners melted into the
dry ice with disconcerting cracking sounds. For a
moment, he expected the ice to break and dump him
into an ocean of chemicals, but the floe held the
weight.
    Data quickly shut down all systems. Geordi would
say he was "playing possum." As soon as possible, he
would resume his duty... and locate his friends.

Chapter Three

TIlE BADLANDS FILLED the viewscreen of the Orb of
Peace, looking like a mass of dirty cotton candy filled
with giant lightning bugs. Sam Lavelie shifted uneas-
ily in his seat at the conn, trying to forget that the
glimmering lights were in reality deadly plasma
storms wreaking havoc in a vast dust cloud. He told
himself the storms were far, far away, although he
didn't know how far away they were. None of the
sensors could penetrate the gloom a few meters be-
yond the ship.
    But Ro had said that they were in a safe spot, a
bubble, as she called it. No matter how far away they
were, the random bursts of plasma were not condu-
cive to relaxation, although they were eerily beautiful.
    Finally Sam took his hands off the helm and rubbed
his sore shoulder, telling himself that if they were hit




by one of those charged bolts, it wouldn't matter what
he was doing. In fact, he would rather die that way
than be captured by Cardassians. He was sure he
couldn't go through that ordeal again.
    He heard footsteps, and he turned to see Geordi La
Forge striding toward him. The blind engineer no
longer sported the VISOR he had worn when Sam
served with him aboard the Enterprise; instead he
wore some kind of implants that covered only part of
each eye. They must have been a big improvement,
thought Sam, because La Forge had stuck with his
VISOR for a long time. The Bajoran earring and nose
ridges only made his appearance more bizarre.
    "Hi, Lavelie," said La Forge with a friendly smile.
"How does it look out there?"
"Weird. How does it look to you, Commander?"
The engineer squinted at the viewscreen and shook
his head. "It's nice to know there are some things
which look weird to everyone."
    "How is everything below?" asked Sam, worried
that either Grofor the Romulan had caused an uproar
by now.
    "We're getting to know each other," answered La
Forge. "To that end, the captain is assembling every-
body in the mess hall for a shipwide meeting. I'm
your relief, because he already knows me." "Right now?" Sam stood uncertainly.
    "Relax, Sam, he's not worried about you. But we've
got to see where everybody stands before we make a
bunch of plans that we can't carry out."
    "Or trust people who we shouldn't trust," added
Sam. "I don't know those people very well, except for
Taurik."
    "That makes two of us." La Forge sighed and took
his seat at the conn.

  "What's the captain going to do?"
    "He'll have to trust his own judgment. Luckily, he's
a good judge of character. I think he just wants to
get everyone into one room and see how the group
meshes."
    Sam scowled. "With Grof around, we'll probably
chafe instead of mesh."
    Geordi smiled and turned to the swirling brown
and magenta clouds on the viewscreen. "You'd better
go below."
 "Yes, sir."
    Feeling as if he were invited to a party where
everyone would be a stranger, Sam wandered off the
bridge and down the spiral staircase. Upon reaching
the lower deck, he spotted Tamla Horik and Enrique
Maserelli lounging in the corridor outside the mess
hall. They weren't exactly holding hands, but their
affection for each other was more open than ever.
    "Hello, Captain," said the Deltan female with a
friendly smile. Although Sam was only a lieutenant,
he had been the captain of their late, lamented
Cardassian tanker. It was a measure of his crew's
respect that a few of them still called him that.
    Enrique gave him a grudging nod, and Sam knew
that the materiel handler was still angry at him. At the
height of their desperation, Sam had threatened to
throw Enrique into the brig if he didn't cooperate.
Now he regretted those harsh words, but there was no
way take them back.
    "Hi," said Sam, mustering a pleasant smile.
"Ready for the meeting?"
    "Why do we need a meeting?" muttered Enrique.
"We know where the artificial wormhole is--let's
send in the fleet and take it out."
 Tamla gave Maserelli a smirk, as if he were a bit of a




simpleton. "It isn't that simple. We know about it, but
I don't think the rest of the Federation does."
    "They don't know anything!" growled a voice. Sam
and his comrades turned to see Enrak Grof striding
toward them from the aft hold. The burly Trill looked
as belligerent and argumentative as usual, ready to tell
the whole galaxy what to think.
    He stopped in the corridor and regaled them.
"They don't understand what we built out there! They
don't know its value--they only want to destroy it.
Although I doubt if they know how to do that."
    "Oh, I believe that Captain Picard has a plan,"
countered Sam, not at all certain if that were true.
    "A plan to take out a magneton collider ten kilome-
ters long and protected by a fleet of ships? With an
unarmed transport? If he does, he's the greatest mili-
tary genius in the world. I think his plan is to get us all
killed in a pointless display of hubris."
    Lena Shonsui stuck her head out of the mess hall
door and glared at Grof. Even though her arm was in
a cast and one eye was blackened from a recent injury,
the diminutive woman was livid. "Shut up, Grofl The
last thing we need is to listen to a traitor like you.
You're lucky we don't beam you into a bulkhead!"
    The Trill whirled and glowered at her, his wiry
beard and eyebrows bristling. "You! You nearly got us
all killed, and your ineptitude cost us two probes!"
    "At least I didn't kill hundreds of people to pro-
mote my own glory!" When Lena took a step toward
Grof, his hands balled into fists.
    Sam quickly jumped between them, holding Lena
back with one hand and Grof with the other. He could
feel Grof backing off, but the middle-aged woman
charged forward, wanting blood. He finally had to

hold her scawny shoulders with both hands. "Lena,
calm down. He's not worth it!"
    "What's going on here?" demanded a stern voice,
and they all turned to see Captain Picard, accompa-
nied by Ro Laren, Taurik, Jozarnay Woil, and the
Romulan, Hasmek. The Romulan had a smirk on his
face, as if he were amused by this internal bickering.
    "She tried to attack me!" bellowed Grof, pointing
at his accuser.
    "I never did, but I should have!" shouted Lena,
struggling to get past Sam and reach the Trill. Despite
her flailing arms, he held her at bay.
    "Attention!" snapped Picard in a voice which
brooked no opposition. Everyone--even Grof---stood
stiffly in place. "I don't care what you've been through,
what you've done in the past, or how much you hate
each other, on my ship, you will maintain order and
behave like Starfleet officers." "I'm not--" began Grof.
    "Silence!" roared Picard. "Professor Grof, you will
behave like a member of this crew, or you'll be held in
irons. Do I make myself clear?"
    Sam had never seen a Trill's spots blanch, but
Grofs spots grew several shades lighter as he gulped
and backed away. "Yes, sir."
    The one-armed Romulan narrowed his eyes. "I
suggest you do as the captain says. I have found
the captain to be a formidable foe who will stop at
nothing to maintain control."
    The captain looked slightly contrite at his outburst,
but still angry and determined. The war had even
taken a toll on him, thought Sam; he couldn't imagine
such an outburst coming from the Captain Picard he
knew aboard the Enterprise. Of course, this wasn't the




Enterprise--this was a ragtag crew of desperate peo-
ple in the middle of a horrendous war--a war which
none of them were likely to survive.
    The captain tugged on his rust-colored Bajoran
tunic and motioned toward the mess hall. "Now will
all of you please have a seat."
    Sam stepped back, letting the others file in ahead of
him. First went Lena Shonsui, the short-tempered
transporter operator. Once upon a time, before the
war, Lena must have been a level-headed profession-
al, but now she was barely sane, driven over the edge
by hatred and abuse. She was followed by Tamla and
Enrique.
    Sam looked away from them to watch Grof trying
to engage Taurik in whispered conversation. The
Vulcan listened politely to whatever the Trill was
saying, but he had no comment as they filed into the
dining hall. Jozarnay Woil followed them, and the
friendly Antosian was also banged up with various
superficial injuries. Taurik had done a good job of
first-aid.
    Hasmek, the one-armed Romulan, strolled in next,
followed very closely by Ro Laren. Sam had a feeling
that Ro had been assigned to be the Romulan's
shadow, jailer, and bodyguard until further notice.
Lucky devil.
    This left Sam alone in the corridor with Captain
Picard, who did not look at all pleased with his
makeshift crew. "How did you keep them in line?" he
asked softly.
    "I told them we would escape and reach freedom,"
answered Sam, thinking what a crock that had been.
    "Freedom is still our goal." Picard motioned to the
doorway.
Sam entered the now-crowded mess hall and took a

seat at a table with Taurik and Grof. The Trill imme-
diately leaned across the Vulcan's chest and whis-
pered to Sam, "Did you hear him threaten my life? A
Starfleet captain!"
    Sam gritted his teeth. "Grof, the sooner you learn
that this war isn't a game or a research project, the
better."
 "Quiet, please," sniffed Taurik.
    They folded their hands in front of them and sat as
attentively as schoolchildren while Captain Picard
frowned in thought.
    "I know none of you want to be here," he began.
"We don't particularly want to be here either. We
hoped to discover that the artificial wormhole was
only a rumor, a myth. But it's very real, and so is our
predicament.
    "You know what the artificial wormhole means to
the war--victory for the Dominion, the end of the
Federation. You've been prisoners of the Dominion,
so you can imagine such a fate for every man, woman,
and child in the Federation. Not a pleasant picture, is
it?"
    He looked pointedly at Grof. "We all know the
value of scientific progress, but that progress cannot
come at the cost of a far-reaching civilization which
has only sought peace and cooperation. We don't
deserve to be snuffed out like a candle flame, and we
won't let it happen."
    The captain turned to Ro Laren. "Sometimes our
search for peace has led us to make mistakes--to
trust people we shouldn't have trusted, to appease
those without honor. We can't undo the past, but we
can save the Federation and billions of lives here and
now."
 The Romulan responded by pounding on the table




with mocking applause, shocking everyone with his
audacity. "Nice speech, Captain, but you'll need
more than words to accomplish your goal."
  "That's enough," Ro warned Hasmek.
    Picard held up his hand. "No, let him speak. I'll let
everyone at this meeting speak his mind. I want to
hear your thoughts now, before we set a course that
can't be reversed."
    "Thank you, Captain," replied the Romulan. "I can
always speak my mind, because I don't fear for my
life. By all rights, I should be dead already. I think the
captain has chosen to keep me alive as an object
lesson. He will stop at nothing, which is the very
attitude he must have to succeed. The problem is, I
think he considers me to be a more reliable crew
member than some of you."
    "This is too much!" roared Grof. "Now we must be
lectured by Romulan spies! If the captain had a fleet
of two hundred ships with him, I would be a lot more
impressed. Despite his lofty ideals, I don't think he
can destroy the artificial wormhole even if he wanted
to!"
    All eyes turned to Picard, expecting another explo-
sion, but the captain leaned forward and asked,
"Professor, with your vast knowledge of this machine,
would it be fair to say that we don't have to destroy
the entire magneton collider to render it useless?
Already the Dominion has been delayed due to the
lack of Corzanium to finish one small part. A machine
that big must have other weaknesses, too. Could a
pinpoint strike or an act of sabotage in the right place
shut them down for a while?"
    "Yes, I suppose it could," admitted Grof, scratch-
ing his unruly beard. "The most critical part of the
collider is the magneton accelerator. If you could do

enough damage to the accelerator control room, you
would shut them down for quite some time."
    Picard now appealed directly to the Trill. "Profes-
sor, we've already accomplished the most difficult
part of the mission, getting behind enemy lines.
Although we're not a fleet of ships, we are poised to
make a pinpoint strike. We have all the knowledge we
need among the people on this ship, and I can tell
you, Professor, I have overcome difficult odds before.
I'm not against science--I'm against hordes of Do-
minion ships pouring through an artificial wormhole.
If we can delay them just long enough to turn this war
around, maybe we can capture the collider intact.
That would be my preference."
    Now Sam saw where the captain was headed.
Brilliant. By appealing to Grof's tremendous ego and
love for his creation, he was winning him over. Given
the serious look on the Trill's face, he was giving the
compromise strong consideration. Theoretically, it
would save both the Federation and his work.
    "Captain," declared Grof, "I believe this is a plau-
sible beginning, but it's only a beginning. I still have
to put my notes about the project on an isolinear chip
and make sure it gets to safety. That is my price for
participation. I'm the only one who can tell you how
to find the accelerator control room. You can be
assured that none of the prisoners worked on it--only
myself and the Vorta engineers."
    Lena Shonsui rubbed her eyes. "I can't believe it--
he's bragging about being a collaborator! What a
piece of work."
    "The past is over," said Picard evenly, looking in
turn at everyone in the room--Hasmek, Ro, Grof,
Taurik, Sam, Tamla, Enrique, Woil, and Shonsui.
"Forget about everything that happened before we




arrived at this place and time. We have one mission--
to shut down that artificial wormhole before it can
open. If we have to make compromises and jump
through hoops, then we will.
    "Professor Grof, why don't you go back to the
bridge and work on your notes. You might also tell
Commander La Forge about the accelerator room
being our specific target. He's the best engineer in
Starfleet, and I'm counting on you two for most of the
planning. Meanwhile, Ro and I will consider our
options and how best to get your notes back to the
Federation."
    "Fine," said Grof, rising to his feet. "I'm glad
you've decided to see reason, Captain. See all of you
later." Looking smugly satisfied, the Trill marched
out of the mess hall.
    Captain Picard's face did not reveal his feelings, but
Sam knew exactly how he felt. He had also bent over
backward to cajole and pacify Enrak Grof, and he
knew what a demoralizing task it was. With his
arrogance and intelligence, that pompous Trill had
managed to enthrall the Dominion and hold two
crews hostage. But psychologically Picard was his
better. First, he had scared the hell out of him, then he
had appealed directly to his monster ego. It was a
combination that was apparently working; Grof was
now on board with the rest of them.
    "Does anybody else have anything to say?" asked
Picard. He looked around the room, and his eyes
settled on the quizzical Antosian. "Go ahead, Mister
Woil."
    "Sir, I was wondering, if we do pull this off, how are
we going to get back to the Federation?"
    Picard motioned to a tiny porthole. "Out there is
the Enterprise, waiting for us to release a coded

subspace beacon. They know our approximate loca-
tion and will get here as quickly as they can. The
Enterprise can outright and outrun Dominion ships."
    "Thank you, sir," said Woil with a smile. He
promptly sat down.
    After that reassuring if optimistic response, tension
seemed to ebb from the room. Relieved laughter and
whispered conversations filled the stale air. It was
clear that nobody wished to continue the heated
confrontations--it was time to move on.
    The captain must have sensed the change, too,
because he rose to his feet and smiled like the host at a
party. "The food replicators are operational. Shall we
have a drink and a bite to eat?"
 "Yes, sir!" came a chorus of responses.
    The captain strode to one of two food replicators in
the mess hall, and a short line formed at the other.
Sam waited patiently for his turn; he was still in shock
that Picard had managed to tame this unruly crew so
quickly. Maybe they really could save the Federation,
and maybe the Enterprise would arrive in the nick of
time to whisk them away to safety. They had accom-
plished miracles before.
     "Tea, hot," said Picard to the replicator. When
nothing happened, he repeated, "Tea, hot." Still nothing happened.
    "Water," he ordered with a concerned look on his
face. When no glass of water materialized, he pointed
to Enrique at the other food dispenser. "Try yours."
    "A glass of water," ordered Enrique. Nothing hap-
pened. "Toast, dark." The receptacle remained emp-
ty, despite all the indicators being lit.
    Now Ro Laren studied the replicator with concern.
"It's been working fine for a week. Maybe the voice-
recognition system is down." She pushed some but-




tons, and Enrique did the same at his slot. Even with
manual input, nothing issued from either of the
replicators.
    Captain Picard looked more concerned than ever,
leading Sam to conclude that these two replicators
were their only source of food and water, two
substances that had to be hard to come by in the
Badlands.
    Picard turned to Ro and said, "Would you please
relieve Mr. La Forge and send him down here. We
already have to find a way to get Grof's isolinear chip
back to the Federation--perhaps we have to find food
and water as well."
    "We still have some fresh fruits and vegetables in
the hold," said Ro, heading toward the doorway.
    "I'll check on them," offered Enrique, following her
out.
    This incredible meeting, which had inspired so
much confidence, was ending with fear as the preva-
lent emotion. Worse than being captured by Cardas-
sians and Jem'Hadar was the prospect of dying of
thirst and hunger. They couldn't drink reactor coolant.
    It was left to the Romulan, Hasreek, to sum up the
feelings of the suddenly silent gathering: "You can't
fight, or do much else, on an empty stomach."

    Deanna Troi haunted a corridor on Starbase 209,
wondering how she had gotten talked into this. Of
course, all Riker had really asked her to do was talk to
Shana Winslow, but that had proven to be a much
more difficult task than she had expected. Three
messages for Captain Winslow had gone unanswered,
and her aides were extremely protective of her. They
had been downright surly to Deanna.

    Somehow they must have known the real purpose
of her efforts was to pry the Enterprise out of their
grasp, and they weren't going to relinquish the pride
of the fleet until they were good and ready. It has been
less than a week, she told herself. They aren't behind
schedule... yet.
    More troubling was the fact that Shana Winslow
seemed to be hiding from everyone but her work
associates. Once she had taken Will as a companion,
she ought to have enjoyed his company more than one
night, especially with a war going on. The way she had
ducked him since seemed odd. Still Troi wasn't ready
to assault a Starfleet captain in public over a romance
turned sour. Instead she was waiting to talk to the
starbase's chief counselor, Dr. Arlene Bakker.
    A door whooshed open, and Troi tried to appear as
if she just happened to be strolling in that direction.
Dr. Bakker, a tall, dark-skinned woman with a regal
bearing, stepped into the corridor and nearly bumped
into the Betazoid.
    "Counselor Troi," she said with surprise. "How are
you?"
    "I'm fine, Counselor. And you?" They began to
walk slowly down the corridor.
    Bakker sighed. "Hectic, crazed--I feel as if I'm
being pulled in ten different directions. Are you going
to the conference on time management?"
    "I was thinking about it. Do you mind if I tag
along?"
    "Not at all. I don't know how much of this will
apply to us, but we can always be hopeful." The tall
woman took a right in the corridor and strode toward
the turbolift. Troi skipped to keep up.
    "You're doing a good job here," said Troi with
sincerity.




    "Thanks. We all appreciate how you, Dr. Crusher,
and her medical staff have been helping us out. It's
been a big morale booster, I can tell you."  "Has morale been a problem?"
    Bakker rolled her eyes. "You've been out at the
front, so you wouldn't know. It's not easy to sit in the
bleachers and watch the casualties roll in. A lot of us
feel as if we should be at the front--doing more--
even though we know we're needed here."
  "You're not missing anything," replied Troi.
    "I know." Bakker strode into the turbolift, and Troi
meekly followed. "Level thirty-eight," ordered the
base counselor, and the door whispered shut.
    "Of course," said Troi, "people on a starbase have a
lot of stress to deal with, because everyone thinks
they're miracle workers."  "No kidding."
    "Especially in positions such as... head of the
repair section."
    Bakker nodded sagely. "Commander Winslow has
it worse than any of us. If you knew what that woman
has gone through."
    Troi made her face an inquisitive blank. "Like
what?"
    "She lost her husband, her ship, and quite a bit of
her own body. She's been a line officer, so she's really
torn, thinking she should still be out there. And she's
expected to work more miracles than anybody on the
base, all with shrinking resources."
 "Does she come to see you much?"
    "She used to," answered Bakker with a quizzical
expression. "But not for a while. Probably no time."
    The door slid open, and the taller woman led the
charge out of the turbolift. Troi could see a gathering

of people around a set of double doors at the end of
the corridor, and she knew she wouldn't have much
more time alone with Arlene Bakker.
    "Counselor," she said, holding out a hand and
stopping the woman in mid-stride. "I have something
to ask you."
Bakker stopped, looking mildly impatient. "Yes?"
"Somebody has asked me to talk to Shana Wins-
low," blurted Troi. "He says she's been acting errati-
cally."
    The other woman crossed her arms and frowned.
"She's my patient."
    "I know. But she happens to be in charge of my
ship, and she's romantically involved with my friend.
I don't want to step on any toes, but you've admitted
that she has many issues to deal with and has stopped
coming to see you."
    "Yeah, that's true," grumbled Arlene Bakker. "I've
been meaning to call her and reschedule. And it might
not be a bad idea to have some... telepathic assis-
tance." Troi smiled, not bothering to correct the
assumption that she was a full Betazoid.
    Bakker sighed. 'Tll schedule her for an appoint-
ment as soon as possible, and I'll let you sit in. But
you've got to promise not to push when it comes to
your ship."
    "I can't promise that," answered Troi, "but I prom-
ise not to be the first one to bring it up."
    "Okay. Now go on about your business. You don't
have to pretend to be going to this conference any-
more."
    "I can always learn a thing or two about time
management," said Troi with a smile. "And I don't
get to talk to a colleague very often."




    "Come on." Bakker grinned and guided her down
the corridor.

    Captain Picard sat forlornly in the mess hall of the
Orb of Peace, watching Geordi La Forge take apart the
second of two food replicators. He had sent everyone
else away, because their expressions were simply too
depressing. After all they had been through, they
could still be horrified by the prospect of starving to
death.
    Fortunately, Ro had determined that they could
produce water in the hardware replicator, but only
small quantities. Most of the fresh fruits and vegeta-
bles in the hold were still edible, too. Picard thought
he had struck a bad bargain way back at the
Cardassian farming colony, trading exotic fabrics for
produce. But at this point, the deal could turn out to
save their lives.
    La Forge picked up a singed circuit board, studied
it, and shook his head. "I can't believe this. We gave
the replicators a complete diagnostic before we left
the Enterprise. They were working perfectly."
  "What happened?" asked the captain.
    "It could be normal wear, but on two replicators at
once? The phase-transition coil chambers are shot,
along with the waveguide conduits."
  "Can you fix it?" asked Picard hopefully.
    "I don't think so. I don't have the tools or the
parts."
    The captain leaned forward, not anxious to ask his
next question. "If it's not a normal failure, do you
think it's sabotage?"
    The engineer let out a long sigh. "If you wanted to
wipe out the food replicators, you couldn't pick two
better subsystems to disable. On the other hand, I

don't have much experience with this equipment--it
might've been caused by a power surge or some-
thing."
    But there couM be a saboteur in our midst, thought
Picard grimly. And there g no shortage of suspects: a
Romulan spy, a Dominion collaborator, a Maquis
officer, and six escaped prisoners who shouM be under
psychiatric care. And all of them had unlimited access
to this room.
    "For the time being," said the captain, "let's keep
these suspicions between ourselves. It may be a coin-
cidence, and we don't want the crew members to turn
on each other."
    Geordi tossed the burnt circuit board onto the table
and said, "Maybe one of them already has."


Chapter Four

THE ORB OF PEACE SLICED cautiously through a gritty
kaleidoscope of pink, salmon, and mauve dust clouds.
All around the transport, glimmering bursts of plasma
lit the way like warning lights in a foggy tunnel.
Normal space was empty and dead, while the Bad-
lands was alive with crackling electricity, pulverized
debris, and sudden death.
    Seated at the conn, Ro was able to make slight
course changes to avoid the worst of the storms, but
her efforts were illusory. There wasn't really anything
she could do if one of those errant bolts of plasma hit
them--they'd be turned into just another swirl of
dust and gas. "You are at the mercy of the Prophets,"
declared one of the platitudes above the viewscreen,
and that surely was the truth.
 The bridge seemed crowded, although there were

only four other people present: Captain Picard, Sam
Lavelle, Taurik, and Hasmek. Grof and the others had
joined Geordi in engineering, or they were taking a
sleep shift.
    She hated having to trust that murderous Romulan,
Hasmek, but he had just spent several months in the
Badlands. His knowledge was more recent than hers,
a fact which he had been quite smug about. In this
shifting morass, the most current data was the best.
    Hasmek seenled very certain about the location of
Death Valley, a fabled region of derelict ships. Ro had
heard of Death Valley but had never seen it. Although
it had once been a Maquis hideout, it was considered
too dangerous to visit by the time she had joined. She
had heard that scavengers often visited the place,
looking for spare parts and salvage. If so, they might
find people willing to trade water and food, or deliver
an isolinear chip to the Federation.
    Still, Ro didn't quite believe in Death Valley. How
could a bunch of lost ships exist in this diabolical dust
cloud? If they had been caught in the plasma storms,
there would be nothing left of them. Something else
must have destroyed them, but what? There were
mysteries piled upon mysteries in the Badlands, con-
cluded Ro.
    She could have navigated them back to the OK
Corral, but no one was anxious to see Shek and Rolf
again. As long as Ferengi and Orion pirates were using
the wrecked space station as a base, they would pick
an alternate destination. She sure hoped that Hasmek
knew what he was talking about.
    Ro glanced back at the Romulan and noted with
satisfaction that he was tugging nervously on his
empty sleeve. Confident at first, he had leaned over
her shoulder, suggesting course changes. Now he




stared at the viewscreen, and the flashes of plasma
glinted off his dark, almost frightened eyes.
    Only Taurik appeared unaffected by the deadly
gloom. Stationed at tactical, the Vulcan hardly took
his eyes off his instruments. Occasionally he glanced
at the viewscreen and regarded it as if it were an
Impressionist painting. In a way, with his implacable
calm, Taurik seemed the most insane of all of them.
    "Ro," said Picard with concern, "this is awfully
dense. Do you think we should stop and check our
position?"
    "No, sir," answered Ro. "We don't have much to
gain by stopping here. Our chances of getting out are
better if we keep moving."
  "Do you think we could find a bubble?"
    "No idea, sir. I suggest you ask our Romulan
friend--he's the one who guided us here." Having
diverted attention onto Hasmek, Ro took some time
to study her readouts. Long-range scanners weren't
working at all, and short-range scanners were working
only intermittently. There seemed to be no end to the
floating quaqmire.
    The Romulan shifted uneasily under the gaze of the
bridge crew. "Captain, I can assure you we are headed
for the right coordinates. I came here with Shek only
four weeks ago."
    "Through this?" asked Sam Lavelie, who was seated
at the science station.
    The Romulan sighed with exasperation. "We ap-
proached from another angle, but that doesn't matter.
It's here.t Captain, if you think I want to be vaporized
by one of these plasma bolts, you're mistaken. If we
weren't out of food and water, we wouldn't have to
risk--"

    Something odd suddenly appeared on Ro's instru-
ments, but Taurik spoke first. "Captain," said the
Vulcan, "I am picking up a high concentration of
metallic residue at a heading of two-two-eight-mark-
seven-nine."
 "That's it!" exclaimed Hasmek with relief.
    "Are you sure it's not a false reading?" asked
Picard.
    "Not entirely," admitted Taurik. "The scanners
have been erratic."
    "I'm changing course to intercept," declared Ro,
not waiting for Captain Picard to make a decision.
After all, she was still captain of this vessel, and there
was no point in waiting. Any destination was better
than plowing endlessly through this morass, waiting
for their luck to run out. A concentration of metal
could be Death Valley, a Cardassian patrol, or worth-
less space junk. At this point, it didn't much matter.
    The Romulan leaned over her shoulder and said,
"The pirates had a Capellan helmsman who had a
sixth sense about the plasma storms, but you aren't
bad, Captain Ro."
    "Anybody who can navigate through this is more
lucky than good," answered the Bajoran. "We're
starting to get a visual."
    On the viewscreen, ghostly shapes began to emerge
from the swirling layers of dust. There were sleek fins,
graceful nacelles, and plump hulls, tilted at odd
angles. They looked like a pod of whales captured in
three-dimensional quicksand. A plasma burst illumi-
nated the clouds from behind, and the ghostly fleet
was silhouetted for a brief instant, making them look
like tombstones.
  Ro could see lights twinkling near the closest ship.




As she steered them closer to Death Valley, she saw
that the lights were in reality crystalline clouds which
glimmered like spun sugar as they floated among the
somnambulant ships. When plasma bolts exploded
behind them, the crystal clouds glistened with every
color in the spectrum. They looked like sundogs,
those halos of color that Ro had seen in snow clouds
over the mountains of Bajor.
  "All stop," ordered Picard.
    Ro instantly obeyed the order, thinking that they
should investigate before plunging deeper into this
eerie cemetery. Although the ships looked fairly in-
tact, there was the nagging question about what had
disabled them. It couldn't be the plasma storms,
which left nothing behind but memories. These space-
craft looked like a child's toys that had been casually
discarded, then gradually engulfed in multicolored
spider webs.
    "Why were all these ships abandoned?" asked Pi-
card, giving voice to the question on everyone's mind.
    Hasmek shook his head. "I don't know, but it looks
to me as though a great battle took place here--a long
time ago."
    "No," said Sam Lavelle, frowning at the bizarre
scene on the viewscreen. "It looks like they came here
for a meeting, a big conference, and something killed
them all. The question is, what?"
    "With any luck, we won't be here long enough to
find out." The captain stepped forward and stood
close to the conn. "Well done, Ro." "Thank you, sir."
    He looked back at the tactical station. "Mister Taurik,
can you identify any of these ships?"
 "Negative, Captain. The Orb of Peace has a limited

computer library of ship types. They are not common
Federation or Cardassian vessels. I would be curious
to explore one of the better-preserved crafts."
    "Me, too," replied Picard with a slight smile. "Let's
hope that someday we can safely return to the Bad-
lands with a scientific team. For now, we have to find
food and water. Are there any functional ships, any
salvagers, in the area?"
    The Vulcan shook his head. "No, sir, but the range
of our scanners is extremely limited. There could be a
large fleet two thousand kilometers off starboard, and
they would register as metallic residue. We do, how-
ever, appear to be in a bubble, with all ship's systems
functional again."
  "Can we use transporters?" asked Picard.
    "For short distances, perhaps," answered Taurik.
"Chief Shonsui would be the expert on that."
    "Right. Set the sensors to look for water in any of
those vessels. Conn, ahead one-tenth impulse. Take us
on a slow sightseeing tour, Ro. Stop whenever you feel
our safety is threatened."
    "Yes, sir." She piloted the boxy craft into the grave-
yard of lost ships at even less than one-tenth impulse.
Up close, the clouds of crystals seemed like white
carnations sprinkled upon the graves. The ships
appeared fantastical and extremely advanced--un-
comfortably akin to Dominion ships. They had an
otherworldliness about them that wasn't due entirely
to the fact that many of them listed at right angles to
the others.
    It was also clear that the magnificent ships had been
cannibalized to a large degree. Holes were punched
indiscriminately in hulls; deflector dishes, hatches,
and outer equipment had been ripped off; and some





 nacelles, tail pieces, thrusters, and impulse engines
 were gone, leaving gaping wounds in the once-proud
 vessels.
    After a somber tour through the silent graveyard,
Taurik reported, "Captain, I would say the age and
condition of these vessels precludes finding any fresh
water or useful supplies. It will take approximately
thirty hours to scan every vessel from stem to stern."
    The captain scowled. "I don't suppose we could
find a working replicator, or parts that we could use?"
    The Vulcan raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Every
vessel shows signs of being forcibly entered many
times. One would have to assume that they have been
successfully ransacked."
    "Keep looking. I'm going to engineering." The
captain wasn't entirely successful in hiding his disap-
pointment as he strode off the bridge. It wouldn't take
long for a starving crew to mutiny, especially this
crew in this place.
    "Captain!" called Sam Lavelle. "I've picked up
something!"
  "Water? Another ship?"
    "No, sirtlife-signs, four of them." Sam stared at
his console, then pointed toward the viewscreen.
"Yes, sir--that large gray ship on the left. It sort of
looks like an old New Orleans-class starship."
    "A bit," allowed Picard. "Is there life support on
that ship?"
    'Tll check." Sam squinted at his readouts and
frowned. "That's weird--now I've lost the life-signs! I
could have sworn they were there."
    "Parts of that ship are shielded from sensors,"
added Taurik. "It is difficult to say whether this is
accidental or deliberate."
 "Mysteries upon mysteries," muttered Ro, gazing

at the behemoth of a wreck, silhouetted against the
glittering scrim of the Badlands.
    "Any gravity? Any oxygen over there?" asked Pi-
card.
"None in the sections I can scan," answered Taurik.
"All right, Lavelie, you're with me on the away
team," ordered the captain. "We'll take La Forge, too.
You don't have a problem with space suits and gravity
boots, do you?"
    "No, sir," answered Sam, rising to his feet. "I've
worn them a lot lately, working for the Dominion."
    "Ro, you have the bridge," said Picard as he strode
into the corridor.

    Deanna Troi knew immediately why Will Riker had
been attracted to Commander Shana Winslow. Not
only was she an interesting, intelligent woman, but she
was a study in contrasts. With her prosthetic limbs and
slight limp, she was both fragile and strong. She had a
pleasant face, yet a severe haircut, and Troi could see
the determination in her violet eyes. After spending
most of her life in space, Shana Winslow had been
grounded, literally and figuratively. She seemed like an
ethereal creature, a fairy with broken wings.
    Dr. Arlene Bakker conducted her into her private
office and motioned toward the Betazoid. "This is
Deanna Troi, a colleague of mine. I hope you won't
mind if Counselor Troi sits in on our session--she
has unique talents and experiences."
    Winslow gave her a curious look and a bemused
smile. "Counselor aboard the Enterprise, aren't you?"
    "I am," admitted Troi with a nod. "I didn't expect
you to know who I was."
    Winslow's face grew tighter. "I saw your name on
the officer's roster, and I know you've been trying to




 see me. But in what capacity, counselor or bridge
 officer?"
     "Friend of a friend," answered Troi with what she
 hoped was a nonthreatening smile.
    Now Captain Winslow's face hardened into a mask,
and she turned to the base counselor. "I don't really
appreciate this, Arlene. I'd prefer to see you alone, not
to be ambushed by a stranger."
    "We didn't mean to ambush you," explained Dr.
Bakker. "Counselor Troi might be able to help you,
and she won't be on the base much longer."
    "Nothing you say to me will leave this room,"
promised Troi. "I'm really only here to help you."
    "You're not worried about your ship or Will
Riker?" asked Winslow incredulously.
    "I'm a realist," answered Troi. "It does no good to
worry, but it often does a lot of good to talk. I'd like to
know why you're so defensive about Will Riker and
the Enterprise."
    Winslow gave a sharp intake of breath, and Troi
was certain that she was going to bolt from the room.
Instead she stood her ground. "You're the Betazoid--
you tell me."
    "That's not the way I work. But I've studied your
files and drawn some possible conclusions. I'd say you
were charmed by Will until he got too close, until he
saw you in a moment of weakness. Because of your
injuries and your immense responsibilities, you're
very careful not to let anyone see you as weak or
helpless. But we all feel that way sometimes, espe-
cially now, in the middle of a war.
    "It may be your survivor's guilt that won't allow
you to enjoy any happiness, even a fleeting wartime
romance. You might be suffering a post-traumatic
stress disorder, which will only get worse if un-

treated. I don't know why you're so secretive about
your work, but it could be control issues, or feelings of
inadequacy. You don't want anyone to second-guess
you--"
    "That's enough!" snapped Winslow, her calm fa-
cade breaking apart. "I don't need some half-baked
mind-reader telling me what's the matter wth me!"
    "I don't read minds. And nothing's the matter with
you," countered Troi. "You're normal. Everything I
mentioned is perfectly normal for a person in your
circumstances. It's your reaction to these issues which
is abnormal."
    Winslow's eyes drilled into Troi's. "Don't try to
cause me problems. I have backing in high places, and
my staff is loyal to me!"
    "I couldn't make half the problems for you that you
are making for yourself," Troi replied evenly. "I'11 be
happy to leave and say no more about this, if you'll
work with Arlene."
    "There's no time!" snapped Winslow. "Do you
want your ship back or not? It's finally moved to the
top of the heap, the parts are in, and I've put my best
team on it. That's the best I can do, and all the
counseling in the galaxy won't make the shortages any
better. Now I've got to go." She turned to leave the
room.
    "Talk to Will--he might be good medicine," ad-
vised Troi, pushing her own feelings of jealousy to the
bottom of her heart. I would.
    Winslow froze for a second in the doorway, and her
shoulders stiflened as she shuffled out. The door
snapped shut behind her with a resounding thud.
    "It's worse than I thought," muttered Dr. Bakker.
"So what should we do?"
Troi sighed and shook her head. "It's your call




whether to report her to the CO--you have grounds.
But I don't think causing an uproar will help her, or
get the Enterprise repaired any faster, so I'm against
it."
    "I don't even know Will, but I wish she would talk
to him," grumbled Arlene Bakker.
  Troi sighed. "Yes, he's the right man for the job."

    Sam pulled on the helmet of the Bajoran space suit,
which was beige colored and much lighter weight than
the industrial suit he had worn during his labors for
the Dominion. Of course, this suit was designed to be
used with magnetic boots for getting around a ship
that had lost artificial gravity and life-support. The
Dominion suits had been designed for extended
spacewalking and manual labor, which were more
strenuous pursuits.
    He looked at Captain Picard and Geordi La Forge,
both of whom were checking the controls on their
sleeves. At the transporter console stood Lena Shonsui,
looking once again like a calm professional, not a
wild-eyed instigator. He couldn't blame her for hating
Enrak Grof. Plus Lena had been the only one to know
his final escape plans from the tanker, and she had
kept his secret under stress. He would always respect
her for that.
    "Chief, any life-signs on our target?" asked Picard,
his amplified voice sounding hollow in Sam's helmet.
    "No, sir. The bridge reports no life-signs on that
craft, but we've found a wide-open space where I can
beam you down."
    "I saw life-signs," insisted Sam. "Right about in the
middle."
    "Don't worry, Lieutenant," said Picard's calm
voice, "we're not putting much stock in sensor read-

ings taken in the Badlands. We have to start looking
for supplies, and it might as well be here. Double-
check your oxygen levels."
    Sam, Geordi, and the captain adjusted the controls
on their sleeves, and Picard stepped onto the trans-
porter platform. Sam spent a few moments fighting an
uncomfortable sense of ddj~t vu, as if he were once
again joining a Dominion work gang, hounded by
cruel Cardassians who would execute him for working
ten seconds too slow. The more he thought about it,
the more he liked getting revenge against them--even
if this was a suicide mission.
    Last onto the transporter, Sam had barely found his
spot when Picard motioned to Shonsui and ordered,
"Energize."
    Sam turned to see the unfamiliar transporter room
dissolve into utter darkness. A moment later, the
lights on their helmets and wrists flicked on and
pierced the abject gloom with narrow beams, reveal-
ing a massive chamber. Every arm movement sliced
through a curtain of dust, which hung in weightless
suspension. Sam was reminded of his grandpa's barn
and the way dust used to float in the beams of sunlight
that slipped through the old wooden slats.
    As his feet began to leave the deck, the captain's
voice echoed in his helmet: "Activate boots."
    Sam grabbed his wrist and turned on the magnetic
boots. His feet returned to the deck with a sudden
impact that shuddered through his body. Lifting his
feet heel to toe to deactivate the pressure plates, he
learned how to walk all over again.
    La Forge was already taking tricorder readings.
"Captain, I'm getting what looks like the residue of a
temporal phase inversion."
  "Time travel?" asked Picard.




    The other helmet turned slowly back and forth.
"Hard to say. Maybe it's a phase shift, and not that
long ago either."
    "Is it localized in here?" asked Sam. His voice
sounded odd, echoing in his own ears.
    "It's like it's all around us," said Geordi. "Wow! I
know you two just see darkness and our light beams,
but I can see spots of energy and heat that shouldn't
be here. It should be as empty as space, but it's not."
    Sam consulted his tricorder and concentrated on
finding the two things which had brought them here:
life-signs and water. At the farthest range of the
Bajoran tricorder, about eighty meters away, a single
life-sign appeared briefly, then vanished. He put the
reading into flash memory.
  "I saw it again--a life-sign."
  "Which way?" asked Picard.
    Sam pointed into the blackness, and the captain
bravely led the way. La Forge fell in behind him, but
he was still gaping in every direction, seeing things in
the darkness that Sam could only imagine. From his
cautious crouch, it was clear that the engineer wasn't
comfortable in this place, and Sam couldn't blame
him. The way the life-signs kept appearing and disap-
pearing was very spooky.
    The captain walked vigorously forward, pushing off
heel to toe. Without warning, he bounded upward,
waving his arms to keep his balance. His voice
sounded in Sam's helmet: "I've lost gravity."
    La Forge let go of his tricorder, which floated in the
darkness, as he reached up to grab the captain. Still
several meters behind them, Sam just tried to train his
light beams on the rescue, and he saw what had
happened: There was a hole on the deck where a

chunk of metal had broken away. That chunk of the
deck was still attached to Picard's magnetic boots,
broken off when he bounded upward. Essentially, he
had fallen up a hole.
    La Forge pulled the captain back down to a sturdy
part of the deck, and it took them a few seconds to
reestablish artificial gravity. While Geordi retrieved
his tricorder, Sam checked his again. To his utter
amazement and delight, he began picking up the other
object of their search--water!
    "Commander La Forge," he said excitedly. "Do
you see water on the deck above us, at about sixty
meters?"
    Geordi quickly checked his tricorder, then nodded
his helmet forcefully. "Yes, only it wasn't there a little
while ago."
 "That is a problem," admitted Sam.
    "How do we get up there?" asked Picard, craning
his helmet back and gazing at the ceiling.
    Sam shined his light at the distant surface and
spotted a hatch where one shouldn't be. "I think
that's the deck above us, and we're walking on the
ceiling," he said. "This ship is upside-down."
    "Or we're upside-down," replied Geordi. "Take
your pick."
    "This place reminds me of a funhouse I used to
visit at the Pier in Jersey," added Sam.
    "All right," ordered Picard, "bend your legs and get
ready to push off. Then turn off your boots and jump
upward. We should be able to get enough momentum
to float to the deck above us."
    With his recent experience, Sam gave the best push
and was the first one to reach the distant deck. Still
weightless, he worked his way along the surface with




 his hands until he reached the hatch, which proved to
 be open already. Hanging on to it, he extended his
 hand and pulled the captain and Geordi to the
 anchor. After positioning their feet on the deck, they
 reactivated their boots and were soon walking again.
 Sam pulled the hatch open all the way, and the trio
 slowly climbed down to the lower level.
    Standing in a dark, nondescript corridor, Sam and
Geordi took more readings and determined that the
water must have collected in a conduit about forty
meters away. Captain Picard again took the lead, but
he was now very careful about where he put his feet.
    After several moments of cautious travel, they
reached a part of the corridor that appeared to be
blown inward, as if with a careless grenade. Some
people can't be bothered to look for hatches, thought
Sam. They had to crawl along the bulkhead to avoid
the rubble around the hole, but they finally squeezed
past. Sam shot a beam of light into the cavity and saw
the remains of tables and equipment, most of which
was reduced to wires snaking from the bulkheads.
    About ten meters from their goal, La Forge gave a
startled cry. Sam caught up with him and found him
staring at his tricorder. "It's gone! The water is gone."
    "Impossible," said Picard, "it was just here in this
conduit." He shuffled forward in his magnetic boots
and bulky suit until he reached a sturdy conduit
embedded in the bulkhead.
    From a distance, the conduit appeared to be intact,
but when Sam and Geordi reached the spot, they saw
that it had gaping holes, ringed with ancient corro-
sion. That conduit hadn't held water for a thousand
years, thought Sam, despite the false alarms on their
tricorders.

    "I don't get it," muttered Geordi. "It clearly regis-
tered water. It's like small sections of this ship go in
and out of phase, on sort of a random basis. I think
this ship is too dangerous to explore." "I'm inclined to agree," said Sam.
    "Take down these coordinates," ordered Picard. "If
water shows up here again, I want to retrieve it... in
however few seconds it exists."
    "Yes, sir," responded Geordi, entering data into his
tricorder.
    Something possessed Sam to look up, and he did
just in time to see a white-suited figure at the far end
of the corridor. "Captain!" he croaked, pointing to-
ward the apparition.
    Picard and La Forge looked up just as the mysteri-
ous figure turned and disappeared into an open cabin
door. At least that's what appeared to happen.
  "Did you see him?" asked Sam eagerly.
    "I'm reading a life-sign," said Geordi, his voice
sounding none too confident as he studied his tri-
corder.
    "I saw something," agreed Picard. "A glimpse of
light, a wisp of fabric--"
    A loud chirp in their helmets made them all jump,
and Sam could barely hear the captain's voice over
his pounding heart. "Away team," snapped Picard.
      "Captain, this is the bridge," said Ro's voice.
"Another ship has shown up, and they're hailing us."
  "Who are they?"
    "Talavians, in a freighter. I think they were hiding
on the outskirts of Death Valley, watching us. I've
told them that our captain is on his way to the
bridge."
  Picard looked reluctantly down the dark corridor,




where the white apparition had vanished. Sam could
tell that he didn't want to leave this haunted derelict
with so many questions unanswered, but he had his
priorities.
    "Away team to transporter room," ordered Picard.
"Three to beam back."

Chapter Five

JUDGING BY THE FIGURE on the viewscreen and
glimpses of crew in the background, the Talavians
were a scrawny, yellow-skinned race with prolific
amounts of wiry red hair sprouting from unlikely
parts of their bodies, such as ankles, knees, elbows,
and shoulders. Yet the captain's head was bald and
covered with tiny purple veins. He wore a tight
leather vest and knee-length pants, which showed off
his exuberant hair. Picard wondered if the hair had
evolved to protect their bony joints and keep them
warm.
    The Talavians hardly looked like saviors--neither
did their beat-up freighter--but Picard and the crew
of the Orb of Peace were in no position to question
help from any quarter.
 "Hello," said the captain with his most magnani-




mous smile. "I am Captain Boothby, and this is a
joint Romulan-Bajoran scientific mission. We are
very glad to have your company."
    The skinny Talavian guffawed. "Scientific mission?
Oh, come now. Nobody would take the risks neces-
sary to get to this place unless they were desperate. Or
hiding. And what kind of name is Boothby for a
Bajoran."
  "It's a nickname," muttered Picard.
  "Why are you really here?" asked the Talavian.
    "Food and water. We have problems with our
replicators."
    "You won't find anything here, unless you are very
brave." The transmission was momentarily scattered
by streaks of interference and dithered pixels.
    "Can we talk in person?" asked Picard. "On my
ship?"
    "I couldn't possibly join you on your ship without
entertaining one of your crew here," answered the
Talavian with a sly smile. He's requesting a hostage,
thought Picard. Given the way they were treated by
Rolf and Shek on their last trip to the Badlands,
Picard could appreciate this precaution.
    "Perhaps your first officer, with whom I spoke."
The Talavian seemed to leer at Ro.
    "How about two of my crew?" asked Picard. "And
you can bring an aide with you."
    "But no Romulans," said the Talavian nervously.
"They provoke uneasiness in my crew." He was
clearly referring to Hasmek, who stiflened his spine
and stuck out his chin.
    "In five minutes, we'll do a mutual exchange," said
Picard. "We look forward to meeting you." He nod-
ded to Taurik, who ended the transmission.

    "You can't trust them, Captain," hissed Hasmek.
"At best, they're smugglers, and they'd cut all of our
throats for a strip of latinurn. We ran them out of the
Romulan Star Empire."
    "I used to see them on Bajor and Terek Nor," said
Ro. "I mean, Deep Space Nine. That was before the
Federation came. They're a client world of the
Ferengi, and they have about the same scruples. I
remember that some Talavians have strong religious
beliefs, but that doesn't keep them from cheating
you."
    Picard looked around the room, and his eyes settled
on Sam Lavelie. The handsome lieutenant rose to his
feet and smiled gamely. "Am I about to volunteer for
hazardous duty again?"
    "I'm afraid so. You and Ro report to the transporter
room. Go unarmed, but keep an extra communicator
badge hidden on you. Be careful what you eat and
drink."
    "It will be hard to turn down food," said Sam,
rubbing his concave stomach.

    Five minutes later, Captain Picard stood in the
small but tasteful transporter room of the Orb of
Peace. Ro and Lavelie stood on two of the transporter
pads, and the other four were empty, awaiting their
guests. Outside in the corridor, Woil and Maserelli
stood by with phasers in their belts, just in case.
    The captain wasn't planning on doing anything that
might disturb his guests, unless they were disturbed
by requests for food. Hasmek and Taurik would stay
on the bridge with Geordi, so as not to cause the
visitors undo concern about Romulans.
 "Signal received," reported Lena Shonsui.
 "Lower shields and energize." With some trepida-




tion, the captain watched the departure of two of the
few people he trusted on this starcrossed vessel. After
they disappeared altogether, two thinner, taller figures
materialized on the opposite transporter pads. The
captain mustered his most charming smile as the
hirsute, yellow-skinned Talavians came aboard.
  "Welcome to the Orb of Peace."
    The one to whom he had spoken on the viewscreen
stepped down first, followed by his obsequious aide.
"Ah, Captain Boothby, I am Captain Fraznulen of the
Star Redeemer. This is my scribe, Leztarlen."
    Fraznulen looked around at the subdued appoint-
ments of the Bajoran ship and smiled. Then his ruby
eyes rested upon Lena Shonsui at the controls. "Cap-
tain, you have a human on board. This is not wise in
this sector, at these times."
    "We are a scientific vessel with a crew composed of
many races, and we have proper clearances," Picard
assured him.
    "Then why don't you leave here and seek help from
the Dominion?" asked the Talavian snidely. With the
unusual tufts of hair on elbows, knees, and shoulders,
he looked like a preening rooster.
    "It's taken us some time and trouble to get to the
center of the Badlands," answered Picard. "We know
there's a war going on, and we don't want to get
caught in it. Mainly we don't want to lose time by
going out and trying to come back in. Do you have
working replicators?"
    Fraznulen bent his scrawny neck forward. "Do you
want to buy a replicatorT'
    "That would be the best arrangement," answered
Picard, "although I don't know about your prices.
Out here, you don't have much competition."
 The Talavian laughed. "l like you, Boothby. Do you

have someplace we can sit down? I know you're
woefully short of supplies, so I have taken the liberty
to bring some Rigdian ale." He snapped his languor-
ous fingers, and his assistant hurried forward with a
clay bottle.
    "Thank you," replied Picard. As he led his visitors
toward the door, he heard scuffling sounds in the
corridor, and he rushed forward to see Enrak Grof,
trying to push his way past Woil and Maserelli.
"Grofl" he snapped. "What's the meaning of this?"
    "I had to see him! I had to see our visitor," insisted
the Trill. "Can he take my notes back for us?"
    Picard moved forward, grabbed the burly human-
oid by the shoulders, and ushered him down the
corridor. With a smile plastered to his face, he whis-
pered, "Professor, if I need you, I'll call you. Right
now, I need you in engineering."
    "With La Forge on the bridge, I suppose you do. All
right, I'll go, Captainrebut don't forget to ask him."
    "I won't." Picard took a deep breath to calm
himself, then he returned to his guests. "I'm sorry. A
captain's job is never done."
    "Oh, I know, one crisis after another." Fraznulen
spied the mess hall and hurried in ahead of the
captain. He was studying the stripped-down replica-
tors as Picard and the other Talavian caught up with
him.
    "Yes, this is most unfortunate," agreed their guest.
"What could have disabled your food dispensers and
left the rest of the ship intact?"
  "I wish we knew," answered Picard. "Can you help
 US?"
     "First, the ale." He uncorked the clay bottle and
 took a swig from the open neck, without the benefit of
 a glass. Then he passed the bottle to Picard, who lifted




 it to his mouth. He recognized the ale's distinctive
 bouquet, so he screwed up his courage and took a
 swig. Relieved that the ale tasted as expected, he
 handed the bottle back to Fraznulen. The scribe,
 Leztarlen, was not offered a drink, nor were any
 members of Picard's crew, who watched curiously
 from the corridor. This wasn't exactly the opulent
 welcome Picard had received aboard the pinate ship,
 but he hoped the results would be better.
     Fraznulen sunk into one of the hard chairs and put
 his skinny legs up on the table. Red hair popped from
 his knees, looking like tassels of Indian corn. "All
 right, Boothby, I believe you are what you say you are,
 which means you probably have nothing to trade."
     "Can we appeal to your altruistic nature?" asked
 Picard, holding out his hands.
    The Talavian guffawed loudly. "Do you think we
have come all this way for nothing? Oh, no, Captain, I
can assure you we have a goal. There are treasures
here, if you know where to look for them. We can't
cover all these ships by ourselves, and we need help."
    Picard frowned. "We only searched one vessel, but
we found it very dangerous... and strange."
    "Oh, yes, the Valley of Death is haunted." The
Talavian nodded sagely and stared at Picard. "Sight-
ings have been getting more numerous in the last few
seasons, driving most visitors away. You can't get a
Cardassian to come here anymore, and they used to
be our primary diggers."
    He quickly added, "We revere ghosts, and this is a
place of legend for us. These ghosts are very special,
because they leave gifts for the living." "Gifts?" asked Picard doubtfully.
    "Yes, they bring gifts from the spirit world. I've
seen them." He narrowed his eyes at Picard. "And so

have you. I can always tell when someone has been
blessed by the ghosts."
    "We took some inexplicable readings," said Picard
guardedly. "Since you know what we want, we should
find out what you want. We must have something to
offer in trade."
    Fraznulen pointed to the open doorway and the
gawkers in the corridor. "Can we have some privacy?"
    "Yes." Picard slapped the wall panel, and the door
slid shut.
    The Talavian leaned forward and craned his bald
head downward. "Captain, we revere the objects
which the ghosts transport from the spirit world, and
we collect them... reverently. If we could find a
ship's plaque, officer's insignia, or some such, it
would pay for this entire trip."
    The captain scowled. "You are talking about ob-
jects which--to us--appear to be coming from an
unknown phase shift. And they don't stay here long. It
could be very dangerous."
     "I didn't say it wouldn't be," answered Fraznulen
 frankly. "We have come here for the gifts from the
 dead, nothing else. If this work is unacceptable to you,
 then we have nothing to talk about."
     "We only need a few days' worth of food and
 water," insisted Picard. "If you could look in our
 cargo bay, or in our hardware replicator, maybe you
 could find--"
     The Talavian cut him off with a sneer. "Bajoran
 technology offers us nothing we don't already have. If
 you want food and water from us, you will do
 precisely what I ask of you."
     "You'd leave us here, without food or water?" asked
 Picard with disgust.
 Fraznulen grinned and motioned into space. "The




 benevolent Dominion is all around you, and I'm sure
 they would be happy to help you, if you need charity.
 Food for work is what I offer, with no questions asked.
 Every time you retrieve something, we'll give you
 commensurate food and water. If you find something
 really valuable, we'll give you a new food replicator."
     Captain Picard sighed heavily, not wanting to risk
 his crew on a salvage operation. But what choice did
 he have? Without food and water, the mission was
 over, and they faced either capture, mutiny, or slow
 death. Time was running out, and this was the best
 offer they were likely to get.
     "We need a down-payment to start," said the
 captain.
    The Talavian gave him a predatory grin, then rose
to his feet. "This is just the accord I was hoping to
reach with you, Captain. You have chosen to search a
worthy vessel--we call it the Ancestor. You may have
a knack for this work after all. We shall be nearby,
searching the Soul Maker."
    The gangty alien took a swig of ale from the clay
bottle and offered it to Picard. The captain had
searched archaeological sites before, but this was
different. This was plunder. He had never imagined
he would be pushed to such extremes, but then these
were extreme circumstances. With a scowl, the cap-
tain took the bottle and sealed the deal.
    "There's one more thing that has to be part of the
arrangement," said Picard. "We have Professor Grof's
isolinear chip, which needs to be delivered to the Fed-
eration. It contains scientific notes."
    "Scientific notes?" Fraznulen laughed and pried the
bottle from Picard's hand. He took a long drink, then
wiped his thick lips on his hairy shoulder. "I can't tell

if you are a ghost-hunter yet, Boothby, but you are
certainly a gambler."

    Ro Laren paced the confines of their gilded cage
like a neurotic lioness. Although it was a luxurious
boudoir with a sumptuous bed, silk pillows, a plush
loveseat, and a coffee table covered with luscious-
looking food, it was also a cage. Ro understood that
the Talavians were holding them as insurance for their
captain's speedy return, but she didn't like to be
confined. From the moment she had realized that the
outer door was locked, she had complained.
    It didn't help that Sam Lavelle was imprisoned with
her. He had listened with sympathy to her tirade, but
he looked annoyingly comfortable, stretched out on
the bed, nibbling from a plate of sliced meats and
pungent cheeses.
    "I thought the captain told us not to eat anything,"
she snapped at him.
    "Neither one of us needs to go on a diet," replied
Sam with an insolent grin. "One thing I've learned in
this war--you eat good food when you have the
chance. It may not be there tomorrow, or you may not
be there tomorrow."
    Ro scowled and continued pacing. "You still look
too comfortable."
    "I've had more practice being a prisoner than you
have... at least recently. Maybe the captain knew
what he was doing when he sent us over here. I think
he was giving us a break."
    "This is hardly my idea of relaxation," muttered
Ro, pacing anew.
    "I would say that the Talavians are a bit at a loss.
They didn't know what to do with us, so they put us in




here. It's the best cell I've been in lately, and the chow
beats Cardassian prison cuisine by a parsec."
    With a disgruntled took on her face, Ro sank into
the loveseat and grabbed a roll from a basket full of
elegant pastries. She munched on it hungrily, but with
a scowl on her face.
    Sam sat up and crawled across the mattress toward
her. Lolling on the edge of the bed, he wiped his
mouth with a silk napkin. "Relax, I doubt the cap-
tain's meeting is going to last very long. He just wants
to get what he came for, and get out of here. We'll
probably be back on the ship in a few minutes."
    She grunted. "Sorry, but I don't like being told
what to do. It's a problem I have with authority."
    "You must have been a natural candidate for Star-
fleet," said Sam with some amusement.
    Ro smiled in spite of herself. "Let's say I was taken
with the ships, the adventure, the grand ideals, and
the chance to get out of the squalor I was living in. It
took me a while to realize that Starfleet played poli-
tics, too, and I was always going to have a problem
with authority. In the end, you have to answer to
yourself and no one else. I can do that now."
    Sam nodded sagely. "I know what you mean. Un-
til this war--and my capture--I was like Grof. It
was always my career, my promotion, my chance to
kill Cardassians. I was selfish. After I was captured, I
began to think about about other people and how
I could help them. My happiness doesn't depend
on career advancement and recommendations any-
more."
    He laughed and looked at the chunk of cheese in his
hand. "Food and clean underwear are enough."
    Ro chuckled. "Well, we have one of those items on
board the Orb of Peace."

"So, how did you become captain of that noble
vessel?"
    Ro grimaced, remembering Derek and all the
friends she had lost when the Dominion cracked
down on the Maquis colonies, and she couldn't bear
to answer his question. "It's a long story, and not a
happy one. Like you, I thought I was escaping from
the war--but I wasn't."
    "I'm sorry," said Sam with genuine concern.
"You've got to go some distance to get away from this
war."
    He looked frankly at her, and what he was thinking
was very transparent. Sam was very appealing, now
that he had gotten some cynicism to go with his good
looks. A wartime romance might ease the pain for a
few minutes here and there, but she could feel herself
withdrawing emotionally, isolating herself from the
threat of more pain. If Sam's motto was "Live for
today, for tomorrow we may die," hers was "Live like
a hermit, for tomorrow we may die."
    She rose from the loveseat and began to pace again,
sorry that she had to hurt Sam's feelings. It was
flattering that he wanted her... and so human.
    The door banged open with a sudden thud, causing
her to reach for a phaser pistol she didn't possess. Two
gangly Talavians stood in the corridor, looking sheep-
ishly at them. It wasn't that Ro felt unwelcome or
unworthy; it was the opposite. Their hosts seemed to
be embarrassed to be in their presence, as if they were
unworthy. Ro wondered whether the Talavians might
have a rigid caste system, with few members of the
crew who were actually entrusted to talk to them.
    "Wait here. Going home. Good-bye." The taller of
the Talavians bowed respectfully.
When Sam began to fill his pockets with tasty




morsels of food, Ro couldn't help but smile. A mo-
ment later, she felt the familiar tingle as a transporter
beam rearranged her molecules.
    She and Sam materialized in the transporter room
of the Orb of Peace, where a grim-faced Captain
Picard stood waiting to greet them. As Ro stepped off
the transporter platform, a crate of food packets
appeared behind her.
    "We're getting some food," said Picard, "but it has
come at quite a price. I've called a meeting in the
mess hall to explain what we have to do to earn it."

    Will Riker sat at lunch with Jack Torrance, Beverly
Crusher, and two other marooned officers who were
waiting for their ships to be repaired. Their tactical
meeting had been abruptly canceled, and the brass
had all left the starbase suddenly. So Captain Tor-
rance, commanding officer of the base, had taken
them to the officers' lounge for a previously delayed
welcome lunch.
    The tastefully appointed dining room was empty,
except for two tables filled with young ensigns, who
kept glancing nervously their way. They also kept
looking at the chronometer on the wall, as if they were
about to ship out any moment.
    "So what's up?" asked Dalivar, captain of the
Earhart, after an elderly Saurian had taken their
orders. "Where is everybody going?"
    "There must be something cooking," agreed Bev-
erly. "A big offensive?"
    "Nothing official," said Jack Torrance with a help-
less shrug. "All of you would have gotten orders to
ship out, too, if your ships weren't banged up."
  "Speaking of which," said Riker, clearing his throat

 uncomfortably, "we need to talk about getting our
 ships out of the shop."
     "Quit being such a worry-wart," said Torrance with
 a reassuring smile. "I've seen the progress reports,
 and they're almost on schedule."
     Almost on schedule, Riker muttered to himself.
 That could mean anything!
    "Never mind that," said Dalivar, leaning forward.
"What's going on? Are we finally going to retake Deep
Space Nine?"
    Torrance shrugged noncommittally. "Like I say, I
can't say."
    "You might as well tell us," grumbled Riker. "It's
not like we're going to go anywhere."
    "Secrets must be kept," said Torrance, the smile
fading from his youthful face. "For example, Com-
mander Riker, you can't tell us anything about the
secret mission that Captain Picard is on."
    "Trust me, you wouldn't like to hear about it," said
Beverly with a bittersweet smile.
    Although Riker wanted to complain loudly and
often about the Enterprise being held up, he knew this
wasn't the time or the place. He still didn't want to
lodge an official complaint against Shana Winslow,
but his gut feeling told him that he had to do
something. Deanna hadn't told him anything about
her meeting with Shana, but he could read Deanna
fairly well. The look on the Betazoid's face had
announced that she considered the meeting unsuc-
cessful. And nothing had changed.
    He had sent an intermediary, and it hadn't worked
out, which made him feel even lousier. Things were
happening all around them, and they were sitting on
their rumps. Will felt like asking if they had a spare




ship he could borrow, but he already knew the an-
swer: they didn't.
    He managed a smile. "So... we can't talk about
the war, and we can't complain about our ships being
docked. What can we talk about?"
    "Who's going to win the Solar Cup this year?"
asked Jack Torrance. "I like Luna's chances."
 "Are they still having the games?" asked Beverly.
    "Last I heard," answered Torrance. "Have to keep
the morale up back home."
    Riker heard other voices, and he turned to see a few
more officers enter the vast dining hall. He caught
sight of a gray-haired, blue-skinned Artdorian stand-
ing in the doorway, as if scanning the room for people
he knew. When the Andorian didn't see anyone he
recognized, he headed on his way, but Riker had
recognized him. He was one of the technicians who
worked for Shana Winslow--in fact, he had written
up the Enterprise's work orders the first day.
    With nervous energy pulsing through his veins,
Riker rose to his feet. "Excuse me, I'll be back soon.
There's something I've got to do."
    "Go ahead," said Beverly with an encouraging
smile. "I'11 hold up our end of the conversation."
    The other men looked a bit surprised by Riker's
abrupt exit, but none of them said anything. This was
wartime, and everyone was entitled to be moody.
    Will dashed out of the officer's lounge into a busy
corridor. He spotted the Andorian immediately,
thanks to his height and long antennae; he was
striding down the corridor, making good speed on his
long legs. He turned left into another hallway, and
Will charged after him before he vanished com-
pletely.
  Thankfully, this side corridor was not as crowded

as the first one, and Riker was able to catch the taller
alien. He wished that he didn't have to ambush the
man in the hall like this, but he had tried every regular
channel, except for going over Shana's head. The
Andorian was going to regret his little stroll through
the base.
    "Lieutenant!" called Will, recognizing the Andor-
ian's rank by his collar pips.
    He turned to look down at Riker with implacable
blue eyes. "Yes, Commander?"
    "I'11 be blunt--what's taking you people so long
fixing the Enterprise?"
    The Andorian scowled, turned, and walked away.
Riker chased after him, feeling like a little dog nip-
ping at the heels of his much bigger playmate. "I can
order you to talk to me."
    "Yes, you can," answered the Andorian, not slow-
ing down. "But that doesn't mean I will. Go through
channels."
    "I've tried all the channels," insisted Riker. "I'm
being stonewalled."
    The Andorian stopped and stared down at him.
"Everyone wants their ship, and everyone wants it
now. But we know where these ships are going after
they leave our shop--back to the front--back to a
mismatch against Dominion warships. Your life de-
pends on the job we're doing now, just as surely as if
we served on your bridge crew."
    "Look, I don't need a lecture," snapped Will. "I
just want my ship back, so I can rescue my crew
behind enemy lines."
    The Andorian snorted. "Don't you understand,
Commander, that if it hadn't been for us, you would
be shipping out today, going in the opposite direction.
You actually have a guardian angel looking out for




you, and you don't even appreciate it. That is all I will
say."
    Riker gazed thoughtfully at the Andorian, who
turned and walked away. This time, he let him go. If
what he hinted at was even remotely true, then Shana
Winslow was purposely delaying repairs in order to
keep from sending people out to die. This attitude
could permeate her whole staff, who were in a unique
position to play God. Juggling their limited resources,
they could give thousands of officers a few extra days
before they faced combat again.
    Perhaps she had done him a favor by making sure
the Enterprise wasn't caught up in the big push, but
she had also broken numerous regulations. On the
other hand, it would be difficult to prove she was
doing anything but her job, given the circumstances.
    With a start, Riker realized that he was more
concerned about Shana than he was the Enterprise. If
all he wanted was his ship, he would just go over her
head and let the chips fall where they may. A court-
martial wouldn't be out of the question.
    But he couldn't do that to her, not without trying to
help her first. She has to see met He tapped his
combadge and announced, "This is Commander Wil-
liam Riker to Commander Shana Winslow, Repair
Division."
    A male voice answered. "This is Ensign O'Reilly,
Repair Division. I'm taking all nonessential calls for
Commander Winslow."
    Riker sighed, thinking that he had been called
worse than "nonessential." Politely he said, "It's
really urgent that I speak with her." "I'll relay the message, sir."
    "Isn't there any way you can put me through to
her?"

    "No, sir. I'll relay the message: Commander Riker
wishes to speak to Commander Winslow."
    "What about the status of the Enterprise?" Riker
cut in.
    "FI1 relay the message," answered her aide. "Repair
Division out."
    Will grumbled under his breath, thinking that no
admiral in Starfleet was as insulated as Commander
Shana Winslow. So I can't reach her, and I won't go
over her head--but maybe I can go under it.
    Five minutes later, Riker strode onto the operations
center of Starbase 209 and sat down at an empty
auxiliary console, of which there were at least a
dozen. The regular operations crew gave him a few
glances, but they didn't question him. With satisfac-
tion, Riker realized that they knew who he was--the
mystique of the Enterprise extended deeply into Star-
fleet.
    "Computer," he said, "patch me into the Library
Computer Access and Retrieval System of the U.S.S.
Enterprise-E in dock nine. Command authorization:
Riker delta-two-six-one-eight." While the ship was
tethered to the starbase, starbase computers had con-
trol of it. Maybe Shana's people could dodge him, but
he had the authorization to query the ship directly.
Everything was stored in the central data base, if one
knew where to look for it.
"Access granted," reported the base computer.
Will inserted an isolinear chip into the slot on the
console and waited until the computer popped the
data back at him on the screen. It was the manifest of
parts which needed replacement or repair, as gener-
ated during their initial consultation with the base
technicians.
 "Computer," he continued, "compare the items on




this manifest with the list of parts which have been
requisitioned and received by Repair Division for the
Enterprise-E. Compare both of those lists to the parts
which have actually been installed in the Enterprise-E
during the last ninety-six hours. Report discrepan-
cies."
    After a few moments, the eomputer's feminine
voice reported, "There are twelve discrepancies be-
tween the manifest and requisitioned parts list, all
involving gel packs that are not in inventory. A
substitute has been ordered. There are 2,679 discrep-
ancies between the manifest and the parts which have
been installed."
    They've got the parts, but they're way behind putting
them in, concluded Riker. "Assemble a report with
these comparisons," he told the computer, "and send
it to Commander Shana Winslow, compliments of
Commander William Riker."
 "Yes, sir," answered the computer noncommittally.

    On the derelict starship, named Ancestor by the
Talavians, Sam Lavelie activated his magnetic boots
and slammed feet-first onto the deck. All around him,
five space-suited figures gradually found their footing,
as they probed the darkness with their narrow beams
of light.
    Most of them unfolded tricorders, while La Forge
set an object shaped like a pyramid on the deck. He
pushed a button, and brilliant lights bathed the cav-
ernous chamber, chasing the shadows to the most
remote corners. With ease, Ro Laren lifted a weight-
less phaser rifle and used her laser-beam scope to scan
the room.
    To Sam, the room appeared to be a cargo hold, or
perhaps a shuttlebay. If there had once been shuttle-

craft or supplies stored here, they were long gone,
replaced by drifting debris and broken ceiling panels.
And dust--the dust of ages seemed to hang all around
them.
    Four of them, Sam, Geordi, Taurik, and Enrak Grof
scanned the ship with tricorders, while Ro and Tamla
Horik stood guard with phaser rifles.
    "Commander La Forge," said Sam, his voice echo-
ing in his own helmet. "Do you see any of those
anomalies you saw before?"
    "Do I!" exclaimed Geordi. "It's like there are
ghosts made of air and heat--and power fluctuations.
They last a while, too. I should start timing them--
that data might come in handy."
    "Does anyone see any of those artifacts we're
looking for?" asked Ro.
  "No," came several disappointed responses.
    "All right," ordered Ro, "Lavelie and Taurik,
you're with me. We're going to make our way to the
bridge. Geordi, you and the others stay here and take
readings. Remember, if you find an artifact, slap a
cornbadge on it, activate it, and step away. The
transporter chief will beam it into the stasis field."
    "I wish we had someone competent at that post,"
muttered Enrak Grof.
    "We want to keep this channel open for crucial
data, not idle conversation." Ro glanced at Taurik,
and the Vulcan pointed to a distant doorway that had
been blasted open. The two of them were off immedi-
ately, and Sam shuffled behind them, checking his
tricorder for phantom readings.
    They were soon plunged back into eerie darkness,
broken only by the lights on their helmets and wrists.
Sam could feel a thin layer of sweat inside his suit,
and his breathing pounded in his ears. It wasn't




exertion or the clumsy boots that caused his heart to
race, it was the pervading gloom, broken only by
bizarre readouts on his tricorder. Even Taurik was
speechless as he stared at his hand-held device.
    "What are you seeing?" demanded Ro. Sam
glanced down, letting Taurik reply.
    "There are indications of unusual substances and
energy sources," reported the Vulcan, "including life-
signs of unknown origin. There are so many, in fact,
that it is difficult to say where we should begin."
    "Pick one," said Ro, gripping her phaser with her
heavily gloved hands. "The nearest--or the most
recent."
    Taurik chose a direction and plunged down the
dark corridor. Sam purposely hung back and let the
Vulcan and the Bajoran lead the way. He had already
seen the ghosts on his previous visit with Picard, and
they hadn't. So they got the honor.
    His path illuminated only by the wavering beams of
light, Taurik found a low hatch that was hanging open
on one cracked hinge. Without a moment's hesita-
tion, he ducked into the hidden quarters beyond. To
Sam, it looked like a cave in there, and he glanced
down at his readings to see a mixture of gases: carbon
dioxide, nitrogen, and oxygen, in barely breathable
amounts. There was air in that room, where there
shouldn't have been any atmosphere.
    Sam followed Ro through the hatch. He heard her
gasp, and he peered over her shoulder to see Taurik
aiming his light beam at a corner of the room. When
Ro added her beam, they could clearly see a pocket of
air--it was quivering like a giant soap bubble. Inside
this apparition, there were shining fixtures rising from
an elegant slab--faucets, sinks, beakers, and burn-
ers--which existed nowhere else in the stripped

room. It was as if they were watching a window into
the past, a ghostly peepshow.
    With extraordinary presence of mind, Taurik reached
into the pouch on his belt, pulled out a spare com-
badge, and squeezed it. Holding the badge firmly, his
hand reached through the air bubble and affixed it to
the nearest unattached object, a purple beaker with a
yellow thong around its elegant neck.
    While Sam watched this supernatural encounter, he
didn't see the sudden pulses on his tricorder. When a
hand reached out from the ether and grabbed his
shoulder, he yelled and pitched forward, practically
crashing into Ro. Taurik was coming fast from the
other direction, trying to get away before the trans-
porter kicked in, and they almost bumped into each
other. Fortunately, the magnetic boots kept them
upright, but weightless momentum turned them into
rag dolls.
 "Watch it!" growled Ro.
    "Behind us!" While Sam grappled with Ro's en-
cumbered body, he tried to twist around to find the
intruder. A chubby beige creature bounded into the
room.
    Sam's gasp was wiped out by amplified laughter,
which boomed in his ears. "Oh, did I startle you?"
asked Grof with undisguised mirth.
    "Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" snap-
ped Ro.
     "Oh, I didn't know if it was crucial enough for me
to use the corem channel," sneered Grof. "Why did you leave La Forge?"
    He shrugged. "I thought we were proceeding quite
well with the search of that large room, but La Forge
and I disagreed about something or other. So I went
off in search of you."




ii~11

 "Were you trying to take over?" asked Sam.
    "Well, of course I made a few suggestions," an-
swered the Trill huffily.
    Sam could hear Ro take a sharp breath, but before
she could unload on Grof, a scratchy voice cut in:
"Transporter room to away team. Looks like you've
got something there and it's stable."
    "Congratulations!" exclaimed Grof. "I've got a
power reading down the corridor here. I'll check it
out."
    With lumbering footsteps, the Trill disappeared
into the darkness. Taurik shouldered past them in
pursuit, leaving Ro and Sam alone in the darkened
room. He shined a light in the direction of the gases,
but the elegant fixtures and marble-like counter were
gone. The dust that hung all about them was the only
testimony to the former splendor of the laboratory.
    Through her mask, Ro glared at him, as if to say
"Nice move."
    Sam could only point to his trioorder and the four
life-signs about twenty meters straight overhead. Ro
shined her light across the ceiling and found an access
tube in the corner that was missing its hatch.
    "This is Ro to the away team," she announced. "We
seem to have split up into three groups now. I'm with
Lavelie, going up one level. Grof and Taurik have kept
going down the central corridor. Geordi, you and
Horik are still at base, right?"
    "Yes, sir," answered the engineer. "You know, Ro,
doesn't this remind you of that time when you and
I ,,
    "Yes," she admitted, knowing exactly what he was
talking about. Once, when a cloaked Romulan spy
had gotten loose on the Enterprise, she and Geordi
had been out of phase and unable to interact with

anyone, except one another. On this ship, it was like
everything was out of phase--long dead, yet long-
lived.
    "Everyone, keep your eyes open, and stay in con-
tact," ordered Ro. "At no time is anyone to be alone.
Do I make myself clear?"
  "Yes, sir," came the subdued responses.
    Feeling rather embarrassed over his jumpiness,
Sam took the point. He walked up a vertical bulkhead
in his magnetic boots and stopped outsade the access
tube. Unlike a Jeffries tube, this one was wide enough
for only one person at a time to climb, and his boots
were going to be a hindrance on the narrow ladder.
He turned them off and let his legs float free.
    "Ro," he said, "I turned off my boots, and I'm just
going to use my arms. It'll be faster."
    "Okay," she said. "I'm right behind you." He felt a
gloved hand brush his heavily insulated calf.
    A moment later, Sam was pulling himself upward
with ease through a narrow shaft of darkness. He tried
to tell himself that he was actually safer in here,
because nothing could leap out and grab him, al-
though that was only a theory. Sam had to push away
some unraveled wires and broken circuits at the next
hatchway, but he hoisted his weightless body onto the
upper level without any problem.
    Although Sam would have preferred to float around
weightlessly, he activated his boots, anchored himseft
on the deck, and took more readings. Four life-signs
were straight ahead of them, in what appeared to be
private quarters. From the remains of tables and
chairs, this room could have been a recreation lounge,
or perhaps a classroom.
    He waited until Ro emerged from the access tube
and got her feet under her again. He showed her his




tricorder and motioned toward the open doorway.
There was a slight glimmering of light within that
gloom, and it shouldn't have been there either.
    Sam tried to take the point, but Ro insistedmand
she was the one with the phaser rifle. He was right
behind her, armed with nothing but a tricorder and
several extra cornbadges. When they entered the quar-
ters, they both gasped in unison. Seated at a table,
apparently enjoying a meal, were four thin creatures
with heads that reminded Sam of refracted crystals.
The elegant candles on the table sparkled in their
multifaceted faces, and the utensils and glasses
gleamed.
    The look of horror in the diners' faces was unmis-
takable. They bolted to their feet and shrunk back in
terror from the intruders. One of them ran to a far
bulkhead and opened a wall panel, but both he and
the panel were on the edge of the phase shift. Gradu-
ally he faded away, like the glow on an antique
television set.
    The others cowered or ran to places outside the
range of the ghostly window, and they too disap-
peared. Ro lowered her phaser rifle, and grumbled,
"Remember the mission."
 "Right," muttered Sam.
    He reached into his pouch and pulled out a Bajoran
combadge, which he activated and placed on one of
the crystalline candelabras. He had barely pulled his
hand back before the candelabra vanished in a spar-
kling swirl of molecules. A few seconds later, the
entire scene began to fade away, but the ghosts
hovered in the background with accusing looks on
their jeweMike faces.
 Aghast, Sam turned to look at Ro, and the air

escaped his lungs in a burst. "Something tells me this
isn't right... or safe... or legal."
    "I know what you mean," answered Ro. "Let's just
explore and not tag anything else." She looked at the
controls on her wrist and added, "We've only got
another twenty minutes."
 He motioned to the door. "After you."

    Geordi was drawn to a ghostly object which few
people could have seen, let alone identify. It suddenly
appeared like a beacon over the double doors at the
far end of the large hold. He had concluded that their
base was a cargo hold, but he had no idea what that
object over the doors was. It appeared to be a holo-
gram, which looked very distinctive to him, although
sighted people were completely fooled by them. At
least it had all the signatures ofa hologram; perhaps it
was a holographic work of art.
    To Tamla Horik, it was nothing at all. La Forge
could tell, because the DeRan had looked right at the
disk without any indication of seeing it. To her, it was
just an empty space over the door. The tricorder
didn't find the apparition very impressive either--
just a weak energy reading.
"I'm going to go look at something," he told HoNk.
She lifted her phaser rifle. "Do you need help?"
"I don't think so," answered La Forge, smiling
through the faceplate of his helmet. "It's just one of
those irregularities that only I can see. I won't leave
the room--you stay and keep an eye on our equip-
ment."
    "Yes, sir," she answered in a deep, mellifluous
voice.
Geordi hurried across the room as quickly as the




clumsy boots would allow. He didn't know how long
this holographic image would remain, but he wanted
to get a good look before it vanished.
    When he was within about ten meters, he perceived
it clearly enough to assume that a person with normal
sight could see it now. Even then, he didn't think it
would look very impressive--a small disk, perhaps a
shield, with a shifting holographic design on it.
    Wait a minute, thought Geordi, couM this be one of
those ship g plaques that the captain had mentioned?
The seal did look official. Then again, perhaps it was a
sign saying "Stay out."
    He stepped closer, knowing that he should be
getting out a cornbadge to mark it for transport. He
had a feeling that this was a self-contained unit, a low-
power hologram with a light source small enough to
hold in his hand.
    Focusing on his infrared vision, Geordi was able to
isolate the source of the light in the center of the
plaque. Hesitantly, he reached a gloved hand toward
the small cube, almost unwilling to disturb it. Clearly
this was a work of art, exquisite in its subtlety and
detail. The images on the disk depicted an outdoor
celebration in which throngs of gaily colored merry-
makers danced. He wondered whether they were in
costume or actually had crystalline heads of every hue
in the spectrum.
    As his hand moved closer, he realized that he would
not be able to touch it without either climbing or
floating half a meter higher. If he were going to go to
that much trouble, he might as well tag it for collec-
tion. After all, it could mean a new food replicator for
them.
    Then he paused. This piece of art may or may not
belong here, but it sure doesn't belong on a Talavian

freighter. Geordi wanted to keep his find secret, which
he could, but they had to secure supplies as quickly as
possible and get back to the mission. This was no time
to be overly analytical.
    With reluctance, La Forge reached into his pouch
for a combadge. The door under the disk was so
beaten and bent that he doubted if he could walk
vertically on it. Using the controls on his sleeve, he
turned off the magnetic boots and bounded ever
so slightly upward. After activating the cornbadge,
Geordi waited patiently for momentum to bring his
hand closer to the prize. He held out the extra
cornbadge and prepared to puncture the illusion.
    As his hand zoomed in, it struck an invisible wall--
a force-field--and a potent blast of electrical shock
ripped into his body. As he tumbled away, Geordi had
the presence of mind to scream before everything
went dark.




Chapter Six

"HoRIK TO ROW shouted the Deltan. "La Forge is
injured!"
  "What kind of injury?" Ro shot back.
    "He's just floating--looks unconscious! I haven't
reached him yet."
    Ro reacted immediately. "Away team to bridge.
We've got an injured man--La Forge. Request emer-
gency transport."
 "Is he bad?" asked Picard.
 "We don't know."
    "Acknowledged. Boothby out." The channel crack-
led with static, which was not reassuring to the
Bajoran.
    "Away team, assemble back at the base," she or-
dered. "Repeat--break off search and return to
base."

    "But we're on the trail of a beautiful silver goblet,"
protested GroW'
    "Okay, Grof, we're going to leave you here
alone--"
 "No, wait. I'll go!"
    "Good. Now move it." Ro began to clomp back to
the access tube, and Sam followed closely behind. By
his body language, he looked eager to get out of this
ghost ship, and she couldn't blame him. They deacti-
vated their boots and used their hands to descend
head-first to the lower level. It seemed like a good idea
to hurry.

    Picard knelt on the transporter platform and pulled
Geordi's helmet off his head. The engineer was out
cold, and Picard snapped his fingers at his assistant,
Hasmek, the one-armed Romulan.
    "Hypospray of lectrazine!" ordered Picard. "The
red one."
    Fumbling a little, the Romulan pulled the correct
device from the box and handed it to Picard. "!
recognize this one."
    Picard wasted no time in administering the hypo-
spray to Geordi's neck. He didn't even know if his
trusted officer was dead or alive--this was the only
recourse he had, so he might as well use it.
    "Unnh!' moaned Geordi, a moment before he
doubled over and started to cough violently. Picard
sat him up and rubbed his back. "Just stay calm--
you're alive."
    "Get the others back!" he croaked, grabbing
Picard's collar. "Get them back! Too dangerous--"
    The captain stood up and pressed his combadge.
"Away team, assemble and account for everyone.
We'll beam you back to the ship in two minutes."




 "Yes, sir," answered Ro.
    "I've got to talk to our employer," said Picard with
a scowl.

    Fraznulen, the Talavian captain, looked lustfully
upon the objects assembled before him--a jewel-
encrusted candelabra, a purple glass beaker, and an
exquisite porcelain cup. The tufts of red hair on his
ears seemed to twitch with excitement. "You have
done well! I knew you would have an affinity for this
work, Boothby."
    He reached for the sparkling candelabra, which
seemed to be studded with rubies, but his hand hit an
invisible force-field, which gave him a slight shock.
"Ow!" he yelped, recoiling. "What is the purpose of
this security? I own that object, we-paid!"
    "I rigged that up," answered La Forge, folding his
arms. "Something over on the Ancestor nearly killed
me by delivering a much bigger shock. There are risks
you didn't tell us about."
    "We also encountered sentient beings," added Ro.
"And they didn't seem at all happy about being
robbed."
    But Fraznulen was ignoring her as he stared at
Geordi. "You encountered security devices? What
was the object you were pursuing?"
    The engineer held his hands apart. "It was a disk
about this wide--a hologram, a piece of art."
    The Talavian clapped his bony hands together.
"This is too great to hope! That is a ship's plaque. Can
you describe what is on it?"
    "No, he can't," answered Picard, cutting in. "We're
clone with this business, and we just want to leave. If
you want these objects, just give us another batch of
food and water, and we'll be on our way."

    "Oh, no, Boothby, you can't do that!" groaned the
scrawny Talavian, wringing his hands. "We can all be
rich if we secure that plaque. I will trade you two food
replicators if you will help us get it."
    He motioned regally toward La Forge. "I don't
know what gifts he possesses--this one with the
strange eyes--but if you will loan him to me, I will
split the proceeds with you."
    Ro could see the captain barely contain his disgust.
"Captain Fraznulen, we will not do this anymore. It's
unethical and extremely dangerous. It's insane to be
mucking about these ships, with parts of them coming
and going out of phase."
    "Just help me get that plaque, and I'll do anything
you want!" promised Fraznulen. "I'11 even get that
message of yours to the Federation, which is a service
you won't find easily in Dominion space. We'll send
over the food replicator right now and install it. What
do you say, Boothby?"
    Picard's lips thinned, and Ro knew he had a tough
decision to make. She didn't envy him. "Have you got
a way to send our isolinear chip right now?" asked the
captain.
    "Yes, we have shuttlecraft--fast shuttlecraft! I'll
send my best pilot with the chip this instant."
Fraznulen turned to La Forge. "Just answer me one
question, I beg you. What was on this holographic
image that you saw?"
    He shrugged. "It looked like a festival, a celebra-
tion. People were whirling around, dancing, I think."
    Fraznulen sighed with rapture. "Yes, yes! It couldn't
be better! The Ancestor was the mothership, we're
almost certain of that."
    "Why did they come here?" asked Picard. "And
what happened to them?"




    The Talavian shook his bulbous head sadly. "There
are many theories, but none that pleases everyone.
My favorite theory is that they are hiding from
someone. Whenever I see people in the Badlands, I
assume they are hiding. Why come here otherwise?
Maybe an enemy is chasing them--someone fi'om
another dimension." He shrugged his hairy shoul-
ders.
    "As you say, this a strange place, and perhaps they
don't know they have been dead for thousands of
years. The ghost worshipers I told you about are
sincere--they believe that the ghosts are sending
these objects back to the living, because they want us
to learn their history. The faithful collect them, and
they have instruments that can authenticate these
finds of yours."
    He shrugged apologetically. "Of course, few of
these devout worshipers have actually been to the
Valley of Death. They don't know what it's like to go
aboard these wrecks. I have to pay exorbitant prices to
get anyone to do this work, especially with a war on
and the plasma storms closing in. I sense that we
haven't got much time left to consort with the
ghosts."
    "Whether you call it religion or thievery, you know
we're stealing from those people," said Ro.
    "I don't have to justify our religion to you," an-
swered the Talavian. "When you think of it, our
beliefs are not much different than Bajoran beliefs.
Don't you worship gods who live in a wormhole? And
don't they give you gifts? Your ship is named after one
of them."
    Ro squirmed at this comparison, because it was
uncomfortably close to Bajoran beliefs. She stopped

herself from saying more, because the captain had to
speak for them.
    From a vest pocket, Captain Picard produced a
rectangular, jewel-like circuit board, containing the
collected wisdom of Enrak Grof. "Here's the cargo;
call your shuttlecraft. After you take this away and
install the replicator, Mister La Forge will show you
where that special artifact is located. No one can
predict when it will reappear, but you can be ready
when it does."
    The Talavian rubbed his hands gleefully. "I can
assure you, we will be ready. Thank you, Captain,
thank you."

    Will Riker walked down the main concourse of
Starbase 209. The broad thoroughfare was lined with
passenger loading ramps and duty-free shops, all of
which were crowded with officers about to ship out.
They looked so young, most of them fresh from the
Academy on an accelerated program. Were they ready
for combat? That was hard to say; no one was truly
ready for battle until they experienced it. He was
certain that none of them were ready to die, and many
of them would.
    Will was in no hurry as he strolled the concourse.
Unlike the young officers, he had no place to go. His
ship was still in space-dock, and its repair status was
still a mystery, at least to him. He had hoped that the
report he had sent to Shana, documenting that she
had been stalling repairs on the Enterprise, would
force a confrontation with her. It hadn't so far. Now
he was resolved to wait until the week was up and the
promised deadline was past, then he would have to
make an official inquiry.


    Overwhelmed by all the people, Riker slipped
into an alcove off the thoroughfare and found him-
self looking at a display case of travel accessories,
such as adapters, guide books, and universal trans-
lators. These objects seemed to be from a distant
era, when people could travel for pleasure and
exploration, rather than war. He wondered if life
would ever get back to normal... or what passed
for normal.
    "Thinking of taking a trip?" asked a feminine
voice.
    Will turned to see a slender brunette. Although
Shana Winslow was a petite woman, her physical
presence was commanding. He hadn't realized until
that moment how much he had missed her, even with
that daunting scowl on her pretty face.
    "Yes, I feel like taking a trip," he answered, "but
I'm having a little trouble with my vehicle."
    Shana crossed her arms. "I saw that report you sent
me. What was the point of that?"
 "Just to let you know that I know."
 "Know what?"
    He lowered his voice as a cadre of young officers
walked past. "I know that you've been stalling re-
pairs on the Enterprise, and probably other ships as
well."
    "Why would I do that?" she asked with an angry
glint in her eye.
 "To keep us from going back into combat."
    "That's preposterous!" snapped Shana, speaking so
loudly that heads turned in their direction.
    Will gently took her real arm and piloted her into
the travel store. They took refuge between tall racks
of luggage; when a salesclerk approached, Will waved
him off.

"You'd have an awfully hard time proving that
accusation," muttered Shana.
    "I don't want to prove it... except to you." He
shook his head in amazement. "You don't even know
you're doing it, do you?"
    "What I'm doing is my job... with no resources.
My staff should be two hundred percent bigger, ac-
cording to our workload. They're all pulling double
shifts, making repairs they're not even qualified to
make. And even when we do have the parts, we don't
have the people. Do you know how hard it is to keep
good staff, when they know the war is out there?" She
pointed accusingly toward space.
    Riker gritted his teeth and tried to keep calm. "I've
been doing my homework. The Gettysburg was in and
out of here in three days, with worse damage than
ours. The Targ was two days, because her Klingon
captain made complaints about you right away. Cap-
tain Torrance is petrified that you'll leave, because
you are getting the job done... somehow. He can go
ahead and pretend that everything is okay with you,
but I know differently. This is all part of the night-
mares, the chills, all the other symptoms you've
been--"
    "You've been talking too much to your friend,"
countered Shana. "I've been doing some homework
on you, too, and you're... a real Don Juan, aren't
you?"
    "Don't change the subject," Riker whispered. He
glanced around and saw that the salesclerk was busy
with customers at the canteen display.
    "You want your bloody ship?" asked Shana, her
eyes glinting, "I'll give you your bloody ship!" She
turned and limped away at such speed that Riker had
to run to catch her.




He grabbed her gently by the waist. "Shana,
wait--"
    "Take your hands off me!" she hissed, pulling away
from him.
    Now everyone in the store was looking at them,
and they were about to drag this quarrel into the
crowded concourse. She kept moving toward the
door, and he called after, "It's not about my ship--
it's about you."
    Her back stiflened for a moment, then Command-
er Winslow lowered her head and joined the cheer-
ful surge of young Starfleet officers, headed off to
war.

    A beat-up, khaki-colored shuttlecraft with red
stripes on its hull pulled slowly away from the black-
ened ships of Death Valley. Almost reluctantly, it left
the relative safety of the bubble to disappear into the
dense clouds of the Badlands. Distant plasma storms
sparkled in the murky heavens, as if welcoming the
small craft as an offering.
    Picard turned away from the viewscreen and looked
pointedly at Enrak Grof. "There goes your precious
information, Professor. We have risked our lives and
allied ourselves with some unsavory characters for
this. Now that we've sent your data to safety, I expect
you to cooperate with us fully."
    Grof snorted derisively. "Do you really think you
can trust the Talavians? What's to keep them from
turning around and giving that chip to the Ferengi, or
even the Dominion?"
    Picard frowned. "We put encryption on it, and we
sent it the only way we had. I wish I could guarantee
people's honesty, but I can't."
 "All right," muttered Grof, "I appreciate the effort.

Yes, I guess you have fulfilled your part of the bargain.
As soon as possible, I'll draw a map of the artificial
wormhole and the location of the accelerator room.
It'll be from memory, but my memory is fairly
accurate."
    "Make it so," said Picard. "As soon as we conclude
our business with the Talavians, we'll finalize our
plans."
     Taurik at the tactical station cut in. "Captain, it's
Fraznulen. He's ready to begin the operation."
  "Shall I get suited up?" asked Grofi
    "No," answered Picard. "You're too valuable to
risk on this. We're sending the minimum number of
people to the Ancestor, just Ro and La Forge."

    "You know, they say that not all the ships that
disappear in the Badlands get hit by plasma." Ro
Laren looked pointedly at Geordi La Forge and pulled
her helmet over her head. She tucked her collar into
the suit, zipped it up, and took a step toward the
transporter platform. She hated the bulky magnetic
boots.
 "Where do they go?" asked Geordi.
    "Other dimensions, maybe the other side of the
galaxymor so they say."
    "I'd believe it," agreed the engineer. "What I
can't believe is that the Maquis used to hide out in
here."
    "This has always been a good place from which to
launch an attack against the Cardassians," said Ro.
"They're scared of it."
    "They have reason to be," countered Geordi. He
pulled his hellnet onto his head and adjusted the
faceplate.
  From the transporter console, Lena Shonsui cut in,




"Interference is picking up, and I may not be able to
keep the transporter lock much longer. Plus the
Talavians have already beamed over and have asked
about you."
    Ro glanced back at the diminutive transporter
chief, who was about her favorite of the rescued
prisoners. Shonsui took no guff from anybody and
told people exactly what she thought. The Bajoran
could imagine herself turning into such a grizzled
veteran, if she had stayed in Star fleet long enough, or
if she were to live long enough.
    "We're ready," said Ro with a resolute nod. She and
La Forge stepped onto the transporter platform, and
Shonsui worked her console.
    "Energize," said Ro, hearing her own voice rever-
berate in her helmet. She braced herself and gripped
the handle of her phaser, without drawing it.
    This time, when they materialized in the cargo hold
of the Ancestor, it was already lit like a grand ball-
room by racks of lights. They were surrounded by a
score of Talavian technicians in orange environmen-
tal suits. Weapons and equipment hung on their
backs, and another dozen were armed with weapons
already drawn. The amount of equipment and con-
tainment pods assembled here was impressive, but it
looked to Ro as if they were hunting big game rather
than ghostly artifacts.
    Geordi looked at her; even partly obscured by his
helmet, his expressive face showed his reservations.
They activated their magnetic boots before they
drifted too far off the deck.
    From the assemblage of Talavians, a towering
figure stomped toward them, and Ro recognized
Fraznulen. He grinned exuberantly behind his face-
plate and mouthed something Ro couldn't hear. She

adjusted the controls on her sleeve in order to pick
up his frequency, and Fraznulen waited for her to
finish.
    "I said, we're about to make history today!"
crowed the Talavian captain. "Have your expert
show us the place where the ship's plaque is hanging.
We'll take a few readings, and then your job will be
over."
    Ro wanted to ask why they needed so many armed
guards to collect one piece of art, but she didn't want
to delay their departure a second longer than needed.
She nodded to Geordi. "Tell him where it is."
    "All right." The engineer turned slowly to get his
bearings in the vast cargo hold, then he pointed to a
distant wall. "It's over those double doors."
    Waving his hand, La Forge led the way; a contingent
of armed Talavians fell in behind him, with Fraznulen
urging them along. They were followed by technicians
bearing machines and containers of various sizes. Ro
was soon forgotten by the entourage, and she trailed
cautiously behind them.
    Geordi stopped about ten meters away from the
doors, which were worn and broken when seen at
close range. It looked as if a good shove would rip
them from their frames. He pointed to an empty place
over the doors. "It was up there."
    Instantly, he was surrounded by gangly technicians
armed with hand-held devices and strange containers.
The Talavians scoured the area, checking and re-
checking their instruments, but Ro noted that they
never got any closer than a few meters to the spot
Geordi had indicated. They were afraid, too.
    She moved closer to Fraznulen. "Captain, can we
leave now? Our job is done."
He waved impatiently at her, never taking his eyes




off the busy workers. "Let's finish our investiga-
tion... and make sure you're telling the truth."
    "We have no reason to lie," said Ro~ bridling at his
insinuation.
    "Oh, yes, you do. You've told us in no uncertain
terms that you don't approve of us collecting these
objects, so you could be protecting them. It will only
take us a few moments to verify your claims. Excuse
me--"
    He walked over to his workers, and they conferred
on a frequency which Ro couldn't hear. Geordi mo-
tioned to her and said, "He won't let us go?"
"Not yet. It seems they have to make some tests."
"It was over that door," insisted La Forge, pointing
to the spot. "But it's not there nowreno trace."
    Ro and La Forge watched the technicians huddling
around Fraznulen. Every so often, one of them
glanced at Geordi, but Ro had a feeling that they
hadn't made a decision yet. She thought about con-
tacting Captain Picard, but what could she tell him?
He already knew they were in danger from many
different sources. If they had to run for it, they might
elude the Talavian freighter in the Badlands, but they
couldn't outright or outrun them.
    Plus, they had struck an honest if onerous deal, and
Ro wanted to conclude it honorably.
    After a lengthy time, Fraznulen clomped over to her
in his crimson space suit, and he motioned toward the
door. "The evidence is inconclusive, I'm afraid. Some
of our people think your man may be, how shall I put
it... mistaken."
    Ro fought down her impulse to chew out this gangly
popinjay. "We don't know enough about these mat-
ters to fool you, and we have nothing to gain. You

know how unusual these sightings are, by their very
nature--"
    He held up his gloved hand. "There is one test we
haven't done. Actually it is more than a test. We have
a tachyon beam inverter which can force a small area
to appear for a few moments... under ideal circum-
stances."
    "I advise against that," said La Forge, shaking his
beige helmet vigorously. "They've got to be crazy to
shoot tachyons into a temporal flux--inside a ship--
and this isn't a dead ship. Plus they're bringing back
an energy source, along with whatever else. Person-
ally, I'm leaving before they do this."
    "You two are not going anywhere," insisted the
Talavian with a sinister tone to his voice. He didn't
motion to his armed entourage, but they all leveled
their weapons and took a step forward. "You don't
want to endanger your ship also, do you? We can
throw a tractor beam on it at a moment's notice."
    He spread his lanky arms, looking like some kind
of nightmarish bird in his scarlet suit. "There's
nothing to fear. We've done this process in the past,
and we're not planning to capture the plaque, just
make sure we have the right place. For us, this test
will be definitive, and our agreement with you will be
concluded."
    Ro glanced at Geordi, and he muttered, "Like I
said, I've always wanted to see someone shoot in-
verted tachyons into a roomful of temporal fluxes and
phase shifts."
    "Can we stand back?" asked Ro, noting that the
technicians were already assembling an ominous met-
al barrel about ten meters long.
    "Certainly," replied Fraznulen. "I will even send a
cadre of my guards to protect you."




    Ro and La Forge backed away from the frenetic
scene as Fraznulen assembled a team of four armed
underlings to "protect" them. Now it really was time
to contact the ship. "Ro to Orb of Peace," she said.
    "Boothby here," came a prompt response riddled
with static. "Can we transport you back?"
    "Not yet, but be ready to transport us at the first
sign of trouble. They're about to try a very dangerous
experiment."
    "Understood," said the captain. 'TI1 alert the
transporter room. Please exercise caution."
    "It's a little late for that now," she replied, "but it's
a good thought. You might look out for a tractor beam
from the Talavians."
  "We'll take precautions. Boothby out."
    Ro sighed and looked back at the huddled workers
as they assembled a metallic cannon which evidently
concentrated the inverted tachyons at a specific area.
The look of horror on Geordi's face told her every-
thing she needed to know about the device.
    "They're insane," he said. "It will give them a
glimpse into a random number of time-lines, but they
had better not try to enter the tachyon stream. I
would also say that the Badlands has got to be the
worst place in the galaxy to try this."
    "Would these ships exist anywhere else?" asked Ro.
She had felt so near to death lately that the prospect of
dying trying to make contact with a long-dead race
didn't seem as bizarre as it should have. Bajorans
were a fatalistic people, and she had been taught that
death could come immediately or haunt them from
either the past or the future.
    When she looked up from her reverie, the Talavians
were aiming their tachyon cannon at the spot on
the bulkhead above the door. Fraznulen motioned

grandly, and the technicians hunkered down at their
posts. Several of the guards backed away, but the
massive hold was suddenly very small--there was
nowhere to run. Along with everyone else in the
room, Ro was forced to watch, with her own rapid
breathing echoing in her ears.
    A dull purple streak shot from the mouth of the
cannon, illuminating a circular area above the door.
Some of the guards cowered in fear. The spot glowed
like a miniature sun a moment before it morphed into
a holographic disk, much as Geordi had described. Ro
was too far away to see any detail, but the technicians
were beside themselves with joy at this sight.
    When they shut off the beam a moment later, Ro let
out her breath. Perhaps their benefactors knew what
they were doing after all. Now they could let the Orb
of Peace go.
    Geordi looked at her and sighed. "I don't care if
they do this every day for a living, I don't like it."
    "Let's tell them good-bye." Ro began to walk
toward Fraznulen, who was conferring with his ex-
cited technicians. Before she had taken two steps in
her cumbersome boots, the area over the door began
to glow all by itself. Ro stopped and stared at the
strange apparition.
    "Captain Fraznulen," she said, but the Talavians
had seen the metamorphosis, too. They turned and
pointed with excitement, and some of them rushed to
fetch equipment and containers. Ro gaped with awe at
the sparkling image--even from a distance, the disk
was exquisite.
    Grinning, Geordi stepped up beside her. "Call me a
liar, will they."
Ro started to alert the ship to beam them up, when




the disk changed in hue to blazing white, like a
miniature nova. Without warning, white beams shot
from its depths and penetrated the first row of
Talavian technicians. Four of them erupted in fiery
explosions.
    Geordi gripped her arm, and both of them ducked
as a blazing beam streaked from the now deadly disk.
It missed them, but turned two guards into smolder-
ing bits of fabric.
    Rolling onto her back, Ro barked into the commu-
nicator in her helmet. "Two to beam up! Now!"
    She flinched as a Talavian fell on top of her, a look
of horror in his dazed eyes. A moment later, she saw
why, as a pallet stacked with supplies came into sharp
focus right beside them. The hold began to fill with
ordinary supplies and goods, and elongated tubes of
light materialized in the ceiling, making it as bright as
daylight. Most disconcerting of all, Ro could feel
gravity holding her to the deck.  The ship is coming alive!
    "La Forge to bridge? yelled a familiar voice in her
ear. "Two to beam up!" She tried to look for Geordi,
but the sudden appearance of stacks of supplies had
cut off her vision.
    "Bridge to tranporter room!" echoed another voice,
sounding distant and shot with static. "Bridge to
transporter room--come in!"
    That voice faded out, and Fraznulen's frantic voice
boomed in her ears: "Implement rescue plan! Prepare
to retreat!"
    Ro could make out nothing else in the strangled
grunts which followed. All around her it was chaos,
as some of the Talavians fired at the security disk,
and others ran for their lives. The cargo hold was
reeling--supplies and equipment rose from the

deck like a lost civilization emerging from the
ocean.
    She struggled to sit up in her bulky suit, while she
kept looking for Geordi. Finally all she could do was
gape as the mighty derelict reverted to its ancient
splendor.




Chapter Seven

ON THE BRIDGE of the Orb of Peace, Captain Picard
gripped the back of the conn chair as his ship was
jolted by a tractor beam. He wanted to put up the
modified shields, but then they couldn't beam La
Forge and Ro aboard. And they had to escape before
the old wreck in front of them finished its startling
metamorphosis into a gleaming warship.
    Since he had dispatched Sam Lavelie to the trans-
porter room to see why Chief Shonsui wasn't re-
sponding, the conn was empty. Reluctantly, the
captain took the seat and told himself, steady as she
goes.
    He motioned to Jozarnay Woil on tactical. "Hail
them. Demand that they release the tractor beam.
Don't they see what's going on?"
  "Yes, sir," replied the Antosian. His forehead tight-

ened, pulling his bun of dark hair downward. "I'm
hailing them, but they don't respond."
    "Keep trying," ordered Picard, scarcely able to take
his eyes off the spectacle unfolding on the viewscreen.
One by one, the enormous metal hulks were glimmer-
ing to life as if awakening from a deep slumber. The
crystalline halos of light which had danced around the
derelicts were suddenly gone, as if they had been
absorbed into the ancient wrecks.
    His cornbadge chirped, and he answered it.
"Bridge."
    "Captain," said Sam Lavelle, "I'm in the transport-
er room, and Shonsui is unconscious--she looks bad.
I'll get the first-aid kit."
    "Get on the transporter," ordered Picard. "Lock
onto Ro and La Forge and keep trying to get them
back. I'll get someone in engineering to do first-aid."
  "Yes, sir."
 "Any sign of what happened to the chief?."
 "No, sir."
    "Get them back. Out." Picard tapped his combadge
again. "Bridge to engineering."
 "Taurik here," came the calm voice of the Vulcan.
    "Send somebody with a first-aid kit to the trans-
porter room."
    "Yes, sir," responded Taurik. "Have we gotten La
Forge and Ro back?"
    "Not yet. Stand by, and be ready to give me
maximum impulse power--we may have to break a
tractor beam." "Yes, sir."
    His jaw clenched, Picard leaned forward and stared
at a massive warship that was listing vertically--he
watched as it slowly righted itselfi All along its sleek
hull, green lights beamed on and began to pulse.




    "We're being scanned," said Woil in a quavering
voice.
 "By the Talavians?"
 "No. By the Ancestor."
    Picard tapped his cornbadge. "Bridge to transport-
er room. Have you got them, Lavelie?"
    "Not yet, sir. There's a lot of electronic interference
that wasn't there before. What's going on?"
 "Cut through it, and find them. Without delay."
 "Yes, sir."
    "Sir!" barked Woil urgently. "The Talavians have
dropped the tractor beam--I think they're re-
treating."
    "Ready shields." Picard leaned forward and gaped
at a fleet of magnificent warships which had been
resurrected from the grave. Even the plasma storms in
the distant heavens seemed to pale in comparison.

    Ro crawled on her belly across the deck of the cargo
hold, trying to avoid the deadly crossfire that streaked
over her head, ripping up stacks of supplies. From one
torn box, tiny pellets rained down on her. Since her
communicator still was not working, Ro took a
chance and pulled her helmet off. She wasn't sure she
would find breathable air, but she did.  "Geordi!" she yelled. "Geordi!"
    She had to find him, because they weren't being
transported out. With all that was happening, the ship
must have lost their transporter signal. If she and
Geordi were together, their cornbadges and life-signs
might make it easier to find them and lock on. In this
bizarre chaos, there wasn't much else she could do.
    Ro crawled to the intersection between two aisles,
and she saw a pair of beige-garbed legs. With relief,
she looked up, and her mouth hung open in shock.

Above her was one of the residents of the Ancestor, a
gangiy alien with a multifaceted, jewel-like head. He
held a long thin hose toward her, and his intentions
looked hostile.
    Ro spun around and knocked his legs out from
under him; he tumbled into a broken box of pellets.
As she scrambled away, she drew her phaser and
made sure it was set to stun, but the alien didn't
pursue her down another aisle.
 "Geordi!" she yelled. "Geordi!"
    You are thieves, said a voice in her head. Demons,
sent to torment us. Ro hurriedly pulled her helmet
over her head, thinking that she was imagining the
voice, or it was part of the melee. As she crawled over
a dying Talavian, the voice returned: The Ancient
Enemy has sent you.
    "No!" shouted Ro, scrambling to get away from the
voice and the destruction. "Ro to Geordi! Can you
hear me?"
    He has found our hiding place, insisted the cultured
voice in her head. We thought it wouM last forever.
    "Ro to bridge!" she barked, trying to cling to her
sanity. "Ro to the Orb of Peace!"
    When no one else responded, she finally decided to
talk to the entity in her head. "We don't know
anything about an Ancient Enemy--we thought these
ships were deserted."
    Thieves, concluded the voice. Nothing is left. Begin
destruct sequence.
    Ro pulled off her helmet once again and shouted,
"Geordi!"
 "Over here!" came a muffled response.
    "I'm coming!" she yelled while she crawled toward
the sound, her helmet in one hand and phaser in the
other.




 "Ro!" he called back. "Here!"
    When one door closes, another opens, said the voice
in her head.

    "Bridge to transporter room," asked Captain Pi-
card, keeping his voice calm. "What is your status?"
    "This is Grof," cut in a garrulous voice. "Sam is
busy with the transporter, and I'm trying to revive
Lena. It doesn't look good, though. I'm not a medical
doctor, but I'd say she's dead."
Picard gritted his teeth. "Keep trying. Bridge out."
He looked up at the viewscreen just in time to see
the Talavian freighter turn on its thrusters and try to
escape. At once, a white bolt from the massive Ances-
tor shot across space, engulfed the freighter, and
blasted it into rainbow confetti. Picard looked on in
horror, certain that the bolt was similar to the bril-
liant plasma bursts that lit the murky clouds. It had
happened so quickly, now he was uncertain what had
destroyed them--a weapon or a storm.
    Picard slowly took his hands off the controls, think-
ing that he wasn't going to move from here any time
soon. The emerging ships looked fully armed and
operational, but they seemed to be on auto-pilot,
reacting to stimuli instead of creating it. For the
moment, he was doing nothing to provoke them.
    "Transporter room to bridge," came the breathless
voice of Sam Lavelle. "We've got them! When they
touched helmets, the signal was just strong enough to
lock on."
 "Good work. Stay at that post."
 "Yes, sir. Uh, you heard about Lena Shonsui?"
    "We'll deal with that later. Bridge out." Picard
pointed to the Antosian. "Shields up."
 "Yes, sir. Shields at full power," answered Woil.

    CouM we absorb one of those blasts, wondered
Picard, and survive?
    Probably not. The captain studied the positions of
the strange fleet in relation to his own. A mad dash to
the Badlands seemed to be the most direct approach,
but it was suicidal. In retrospect, it had taken the
Ancestor a second or so to react. There were so many
other craft nearby--would they risk firing that dread-
ful weapon at their own ships?
    "Captain," said a concerned voice. He turned to
see Ro Laren stride onto the bridge, looking wide-
eyed and disheveled. "We've got to get out of here! I
think they were talking to me telepathically. They
said something about a destruct sequence--at least
that's what I understood."
    Then she saw the reality of the awakened fleet on
the viewscreen, and her mouth hung open. Ro finally
gulped back her fear and stood at attention.
    "The Talavian freighter tried to escape and was
destroyed by a powerful weapon that looked like a
bolt of plasma." Picard stood and offered her his seat
at the conn. "I have an idea, but I need a good pilot."
  "Yes, sir," answered Ro, taking the conn.
    "Do you know what awakened them?" asked Pi-
card. "Was it that experiment?"
    "It all happened so fast--we thought the experi-
ment was a success." Ro shook her head. "I think
they're hiding, but I don't know from what."
    "Sir!" cut in Woil at the tactical station. "I'm
getting huge power increases from the ships. They
could be powering up to leave."
 "Or self-destruct," warned Ro.
    The captain leaned over her, and they stared at the
majestic fleet, which seemed to be caught in a blink-
ing web of its own making. These ships and the




Badlands were all part of the same mysterious fabric,
thought Picard. All along their sleek hulls, green and
blue lights were darkening into a violet hue, and he
knew that their time was running out.
    "They're in a tight formation," he told Ro. "Can
you get close enough to one of the other ships--in a
split-second--so that the Ancestor can't fire at us?"
    "If we go to full impulse, we can, but we'll be going
awfully fast--we might hit one of them. But if I go in
reverse, I'll have the strongest thrusters at the back to
stop us."
    "Now they're scanning us again," said Woil ur-
gently.
    "Auxiliary power to forward shields," Picard told
him.
 "Yes, sir."
    The captain slid into an empty seat and nodded to
Ro. "Proceed when ready."
    She plied the controls, and he felt his body surge
forward with their sudden acceleration to the rear.
The Orb of Peace jagged sharply to starboard at the
same instant that the Ancestor fired a charged bolt.
The streak grazed their shields, shaking the transport,
but they were still in one piece as they swerved behind
another ship.
    Picard was tossed back into his seat when Ro
activated rear thrusters to slow their progress. They
were so close to the second ship that they could see
the rivets in its hull.
    He leaned forward to say, "Continue evasive ma-
neuvers, but get us out of here."
    "Yes, sir." Ro gave up finesse as she piloted the
boxy transport through the awakened fleet, zigging
and zagging between the massive hulks, using them

for cover. From his console, Picard put a split image
on the viewscreen, half of it showing the foreboding
dust cloud ahead of them and the other half showing
the eerie scene they had left behind.
    As they entered tile thick cloud, the other half of the
viewscreen erupted in a blinding blaze of light. Like a
horrible chain-reaction, each one of the newly resur-
rected ships lit up for an instant and exploded,
forming an immense circle of fire that seemed to burn
the heart of the Badlands. Picard held his breath,
thinking that a shock wave was bound to overwhelm
their ship, but the horrible devastation faded as
quickly and mysteriously as it had begun.
    Ro let out a loud sigh and gazed at her controls.
"I'm slowing down to one-fourth impulse."
    "Come to a full stop," ordered Picard, astounded
by what he was now seeing on the viewscreen. "Come
about ... quickly!"
    He adjusted the scene on the viewscreen, compen-
sating for a sudden rash of interference. Soon all three
of them gaped at a sight which boggled the mind.
    There before them, floating at obscene angles like
toppled tombstones, were the dead, gray hulks of
ships that hadn't flown in thousands of years. It was
the same eerie sight that had greeted them almost
twenty-four hours earlier.
    "That can't be!" exclaimed Woil. "We saw them
explode."
    "Full stop," ordered Picard softly. "Don't get any
closer than this."
 "Yes, sir," rasped Ro.
    "They self-destructed," insisted the Antosian, star-
ing blankly at the screen. "We saw it."
 Picard answered, "Perhaps in this time-line, in this




dimension, they are always like this--rotting dere-
licts. Everybody who comes here will see them this
way. In the other phases where they exist, who
knows?"
    "Taking gifts from the ghosts will be more difficult
now," said Ro.
"At least we got our replicator," murmured Woil.
"But at what cost?" Picard shook his head. "One
ship destroyed with all aboard, and our transporter
chief dead--all to collect a few trinkets. Ro, you have
the bridge. Keep a steady course for the artificial
wormhole, but stay in the Badlands."  "Yes, sir."
    "I'11 send a relief crew up here to man some of these
stations. Well done, Ro."
 "Thank you," she said quietly.
    Feeling both lucky and cursed, the captain walked
off the bridge and descended the spiral staircase to the
lower level. He wasn't surprised to find a crowd
gathered outside the doorway of the transporter
room, but he was surprised to find Hasmek holding a
hand phaser.
    "What are you doing?" Picard asked the Romulan.
He motioned to the weapon and held out his hand.
    "I heard there had been a murder." Hasmek
handed the phaser to the captain. "You can't be too
careful."
 "Did you see anything to confirm that?"
    "No, Captain. I was asleep when all the commotion
started."
    "Lucky you." The captain shouldered his way past
Maserelli and Horik. "Get back to your posts."
    "Yes, sir," they answered in unison. Whispering to
each other, the Deltan and the human scurried away.

    When Picard entered the transporter room, he
found Grof and La Forge bent over Lena Shonsui's
lifeless body, grimly trying to revive her. Sam Lavelie
stood at the transporter console as ordered, and he
looked stunned over the death of his shipmate.
    The captain walked slowly toward the prostrate
figure and the two men who were working on her,
with no chance of success.
 "It looks futile," said Picard.
    "That's what the tricorder says." Geordi shook his
head and sat back on his haunches. "And there's not a
mark on her--no sign of what happened to her."
  "The tricorder doesn't tell you anything?"
    "No, sir. And we don't have the equipment or
personnel to do an autopsy."
    "Maybe it was her heart, all the excitement,"
suggested Grof. "I often thought she wasn't a well
woman."
 "You hated her," muttered Lavelie.
    "No, I thought she was incompetent, which is not
the same thing. She did, however, hate me."
    "Belay that," ordered Picard through clenched
teeth. "Hasmek was talking about this being a mur-
der. I want to know what gave him that idea."
    "Maybe it was the suspicious timing of it," said
Sam. "Just when we were about to get La Forge and
Ro on board--and finally get out of here--our trans-
porter operator dies."
     "Well if somebody had listened to me," muttered
Grof, "she wouldn't have been transporter operator?
  "Don't you have any feelings?" asked Sam angrily.
    "I did everything I could to save her!" growled the
Trill.
 "That's enough," ordered Picard. "Since she was in




this room alone, we can't say what happened to her.
None of us have a medical background, and we don't
have anything but a first-aid kit. For the time being,
we'll have to attribute her death to unknown causes.
Unless someone can furnish proof, I don't want to
hear any more talk about murder."
    "A lot of us were physically weakened by captivi-
ty," admitted Sam, looking somewhat chastened.
"Grof, I'm sorry--you did try to save her."
    "Of course I did," muttered the Trill. "With this
pathetic crew, we can't afford to lose anybody."
    Picard sighed deeply, glad that the two men had
concluded their argument without his intervention.
Unfortunately, Sam was correct that the circum-
stances and timing of Shonsui's death were suspi-
cious. He didn't want to believe there was a murderer
in their midst, but then he hadn't wanted to believe
there was a saboteur either. He couldn't ignore facts:
The unexplained failure of the food replicators had
cost them time, effort, and Lena Shonsui's life. On top
of that, he had almost lost his two most trusted crew
members.
    Picard glanced at Geordi, and the stricken look on
the engineer's face showed that he was thinking the
worst, too. Talk of murder and the bad blood between
Shonsui and Grof was sure to spread through the tiny
ship. They still had a dangerous mission ahead of
them, and Picard had to keep this crew together...
somehow.
    One thing was certain, they couldn't survive any
more incidents like this one.
    "La Forge and Lavelie," said the captain, "I'd like
to put a two-person guard on our new food replicator.
Would you take the first shift?"
 La Forge didn't look surprised, but Lavelie blinked

at him. "Do you think somebody sabotaged the other
replicators?"
    "I'm taking no chances," answered Picard. "I'11
also revise the schedule, so that nobody is left alone."
    The Trill shook his head with disbelief. "There was
no privacy on this ship before, and now there will be
even less!"
    Geordi motioned to Sam. "Come on, let's get to our
post. I could use a few peaceful moments."
    As La Forge and Lavelle filed out of the room,
Lavelle stole a suspicious look at Grof. That look
worried the captain.
 "Grof," he said, "from now on, you're with me."
    The Trill scowled. "You don't trust me either, do
you?"
    "Just the opposite. If somebody is trying to sabo-
tage our mission, then you would be the most logical
target. If we lose you, we don't stand a chance."
    Grof smiled smugly at the compliment, then his
smile twisted into a grimace. "Do you think some-
body will really try to kill me?"
    "Only if somebody in this group wants to sabotage
our mission," answered Picard. "Maybe it was, as you
say, poor health that killed her." He didn't add that if
the saboteur turned out to be Grof, Picard was going
to keep him under tight and personal surveillance.
    "I bet it's that Romulan," said Grofwith a knowing
nod. "Or maybe Ro Laren--somebody told me she
was a Maquis."
    "Let's not speculate," replied Picard, thinking most
of the speculation would focus on Grof. He bent over
Lena Shonsui's body. "If we get stopped and searched
again, I don't want to have her body on board. Help
me get her ready for the funeral."




    Will Riker was awakened from a sound sleep by the
chirping of his combadge. He rolled over in the
narrow bed and looked around the unfamiliar quar-
ters. "Lights," he said, and the lights came on.
    He grabbed his badge from the nightstand. "Riker
here."
    There was nothing but silence in the guest cabin,
which was a utilitarian room hardly five meters wide.
"Riker here," he said again.
  A raspy, hesitant voice answered him, "It's me."
    "Shana!" exclaimed Will, sitting up in bed. "Are
you all right?"
    "No," she admitted with a nervous laugh. "I had
another nightmare again... worse than all the oth-
ers. This time, it was me going up in a ship with
shoddy repairs and bad parts. It was my fault that I
was going to die!"
    Will threw back the covers. "Are you in your
quarters? I'll be right there."
    "No, Will, no--" she pleaded. "I can handle
this... I just wanted to talk."
    "We'll talk in person," Riker said soothingly. "Stay
there."
    A few minutes later, he stood at her doorstep.
When his first chime wasn't answered for several
seconds, he wondered if Shana would again try to
avoid him. "Come on, Shana," he muttered to him-
self as he rang once more.
    The door slid open, and she stood before him, fully
dressed in her uniform, as was he. Even in the midst
of personal crisis, they were still Starfleet officers. She
slumped gratefully into his arms, and he held her up,
thinking she felt as light as a person in moon gravity.
 When the slender brunette gazed into his eyes, he

could tell she had been crying. "I'm here now," he
assured her. "Whatever you need, I'll get it for you."
    She sniffed and gave him a brave smile. "You won't
be here for long--your ship is almost done. Be ready
to take her on a test spin in about six hours."
    "My ship is silicon and deuteriumwit can always
be fixed. What about you?" Will held her by the
shoulders, and he could feel her body tremble under
the crisp fabric of her uniform.
    "You'll be gone, and so will I," answered Shana.
"I'm resigning."
    She pulled away from him and moved resolutely
into the dining area of her quarters. Riker followed
her, and he spotted a padd on the table; on its screen
was the beginning paragraph of a letter. "What happened?"
    She snorted a rueful laugh. "You. I read those
reports you sent me, and I went back and reviewed all
of our records since the war began. You were right!
Subconsciously, I was taking longer to schedule ships
when I knew their commanders, or their crew had
been in a lot of combat. You were rightmI wasn't in
any hurry to send you back to the front, even after you
started to make my life miserable. I was protecting
those crews, and it was easy, because there were
always plenty of rush jobs to delay them."
    She shook her head with disbelief. "Some of my
own subordinates saw it, but they didn't say anything!
In wartime, the absurd becomes the norm. I mean,
somebody was going to have to wait--why shouldn't
it be crews we liked? It made crazy sense. Most of the
crews didn't complain about a few extra days of shore
leave, I can tell you."
 Her hands flopped to her sides. "That's why I have




to resign, Will. I can't be trusted to do this job
properly."
    "I was really hoping you could avoid this," said
Riker. "Before you do anything rash, check in with
your base counselor. Maybe you can take a leave of
absence instead."
    "I was coping all right until this damn war started,"
grumbled Shana, pounding a fist on the table. "It's
like I could see what was going to happen to themm
since I went through it myselfl I guess I couldn't send
them back to the front."
    He put his arm around her shoulders, feeling limbs
that were fragile, yet sinewy and strong. "What's the
name of your base counselor?"  "Arlene Bakker."
    He tapped his combadge. "Commander Riker of
the Enterprise to Counselor Arlene Bakker."
    "This is Bakker," answered an alert, if rushed,
voice. Riker had the feeling that he had caught her at
work, not rest.
    Will gazed fondly at Shana as he answered, "I'm
with Commander Shana Winslow, and she would like
to place herself under your care. Also she wants to
take a medical leave of absence."
    Bakker paused as the seriousness of his request
apparently sunk in. "I'11 meet you down at the psychi-
atric wing right away. I believe you know where it is."
    "Yes. Riker out." He looked at Shana and mustered
his most encouraging smile.
    She stared right past him. "So I'm crazy because I
won't send people off to die."
    Riker frowned. "You're not crazy, Shana. This war
is. You've done your duty. Come on, let's get you
some help."
 He touched the panel to open the door, and they

stepped into a quiet corridor. This odd couple--a
strapping, bearded man and a fragile, dark-haired
woman--walked slowly toward the turbolift.

    Wrapped in a water-resistant fabric, Lena Shonsui's
body looked even more slight and inconsequential
than it had before. Captain Picard was reminded of
the dozen bodies they had piled on the Orb of Peace
transporter platform only a few days ago. All of the
deaths seemed so senseless, although it wouldn't have
been any better to see them die by enemy fire or
consumed in a plasma storm. Death was part of war,
and part of exploring space--but that never made it
any easier.
    Picard heard footsteps and looked up to see the rest
of the crew filing in, two by two. He had paired
Lavelie with La Forge, Hasmek and Taurik, himself
with Grof, and had kept the established pairing of
Tamla Horik and Enrique Maserelli. Ro Laren and
Jozarnay Woil remained on duty on the bridge, with
Ro cautiously steering them through the deadly muck
of the Badlands.
    Is one of them a murderer? he asked himself as he
studied the earnest, frightened, and arrogant faces.
The Romulan was already known to be a killer, but he
was also Picard's personal reclamation project. WouM
he risk his life to stop this mission? Why?
    He glanced at Grof, whom he had picked to be the
new transporter operator, a fitting punishment for
complaining so much about Shonsui. Transporting
her lifeless body into space would be good practice for
him.
    The Trill studied the transporter console and nod-
ded smugly. "Ready when you are, Captain."
Picard gazed at the ragtag crew standing before




him, and he wished he had more confidence in them.
Of course, there were La Forge, Lavelie, and the
Vulcan, Taurik, whose implacable expression brought
an air of normality to the proceedings, but the others
were strangers. They studied the body on the trans-
porter platform with a mixture of fear, grief, and
curiosity.
    "Thank you for coming," began the captain. "I've
given far too many eulogies lately, so I'll be brief.
Although I didn't know Chief Shonsui very well, her
conduct under adverse circumstances demonstrated
her training and dedication. She was a veteran Star-
fleet officer, so she must have led many lives, per-
formed many duties. All of the thousands of officers
who served with her can be proud. I don't know
anything about her family and friends, but I feel
certain she will be missed."
    He took a deep breath. "I know there's been a lot of
speculation about her death, but we have no proof
that it was anything but a natural cause. However, we
are now taking precautions we weren't taking before,
because we are so close to fulfilling our mission."
    He balled his hand into a fist. "I know it will be
difficult to destroy the artificial wormhole, but we
have the knowledge and the resolve to do it. We will
soon have the opportunity. For all the brave men and
women who have died, for all those who will die if we
aren't successful, we must submerge our fears and
complete this mission. If we fail, there will be no one
to deliver a eulogy for the Federation."
    With tight lips, he looked at the body. "May her
beliefs in the afterlife be fulfilled. Energize, Mister
Grof."
 "Yes, sir."

    The Trill plied the controls, and the small bundle
on the transporter platform disappeared in a spar-
kling blur.
    Sam Lavelle rubbed his eyes. "Anyone want to join
us in the mess hall for a toast?"
    "Certainly," said Taurik, glancing at the Romulan.
"That is, if you have no objection."
    Hasmek motioned to the door with his remaining
arm. "Lead the way."
    Geordi looked at the lieutenant and sighed. "Sam
we've got to get back on watch."
    "I want to give everyone a break," said Picard, "in
shifts. Maserelli and Horik, you return to engineering.
Grof and I will relieve the bridge crew."
 "But the transporter--" protested Grof.
    "Is unneeded at the moment. Let's go." Picard
strode purposefully out the door, making it clear that
they were all still on duty.

    Sam sat at a table with La Forge, and across from
them sat Taurik and Hasmek, who looked uncomfort-
ably like cousins. He didn't trust Hasmek, he didn't
trust Grof, and he wasn't too sure about some of the
others. It was clear from the awkward silence that the
others had their suspicions, too.
    Geordi looked at him. "You said something about a
toast?"
    "Oh, yes." Sam lifted his glass of apple juice and
mustered a smile. "To our fallen crew member, Lena
Shonsui."
    Taurik and Geordi politely lifted their glasses,
mumbled their regards, and drank. The Romulan
looked quizzically at his protein drink, then at them,
and asked, "What is the purpose of this ceremony?"




 "Just to show our respect," answered Sam.
    "To whom? She is a dead body floating in the
Badlands--how can she understand this gesture?"
    Sam felt himself getting short-tempered with the
Romulan, when Taurik broke in, "To humans, death
brings great suffering to the survivors. They console
each other with gestures such as this."
    "Oh," said Hasmek, nodding. "They're a very
emotional race--I forget."
    "I've seen Romulans get emotional, too," coun-
tered Geordi. "You aren't exactly Vulcans your-
selves."
    Hasmek smiled wistfully. "I'm afraid we are Vul-
cans, even though we're trained differently."
    "On what criteria do you base that theory?" asked
Taurik.
    "On the theory that I'm married to a Vulcan,"
answered Hasmek, staring off into the distance. "I
went through the Koon-ut-la, Pon farr, the Koon-ut-
kal-if-fee, the whole thing... and I could never love
anyone but my wife. She's burned into my soul."
    "That is very unusual," said Taurik in a classic of
understatement. "Where is your wife now?"
    "I wish I knew." Hasmek rose to his feet, looking
tired and disgruntled. "I've had enough of these
funeral ceremonies. So, my Vulcan cousin, why don't
we relieve the happy couple in engineering?"
    Taurik efficiently finished his drink. "Yes, I am re-
freshed. Thank you, Sam."
    Lavelle waved to his old friend. "Look out for
yourself, Taurik."
    "I will take every possible precaution." The Vulcan
stood and strode swiftly from the room, with Hasmek
shuffling after him.
 Geordi watched them go, then shook his head. "I'm

sure the captain knows what he's doing, but that
Romulan makes me nervous."
    "The captain is looking at the big picture," said
Sam. "If the Romulans ally themselves with the
Dominion, the Dominion won't need to bring rein-
forcements from the Gamma Quadrant. We've got to
make it clear to the whole galaxywright now--that
we're going to win this war."
    Geordi smiled and lifted his glass. 'Tll drink to
that."




Chapter Eight

ON THE VIEWSCREEN of the Orb of Peace was an
amazing sight, which Ro hadn't seen in what felt like
an eternity. It was pure, unadulterated space, with
nothing but stars and nebulae glimmering as far as the
viewscreen could scan. After days of negotiating the
murky clouds of the Badlands, she felt as if she could
pilot regular space with her eyes closed. Unfortu-
nately, there was a war raging in that beautiful star-
scape, so they were stopped on the outer edge of the
Badlands, deciding how best to proceed.
    "Captain," said Enrak Grof, "from this point on-
ward, I believe your plans are rather sketchy."
    "First we need to collect information," declared the
captain, undaunted by the obstacles facing them. He
turned to the assembled group, which consisted of
Grof, Ro, Hasmek, and Sam Lavelie. "We need an

observation point, from where we can keep an eye on
the collider. We need to find out how close they are to
making the artificial wormhole operational. Some of
you have been there--do you know of such a place?"
    "Working on the collider, we only saw what we
could see with the naked eye," answered Sam. "And
our course to the black hole was closely monitored."
    "I never paid much attention to where we were,"
admitted Grofi
    When no one else commented, it was left to the
Romulan to step forward. "My previous ship made a
pass very near the collider, and we noticed that one of
the planets in that grid has a large outer ring. You
might be able to hide a small ship like this one in that
ring, and you could track them from there with your
sensors."
    Picard crossed to the science station and brought
up a chart of the sector on the viewscreen. "Can you
locate this planet?"
    "I think so." The Romulan stepped in front of the
viewscreen and pointed to a black cloud in the center.
"Okay, here are the Badlands." He moved his finger
slowly to the left and asked, "Can you enlarge that
region?"
    Picard consented to the request, and they soon
focused on the likely location of the magneton collid-
er. While they were doing that, Ro checked the ship's
data banks from the conn, and she found confirma-
tion of what the Romulan was telling them.
    "Captain," she cut in, "the ship's computer shows
a planet matching that description in solar system
SU-395. It has a fairly large ring system."
    Hasmek smiled smugly. "I haven't steered you
wrong yet, have I, Captain?"




"But how do we get there?" asked Sam. "Without
the Dominion swarming all over us."
    "It's a pity that you don't have a Romulan cloaking
device," said Hasmek.
    Captain Picard gestured thoughtfully at the Romu-
lan. "I've considered this problem. Every time we cut
straight across space, the Dominion picks us up on
their long-range sensors and sends a ship to investi-
gate. The problem is that we stick out when we're all
alone. But there must be other merchant traffic in this
sector. What if we were to follow closely behind
another merchant ship, maybe even a convoy?"
    Hasmek smiled. "That's an excellent ideainto
piggyback on another ship and disguise ourselves.
You're thinking like a Romulan, Captain."
    "I'11 take that as a compliment," replied Picard.
"Activate longsrange and short-range scanners. Check
the computer for known shipping lanes around here."
    As his orders were being carried out, the captain
stepped closer to the conn. "Ro, you've been on duty
now for twelve hours straight mwhy don't you take a
break and get some food. You too, Mister Lavelle.
We've got enough people here to monitor the shipping
lanes. When we need you, we'll call. When you see La
Forge in the mess hall send him back to engineering."
    "Yes, sir," answered Ro. She rose from her seat,
surprised at how stiff her legs and back felt. She really
did need a short break, and Sam would be good
company.
    They wound their way down the spiral staircase and
strolled into the mess hall, where they found Geordi
La Forge staring curiously at a plate of very rare meat,
surrounded by a ring of puffed pastry.
    He looked up at them as they entered. "Hello.
Taking a break?"

    "Under Captain's orders," answered Sam. "What is
that you're eating?"
    "That's a good question," answered Geordi doubt-
fully. "I asked the replicator for a hamburger, and this
is what I got."
    "Talavian cuisine is not quite what we're used to,"
said Ro distastefully.
    "But it's not bad," added Sam, never taking his
eyes off the food. "If you don't want it, I'll take it."
    Geordi shook his head. "You're a better man than I,
Gunga Din. If you're going to stay here in the mess
hall, I can go back to engineering." "That's the plan," said Ro.
    La Forge jumped to his feet and strode out the door.
"If you don't get sick, Lavelie, maybe I'll try it next
time."
    Sam immediately sat down in the chair vacated by
La Forge and tore into his Talavian hamburger.
    With amusement, Ro asked, "Are you planning to
eat your way through this war?"
    "In a word, yes," mumbled Sam, his cheeks bulging
with food. He swallowed, then gazed at her. "When
the war is over, I plan on being a restaurant reviewer
on Pacifica, and I'll weigh about two hundred kilos.
What are you going to do?"
    "I haven't thought that far," answered Ro, trying
not to think how unlikely it was that any of them
would survive. She finally got a glass of water from the
new food replicator and sat down next to him.
    "What were you planning to do before the war?"
asked Sam.
    Ro snorted a derisive laugh. "I was planning on
being a farmer and raising a bunch of half-human,
half-Bajoran kids. Silly, huh?"




    He frowned at her. "No, it's not silly at all. I could
see you doing that."
    "It's too late for some things," said Ro somberly,
"and that's one of them. Even if we drive out the
Dominion, I'll probably spend several years in a
Starfleet brig."
    "How could they do that to you, after all the help
you've been?"
    "Well, let's see--I deserted from Starfleet, then
waged war against them as part of an outlawed
organization. If we had run across anybody but Cap-
tain Picard and the Enterprise, I would probably
already be in the brig."
    "Even though you and the Maquis were proven
right," grumbled Sam, "and we really couldn't trust
the Cardassians."
  "That's little comfort to me now."
    Sam leaned forward and looked at her with sympa-
thetic brown eyes. "You lost somebody very dear,
didn't you?"
    Ro shook her head. "I was foolish to think I
had gotten away from war and killing; it was just
beginning. And youmyou've never lost anyone
special?"
    "I've never had anyone special to lose," answered
Sam wistfully. "Oh, there have been women--and
friends, like Sito--but I've never had time to think
about marriage and raising a family. I can tell you,
I'm a different man than the one who charged head-
first into this war... it seems like a hundred years
ago. When I get out of this, I'm going to take time to
enjoy life. Maybe I'd even like to be a farmer. Is it
hard?"
 Ro smiled and nodded slowly. "Hardest and most

rewarding thing I've ever done. After a life spent
among nothing but death, it's nice to give life to
something."
    For several moments, they sat quietly in each other's
company, just two people caught up in a whirlwind,
unable to escape until the wind died down. The longer
they sat there, the more introspective Sam grew; the
lines on his handsome face furrowed deeply in the
austere lighting.
 "What's worrying you so much?" asked Ro.
    He leaned forward and whispered, "What do you
think happened to the transporter chief?."
    "She died. Of what, we don't know." The Bajoran
had her suspicions, but she wouldn't say any more
than that.
    "And here we are, guarding the food replicator,"
muttered Sam, shaking his head. "Who are we guard-
ing it from? It must be one of us."
    Ro could feel her neck muscles tightening, and she
craned her head back to stretch them. "If I had an
explanation, I'd tell you. All we can do is proceed
with the mission and take extra precautions, as the
captain is doing. Besides, replicators can break down,
especially in surplus craft like this, and the chief's
death could have been a coincidence. Like you say,
being imprisoned by Cardassians causes a lot of
stress."
    "I know," muttered Sam. "There wasn't a mark on
her, and I looked. Something else bugs me--why kill
Shonsui and leave the transporter operational?"
"Unless you needed the transporter," answered Ro.
Sam didn't respond, long enough that Ro began to
wonder if he'd heard her comment about the trans-
porter. Then an odd smile broke out on his face.




    "Ro," he said softly, "if you go to the brig, I'm
going, too. I want to look alter you, and make sure no
more harm comes to you."
    Ro looked deep into Sam's eyes, and saw sincerity
and a kind of affection she thought was long gone
from her life. Did she feel the same way? She didn't
know. "I'll think about it," she said. "I don't want to
make any promises I can't keep."
    Sam looked at her wistfully. "That's not your nice
way of saying 'let's just be friends,' is it?"
    Ro leaned across the table, put her arm around
Sam's shoulder, and pulled him toward her in a
forceful embrace. Then she kissed him squarely on
the lips, an action to which he gratefully and passion-
ately responded.
    Ro finally let go of the breathless man. "Sam," she
said in his ear, "does that answer your question?"
    Sam blinked at Ro, took a deep breath, and said,
"Yes, I guess it does."
    Ro said nothing, unsure of exactly what to say next.
She was rescued from the awkward silence by the
beep of her tombadge. She tapped the badge and
answered, "Ro here."
    "This is the bridge," came Picard's voice. "We
found a merchant ship within range, and we need you
and Lavelie on the bridge immediately. I'll send
someone else down there."
    "Yes, sir. On our way." Ro bolted to her feet, but
Sam caught her hand.
  "That was nice," he added.
    "Yes, it was," Ro said. She hurried out, with the
human right on her tail.

    Captain Picard beamed broadly at the face of a
solemn Patonite in the center of the viewscreen.

Beside him stood Hasmek, Ro sat at the conn, and
Taurik manned tactical. Lavelle crouched in a dark
corner of the dimly lit bridge, manning an auxiliary
console and a phaser pistol aimed at the Romulan.
    "Thank you for giving us the protection of your
noble vessel," said Picard with a friendly bow.
    "Peaceful travels," said the Patonite, "and may you
avoid the conflict."
    "If it is the wish of the Prophets," replied Picard,
glancing at a similar sentiment on the frame of the
viewscreen.
  "Defeat to the Federation," added the Patonite.
    "Defeat to the Federation," seconded the captain,
his smile now stretched to the breaking point.
    The transmission ended, and the screen returned to
a view of the sparkling starscape, oblivious to their
ruses and machinations. Picard slumped his shoul-
ders and released the rictus grin from his face. Every-
one breathed a sigh of relief, and the captain mo-
tioned to Ro. "Set course for the ringed planet. Does
it have a name?"
    "Not in our records," answered Ro, her fingers
moving swiftly over her console. "Course laid in.
ETA: five minutes at maximum warp." "Engage."
    Once again, the stars reverted to a blur--mere
streaks of light in the black firmament. This was a
crucial momentrathe last five minutes of their run,
when they would be naked to Dominion sensors. But
Picard hoped that the sensor sweeps weren't that
constantrathe Dominion had a lot of space to watch.
    "Weren't you once enemiesof the Patonites?"
asked Hasmek, making small talk.
 Picard took a breath, glad to be distracted. He




rummaged through the historical data in his mind
and answered, "We had a serious disagreement. That
was about a hundred years ago, and they still hold it
against us."
"What does that tell you?" asked Hasmek smugly.
"That doing good isn't always good," answered
Picard. "We've always known that, which is why
we've strengthened the First Contact protocols.
Would it have been better to simply conquer the
Patonites?"
    "By now," said Hasmek, "a hundred years later,
they would no doubt be loyal vassals, willing to fight
for you, rather than trade with the enemy and root for
your demise."
    "We win some, and we lose some." Picard looked
pointedly at the Romulan. "But we're going to win
this one."
    "I believe you might," replied the one-armed Rom-
ulan with amusement.
  "Taurik, any sign of pursuers?"
    "No, Captain," answered the Vulcan from the
tactical station.
    "I can put the planet on screen," said Ro, sounding
satisfied with their progress.
    Picard nodded, and the screen was taken over by a
blurry image of a banded, oblate spheroid. As the
image cleared, they saw a cloudy, blue-gray planet
encircled with black and yellow rings. The captain
couldn't help but be reminded of Saturn in his home
solar system, despite differences in coloration of the
clouds. As they drew closer and saw more detail, plus
a squadron moons, it was clear that the planet was a
giant.
  "Class-A planet," said Taurik. "Failed star. Plane-

tary surface may be tenuous; atmosphere of methane,
ammonia, hydrogen, helium--unsupportive of life.
The planet has thirteen moons. The rings have a
thickness of one to two kilometers, and they consist
mostly of unconnected particles of silicate and ice."
  "How big are the particles?" asked Picard.
    "They are small in size, mostly between ten and a
hundred centimeters in diameter. We should be safe
with our shields up."
"And well hidden," said Hasmek with approval.
We'll be saJe from Dominion patrols, thought Pi-
card, but will we be safe from each other? He couldn't
shake the nagging fear that one of their number was
trying to terminate the mission.
    "Entering the rings in thirty seconds," reported
Ro.
    Picard turned to see thick tan and black bands
cutting across the pale, gaseous surface of the planet.
As they drew closer, he could see the granular consis-
tency of the rings, which looked like a strip of beach
suspended in space.
 "Juno," said Picard with a smile.
 "Pardon me, Captain?" asked Ro.
    "This planet reminds me of one in my home solar
system, Saturn. It was named after an ancient god,
and I'd like to call this planet Juno, who was Saturn's
daughter."
    "That's easier to remember than 'seventh planet in
SU-395,'" replied Ro. "Entering the rings of Juno in
five seconds."
 "Slow to one-fourth impulse."
 "Yes, sir."
    Soon they were engulfed in sand-colored particles,
which were so thick that Picard found himself squint-
ing at the viewscreen. "Shield status?" he asked.




    "Shields holding at ninety-four percent," answered
Taurik. "Damage is minimal, but a prolonged stay of
several days would compound the damage and seri-
ously degrade shields."
    "I plan to be here no more than forty-eight hours,"
replied Picard.
    They suddenly entered a field of particles which
were entirely black, like lumps of coal or obsidian.
This must be one of the black bands, Picard decided.
    "I'm trying to find the collider," said Lavelle from
the rear of the bridge, "but a heavy concentration of
magentic particles is affecting the sensors."
     The captain stepped behind Ro. "Conn, get us back
into the light-colored particles, and come to a stop."
  "Yes, sir."
     A moment later, the crate-like transport floated in a
thick morass of sand, rocks, and ice cubes.
  "That's better," said Sam.
    Picard walked between the stations. "I want every-
one to look for that artificial wormhole. Use the
coordinates we stored before."
    "There is a gravitational drift," added Taurik. "If
we don't compensate, we will be on the other side of
the planet in seventeen-point-six hours."
  "Can we use a synchronous orbit?" asked Picard.
    "Inadvisable, sir. We would have to be on the inner
rings."
    "I can compensate," said Ro, "and keep our rela-
tive position, even though the ring is moving."
    "Sir, I found it!" called Sam Lavelie. Picard took
two quick steps toward the rear of the bridge and
hovered over the lieutenant's shoulder.
    "It's about an hour from here," he explained,
gazing at his readouts. "Our scanners have gotten a

 very strong signal, which matches your earlier sighting."
    "Begin recording and monitoring," ordered Picard,
"energy readings, magnetons, comm signals, whatev-
er emissions are coming from that thing. Can you put
it on the viewer, Lieutenant?"  "Yes, sir."
    A moment later, a silvery, skeletal tube appeared on
the screen, floating in the blackness of space. It was
hard to realize how immense the collider was until
Sam fine-tuned the image to show the ships surround-
ing it. Some darted through its coils like fish on a
tropical reef; others cruised the outside of the struc-
ture like flies on the carcass of a giant beast. Ten
kilometers long and two kilometers wide, Picard re-
minded himself, and every centimeter of it looked
impregnable. Their entire ship would fit inside one of
the joints connecting the supports at the gaping
mouth.
    He tapped his combadge and said, "Bridge to
Grof."
  "Grof here," answered the Trill.
    "The collider is in scanner and viewer range," said
Picard. "If you would, Professor, come up to the
bridge and start analyzing the data." "Are we in a safe place?"
    "Relatively," answered Picard. "We're in the rings
of a planet that I've code-named Juno. It doesn't seem
we've been detected."
"On my way, Captain," said the Trill excitedly.
"Why do you need him?" asked Hasmek with
curiosity. "It's clear that most of your crew doesn't
trust him."
    "They don't trust you either," whispered Picard,
"but you continue to prove your worth."




"Touch6," replied the Romulan with a sly smile.
When Enrak Grof stomped onto the bridge a mo-
ment later, Hasmek was careful to retreat toward the
rear, standing beside Taurik and Lavelie.
    Suddenly the bridge was crowded again, with peo-
ple staring at the tubular structure on the viewscreen.
It looked like what it was--a tunnel through the stars.
Despite the crowded conditions, Picard didn't have
the nerve to send any of them away. It was clear that
Grof reveled in seeing his handiwork again, while
Sam grimaced as though he were going to be sick to
his stomach.
    "Do we really have to destroy it?" begged Grof.
"It's so magnificent!"
    "The accelerator room," Picard reminded him
gently. "Remember, you said that if we destroyed
that control room, it would set them back a long
time."
    "Sir, I've been thinking," Sam cut in, taking a step
forward, "we might be able to start a chain reaction
that would damage the collider along its entire
length."
    "You just want to destroy it, don't you?" hissed
Grof angrily.
    "Yes, I do!" snapped Sam. "That thing's an abomi-
nation, built on the blood and bones of innocent
people!"
    "Mister Lavelie, you're dismissed." Picard spoke
firmly but not without some measure of sympathy. He
had been depending a great deal on Sam Lavelle,
pushing him hard, when his mental state was less than
ideal.
    "I'm sorry, sir," muttered Sam, lowering his head.
He rose from his station and backed toward the door.

    "Mister Hasmek, go with him," ordered the cap-
tain. "The two of you are a new pairing in our buddy
system. I think you could both use some rest."
    Sam paused in the doorway. "We really could take
it all out."
    "We'll have a strategy meeting later," promised
Picard. "Keep your idea in mind."
    "Some of us have earned your trust," said Hasmek
as he followed Sam off the bridge. With a part-
ing glance at Grof, he added, "Others just demand
it."
    The captain gritted his teeth and said nothing. He
hated siding with Grof, but the professor hadn't
exaggerated when he said that he was the most
important member of this party. None of the rest of
them possessed one-tenth of his knowledge of the
massive magneton collider and its potential weak-
nesses.
    "What insolence," muttered the Trill, gazing an-
grily after the the human and the Romulan. "I'm
afraid Sam has become partly deranged by his experi-
ences. I don't see why we need him for anything else.
Why not confine him to quarters for the duration?
And the Romulan, too."
    "Until we have devised a plan, we don't know
whose talents we need." Captain Picard pointed to
the console vacated by Lavelle. "Have a seat, Profes-
sor. There's a lot of data coming in, and we need to
know what stage they're in. If you can tell us what to
look for--"
    "No," grumbled the Trill, "it's simpler to do it
myself than to try to educate everyone. Just keep
people from interrupting me."
 Picard cleared his throat. "Very well."




    An hour later, the same crew remained on bridge
duty: Ro on conn, Taurik on tactical, Grof on the
auxiliary station, and Picard in charge of pacing. He
was doing an excellent job of buffing the deck with his
soft-soled Bajoran boots, but he wished the bridge of
the Orb of Peace were a few meters longer.
    Grof finally leaned back in his chair, folded his
arms, and clucked. "I'm sorry, Captain, but this
doesn't look good."
    The captain loomed over him. "What doesn't look
good?"
    The Trill pointed to overlapping windows of
data streaming across his screen. "The neutrino read-
ings show that they've been testing it, although not
on a large scale. The residual magneton readings are
higher than I would have liked--if I were still there
working on it--but they're within acceptable levels. I
only see a handful of workers and a lot of support
vessels."
  "What is your conclusion?" asked Picard.
    The burly Trill frowned. "It seems to me, Captain,
that it's already operational. I would say they're in the
latter stages of testing--still doing some tweaking,
though."
    Picard gritted his teeth and asked, "How soon
before they can bring through reinforcements from
the Gamma Quadrant?"
    "The post-construction plan was to bring through a
lone Jem'Hadar ship as the final test," answered Grof.
"I would say they are close to running that test. If
it's successful, the floodgates will open twelve hours
later. That's how long it will take to assemble the
fleet."
  Picard looked deeply into the bearded, spotted face

 of the Trill, wondering if this information were en-
 tirely truthful. Even if Grof were honest, was he
 accurate? All of their plans, their lives, and the future
 of the Federation depended on Grof's analysis, and he
 knew it. If he really wanted to protect his creation
 from harm, all he had to do was feed them false
 information.
    Unfortunately, Picard had little choice but to trust
the Trill. Lavelie and Taurik knew a few details, but
only Grof knew the layout.
    "Mister Taurik," he asked, "do you concur with the
professor's analysis?"
    The Vulcan nodded. "Yes, sir. Given the emissions,
it would seem that tests have commenced. Certainly,
the number of workers has been greatly reduced from
when we left."
    "What's it been, a week, a week-and-a-half?." asked
Grof.
    "Eight-point-three days," answered Taurik, cocking
his head.
    "At least they don't seem to be operating with undo
haste," said Grof, gazing at his readouts. "They're
sticking to the regular timetable."
    Picard straightened up and felt an unpleasant stiff-
ness in his back. "All right, we know we haven't got
much time. They could start bringing through ships
any moment, so we have to act quickly. Grof, I need
you with me; I'll have La Forge join us."
    "Fine, Captain, I'd like to get this meeting over
with." Grof stood and rubbed his hands importantly.
    Picard turned to the conn and gave his trusted pilot
a smile. "Ro, I need you to stay on the bridge."
    "Yes, sir," she replied. "I'11 keep making the neces-
sary course corrections."
The captain nodded. "Taurik, you stay here, too,




and monitor the collider. Let us know immediately if
there are any developments." "Yes, sir."
    Picard took one last look at the skeletal tunnel
stretching through the cosmos, and he shook his head.
Such control of time and space was unheard of--it
was both a remarkable achievement and a monstrous
threat. If only the Dominion could have created this
artificial wormhole in a time of peace, in a spirt of
peace. But so many inventions came during war,
when desperation, fear, and hatred fueled the imagi-
nation and the will.

Chapter Nine

SAM PACED ANXIOUSLY in the narrow confines of his
cabin, which was nothing but a converted storage
room. It was made even more cramped by the lean
Romulan stretched out on the sofa he had borrowed
from the rec room, which left Sam a flimsy cot. They
were both supposed to be sleeping, but Sam couldn't,
not after having embarrassed himself with his out-
burst on the bridge.
    Of course, he told himself, Captain Picard has
to defer to Enrak Grof. I did the same thing when I
was GroJ's captain. There ~ no way around that self
ish Trill, even though he is a collaborator and a
traitor/
    "Will you stop grinding your teeth," muttered
Hasmek, keeping his eyes purposefully closed. "We
might as well admit it, we're all part of GrolPs Follies.


He just wants to keep everything revolving around
him. You never know what he'll tell the captain next,
but it's always something that will keep him in the
spotlight."
    "He's valuable for his knowledge, not his personali-
ty," answered Sam.
    "And does he know half as much as he claims to
know?" scoffed the Romulan. "Thus far, Ro and I
have piloted this craft, and the captain has kept us
focused on the mission. What has Grof contributed,
except to cause dissension? What an egomaniac--the
way he got his notes delivered to the Federation. I'll
bet that scurrilous courier is sitting around some
tavern."
    Sam stopped his mindless pacing and stared at the
Romulan. "You'd kidnap Grof in a flash and take him
home with you, if you could. We all want to know
what he knows, and what he's going to do with his
knowledge."
    "I'll tell you one thing," countered Hasmek, "he's
not going to destroy his precious invention. It was
good that you challenged him on that point, because it
showed him for the liar he is."
    "Yeah," answered Sam absently. He was thinking
about Ro Laren and how unlikely it was that he would
be given a chance to spend any time with her--
alone--until this was all over. He tried not to think
about how it would probably end.
    "And now you and I have been dismissed from the
bridge," grumbled Hasmek, "although we've done
more than anybody for the success of this mission. We
brought the captain all the intelligence he has. With-
out us, he'd be totally lost! Not that he has much of an
idea of what he's doing, as it is."

    "That's enough," said Sam, flopping onto his bed.
"At least we're alive. That's more than billions of
people in this war can say. I remember when you
were telling us how grateful you were just to be
alive."
    "It's true," admitted Hasmek. "For that, I owe
Picard my allegiance and respect." He laughed at
Sam's startled expression. "Oh, you thought I didn't
know who he was? A bogus name and that dreadful
earring are not going to hide the best officer in
Starfleet. But you're a fool if you think Jean-Luc
Picard can protect us from death. Death stalks this
ship like a pack of hounds."
    Sam screwed his eyes shut and tried not to think
about the Romulan's dire words. Still, it was hard to
rest when his life was in the hands of a man he didn't
trust and didn't like--Grof.

    Captain Picard folded his hands in front of him and
concentrated on the animated conversation between
Enrak Grof and Geordi La Forge, two men who could
bat around technical terms with the best of them.
They were sitting in the captain's quarters, which had
recently served as brig on the Orb of Peace. Now, with
the addition of a table and chairs, it served as a ready
room.
    Picard understood most of the concepts and hypo-
thetical possibilities under discussion. He certainly
understood their goals and desired results, but Grof
and La Forge had yet to touch on the most difficult
part of their task.
    "Let's forget the collateral damage and the amount
of explosives for a moment," said the captain, slicing
a hand through the air. "We've got to figure out how




to get in there, deliver the charge to the right place,
and get out. Grof, I'm certain you'll know how to find
the control room and where to put--"
    "Me?" blurted Grof. He laughed nervously. "I'm
not going in there, or anywhere near the collider. Do
you know what they would do to me if they caught
me? This is a suicide mission, and I never agreed to
that. No, sir." He folded his arms and gazed obsti-
nately at Picard.
    The captain's lips thinned. "I don't intend to lose a
single person on this operation. I intend to get in there
and get out. Every step will be planned in advance,
including the escape route. Believe me, Professor, if
we don't do this correctly, all of our lives will be in
danger."
    The captain opened up his padd and took out a
stylus. "The first step is to get within transporter
range of the collider. We'll list all the options for
doing that, even if they're bad."
    Geordi shrugged. "Well, we could fight our way
in--that's the most direct and worst idea. We could
hijack a Dominion ship--"
    "Bah," grumbled Grof. "Why don't we just go up to
them and ask politely, 'May we please bomb your
collider?' This is pointless. It's a suicide mission, no
matter how you look at it!"
    Picard frowned at the Trill, fighting down an im-
pulse to slap a hand over his mouth. "Are you saying
that nothing ever comes close to this giant structure,
floating in the middle of space? What about mete-
oroids and space debris? How does their security
handle near-collisions and pass-bys?"
    "Of course, there is a normal amount of debris,"
conceded Grof, "especially with all the construction

 and traffic. The collider has shields, but they draw a
 lot of power. They're really intended to be used only
 during a full-scale attack. The wormhole can't oper-
 ate with shields up. Normally sensors probe the
 passing objects, chart their course, and pass the
 information to the computer. Then robotic phasers
 shoot down any objects that look as if they'll hit the
 collider."
     "So a certain amount of debris just drifts by," said
 Picard, "and is allowed to go on its merry way."
     The Trill looked at him, his dark eyes widening in
 excitement. "Yes, yes, that is true! I believe the
 tolerance is two hundred kilometers."
     "Well within transporter range," said Geordi with a
 smile.
    "So we could float an unmanned bomb disguised as
space debris close to the collider," said Grof, "but
what then?"
    "It wouldn't necessarily be unmanned," replied
Picard, thinking on his feet. "If we could disguise our
space debris well enough, we could station two or
three people inside--and beam the charge over to the
target. If necessary, we could send a team over there,
tOO."
    "If the decoy is small enough, we can jam their
sensors, no problem," said Geordi. "You know, we
already have the perfect shell to build this thing
around."
    Picard smiled. "The escape pod. Of course, that's
our last pod, and when it's gone, there's no way off the
Orb of Peace."
    Grof gulped. "These people who go over to plant
the bomb--do you think you could beam them
back?"




    "That would be the plan," answered Picard. "Al-
though we might need a diversion. It's also possible
that we won't need to beam anyone over. We might
be able to accomplish this entirely with the trans-
porter."
    Grof nodded thoughtfully. "This plan is still mostly
suicidal, but not completely. I'm impressed."
    "We're also good at what we do," said Geordi,
rising from the table. "I've got to scrounge together a
portable transporter, because the escape pod doesn't
have one. I may have to disable the main transporter.
Is that all right, Captain?"
    "Wait a minute, Geordi. I want to discuss other
matters with you." The captain turned to the Trill,
who was making notes on his padd. "Professor, I hope
you're working on a schematic of the collider, espe-
cially the accelerator room and surrounding corri-
dors."
    "I was listing the subsystems we need to take out,"
replied Grof. "I'm going to hate to destroy the accel-
erator room, but it can be rebuilt, given time."
    "Why don't you go back to the bridge and start
drawing those schematics. I understand you're work-
ing from memory, but be as accurate as you can."
    "Count on me, Captain." Gripping his padd, the
burly Trill jumped to his feet and charged out the
door.
     Geordi watched him go, then smiled. "I'm glad he's
 on our side... finally."
     "He had better be," said Picard, thin-lipped.
 "You've got a lot to do. Realistically, how long do you
 think it will take to prepare our decoy?"
     The engineer shrugged. "We'll need time for con-
 struction and testing--let's say, twenty-four hours."

156

    "I hope we have that long," answered Picard
grimly. "Before we get distracted, I think we should
manually program the subspace beacon and ready it
for launch. We don't know how long it will take for
the Enterprise to get here."
    Geordi nodded. "Yes, sir. Do you know what
message you want to encode?"
    "Just these coordinates, the coordinates of the
collider, and a deadline in twenty-four hours." Picard
led the way out of the room.
    The engineer followed his captain into the bowels
of the ship--the little-used third level. In the aft part
of the underbelly were pipes and tubes for life-
support systems; they squeezed through there and
entered a long, narrow room with rails on the deck
and ceiling. This was the torpedo room, a lonesome
place since they had spent all but one torpedo early in
their journey.
    According to the green light, their single remaining
torpedo rested in chute one, aimed fore; the aft chutes
were all empty, as were the racks which normally held
spare torpedoes. However, a long silver cabinet rested
under the racks--it looked like a large toolbox with a
lighted membrane panel for a lock. Geordi bent over
the tiny instrument panel and studied it with his
implants.
    "I was thinking," he said, while entering key-
strokes, "we could use the hydrogen scoop to gather
particles to camouflage the meteoroid."
 'TII assign someone to that," promised Picard.
 Geordi frowned at the box. "Why isn't this thing
working? Let me try the alternate code ....Ah, there
it is." He stepped back.
 With a slight whir, robotic arms gently lifted the

157




cabinet and set it on the tracks. The upper covers
of the box lifted automatically and folded neatly
aside, revealing a small beacon the size and shape of
a fireplug. An amber light blinked soothingly on its
tip.
    Geordi still looked troubled. "It's not supposed to
come up, armed like that. I haven't done anything to
this beacon. Have you, sir?"
    "No," answered Picard, not liking the tone of his
eompanion's voice. "Who's had access?"
    "We haven't sent anyone down here since we res-
cued Lavelie and his crew." The engineer lifted the
cover and put it carefully back into place over the
beacon. "Although we haven't restricted access down
here either."
    The captain scowled, realizing that he had made a
grave mistake in not protecting the torpedo room. But
he only had a skeleton crew, and it wasn't possible to
guard every square centimeter of this ship, especially
from someone on board.
    Geordi yanked open an access panel on the side of
the beacon, revealing an array of miniature circuits
and wires. He also opened an instrument panel lo-
cated on the rear fin of the beacon. Checking the
readouts as he manipulated the inner circuits, his
expression grew more and more concerned. Picard
could tell that the prognosis was not good.
    Finally La Forge sat back on his haunches and
shook his head. "We were lucky they didn't know
exactly what they were doing, or I wouldn't have
noticed that they miscalibrated the guidance system
and disabled the subspace relay. We would have
launched this thing, thinking all was well, and it
would have crashed in silence."

    Picard's eyes narrowed. "There can't be any doubt
it was sabotage?"
    "No doubt. When they got into it, they accidentally
reset the defaults, which is why my access code didn't
work, and why it came up in ready mode."
    "How much knowledge did someone need to do
this?"
    "A passing acquaintance with Starfleet codes and
beacons is all they'd need. In fact, this could've been
done days ago."
    The engineer looked around the cramped under-
belly and scowled. "And no video logs down here...
or anywhere else on board. I've been on the Enterprise
too long. I forgot that security isn't built in on every
ship."
  "Is the beacon fixable?" asked Picard.
    "Yes, but not if I'm devoting all my attention to
making a fake meteoroid, a bomb, a jamming device,
and a portable transporter."
    "The mission comes first," said the captain
gravely. "At least now we know for sure that the
enemy is on board. You'd better check all of your
equipment."
    Geordi looked stricken. "The explosives and
fuses!"
    He ran down the long deck, between the torpedo
rails, then squeezed under the pipes. With a dagger
twisting in his stomach, Picard trailed after him,
certain that they were at least one step behind their
tormentor, probably more. What had been an un-
pleasant possibility was now a terrible reality. They
had a traitor within their midst, and he would have to
deal directly with the threat.
 Under normal circumstances, the captain would

158                                                                   159




turn back, abort the mission. But these were not
normal circumstances. No one else knew about the
artificial wormhole--no one else was in a position to
stop it. As happened so often to Picard, the job was
his or no one's.
    The saboteur hadn't wanted to reveal himself just
yet, but they knew. Could they use this to their
advantage--hunt the traitor down before he, or she,
knew they were on the trail? On this tiny ship, with
everyone already in each other's pockets, could they
even keep this a secret? So far, the only ones who
knew were him, Geordi, and their foe.
    No, thought Picard, he had to be rooted out and
chased to ground. We cannot be distracted from our
mission.
    With a number of decisions weighing heavily on
him, the captain followed La Forge to a locked storage
room off the main cargo hold. The smell of rotting
fruit was rather pungent down here, and Picard made
a mental note to have the crates removed. At the
moment, food seemed to be the least of their con-
cerns.
    He stood stoically as the engineer unlocked the
door to the storage room. The walls were partly mesh.
Although they looked intact, they looked uncomfort-
ably flimsy, too. The transporter didn't have vaults or
force-fields, so it was difficult to say what precautions
they could have taken.
    The crestfallen look on Geordi's face told the
captain all he needed to know. The engineer held up a
plasma pack which had been roasted black--it looked
like a bag of old coffee grounds.
    "Our friend has been here," growled Geordi. "If I
had a tricorder, I could tell you how bad it is, but all

 of the stores look ruined--fuses, plastic explosives,
 plasma packs, everything."
    "Haven't you got anything else that will do the
job?"
    Geordi smiled grimly. "Well, there's that old
standby--a phaser on overload. But that's highly
inaccurate, and we don't even have Starfleet phas-
ers."
    Picard felt his shoulders slump, and he quickly
straightened them. "What about the hardware repli-
cators?"
    "They're in engineering, right under everyone's
noses." The engineer quickly tapped his cornbadge.
"La Forge to engineering."
    "Woil here," came the pleasant voice of the
Antosian.
    "Yes, uh... listen, I planned to run a level-three
diagnostic on the hardware replicators, but I forgot.
Have they been operating?"
    "Yes, sir, I think so. We replicated some magnesium
couplers about half-an-hour ago. Want me to run that
diagnostic for you?"
    "No, no, that's all right. Get all the systems up to
date, because we have a lot of work ahead of us."
    "I heard, sir, and I think it's a good idea to float the
bomb in there as space debris!"
 Geordi looked stunned. "Who told you that?"
    "I think Grof started the rumor, but it is correct,
isn't it?"
    "Keep your mind on your job," ordered the engi-
neer. "And keep an eye on those replicators. La Forge
out." He shook his head with disgust. "Blabber-
mouth!"
 "Let's remember, Grof is a civilian."

160                                               161




    Geordi scowled. "What a fix. We haven't got
enough people to guard every system on this ship,
and we don't know if we can trust the people we've
got!"
    "Leave that to me," ordered the captain. "You go
ahead and turn that escape pod into a meteoroid. Use
as many of the crew as you need. In fact, it will be
good to keep people working in a group--make sure
they're involved."
    "Yes, sir," replied Geordi. "And I ought to be able
to re-create some of the lost explosives with the
hardware replicators. It will be hard to work with
these people and look at them, and not wonder who it
is. Who couM it be?"
  "Right now, I'm only ruling out you and me."
  "You suspect Ro?" whispered La Forge.
    Picard rubbed his chin. "Let's say I can hear Will
Riker in my mind, telling me that she's an avowed
enemy of the Federation. We've been counting on a
lot of leopards turning their spots--maybe too many."
    "Still, it's hard to believe... we have to find
them." La Forge slammed a fist into his palm.
    "Geordi, you have to forget about the spy, the
beacon, and everything else, and concentrate on
building the meteoroid."
    "Yes, sir," said Geordi with resolve. "I'11 be sleep-
ing in a hammock in the escape pod until further
notice. Nobody gets in or out, without my permission.
Security will be my job, too."
    As Geordi stepped carefully through the underbelly
of the transport ship, Picard called after him. "Let's
keep this between ourselves until I tell you other-
wise."
  "I'm in no hurry to tell anyone, Captain," Geordi

assured him. He headed up the ladder and disap-
peared into the second deck.
    Picard tugged on his Bajoran earring, knowing that
he would have to eliminate his shipmates from
suspicion--one by one--until he found the enemy in
their midst.

162                                                                  163




Chapter Ten

Ro Lam~N ,}~outmz she would go mad if she had to
listen to any more of Groffs cackling and gleeful
muttering to himself. He was quite pleased with his
genius, but she wished he would take it elsewhere,
away from the bridge of the Orb of Peace while she
was on duty.
    "This is really good!" he complimented himself as
he worked. "Yes, it was exactly like that."
    She turned to look at the obnoxious Trill and
caught the eye of the Vulcan, Taurik, on tactical. He
raised an eyebrow and resumed monitoring his read-
outs. Ro sighed loudly, and turned back to the conn.
She wasn't due to make another correction for three
minutes, and floating in a sand pile was getting a bit
boring. She had to admit that some of her resentment
with Grof stemmed from the fact that he was privy to

164

the captain's plans and she wasn't, although the Trill
hadn't tried very hard to keep them secret.
    From his exuberance, she assumed that the plan to
float a bomb, disguised as space debris, close to the
collider was a good one. At least the opinionated Grof
was satisfied. In his zeal and creative flourish, she
could see why he had succeeded so well in his profes-
sion, undoubtedly at the expense of anyone who got
in his way.
    The Bajoran was startled from her reverie by the
sound of footsteps, and she glanced back to see
Captain Picard enter the bridge, followed by Tamla
Horik and Enrique Maserelli. Suddenly it was crowded
again.
  "Status, Mister Taurik?" asked the captain.
    "No change, sir, although a few more work parties
are active."
    "Last minute tweaks," suggested Grof, barely look-
ing up from his work. "I'd bet they're going to make
another test soon. You'll be happy to know, Captain,
that my work is progressing well."
    Picard gave him a forced smile. "Thank you, Pro-
fessor. Ro and Taurik, please come with me."
    The Bajoran breathed a sigh of relief. Finally I'll
hear what's going on J?om the captain, not Grof. She
rose from her chair just as Tamla Horik sauntered
toward her.
    "You've got a correction to make every four and a
half minutes," Ro began. "It's along this gradient--"
    "I know," said Tamla Horik. "The captain told me
about it, and I studied your log. I don't foresee any
problems." She plunked herself into the vacated seat.
    "Great," muttered Ro. With relief, she turned to
the captain and was surprised to find him looking

165




stern and tight-lipped. She had the uncomfortable
feeling that she was about to be chewed out rather
than taken into his confidence.
  "Keep working, Grof," said the captain.
  "Aye, sir!"
    With a wave, Picard led the Vulcan and the Bajoran
off the bridge. They headed down the spiral staircase
to the lower level, and into the captain's quarters.
    Picard sat at the table, still looking grave and
preoccupied. Ro took a seat across from him, and she
tried to appear as unconcerned as the Vulcan beside
her. Nevertheless, the captain's stern visage was dis-
concerting. They both folded their hands and waited
patiently for him to brief them.
    With his brow knit into a double-stitch, Picard's
gaze shifted between Ro and Taurik. "I must take the
two of you into my confidence, and I'm ordering you
not to tell anyone else what we discuss in here."
    "Yes, sir," answered Ro, wondering why he hadn't
told Grof the same thing.
  "Yes, sir," replied Taurik.
    Picard's jaw clenched in anger as he spoke, "Have
either one of you been in the torpedo room in the last
few days?"
     Now Ro didn't even try to hide her puzzlement.
"No, sir. There was no reason."
  "No, sir," answered Taurik.
  "How about the cargo hold?"
    "I was down there once or twice to get vegetables,"
said Ro, "and to put away the supplies the Talavians
gave us."
 "And I as well," answered Taurik.
    "Did you see anyone else in the storage room at the
time, the one with mesh walls?"

166

    Ro frowned puzzledly, trying to remember what
had been stored in there. "No, sir--"
    "Is something wrong with the cache of explosives?"
asked Taurik bluntly.
    "Yes," answered Picard, never taking his eyes off
the Bajoran. "We have to determine who has been
performing acts of sabotage against this ship and her
mission. Ro, would you consent to have Taurik do a
mind-meld on yon?"
    Ro sat straight in her chair and bristled at the
implications. "Is this a loyalty test, Captain?"
    "No, this is a survival test. I have to find a traitor in
our midst, and logic suggests I start with you."
    "I was never a traitor," said Ro softly. "Call me an
early-adopter of the 'Cardassians-can't-be-trusted' rule,
but I'm not a traitor."
  "Then let Taurik mind-meld with you."
    Ro glanced at the stoic Vulcan, who raised an
eyebrow, as if the prospect of melding with her might
prove enlightening.
    She fought down every angry, distrustful nerve in
her being, and there were a lot of them. Maybe she
had earned the title of "Most Likely to Be a Traitor,"
but she had also earned some respect, including the
right not to have her mind and inner thoughts probed.
    "This is unworthy of you, Captain," she said
through clenched teeth.
    His eyes narrowed. "I have a war to fight, and a fleet
of Jem'Hadar warships could come pouring through
that tunnel any minute. I haven't got time to spare
anyone's feelings. I have to find out who is working
against us. If you were in my position, you would do
the same thing."
 Ro sat back, blasted by the famous Picard forth-




rightness. "You're right," she said, "I'd do the same
thing. All right, Taurik can go tip-toeing through my
mind, but he'd better wear his knee-high boots."
    Picard's stern visage finally cracked, and he gave
her an anguished smile. "I'm sorry I had to be so
insistent. We won't do the mind-meld--I just wanted
to know if you would allow it."
    Ro grinned with relief and slumped back in her
chair. "Some other time, Taurik."
    "I would have obeyed orders," said the Vulcan,
"but I caution you, Captain, that I am unable to
perform a number of mind-melds in a short period of
time. Each one would be extremely draining, both on
myself and the subject, necessitating several hours of
recovery time."
    "That's all right, Taurik," said Picard, "I don't
intend for you to perform a mind-meld on anyone,
but it's the only threat I have. I believe a willingness to
go through with it shows some innocence. If anyone
steadfastly refuses to allow it, we may have to take
other measures."
"Who's next on your list?" asked Ro. "Grof?"
"No. We have to leave the professor alone to do his
job. Besides, he doesn't have to resort to subterfuge to
throw us off, he only has to give us false information,
which he can do any time he wants. Like it or not, the
mission depends on Grof. And La Forge, too. We have
to leave both of them alone."
    Picard looked at the Vulcan. "You present a prob-
lem, but I believe your willingness to perform the
mind-meld exonerates you. None of this proves any-
thing, of course, but it's a starting place. I want to see
how everyone reacts to the threat of discovery.
    "The next time we go through this process, it will be
with Lavelie and Hasmek, but I wanted to try it first

168

with the two of you. I assumed if anyone was likely to
refuse on principle, it would be Ro." He flashed the
Bajoran a brief smile.
    "If there's a spy on board, we need to be ex-
tremely careful," cautioned Ro. "You need back-up,
security--"
    "I agree," said Picard, "but we have to proceed in
parallel with our mission. I don't want to disrupt our
teamwork, now that we're finally in position and have
a good plan. Ro, I'd like you to report to La Forge in
the escape pod and help him all you can. Leave the
investigation up to me. I'll call you as I need you."
    Ro stood and rapped on the table. "You're taking a
big gamble, Captain."
    "I know," he replied gravely. "But it would be
worse to disrupt our mission to have a divisive witch-
hunt--that would be playing into their hands. Do
your jobs. This investigation is my responsibility."

    Hasmek groaned and sat up on the sofa in Sam's
makeshift quarters. "When are we getting out of
here?"
    Sam set down his padd, upon which he had been
writing a letter to his sister in New Jersey. He had no
idea how he was going to get it delivered, but it made
him feel better. It made him feel connected.
    "Relax," he said, "they'll get around to us when
they need something. It's not that big of a crew, and
the others will have to sleep sometime."
    "Do you ever think about getting out of here?"
asked Hasreek, staring absently at the ceiling. "I don't
mean this room, but the war, the insanity. You're a
smart fellow, Sam, you must think about getting out."
    "That wouldn't be smart," answered Sam. "There's
nowhere to go, and no way to get there."




The Romulan turned and looked earnestly at him.
"You could help me get home."
    "The captain's already promised to get you home,"
answered Sam uneasily.
    "But we both know that's not a high priority to
him. Picard is much more likely to get us all killed
rather than get us home. If you helped me, I could
make sure that neither the Federation nor the Domin-
ion could ever harm you again."
    Sam burst out laughing. "If you could promise that,
you'd be a miracle worker, not a one-armed Romulan
who's awfully far from home."
    "When things start to go wrong," said the Romu-
lan, "just stick with me."
    "Okay," said Sam, still mildly amused. Everyone in
this war thought they had a recipe for survival, a plan,
when all they had was a tenuous grasp on reality and
old-fashioned luck, or lack of it.
    He picked up his padd and finished the letter to his
sister: "So, Joanne, I hope this war is treating you
better than it's treating me. I know it's affecting
everyone, wherever they are. You always had a more
fatalistic view of life than me, so you're probably
coping all right. I keep thinking I can change itwdo
something to have an impact. I'm trying, but I don't
know if anything can be done. I hope it will come to a
head soon, one way or another. Love, your Sammy."
    With his eyes getting damp, Sam turned off the
padd and closed the lid, just as a knock sounded on
the door.
    "Come in!" called Hasmek, sounding downright
cheerful.
    The door opened, and Captain Picard walked in,
followed by Taurik. Sam jumped up and greeted his
Vulcan friend. "Hi, Taurik."

     The Vulcan looked more stoic than usual as he gave
 Sam only a slight nod.
     "To what do we owe this pleasure?" asked Hasmek,
 rising to his feet and bowing. "Are we about to be
 released?"
     "That depends," answered Picard. "I have a few
 questions to ask both of you, and I don't want our
 conversation to leave this room."
  "This sounds serious," replied Hasmek.
     "It is. Have either one of you been in the torpedo
 room recently?"
     "No, sir." Sam glanced quizzically at Hasmek, who
 smiled.
  "What's in the torpedo room?" asked the Romulan.
  "Please answer my question," insisted Picard.
  "No."
    "Have either one of you been in the cargo hold,
other than to handle food?"
    "What's in the cargo hold?" asked Hasmek with
amusement.
  "No, sir," answered Sam.
    "Are either one of you performing acts of sabotage
against this vessel?" The captain's stern gaze traveled
from one man to another.
  "No, sir," answered Sam resentfully.
    "I stopped doing that when you blew off my arm,"
said Hasmek with a mirthless grin.
    "Will you submit to a mind-meld to prove it?"
asked Picard.
    The Romulan burst out laughing. "Oh, go right
ahead, but it won't prove a thing."
 "What do you mean?" asked the captain.
    "I mean, I'm married to a Vulcan, and she's an
adept instructor in mind-melding. In fact, she was a
child prodigy. I've been exposed to lots of melds, and

170                                                                171




I've learned the techniques to resist them, which I will
not hesitate to use."
The captain frowned and glanced at Taurik.
"This is possible," answered the Vulcan. "Hasmek
has mentioned before that he is married to a Vulcan,
and we know that Romulans have considerable inter-
est in the procedure."
    The Romulan lifted his chin with pride. "In fact,
that's the reason I was chosen for this delicate
assignment--my resistance to the Vulcan mind-
meld."
"You would submit, if I asked you?" said Picard.
With a sneer, the Romulan pointed to his empty
sleeve. "I'm in no condition to fight you, so I would
submit. But I guarantee that you won't learn any more
about me than you already know."
    The smug smile vanished from the Romulan's face.
"Besides, Captain, it's obvious that your nemesis is
Grof. He's the one who stands the most to gain and
the least to lose. He already runs the ship."
    The captain sniffed disdainfully at the barb. "And
you, Mister Lavelie, would you submit to a mind-
meld?"
    "Yes, sir." Sam came to attention, but he couldn't
hide the fear on his face as he thought about having an
unknown enemy on board. "Sir, you really should
look closely at Grof."
    "Or that Maquis officer," said Hasmek. "Once a
traitor, always a traitor."
    "It's not Ro!" snapped Sam. "You can just forget
that idea."
    "A little protective of the Bajoran, are we?" asked
Hasreek with amusement.
    "That's enough," ordered Picard. "If you accuse
somebody of these very serious charges, you had

172

 better present some proof. Do either one of you have
 any proof?."
  "His words, his own actions," insisted Sam.
     "I could say the same about Ro Laren," answered
 Picard, "if we are going by past experience. I've tried
 to give everyone on this vessel a new start, but
 someone has reverted to type. I'll find them."
    "You'd better," said Hasmek grimly, "or this crew
will mutiny."
    Picard's eyes narrowed at his former foe. "We're in
a desperate situation, and I won't hesitate to take
desperate measures. Do I make myself clear?"
    "Yes, sir!" piped Sam, although his confidence was
waning.
    "We finally have a workable plan to take out the
collider," said the captain, "and we have a lot of work
to do. I'm expecting both of you to do your share."
    Hasmek gaped at him. "Won't that be rather diffi-
cult, with someone on the ship trying to stop us? Isn't
this the same person who tried to starve us to death?"
    Picard ignored him. "I want the two of you to
relieve Woil in engineering. Tell him to get some
sleep. He lost his buddy when we lost Shonsui, but
we'll find him a new one. Keep each other in sight at
all times, and be prepared to assist La Forge from
engineering."
    "It's time to pray to the war gods," declared
Hasmek, "because we are in deep trouble."
    "Keep that opinion to yourself," ordered Picard,
"and don't tell anyone what we discussed in this
room. We're going to depend on the buddy system.
Now go to your station."
    "Yes, sir," answered Sam, squeezing past them to
get out the door. He was glad to be going back on

173




duty, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was
headed downhill in an old red wagon with the wheels
falling off.

    Ro Laren followed Captain Picard and Taurik onto
the bridge of the Orb of Peace. Grof sat at the aux-
iliary console, looking self-satisfied and self-absorbed,
Tamla Horik was on the conn, and Enrique Maserelli
was on tactical. The viewscreen showed a split view of
the magneton collider in one half and the perpetual
sandstorm of Juno's rings in the other.
    "Hello, Captain," said Grof cheerfully, "I was just
about to show you the first draft of the floor plan. I
believe it's very close, although there may be some
things I've forgotten."
    Picard gave him a polite smile. "That's excellent,
Professor. I need to devote full attention to that, so let
me dispose of a few other matters first. Why don't you
report to Mr. La Forge at the escape pod. He has a few
questions for you."
    Ro smiled inwardly. She had been with the captain
when he had warned Geordi that he would be sending
Grof down, and that he should keep him busy.
    "Of course," answered Grof, bounding to his feet,
the picture of cooperation and confidence. "Is there
anything else you would like me to convey to Com-
mander La Forge?"
    "Only that the three of us will meet later." With a
nod of his head, Picard dismissed the scientist and
turned his attention toward Maserelli and Horik. As
Grof stomped down the stairs, Enrique squirmed
under Picard's baleful gaze, while the Deltan kept her
attention on her console, and her back to the captain.
Taurik stepped toward the tactical station, and

 Enrique realized that he was being relieved. Ro
 moved quickly behind Tamla Horik at the conn.
   "Status?" asked Picard.
  "Maintaining position," answered Horik.
     Enrique looked down at his readouts and reported,
 "Almost no work crews are present at the moment,
 and most of the support vessels have backed off. Grof
 thinks they're about to do another test, but then, he's
 been saying that for hours."
     Picard nodded gravely. "I have to speak with both
 of you. Taurik, take tactical. Ro, on the conn."
    Enrique looked curious as he stepped away from the
tactical station. Tamla Horik relinquished the conn to
Ro. She and Enrique stood at attention, respectful
and alert, probably thinking they were about to be
briefed on the plan to take out the collider.
    "What I'm about to tell you is to be kept in
confidence, and not to leave this bridge," began the
captain. "Have either one of you been to the torpedo
room recently?"
    Enrique shook his head. "No, sir, I've never been
there."
    "Me neither," answered Tamla. "Is something
wrong with our last torpedo?"
    "No, but we have had two incidents of attempted
sabotage, along with the earlier episode with the food
replicators."
    "What does that mean?" muttered Enrique ner-
vously.
    "It means we are taking measured precautions to
root out the traitor on board, without disrupting our
mission. Neither one of you is under any particular
suspicion, but we have to make sure. Therefore, I'm
going to ask you to submit to a Vulcan mind-meld."

174                                                                                175




    Tamla gave Taurik a nervous smile. "I suppose that
wouldn't be a problem."
 Picard turned to Enrique. "And you?"
    "I don't... I don't know, sir," said the handsome
human with the dark beard. "I've always been scared
of mind-melds--I mean, you could go crazy, or die!"
    "Highly unlikely," replied Taurik. "However, reac-
tions do vary from subject to subject."
    "I'm afraid you don't have much choice," said
Picard. "It's an order."
    Enrique gulped, straightened his shoulders, and
stared straight ahead. "Okay, sir. Can I... can I hold
Tamla's hand?"
    A smile slipped from Picard's taut face. "That's
unnecessary. We won't perform the mind-meld at this
time, but I'm grateful that both of you consented."
    "Yes, sir," breathed Enrique, his shoulders slump-
ing with relief.
    "Return to your stations. Ro and Taurik, you're
with me."
    The captain strode off the bridge, and the Vulcan
and the Bajoran jumped to their feet and hurried after
him. He paused at the top of the spiral staircase,
glanced around, and whispered, "Our last subject is
Jozarnay Woil, who ought to be asleep in the dorms.
I'm not sure if I should be disappointed or pleased
with our progress so far, because everyone seems
innocent."
    "There is logic in this course of action," said
Taurik, "although the findings may not be conclu-
sive."
    "I know." Picard tugged thoughtfully on his ear-
ring. "Thus far, no one seems unduly concerned
about going through a mind-meld, which is interest-
ing to me."

    "Perhaps it's not as fearsome a procedure as
Hasmek believes," observed Taurik dryly.
"It should be fearsome, to the wrong person."
With a wave, Captain Picard led them down the
spiral staircase and along the corridor. A moment
later, they stopped outside the large dormitory, where
so many of their original crew had been murdered. No
one deigned to sleep there now, except for the monk-
ish Antosian, who preferred open spaces to tiny
cabins and corners.
    Picard tapped a wall panel, and the door opened.
He led the way into the darkened room, which re-
minded Ro of a low-ceilinged gymnasium. Rows of
hammocks, which had once hung like moss from the
ceiling, were now gone, taken by people to furnish
their new quarters. Geordi slept in one of the ham-
mocks aboard the escape pod.
    Loud snoring led them to the sleeping Antosian,
who was curled up in the center of the room in a
morass of sofa pillows, taken from the empty rec
rooms. Ro regretted that they had to wake him up--
in fact, he looked so blissful that she wanted to curl up
beside him and go to sleep.
    "Lights!" barked Picard, and a ceiling full of tubes
glimmered on, bathing the room with artificial sun.
    "Huh?" muttered Woil, cringing and swiping a
hand at the offending light. He tried to burrow into
his cushions.
    "Wake up, Mister Woil," said the captain. "That's
an order."
    Recognizing the voice, he rolled over, blinked at
Picard, and staggered to his feet. The Antosian's
usually neat bun of black hair looked disheveled and
ratty, with wisps sticking out at odd angles. He looked
weary, half asleep, and Ro's sympathy went out to

176                                                                   177




him. She hoped he wouldn't resist the order, necessi-
tating the mind-meld. Although she didn't exactly
love this ragtag crew, she didn't want to discover that
one of them was a traitor and murderer.
    "Am I on duty, sir?" asked Woil with sleepy confu-
sion.
    "At ease," said Picard. "We need information. Have
you been in the torpedo room since your arrival on
this ship?"
    "No, sir," answered the Antosian, frowning in
thought. "I don't think so."
 "What about the cargo hold?"
    "No, sir, I've mainly been in engineering, with a
little bridge duty. Wait a minute, I believe I went into
the hold once to check a stasis field."
    "Did you ever enter the storage area at the back, the
one with mesh walls?"
    "No, sir." The tall Antosian rubbed his eyes, trying
to wake up. "May I ask why, sir?"
    "There have been two more possible acts of sabo-
tage against this ship and her mission. Are you
responsible for any of them?"
    Woil blinked at him, then smiled. When he realized
the captain was deadly serious, the smile slid off his
pudgy face. He looked uncertainly from the captain to
Taurik and finally to Ro. Her stomach started churn-
ing, because she had a premonition that the Antosian
was not going to submit.
 "Why do you suspect me?" asked Woil.
    "We suspect everyone," replied Picard. "Will you
answer my question?"
    "No, it wasn't me. I didn't commit any acts of
sabotage!" He sounded both pleading and indignant,
reactions which Ro could easily understand.
 "Will you submit to a Vulcan mind-meld?"

     Woil narrowed his eyes and looked suspiciously at
 Taurik. "No, sir, I won't. That's against the beliefs
 and laws of my people."
    "I should make myself clear," said Picard. "This is
an order."
    "I respectfully decline, sir." The Antosian lifted his
chin and stared straight ahead. "We are taught that
such intrusions into the mind are the same as violat-
ing a person's body."
    Ro's stomach twisted into a bigger knot, and her
hand inched toward her phaser. She could see Pi-
card's shoulders rise and fall as he decided how to
deal with this insubordination.
    "I know Antosian teachings," said Picard with
sympathy, "and this isn't the same as the techniques
that were forbidden on your planet. There will be no
lasting harm, no intrusion, other than to review the
few days since you arrived on this vessel. Ro, did I ask
the same of you, despite your objections?"  "Yes, sir," she answered.
    "I still refuse," declared the Antosian. "I doubt if
you'll be able to bring court-martial charges against
me for refusing."
    Picard's lips thinned. "Mister Taurik, can you per-
form the procedure on a person who is stunned?"
    "Yes, sir," answered the Vulcan, surveying Jozarnay
Woil with interest.
"Ro, draw your phaser and set it to light stun."
"Yes, sir." Anticipating that order, she had the
weapon halfway out of its holster before the captain
finished his sentence. She double-checked the setting
on the Bajoran phaser to make sure it was set to stun.
    "Wait a minute!" growled the Antosian, dropping
into a defensive crouch and backing away from them.
"This is sacrilege!"

179




    "I'm giving you one last chance," warned the
captain. "Nobody gets out of this test."
    "What about the Trill and the Romulan?" protested
Woil. "Are you saying they checked out clean?"
    "Everyone I've asked so far had agreed to the mind-
meld," answered Picard truthfully. "You're the only
one who hasn't."
    The Antosian grimaced at the difficulty of his
decision. Ro felt sorry for him, because she knew how
difficult it was to forsake long-held beliefs for a greater
good.
 "Submit to it," she begged him.
 "No!"
 Reluctantly, Picard ordered, "Fire."
    The big Antosian ducked and tried to scramble
away, but Ro drilled him in the shoulder with a phaser
beam. He took one more step and sprawled on his
stomach across the barren deck.
    She lowered her weapon, regretting the stunning
that would lead to a forced mind-meld. Unfortu-
nately, Woil hadn't given them any choice. She could
tell from the captain's troubled expression that he
wasn't happy over their actions either. Anyone who
thought a commanding officer had to like every order
he gave didn't know much about command.
    Picard turned distastefully to Taurik and said,
"Proceed." The Vulcan closed his eyes, put his hands
together, and seemed to meditate.
 "Isn't there any other way?" asked Ro.
"We have to know for sure," said Picard grimly.
After a moment, the Vulcan opened his eyes and
moved to the unconscious body. He turned Woil over
and positioned his head and neck. Just as he spread
the fingers of his right hand and placed them on the

180

Antosian's cheekbone and chin, Picard's combadge
chirped.
  "Picard here," he said impatiently.
    "Captain{" came Enrique's breathless voice. "The
magneton and neutrino readings from the collider are
going off the scale. We think they're operating the
artificial wormhole!"
    "Alert Grof, and have him meet me on the bridge,"
ordered Picard, rushing for the door. He pointed back
at Ro and Taurik. "Go ahead with the mind-meld,
while he's still out."
    "Yes, sir." Ro still felt reluctant, but a direct order
was a direct order. She holstered her phaser and
turned back to Taurik. "Go on."
    He looked down at the body stretched out before
him and said, "There is a possibility that he may
come back to consciousness. Perhaps I can control
him, perhaps not. Would you please give me the
phaser, so that I can use it if necessary."
    "Sure." She handed the Vulcan her phaser weapon
and was surprised a moment later when he turned it
on her.
    "Put your hands up," he ordered. "Away from your
combadge."
She gaped at him. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"It is no joke, I can assure you." Something chilling
in his voice warned her that he wasn't lying, as if
Vulcans could lie. She lifted her hands over her head.
    Taurik took a step closer, and he stared intently at
her, as if he were trying to memorize every line of her
face. His own face began to shimmer and flatten, as if
it were turning into a pool of water. For a moment, his
face morphed into a mirror with her own image
staring back at her{ Ro watched in horror as his

181




outstretched arm turned the color and consistency of
liquid mercury.
    A changeling! Ro reached for her combadge, as his
hand extended into a gleaming tentacle and ripped
the device off her chest. She whirled to escape, but
another tentacle wrapped around her legs like a steel
cable and yanked hard, dumping her face-first onto
the deck. Ro barely had time to roll over before the
creature's phaser spit a red streak into her chest, then
all was peace and darkness.

Chapter Eleven

THE MAGNETON COLLIDER lit up along its entire length
with a brilliant blue light, like a giant coil of gas
flames. A red light pulsed down the center of the
massive tube, going faster and faster until it became a
blur. Picard squinted at the blazing sight on the
viewscreen, but he couldn't look away; he was intent
upon seeing what emerged from the glowing tunnel,
even if it signaled the end of the Federation.
    He heard running footsteps and a gasp, and he
turned to see Enrak Grof stagger onto the bridge. He
gaped at the viewscreen and murmured, "It's startedm
a full test--maybe the whole fleet coming through. By
heavens, it's magnificent!"
    Picard scowled and turned to Maserelli. "Are the
levels still rising?"
Enrique gazed from his console to the screen, a look

182                                                                    183




of shock on his face. "It should be torn apart," he
answered.
    "Oh, no," insisted Grof with pride, "that's why we
used the grid and the Corzanium--to withstand the
pressure. Wait until you see it blossom--any second
now!"
    Picard wished that Grof could have been a little less
gleeful about seeing his artificial wormhole in its full
glory, but he couldn't deny that it was magnificent. If
only death and destruction weren't waiting on the
other side.
    With the rush of a wave crashing onto the shore, a
blue and white cloud opened from the mouth of the
collider like the petals of a flower caught in fast
photography. A golden light filled the center of the
tube and shined outward like a gigantic phaser beam.
From this mass of blinding light and swirling clouds, a
small ship was flung into the blackness of space.
    As quickly as it had begun, the petals of the
wormhole collapsed onto themselves, and the kalei-
doscope of lights disappeared. The massive collider
went dark, except for a few errant sparks rippling
along its metallic skeleton. The only difference was
that a small Jem'Hadar attack ship drifted in the void
of space, having traveled across the galaxy in the blink
of an eye.
    "I would like to know whether the Jem'Hadar on
that ship are dead or alive," said Grof.
    "What difference does it make?" asked Horik at the
conn.
    "A great deal," answered the Trill. "If they're dead,
we may have a couple of days' grace. If they're alive,
we have exactly twelve hours until the real fleet comes
through."

184

Picard tapped his combadge and said, "Bridge to
La Forge."
    "La Forge here," came the engineer. "Thanks for
sending me all the helprowe're on schedule."
    "No, we're not," answered the captain, "because
the schedule has been moved up. The Dominion has
just completed a test on the wormhole where they
brought through an attack ship. We have twelve hours
until it's fully operational and a fleet comes through."
    Geordi gave a low whistle. "Wow. I guess we'd
better get back to work."
"Double-time," answered the captain. "Bridge
OUt."
He tapped his combadge again. "Bridge to Ro."
"Ro here," came the familiar, businesslike voice.
"Was the procedure successful?" With Grof stand-
ing nearby, Picard was forced to be circumspect. He
didn't want to alarm the professor until they had
gotten complete schematics from him.
"Yes," answered Ro, "in that it came out negative."
Picard frowned, being both pleased that Woil was
in the clear yet mystified at the same time. If it wasn't
him, then who was it? Given the shortage of time, he
would have to rethink his methods.
 "Did Taurik have any problem?" asked Picard.
    "Not that I could tell. Both he and Woil are now
resting."
    "Stay with them," ordered Picard, "then all three of
you report to La Forge. I'm afraid the Dominion just
performed a successful test on the artificial wormhole.
According to Grof, we only have twelve hours."
    "That's unfortunate," replied Ro with extreme
understatement.
 "Bridge out," concluded Picard. He glanced around

185




at the assembled crew, all of whom were stunned,
except for Grof.
  "There's one good thing," said the Trill.
  "What?" asked Picard doubtfully.
    "Now that I've seen it work, I can destroy it with a
clear conscience."
    The captain nodded, wishing that he could get back
to business-as-usual as easily as Grof. He tried to put
the inner threat out of his mind, knowing that if they
didn't stop the artificial wormhole, it wouldn't matter
what their intruder did. He had made sure that
everyone was under some sort of scrutiny, and that
was the best he could do at the moment.
    "Keep that attack ship under observation," ordered
Picard. "Grof, I believe it's time to go over your
schematics, and finalize our own plans."
    "I would concur," said Grof, heading for the exit.
"Time is of the essence."
    Picard took one last look around the Bajoran bridge
before he accompanied Grofto the captain's quarters.
Both Horik and Maserelli looked spooked, but they
manned their stations like the well-trained officers
they were, falling back on routine to ward off fear.
Deep in Dominion space, about to confront a Domin-
ion fleet, and with a saboteur on board, only a
madman could be completely calm.
    Who was it? Picard tried to review just the facts--
no suppositions or unfounded suspicions. Someone
had destroyed their food replicators, delaying them,
possibly forcing them into the open. If Lena Shonsui's
death was connected--and he wasn't sure it was--
then someone had tried to maroon Ro and Geordi.
Disabling the subspace beacon was an obvious ploy--
their nemesis didn't want anyone coming to their aid.

Destroying the explosives was equally transparent--
they feared the mission would be successful.
    "Captain Picard," snapped an impatient Trill voice,
"we haven't got all day." Grof waved his padd from
the top of the spiral staircase.
    If Grof is the one, thought the captain, then he's a
brilliant actor. I'll keep an eye on him personally.
 "Lead the way, Professor."

    Sam Lavelie straightened up, weary from leaning
over the waist-high table which silowed the master
systems. He looked around the dreary engineering
room, thinking it had none of the Bajoran charm of
the rest of the ship. It was utilitarian and spartan,
with few upgrades or niceties, as if engineering was a
somber pursuit not given to pleasant aesthetics.
    Hasmek, who couldn't sleep when stretched out on
the sofa in Sam's quarters, was fast asleep at the duty
console, his head cradled in his remaining arm. So
much for the buddy system. Sam realized that if Has-
mek were the saboteur, he could do a lot of damage to
the Orb of Peace in his position. But he wasn't the bad
apple--he was just an unlucky slob.
    He didn't know exactly why, but his gut instincts
told him that it wasn't Hasmek. Maybe that was
because both of them were convinced it was Grof.
    Sam looked around at the gray walls and beeping
monitors, tracking warp cores and propulsion systems
that hadn't changed for several hours. Thrusters were
handling the occasional course correction without
drawing from main power. The warp core itself was in
a shielded shaft in the tail of the ship, so there wasn't
much to see.
 They may have been on duty, but they weren't part

186                                                                    187




of the action, and Sam knew it. He resented being
segregated with the Romulan, but in truth he didn't
mind the solitude. Sam didn't feel like being sociable
with a group of edgy, sleep-deprived people, one of
whom might be trying to kill them all.
    I might make an exception for Ro or Taurik, but
only them.
    He got up and made the rounds of all the stations,
even though he could get most of the same readouts
from the master display. He almost wished this were a
Starfleet vessel, so he could reassign a console to
become the conn, tactical, transporter, any station on
board--just to see what was going on.
    Sam heard the door whisper open, and he turned
around to see Ro stride into the room and lean her
slim body over the display table. His first instinct was
to wake up Hasmek--to keep him from getting into
trouble--but it was too late for that. She glanced at
the Romulan and shook her short-cropped fringe of
hair.
    He stepped sheepishly from behind the bank of
monitors and saw Ro gazing at the master display. She
glanced at him, then at the sleeping Romulan. "Things
not too exciting around here?"
"I'm sorry," said Sam. "Shall we wake him up?"
"No, let him sleep. There should be somebody well
rested when the action starts. Besides, I really came to
see you." Ro fixed him with her deep brown eyes and
leaned casually against the table.
    Sam stepped closer to her. "Are you here to relieve
me?"
    "No, just to talk to you. So much is going on
around here--I need to be able to trust somebody."
Ro looked away from him, as if embarrassed, and for
a moment, she seemed vulnerable, approachable.

    Sam took another step closer. "What's worrying
you?" He cringed at his ridiculous question, thinking
there were plenty of things for a sane person to worry
about.
    She sauntered toward him as if she had just discov-
ered how to walk in that sexy body. "If we fail, I don't
want to be alone. I want to know I can depend on
somebody to be there, even if it's just to hold my hand
as we go down in flames. I don't want to be alone.
Does that make sense to you?"
    "Sure," answered Sam, not anxious to be alone ever
again, not if he could be with someone like Ro. They
embraced and kissed each other with hungry passion.
Sam was surprised--she seemed almost like a dif-
ferent woman than before. No longer reticent, but
insistent--
    Gripping his chest and shoulders, she pulled him
away from the sleeping Romulan and the beaming
consoles. Shoving him urgently while she nuzzled his
neck, Ro propelled Sam toward a dark alcove where
an airlock was hidden away. There was nothing Sam
wanted more than the feel of her all over him, but he
knew it was wrong to desert their posts. It was also a
bad idea to leave the Romulan alone, unobserved, in a
place like engineering.
    Insanely, against every urge in his body, Sam pried
the passionate Bajoran away. "Ro, we can't do this
now. Later--"
    "How do you know there will be a later?" she
insisted.
 "There has to be--we'll make it happen."
    "I'm afraid," she breathed, gripping him tightly. "A
lot of them think I'm the one... the one who's been
sabotaging the mission. If they come after me, will
you protect me?"

188                                                                    189




    "Sure," he told her with a comforting smile. "Why
don't we tell the captain that we want to be buddies,
like Tamla and Enrique?"
    "No, no!" she said, gripping his hands. "Let's keep
it a secret, just between us. I want to have a special
signal to call you, if I need you." "Okay," said Sam hoarsely.
    She looked around the room, then fixed him with
her large, radiant eyes. "From any station on the ship,
I can send a general alert to every other station. If you
see an alert for a meteor shower, come to the station
of origin. I'll be waiting."
 "All right," agreed Sam, squeezing her hands.
    "I love you," she replied in a voice which sounded
dark and husky.
    Before the stunned human could reply, Ro Laren
brushed his lips with the most gossamer of kisses,
then reluctantly pulled away. She put on her poker
face, straightened her shoulders, and strode purpose-
fully through engineering and into the corridor.
    Forcing his lungs to breathe and his legs to walk,
Sam shuffled after her. He paused by the display table
and stared at the closed door, wishing that he hadn't
told her to wait until later. Why did I send her away?
    "You're playing with antimatter," said the suppos-
edly sleeping Romulan, never opening his eyes.
    Sam scowled at Hasmek and started to disagree,
but he couldn't. Ro's neediness played into his fanta-
sies, but like most fantasies that came true, the reality
was not altogether appealing. He had been hoping he
could depend on Ro to get them through this mess,
and now it appeared as if she might end up depending
on him instead. Ah, the downside of everything.
    "You wouldn't help me escape from this ship," said
Hasmek with a sniff, "but I'm sure you'd help her."

    "Nobody's escaping," answered Sam with grim
certainty, "until it's all over."

    The acrid smell of cleaning solvents brought Ro
Laren slowly back to consciousness. After her olfacto-
ry senses awoke, aches in her back, neck, and leg
muscles followed, until finally she was forced to pry
her eyes open. She found herself in total darkness.
    When Ro tried to shout, she discovered that a thick
gag stretched across her mouth; she couldn't reach the
gag with her hands, because they were tied together.
Instinctively, she kicked with her legs and found that
they were bound together, too, and a length of freight
cable tied her feet to her hands. Ro was in a fetal
position, sitting up and barely able to move.
    She tried to stay calm and assess the situation. Her
headache and general fuzziness made her believe that
she had been unconscious for some time, maybe
hours. The smells, darkness, and cramped confines
suggested that she was in the equipment locker at the
rear of the dormitory. Despite her anger, Ro realized
she was lucky to be alive, because she had been at the
changeling's mercy. It had stunned her--on a heavy
setting--but it could have killed her.
    All this time, she thought in amazement, it had been
Taurik, the Vulcan. The changeling must have been on
Sam's crew since they left the collider as prisoners,
out to mine Corzanium. No one knew about it, not
even Grof. It had accidentally found itself part of the
Federation's only plan to stop the artificial wormhole,
and now it was going to sabotage the mission, from
within. With the ability to look like anyone on board,
even the captain, it could go undetected for as long as
it needed.
 I have to get out of here.t

190                                                                    191




    Ro squirmed, yanked, and kicked, but all she got
for her efforts were more stabs of pain in her arms and
legs. Plus she fell to the side and plowed ear-first into
a cold metal bulkhead. Panting, fighting to remain
conscious, Ro lay there in the abject, silent darkness.
    I have to bepatient, she told herself. I have to think.
Why did it keep me alive?
    One answer was that it was still taking prisoners,
still finding slaves for the Dominion. Anther possibili-
ty was that it needed a living reference, which meant
that it was out there, pretending to be her/
    Ro lashed out frantically, but she only succeeded in
twisting herself into an even more painful knot. She
had to move slowly, in tiny increments, if she hoped
to explore her cell. If there was anything in here that
could help her, she had to find it.

    "As long as you understand, Captain, the charge
must be big enough to take out this entire panel of
instruments as well as the circuitry behind this bulk-
head." Enrak Grof indicated two key points on his
meticulous diagram.
    Captain Picard leaned across the table in the make-
shift ready room and studied the plans. It all seemed
so simple when laid out in black and white and
perused at one's leisure. Get in, place the charge, and
get out.
    But they no longer had high-yield explosives to
beam into the collider, so coming close wasn't good
enough. They had to be exact, which meant that a
team had to beam over to the catwalks and access
tubes of the spidery structure and manually place the
charge, whatever it was. Although he had considered
this possibility before, it sounded especially daunting,
now that it was their only option.

    As if this problem wasn't bad enough, his mind
kept slipping over to the saboteur. He couldn't help
but wonder what harm their hidden foe was doing to
the ship and the mission, while he sat in conference
with this egomaniac, Grof. Nobody had contacted
him in a panic--nothing seemed amiss--but the
captain knew that the enemy's next strike could be
decisive.
    Picard reached for the padd and mustered a smile.
"Thank you, Professor, excellent work. I think it's
time to print up your schematics and make copies for
Mister La Forge and myselfi And I'd like to get you
working on the escape pod with La Forge."
    "Good idea, Captain." Grof checked his timepiece.
"We only have eleven hours."
    Picard rose to his feet, suddenly anxious to check
on the rest of his crew. He led the way out of the ready
room and down the corridor, past the cargo hold and
engineering to the aft section. Here, on either side of
the ship, were two small hatches. One was closed and
marked by a red light, showing that the escape pod
had been launched. The other hatch was wide open,
and the sound of voices bursting from the pod was
surprisingly reassuring to the captain.
    He ducked his head, looked inside, and saw Ro
Laren, Geordi La Forge, and Jozarnay Woil bent over
a piece of machinery. The three of them barely fit
inside the cramped sphere. Although the pod was
intended to accommodate eight, that was with all the
passengers strapped to the walls, hanging in zero
gravity, not roaming freely. The escape pod had no
artificial gravity, except now when it was still part of
the ship. It didn't usually have all this extraneous
equipment crammed into every spare centimeter.
 Geordi patted the metal box fondly, then looked at

192                                                                   193




Picard. "Hello, Captain. I used the distortion amplifi-
ers from our secondary emitters to make this jammer.
It will block their sensors and make us look like a
simple meteoroid. It's crude, but it only has to do one
thing, and we can test that with our tricorders."
    "Excellent," said Picard with a genuine smile. He
glanced at the big Antosian. "I regret, Mister Woil,
that we had to put you through the mind-meld, but
our security is vital. How do you feel?"
    The Antosian shrugged. "Fine. I don't feel any
different at all."
The captain looked around. "Where's Taurik?"
"Oh," said Ro, "he wasn't feeling well after the
procedure, so I suggested he stay in the dormitory and
sleep."
    Picard frowned, thinking it odd that the subject of
the mind-meld felt great, but the Vulcan had to rest.
Perhaps Taurik wasn't an expert at the procedurea
there was no reason to think all Vulcans should be
equally adept at it. He hadn't been particularly enthu-
siastic.
    "What's all this talk about mind-melds?" asked a
gruff voice behind him.
    Picard turned to look at Grof, who so far had been
kept in the dark about the most recent attempts to
sabotage their mission. He didn't want the Trill to
lose confidence and revert back to being recalcitrant
and uncooperative.
    "It's part of our ongoing investigation into the
failure of the food replicators," he explained. "Noth-
ing for you to concern yourself with." Picard gave
each of the others a stern look, to remind them not to
discuss it.
 "Come on," said La Forge, "we need to finish

installing the transporter, then work on the outside of
this thing."
    Picard snapped his fingers and scowled. "I'm sorry.
With the distractions, I forgot to set the scoop to pick
up debris from the rings."
    "That's all right," replied Geordi. "I alerted the
bridge--they're doing it. I plan to stucco the sphere,
using a molecular bonder and the transporter."
    The captain nodded, certainly glad that he had
brought Geordi along on this desperate journey. "Can
you find something for Professor Grof to do?"
    "Sure," answered the engineer. "Know anything
about molecular scanners and pattern buffers, Pro-
fessor?"
    "Certainly, I used to program them in secondary
school." The Trill muscled his way past Picard and
entered the cramped pod. To escape the crowd, Ro
leaned her body into the curve of the wall and studied
a tricorder.
    "I'm glad everything is under control," said Picard.
'Tll check on engineering."
    "Captain," called Ro, "don't worry about Taurik.
He's going to call me when he wakes up. I know he's
still my buddy, and I'll watch out for him."
     "Very well," said Picard, grateful that he had Ro
along, too. "We have less than eleven hours." 'TII remind them," vowed Grof.
    Picard backed away from the hatch and took the
short walk down the corridor to engineering. When he
entered, he was encouraged to find both Lavelie and
Hasmek alert and at their posts. Sam came to atten-
tion, and the Romulan sat up with curiosity.
    "At ease," he told them, as if that were even
possible. "Is our status normal?"

194                                                                  195




    "Yes, sir," answered Lavelie. "Not much has hap-
pened down here."
    "How goes the search for our hidden enemy?"
asked Hasmek.
    "Slowly." The captain stepped into the room, let-
ting the door shut behind him. "But the mission is
progressing quickly, which is why I'm here. We have
less than eleven hours."
  "With no evidence," muttered Hasmek.
    Picard ignored him. "Mister Lavelie, you men-
tioned that you had an idea for destroying the entire
magneton collider, not just the accelerator room."
    "Yes, sir," answered Sam, eager to share his plan. "I
spent a lot of time floating along various parts of that
monster, and there are air lines running through every
centimeter of it--to feed the workers' space suits. I
think you could flood those lines with hydrogen,
which is part of the breathing mixture, and ignite it.
With luck, you might blow the whole thing up."
    Hasmek turned around, looking impressed. "Very
inventive, Sam. I like it."
    Picard cocked his head thoughtfully and lifted the
padd in his hand. "I have Grof's schematics here, and
I need to enlarge them and make copies. After you do
that for me, take a look at them and see if you can find
a way to implement your plan. At the very least, it
would make quite a diversion, and we might need
that."
    "Sure, Captain, let me transfer it to the computer."
Lavelie took the padd from him, crossed to his duty
console, and jacked it in.
    While Sam worked on Grof's files, Picard strolled
around engineering, a room in which he hadn't spent
much time since coming aboard the Orb of Peace.

Considering all this little ship had been through, its
energy and propulsion systems were in remarkably
good shape. Of course, they had been using guile to
get around Dominion space, avoiding fights whenever
possible.
    He looked up and saw Hasmek watching him. The
Romulan rose to his feet and walked slowly toward
Picard, a troubled look on his face. "I've been think-
ing about our personal spy." "Yes?"
    "I don't understand what he's doing. I think he
must be crazy, or suicidal. For example, taking out the
food replicators. Isn't that suicidal?"
    "It didn't prove to be," answered the captain. "It
forced us off our mission and deeper into the
Badlands--"
    "Where we nearly got killed. We were very lucky to
find someone who could help us." The Romulan
shook his head. "Maybe he learned his lesson after
that, because that was the last crazy thing he did."
    Picard frowned thoughtfully at the one-armed
Romulan. The destruction of the explosives and the
subspace beacon had seemed so immediate that he
hadn't thought much about the first incident. Taking
out the food replicators was so bizarre that it had
been difficult to accept as an act of sabotage... until
more acts followed. Everyone needed food and drink.
Or did they?
    "And the death of the transporter operator," said
Hasmek puzzledly. "I was asleep, but the rest of you
were on duty. Who could have left their post, gone to
the transporter room, done it, and gone back--
without anyone seeing? Unless we have a ghost on
board. No, I think her death must be unrelated."

196                                                                   197




    Picard suddenly realized who could have done the
murder as Hasmek described it--who could have
flowed through the air ducts or slithered along the
decks, who could have intruded into her body and
caused death without leaving a mark.  A changeling.
    It could look like any of them--be any of them.
Lavelie had mentioned seeing a changeling in the
Dominion prison.
    "Captain," said Hasmek with irritation, "you're
not listening to me."
    "On the contrary, I've listened very carefully." The
captain gazed at the Romulan's face, wondering if he
really were a Romulan.
    The changeling had to be Hasmek, Ro, or someone
from Lavelle's crew--someone not from the Enter-
prise. After learning how changelings had infiltrated
the Klingon high command, Starfleet had developed a
complex medical test to ferret them out. They had
administered the test to every officer, from ensign to
admiral, but that didn't do them any good here.
    Without Beverly Crusher, he had no chance of
duplicating that test on the Orb of Peace. Even then,
he doubted if they had the equipment and supplies
needed.
    "Captain, you are very distracted," said the Romu-
fan with exasperation. "We'll speak later."
     "I am distracted," agreed Picard, starting for the
door. "But our conversation was enlightening."
  "It was?"
    "Absolutely. Lavelle, keep working on the dia-
grams."
 "Yes, sir."
    Picard walked out of engineering, and the door slid
shut behind him. For a moment, he stood there,

staring down a deserted corridor, aware that his
nemesis could be the fire extinguisher, the grille of a
vent, or the light above him. Fighting a changeling
was almost too difficult to contemplate, and he hoped
his suspicions were wrong.
 But what if they weren't?

198                                                                   199




Chapter Twelve

GEORm STOOD UP from his labors and wiped a sheen of
sweat off his forehead. The escape pod wasn't built for
manual labor, and the air circulation was poor. Woil
was standing outside the hatch, taking radiation read-
ings with a tricorder, and Ro and Grof were installing
a transporter pad in the only empty square of bulk-
head left on the curved inner surface. A transporter
pad had been pulled whole from the main trans-
porter platform, and they had to anchor it and get
power to it.
    "Since there won't be any gravity on board," said
Ro, "we'll have to install some bars or handles for
people to stabilize themselves. They'll have to put
their feet on the pad, right?"
    "Right," answered Geordi. "That's a good idea.
There are extra handles in the lavatory."

"I'll get them," declared Ro, starting for the hatch.
"Wait a minute, the captain said people weren't
supposed to be alone." Geordi looked disapprovin~y
at her.
    "I have to go check on Taurik, anyway," insisted
Ro. "He's my buddy, so I won't be alone after I get
him back on duty."
 "I don't know--"
    "Oh, let her go," grumbled Grof. "Maybe then we'll
have room to move around in here."
    In a blink, the lanky Bajoran was gone. Geordi
sighed and went back to work, thinking that it had
always been hard to tell Ro Laren what to do.

    Gasping for breath, the Bajoran stopped kicking on
the walls of her dark cage. A lightheaded feeling came
over her, and she sat still, meditating, until it passed.
The raw pain on her wrists and ankles helped her to
remain conscious. For the first time, Ro realized that
the air didn't replenish well in this dark, smelly
equipment chest, and she was in danger of using too
much of it, too fast.
    Besides, it was doubtful that anybody could hea
her muffled kicks--here in the back of the second
largest room on the ship, after the cargo hold. Nobody
had any reason to come in here, except for her captor.
    She wasn't going to kick her way out either. On her
right was the outer hull of the ship, which meant that
the nearby bulkheads, hatches, and doors were forti-
fied. Having spent considerable effort and pain to get
into a position to kick, she didn't want to stop; but Ro
knew she had better save her strength and air until she
had a real opportunity.
    She tried to relax and tell herself to be patient--
that she had been kept alive for a reason. She would

200                                                                   201


have a chance to escape if she bided her time. Until
then, she would have to stay alert and ready.
    In her desperate squirming, she had found that her
metal tomb was empty except for the residue of
cleaning solvents and detergents, which she could still
smell. In fact, the solvents were all over her clothes,
adding to the itching and discomfort.
    Solvents, she thought suddenly; they wouldn't do
anything for the bindings on her hands and feet, but
they might loosen the glue on her gag. Ro didn't want
to think about the contortions she would have to go
through to get her mouth on the floor of the narrow
box, but she resolved to do it.

    Captain Picard sat down at an auxiliary console on
the bridge, ignoring the quizzical looks from Horik
and Maserelli. He tried not to stare at them or
wonder: Are they really human and Deltan?
    He went back to his console, but after a few
moments, he frowned in disappointment. The comm
system would not allow him to track the whereabouts
of every crew member, as he could aboard the Enter-
prise. He could only tell if their combadges were
functional. There weren't even video logs of the
various decks and stations of the Orb of Peace that he
could use to trace the crew's movements.
    Picard stood and stretched, feeling as if he should
do something--make the rounds--question everyone
again. But their mission was progressing, under an
imposing deadline, and he couldn't afford to throw
the ship into turmoil. As much as he disliked it,
Picard was forced into a defensive position, waiting
for his nemesis to make the next move.
    But if time was running out for them, it was also
running out for it. Their foe had to act soon to stop
the mission.

    His cornbadge chirped, and the captain answered it,
"Bridge."
    "Captain, this is Lavelle. I think I've found the
atmospheric treatment center on Grof's drawings. We
ought to be able to access the conduits there and flood
the collider with hydrogen."
    "Fine," answered Picard. "As soon as possible, I'll
come down to engineering."
    He started for the door and turned to Horik. "You
have the bridge--maintain position."
  "Yes, sir," answered the attractive Deltan.
    After leaving the bridge, the captain paused at the
top of the spiral staircase, wondering if he had left any
loose ends. Everyone was busy working, except for
Taurik, and it was time to roust the Vulcan and get
him back to work. Picard wanted to make sure that
everyone was occupied and no one was alone.
    He descended the stairs and made his way along the
deserted corridor. A sudden shadow on the bulkhead
made him whirl around, but he saw nothing--except
for a bulb flickering in one of the overhead fixtures.
Picard took a sharp breath, thinking that he had
better control his jumpy nerves if he was going to
finish this job.
    He walked slowly down the corridor until he
reached the door of the dormitory. It slid open at his
approach. Inside the large room, it was dark, except
for a few dim lights on the ceiling. Ever since they had
discovered so many bodies in the dorm, it had engen-
dered uneasy feelings among everyone, Picard in-
cluded. He put them aside in order to enter the
cavernous room, but he kept his hand on the butt of
his phaser pistol.
    The room appeared to be empty, except for the pile
of cushions in the center where Jozarnay Woil had

202                                                                  203




been sleeping. No one lay there now--it looked
deserted.
    Picard paused to tug on his earring, wondering
where Taurik had gone. He tapped his combadge.
"Picard to Taurik."
  "Taurik here," came the Vulcan's calm voice.
  "Where exactly are you?" asked Picard.
    "In the mess hall with Ro. She woke me up and
insisted I get something to eat before going on duty."
    Picard heard a thud that sounded far away, within
the bulkhead. It was probably noise from Geordi's
labors, he told himself, even though it sounded as if it
came from behind him. Ambient noises could be
confusing on an old ship like this, Picard knew.
    "Captain," said the Vulcan, "we thought we could
relieve the bridge crew for a few minutes, give them a
chance to eat."
    "Very well," answered Picard, "but I don't want
anyone to be alone on this ship."
    "Understood, sir. I am sorry that I was unavailable
after the mind-meld. I am out of practice."
    "That's all right." The captain walked through the
dormitory, his footsteps clapping dully on the deck.
"Picard out."
    Back in the corridor, he felt more at ease, although
he was convinced that this moment of relative calm
wouldn't last long. Somewhere on the ship, someone
was plotting their demise, and he had to find them
before they took action. But how?
    The only way was to be vigilant--to watch for them
to make a move or a mistake. With grim determina-
tion, Picard resolved to keep making his rounds. He
wanted to observe his crew of misfits, until he found
the ultimate misfit.

    Cursing with frustration and biting her gag, Ro
Laren rolled over in her dark tomb and stopped
kicking on the wall. She had been in an awkward
position, with her face to the floor, when she first
heard the voice. She hadn't reacted quickly enough,
and now it was too late.
    Her throat was burning from the solvents she had
digested, but she had managed to coat her gag with
the greasy substances. Now she bit with her teeth and
probed with her tongue to try to loosen the gag over
her mouth. It was working, slowly but surely, and her
anguished grunts and cries were getting louder as they
escaped from a gap between the gag and her upper lip.
    Her lips raw, she worked her face muscles until they
were as sore as the rest of her body. Gradually she
freed her mouth and spit out as much of the rank taste
as she could.
    Ro slumped back against the wall, unable to really
lie down in the narrow confines. She was exhausted,
gasping for breath, but now she would be able to make
more noise the next time she heard voices out there.
There was little point in gnawing on her bindings, but
she lifted her wrists to her mouth and tried anyway.
 One way or another, I'm going to get out of here.

    Picard stepped around the master display table to
get a better look at Lavelle's large graphics. Normally
emblazoned with schematics of the Orb of Peace, the
screen now displayed schematics of the ten-kilometer-
long magneton collider. Seen in three-dimensional,
wire-frame vectors, the gleaming skeleton of the artifi-
cial wormhole was even more impressive. Picard felt a
slight pang that they had to destroy this noble
achievement, but that was the nature of war--destroy
or be destroyed.

204                                                                  205




    Several important areas were highlighted, including
the accelerator room and the atmospheric controls for
the air lines that snaked through the structure. Lavelie
demonstrated how he could zoom in on the high-
lighted areas, showing greater detail.
    "Very impressive," said the captain. "You and
Professor Grof work well together."
    Sam scowled. "As long as we don't have to be in the
same room. But I will admit, he knows his stuff. I just
took what I know and what he knows--and fancied it
up."
    Picard pointed to the atmospheric controls in the
large junction of eight spidery spokes. "You're sure
about the atmospheric controls being in here?"
    "I've never actually been inside," admitted Sam,
"but I worked on that module from the outside, when
I first got to the prison. We had to carry all of our own
air before we finished that junction; but afterwards,
we had centralized air on every tether line. Grof could
probably tell you more about it."
    "I'm sure he could," agreed Picard. "But he's been
working so cheerfully--for him--that I hate to do
anything to spoil his mood."
    Sam leaned over his table and smiled. "His dia-
grams filled in a lot of blanks for me. Now I feel I have
the big picture of how that place works. Before it was
all disjointed. I still don't want to go back there, but
it's no longer a metal monster--just a machine."
    "We're going to put it out of business," vowed
Picard.
  "I'm all for that."
    The captain smiled. "I hate to keep volunteering
you, so this is your choice--I'd like you to go with me
and Grof on the demolition team."
  Sam blinked at him, and the captain could see the

fear fighting with his sense of duty. "Over to the
collider?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
    "Yes. I always believe in having the most knowl-
edgeable people along, and that means you and
Grof."
    "Taurik knows it as well as I do," Sam suggested
hopefully.
    "If he volunteers, he'll be in the meteoroid drifting
along beside us. I need somebody good in that post,
because he'll have to run the transporter and coordi-
nate the mission. He'll also have to decide if it
becomes impractical to retrieve one or more of us."
  "Has Grof volunteered for this yet?"
    Picard tugged on his earring. "No, I haven't really
had a good time to present it to him. But it will have
to be soon--less than ten hours to go."
  "Can we really trust him?" whispered Sam.
    The captain scowled. "I wish I knew who we could
trust. Have any of the crew been acting oddly?"
    Picard could see a moment of indecision flash
across Sam's face, as if he would have to answer yes.
Instead he shook his head. "Not that I've seen."
    "Well, think about it," ordered the captain. "Our
lives depend upon it. If you see anyone acting
strangely, report it to me."
    "No offense, sir, but we're all acting strangely.
Some of us have been to hell, and now we're going
back again."
    "Does that mean you're going on the demolition
team?" asked Picard.
    Sam rubbed his eyes wearily, then smiled. "With
you, Captain, it's always business first, dying later."
    "Dying, only after you've exhausted every other
possibility. I'd better check on the bridge."
 As the captain strode through engineering, he

206                                                                 207




pointed to Hasmek. "Don't think I have forgotten
you. I want to get you home, so that you can make a
full report."
    "Only Grofs report is going to get through," grum-
bled the Romulan, "but at least history will always
know who was the Federation's greatest traitor. Be-
lieve me, Captain, if I were making a report, I would
laud your determination in the face of adversity. I
know from serving with you that the Federation's
defeat will not come easily, even for the Dominion. I
only wish you had more time."
    "We'll make do." The captain headed out the door
and strode briskly along the corridor to the spiral
staircase. Things seemed to be going too well, as Ro
occasionally pointed out. He hoped he ran into the
Bajoran at his next stop, because he had a job for her
to do.
    Picard climbed the stairs and made the short walk
to the bridge. As he entred, Maserelli stiflened at the
tactical station. "Hello, Captain."
 "What's the status of the target?"
    "Quiet. They seem to be waiting, or down for the
night. There is quite a bit of encrypted message traffic.
If we had a full crew and lots of computer power--"
    "Keep recording it; maybe we can decode it later."
The captain looked around the bridge. Tamla Horik
sat at the conn, her back to him, and the viewscreen
showed the split image of the collider on one side and
the drifting debris of Juno's rings on the other.
Everything seemed to be in order.
"Were Ro and Taurik here?" asked the captain.
"Yes," answered Maserelli, "they relieved us for a
meal break, then went back to the escape pod, I
believe."
  "Carry on." Picard left the bridge and briefly

patroled the first-deck corridor, which was truncated
by the upper level of the cargo hold. There was little in
this part of the ship except for a few cubicles, class-
rooms, and life-support systems. The more time he
spent on the Orb of Peace, the more he realized that it
was supposed to function as a space-faring monas-
tery. Maybe someday it would again, thought Picard.
A few cubicles were being used as makeshift sleeping
quarters, but they were deserted now.
    Picard went back to the staircase and descended to
the second level, where most of his crew was busy
working. The traitor on board was still keeping a low
profile, still trying to hide his identity for as long as
possible, which made Picard's job all the more diffi-
cult. If their nemesis waited to make an attack until
they were close to launching the decoy, he could cause
irreparable harm. They had to flush him out... soon.
    Picard strode down the corridor, noting how decep-
tively quiet it was in this part of the ship, too. Finally
he heard voices coming from the far end of the
corridor, and he hurried his step. The hatch to the
escape pod was open, and he peered inside to see
Geordi, Grof, and Woil hard at work, wiring separate
parts of the transporter pad.
    Geordi saw him and rose to his feet. "We're on
schedule, Captain. In another half hour, we should be
able to start tests. Then we can work on the outside of
the decoy."
    "Good," said the captain, glancing around. "Where
are Ro and Taurik?"
    "Aren't they on the bridge?" asked Geordi. "Ro
checked in from there and said she was on relief."
    "I wish she'd come back," muttered Grof. "We're
waiting for those handles she went to get."

20g                                                                  209




    "I can get them," said Geordi, moving toward the
hatchway.
    "No," insisted Picard, gently pushing the engineer
back into the sphere. 'Tll find her. I don't want
anyone to leave their posts."
"What's wrong?" asked Grof suspiciously.
"Professor, I'tl tell you as soon as I know." The
captain stepped away from the hatch and tapped his
cornbadge. "Picard to Ro."
  There was no response.
  "Picard to Ro. Come in."
    Still there was no answer, and the captain frowned
and tried again. "Picard to Taurik. Come in."
    There was no answer, even after he tried repeatedly
to raise both of them. In exasperation, Picard slapped
his combadge and said, "Picard to bridge."
    No response came to that summons either. Now all
three men in the hatch stopped working, rose uncer-
tainly to their feet, and stared at Picard. "What's going on?" demanded Grof.
    "The combadges appear to be malfunctioning,"
answered Picard.
    "That's not it," barked Grof. "You suspect Ro of
being behind the food replicators, and whatever else
you're not telling me about. I'm no fool, Picard--
something has gone seriously wrong, hasn't it?"
    "There have been irregularities," admitted the cap-
tain, "but I don't suspect Ro or anyone else. As long
as the work continues in here, our mission is on
course."
    "I don't believe you, Captain," declared Grof,
folding his arms obstinately.
    "Then come with me, Grof, and we'll get to the
bottom of it." The captain's dour expression made it

very clear that he expected the Trill to either help
investigate or shut up.
    "I'm coming," said Grof, handing his tools to
Geordi. He lumbered through the hatchway and stood
beside the captain.
    "La Forge, continue your work, but keep this hatch
closed and locked," ordered Picard in no uncertain
terms. "Don't open it for anyone but me."
    He scowled. "On second thought, don't even open
it for me, unless I supply the password." Picard
stepped into the escape pod and whispered one word
into Geordi's ear: "Deflector."
 La Forge nodded gravely. "Yes, sir."
    Now the fear was out in the open, thought Picard,
and it registered on the faces of all three men. The
captain stepped into the corridor and shut the hatch.
He heard La Forge bolt it from the inside with a clank.
    Grof looked amused. "Captain, do you really think
there's a Founder on board?"
    "I don't know, but it would explain why someone
we trust is trying to sabotage our mission." Picard
took out his phaser and checked the setting, not even
knowing if heavy stun would have an effect on a
changeling.
    "That's preposterous," said Grof. "Where could he
have come from?"
"On the antimatter tanker with you and Lavelie."
The Trill chuckled. "Captain, I can assure you, a
Founder has better things to do than stow away on a
tanker with a bunch of prisoners."
    "Does he?" asked Picard. "Didn't you say they
were always observing us? Testing us. And what's
more important to the Dominion than the artificial
wormhole and its security?"

210                                                                   211




The Trill scratched his beard. "Well, I still say it's
either the Romulan or that Maquis."
    "Right now," replied the captain grimly, "I would
very much like to speak to that Maquis. Come on."
    With phaser drawn, Captain Picard led the way
down the corridor. He checked a weapons locker and
was dismayed to find it empty--looted of the Ferengi
phaser rifles they had stored there. Also, two tri-
corders were missing. Fortunately, he remembered
where he had hidden the Klingon disruptors they had
taken off the dead Romulans. No one but he and Ro
knew that he had placed them behind a wall panel in
the transporter room.
If the disruptors are still there, then Ro isn't a traitor.
Grof continued to shake his head doubtfully as he
strolled along behind Picard. "So how bad is it? What
haven't you told me?"
    "Someone disabled the subspace beacon and de-
stroyed our explosives and fuses."
    "What? What/" sputtered the Trill. "And you
didn't think I would find that news of interest?"
    "I also spared you from being interrogated," said
Picard, "and for that you can thank me. What you
were doing was vital, and I wasn't about to distract
you. We can jerry-rig up explosives to use, and we'll
fix the beacon later."
    "I hope there's going to be a 'later.'" Grof shivered
as he walked, suddenly looking much more fearful of
their plight.
    Picard stopped outside the door to the transporter
room, which remained closed with lights blinking,
warning that it was inoperative. He cautiously
touched the panel near the door and stepped back as
it slid open. The transporter room looked empty, as

expected, and Picard slowly walked in. He noted the
gaping hole in the transporter platform where a pad
had been removed for transplant in the decoy. The
control console was also open, and loose wires dan-
gled from its disassembled components.
    "Look at that," muttered Grof, "we destroyed our
own transporter room. Didn't need any help."
    Picard hoped that decision wouldn't come back to
haunt them, but the deed was done--the transporter
room was inoperative. He hurried behind the rear
screen of the transporter platform.
    "Captain, where are you going?" called Grof nerv-
ously.
    "I'11 be right out!" Picard quickly pried a wall panel
off its hinges and reached into the dark recess. His
hand hit upon cold metal, and he drew out one of the
weaponstoa Klingon disrupter. Green, sleek, and
deadly-looking, the handle seemed to mold to his
grip. He reached inside and felt two more disruptors,
but he left them there.
    When he emerged from behind the rear screen,
Grof was very glad to see him. "Can't you tell me
what you're doing?" he demanded. "I'm tired of
being left in the dark."
    "I was getting another weapon." Picard held up the
disruptor.
 "For me?" asked Grof with gratitude.
    "I'm afraid not. We can't use this unless it's an
emergency, because it has no stun setting--only
heavy phase disruption."
    "Sounds like a good weapon to use on a change-
ling," remarked Grof with a nervous smile. "How
about giving it to me?"
 "Only if there's an emergency." The captain stuck

212                                                                  213




the disruptor into his phaser holster and kept his
phaser drawn. He tapped his combadge and said,
"Picard to bridge." No answer.
    "Picard to Maserelli." As before, there was no
response. "Our next stop is the bridge. And from now
on, no talking."
    "Uh... I'm perfectly willing to go back to work on
the escape pod," said Grof hopefully.
    Picard put his finger to his lips and hissed at the
Trill. Then he motioned to the door and led the way.
    In a defensive crouch, the captain cautiously
climbed the spiral staircase. As soon as his head
poked above the landing, he kept his phaser trained
on the door to the bridge. Once again, nothing seemed
amiss, but he knew not to trust appearances. Thud-
ding footsteps announced that Grof had started up
behind him.
    Picard reached the upper deck and moved slowly
toward the door. It opened at his approach, as if
nothing were wrong, and he froze. He could see the
soothing turquoise and golden lights of the instru-
ment panels, and he heard the tiny blips and beeps of
monitoring systems. On the viewscreen was the ex-
pected split image: collider in one half and the grainy
ring in the other.
    But everything was not as before, because Enrique
Maserelli was not at his tactical post. It was deserted.
However, Tamla Horik still sat at the conn, her back
toward him. Very cautiously, his weapon leveled in
front of him, Picard stalked onto the bridge of the Orb
of Peace.
    "Horik," he whispered when he was within a few
meters of the conn. The bald-headed Deltan didn't
move. She just kept staring down at her instruments.

    He heard a sound behind him, and he whirled
around to see Grof stumble onto the bridge. The Trill
threw his hands up, afraid that Picard might shoot;
but the captain waved him in and turned back to the
silent helmswoman. Tamla Horik sat straight as an
arrow, oblivious to him or her blinking instrument
panel.
    Picard's flitting glance scanned the bridge as he
edged forward, knowing that the changeling could be
anywhere--could be anything! Licking his dry lips,
he moved within arm's length of the Deltan, but still
she didn't move. It was all Picard could do to force his
hand forward to shake her by the shoulder.
    As soon as he touched her, she tumbled out of the
chair and sprawled onto the deck. A phaser rifle which
had kept her torso propped up clattered onto the deck
beside her.
 "Aaagh!' screeched Grof, leaping backward.
    The captain bent over the Deltan and checked for a
pulse or signs of breathing.
 "Is... is she dead?" asked Grof nervously.
    "No, but she's been heavily stunned," answered
Picard. "She ought to be under a doctor's care."
    "Oh, look, there's a weapon for me." The Trill
walked forward and bent down to pick up the fallen
phaser rifle. With a burst of intuition, Picard leaped
to his feet, grabbed Grof, and wrestled him away from
the rifle.
 "Don't touch anything!" he barked.
    Indignantly, Grof pushed him away. "Come on,
Picard, do you still think there's a Founder on board?
There may be an old-fashioned murderer running
loose, but not a changeling."
    Without warning, the door behind them suddenly
opened wide, and the chair at a rear auxiliary station

214                                                                 215




elongated into a silvery strand which shot out the
doorway like an eel. Grof yelled, and Picard lifted his
phaser and squeezed off a shotrebut it was too late.
The door slammed shut, as his beam bounced ineffec-
tively off the deck.
    While Grof pointed and babbled incoherently, Pi-
card sat at the conn and tried to see if he could open
the door or restore communications. As he feared, the
console was completely locked, and he was denied
access. The creature had allowed itself plenty of time
on the bridge to wreak havoc and reprogram the
systems.
    Picard jumped up and ran past Grof to the door,
but no amount of pounding or pushing would induce
it to open again. They were trapped on the bridge,
incommunicado, with the changeling running loose
on the rest of the ship.

Chapter Thirteen

GEORDI LA FORGE PLUGGED in the last of the gel packs
and sat back on his haunches. He tried not to look at
the closed hatch of the escape pod, but it was impossi-
ble to ignore what was happening out there. The worst
part was not knowing what was going on. With the
combadges out, he felt disconnected, and the claustro-
phobia inside the cramped pod was much worse now
that he knew they couldn't leave.
    His Antosian shipmate, Jozarnay Woil, couldn't
keep from fingering his phaser and glancing at the
hatch. "What... what if we get launched in this
thing?"
    "Then we'll go on quite a ride," answered La Forge.
"I imagine we'd let ourselves be captured rather than
crash-land on one of the planets around here."
 Woil shook his head vigorously and lifted his phas-

216                                                                  217




er. "No, not me! I'll kill myself before I fall into their
hands again."
    "Suit yourself," said Geordi, "but don't start shoot-
ing that thing off in here, okay? I'd like to live."
    Woil shook his head and dropped his weapon hand.
"I'm sorry, Commander. I'm a little edgy. What are
we going to do if... if there really is a changeling out
there?"
    Geordi picked up a spanner. "Whether there's a
changeling or a mugato out there, we're going to do
our jobs."
    Suddenly the door clanked. The manual bolt held
tightly, yet they stared at the hatch, expecting it to
open, anyway. The intercom crackled on, and a
plaintive but familiar voice said, "Let me in! It's Ro!"
    Both men looked at each other, but neither one
made a move to open the hatch.
    "Come on! That creature is after me! Open up!"
They could barely hear her pounding on the thick
metal hatch, but her voice came through over the
intercom speaker.
    With a trembling hand, Geordi tapped the blue
panel beside the hatch. "Ro!" he shouted. "If you
really are Ro, you'll know that when we were back on
that ghost ship in Death Valley, it reminded me of
something that happened to you and me in the past.
What was it?"
    A burst of static came from the other side. "Geordi,
help! Let me in! It's right behind me!"
    "Answer my question! What happened to us in the
past?"
    "Let's kill it!" shrieked Woil, jumping into firing
position.
    "Calm down," snapped Geordi. "We're safe in
here. It's the safest place on the ship."

    With weapons leveled, they crouched down and
waited. Geordi wiped the sweat out of his eyes,
missing the sweat seal from his old VISOR.
    ~'I have you," said a strange, androgynous voice
over the intercom. "All of you are locked away in safe
places. Stay there, if you wish."
    "What's your hurry?" asked Geordi desperately,
trying to keep the thing talking. There was no re-
sponse. "Hey! Are you out there?"
    "I want to kill it!" declared Woil through clenched
teeth. "Please, let me go out there and kill it!"
    "No. We're not opening that hatch until we know
it's safe."
    "You could transport me out," said Woil with a
gleam in his green eyes. "We wouldn't have to open
the hatch. Come on, you want to test it, anyway, don't
you?"
 "Not at the moment."
    The Antosian grinned in anticipation. "The next
time it comes and tries to get in here, you transport
me behind it, and I'll blast it to bits!" He hefted his
weapon confidently.
    "Yeah, good plan," said Geordi uneasily. "Let's
make sure we've got the transporter calibrated first, or
you'll end up in the middle of a bulkhead."
    The Antosian grabbed a spanner and shook it with
determination. "But I want to make sure we have
time to kill it."
    "Listen, we only have eight hours left!" snapped
Geordi in exasperation. "If we don't finish this job, it
won't matter what we do to that one changeling,
because a whole horde of them will come streaming
through the wormhole. Now get to work!"  "Yes, sir," said a sobered Antosian.
  While his partner worked, Geordi tapped his com-

218                                                                   219




badge and tried to contact the captain one more time.
When there was no answer, he began to think about
what Woil had said. At the moment, they had the only
working transporter on the ship, and that might come
in handy before this long day was over.
 Or it might make them a target.

    Sam Lavelie paced the length of the nondescript
engineering room, wondering what the heck was
happening. Repeatedly, he had tried to contact the
captain, Ro, or anybody in the crew--but the comm
channels seemed to be dead. Nobody had contacted
him either, and nobody had stopped by engineering
since the captain's visit almost an hour ago.
    Hasmek sat gloomily at the duty station. "I tell you,
something's gone seriously wrong. I'm beginning to
think that it's every man for himself."
    Sam twisted his hands nervously. "Maybe they're
just busy with the mission."
    "Too busy to notice that the combadges aren't
working?" the Romulan scoffed. "Toř busy to drop
by and tell us what's going on? What about those
strange requests we got from the bridge? Diagnostics
on the warp drive? Somebody wanted to power us up
to get out of here. I can't blame them, but it wasn't a
good sign."
    Sam stopped his troubled pacing and nodded. The
anonymous request to turn over engineering func-
tions to the bridge had been highly unusual, and when
Sam had asked for an authorization code, the comm
channel went dead. That mysterious contact was the
last they had heard from anyone else on the ship, and
the silence was terrifying.
 The Romulan rose to his feet, a look of determina-

220

tion on his ageless face. "I tell you, Sam, we're on our
own. Whatever evil has plagued this ship has finally
made a move to take over. Now what are we going to
do about it?"
    Sam shook his head, too concerned to come up with
a quick, facile answer. He was also worried about Ro;
the others might think she was the spy. He wouldn't
tell Hasreek, but the first thing he had to do was to
make sure that Ro was safe.
    "Okay, I'll tell you what we have to do," said the
Romulan. "Self-preservation is the first order of busi-
ness, so we have to arm ourselves." The Romulan
strode across the room to the weapons cabinet and
grabbed himself a Bajoran phaser rifle.
    "Hold it," said Sam, "the captain didn't want you
to have a phaser."
    "Well, you are welcome to report me," Hasmek
replied with a grim smile. When he had difficulty
managing the rifle with one hand, he tossed it to Sam,
who caught it deftly in midair.
    Hasmek grabbed a Ferengi phaser pistol and he/ted
it with satisfaction. "The second thing we have to do
is get control of this ship. I figure that we can make a
break for the Badlands if we wait for the Dominion to
open their artificial wormhole. There should be a lot
of distractions and unusual readings, and we just
might make it."
  "You mean... desert?"
    Hasreek snorted a laugh. "This is more like running
for your life. I can't operate this ship by myself, but
the two of us could. If you have a better idea, I'm
waiting to hear it."
    In truth, Sam had no ideas at all, but he was all in
favor of getting out of this room and finding out what

221




had happened. They would be disobeying orders by
leaving, but personal initiative was allowed when the
chain of command had broken down.
 He motioned toward the door with his rifle. "Lead
on."
    Hasmek tapped the door panel with the butt of his
phaser, and both of them dropped into a crouch as the
door slid open. The corridor appeared deserted, but
they crept cautiously forward, weapons leveled.

    After painfully breathing stale air and staring at
darkness hour after hour, Ro Laren barely managed
to stay alert. She began to fear that no one, not even
the changeling, would come back to get her. It wasn't
rational, she knew, but rationality was having a hard
time staying in charge of her thinking processes.
    Have to be ready, she told herself, for the moment
the chance comes to escape--to strike back.
    When Ro heard footsteps outside in the dormitory,
she almost thought she was imagining it. Before, she
had heard phantom sounds and started yelling, to no
avail, so she didn't do anything right away. But then
she heard a thud, as if someone had opened the door
to her tomb.
 "Help! Help!" she yelled hoarsely.
    "Quiet," ordered a familiar voice. "I'm getting you
out."
    Ro fought down the temptation to cry out with joy,
especially when a crack of dim light shot down from
the top of the chest, momentarily blinding her. The
first thing she could make out with her blurry vision
was the bald head of her rescuer, shining like a
beacon.
 "Captainw" she whispered gratefully.
 "Save your strength." Strong arms reached into the

narrow box and lifted her out. When the captain set
her on the deck, she collapsed against his chest, and
he gently lowered her to the floor.
    Drawing his phaser, Picard adjusted the beam to a
narrow pinpoint and cut away her bonds. He started
to pull the tape off her face, but she caught his hand
and said hoarsely, "Let me." It was painful, but she
didn't cry out.
    Ro rubbed her raw skin and tried to stretch her
aching joints and muscles. "How did you know I was
in there?"
     "It told us." Picard stood up, holstered his phaser,
and looked around the empty dormitory. "The changeling told you?"
    "It has what it wants. It's on the bridge, in control
of the ship."
    Ro stood uncertainly, trying to get the blood circu-
lating in her stiff limbs and woozy mind. "What does
it want, to disrupt the mission?"
     "Yes, and it's doing a good job." Picard took her
arm. "Can you walk?" She nodded.
    "The comm system is out," explained Picard, "but
Geordi is still working on the decoy. If we can launch
it, we have a chance. Anyway, it's the only safe place
left on the ship. Come on."
    Ro let the captain lead her through the deserted
dormitory, but something in the recesses of her mind
was screaming in alarm. What if this isn't the captain?
she asked herself. Therek no way of knowing who
anyone is--what's real or what's fake.
    She gazed at Captain Picard, who marched straight
ahead, his jaw set with the familiar confidence and
determination that she had come to know. Despite
his convincing appearance, she would have to judge

222                                                                  223




by his actions if he was really who he said he was. His
grip on her arm suddenly seemed cold, alien, too
insistent.
    They stepped into the brightly lit corridor, and Ro
winced from the light. Before she had a chance to
acclimate herself, an angry voice shouted, "Halt!"
    Ro and Picard whirled around to see Sam Lavelie
and Hasmek training phasers on them. Each man had
a distrustful, murderous glint in his eyes.
    "Ro!" called Sam, stepping forward. "Are you all
right?"
  "Yes," she admitted taking a step toward him.
    Picard pushed her back, but he never took his eyes
off the drawn phasers. "Who's in engineering?"
    "No one," answered Hasmek. "We got tired of not
knowing what's going on."
    "I can tell you what's going on," said the captain.
"There's a changeling on the bridge--it has control of
the ship."
    "A changeling?" asked Sam in horror. "How did it
get on board?"
    Picard glanced at Ro, and she explained, "It came
on board disguised as your friend, Taurik."
    "Taurik?" Sam looked stricken. "What happened to
the real Taurik? Where is he?"
    "I presume he never left the prison," answered
Picard. "We're glad to see you, but we need to get on
with our mission. If you want to be helpful, go to the
bridge and make sure the changeling doesn't escape.
We're going to try to override his commands and get
the decoy launched as planned."
    Sam looked uncertain as he tried to absorb this
devastating news, but Hasmek reached a decision. He
yanked on Sam's arm. "Let's go to the bridge, and see
if it's true."

    When the young man was still reluctant to move,
Ro gave him an encouraging smile. "Go on--I'll see
you later."
    Within moments, the two pairs were again headed
in opposite directions--Ro and Picard toward the
escape pod and Sam and Hasmek up the stairs to the
bridge. Ro had a sinking feeling as she lost sight of
them.
    When they reached the escape pod, the captain
motioned toward the intercom panel by the hatch.
"Go on, tell them we're here."
    That seemed odd to Ro, since it was the captain
who should be making contact. But he stood guard in
the corridor with his phaser drawn, so she cautiously
tapped the panel.
 "Geordi, are you in there? It's memRo."
    There came several moments of uncomfortable
silence, then a wary response from Geordi: "Were you
here a few minutes ago?" "No."
    "I have a question for you. When we were on that
ghost ship in Death Valley, what did it remind me of?.
It's something that happened to you and me in the
past."
    She smiled. "When you and I were out of phase,
and we had a cloaked Romulan on board the Enter-
prise."
    "Ro!" came a cry of relief from inside the pod.
"Just a second, and I'll open the hatch."
    "No, wait," said Ro with a glance at her compan-
ion. "Captain Picard is with me. Ask him one, too."
    She saw a brief look of concern cross the captain's
face, but he squared his shoulders and waited for the
question.

224                                                                   225




    "That's easy," answered Geordi. "What's the pass-
word he gave me?"
    She looked at the captain and awaited his response.
When it didn't come for several seconds, her stom-
ach knotted, and she started to back away from
him.
  "Captain, I'm waiting," insisted Geordi's voice.
  "It's him/" shouted Ro.
    The creature which looked like Picard gave her a
smarmy smile and aimed his phaser at her.
    In the next instant, when Ro was certain she was
going to be killed, a column of swirling lights ap-
peared behind Captain Picard. As Woil materialized,
he raised a phaser and blasted the captain with a
beam that blew off half his shoulder. The rest of his
body liquified and retracted from the searing beam,
but one long tentacle lashed out and wrapped itself
around Woil's neck.
    Ro lunged for the phaser pistol that had fallen to
the deck. By the time she grabbed it and took aim, the
blob-like changeling slithered across the deck and
vanished into a cooling vent.
"Ro! What happened?" called Geordi's voice.
Keeping her weapon aimed at the vent, Ro crawled
to Jozarnay Woil's body. One glance at the bloody
pulp of his face and neck told her that the Antosian
was dead. From the corner of her eye, she saw a
strange lump of pulsing goo squirming across the
deck, and she blasted it with her phaser. It turned
as black as charcoal before disintegrating into
dust.
    Panting, Ro jumped up and pushed the intercom
panel. "Geordi, Woil is dead, but he wounded the
changeling--shot a piece of it off."

    "He said he wanted a piece of it," replied Geordi.
"Do you want to come inside?"
 "No, I've got to find the captain, if he's still alive."

    "Stand back!" ordered Captain Picard, as he aimed
his Klingon disruptor at the door. Grof didn't need to
be told twice--he scurried behind the tactical con-
sole. They had tried as many nondestructive remedies
as they could to open the door and the comm chan-
nels, but their enemy had frozen them out. Only a
complete rebuild of the ship's computer would fix it,
and Picard didn't have the time or patience for that.
    He glanced back at the two unconscious bodies
lying in front of the viewscreen. Horik was still out,
and Grof had found Maserelli hidden behind an
access panel. They were both still alive, but barely.
The changeling had apparently emptied the phaser
rifle into them at full stun. Picard wasn't sure they
would recover, but at least they had been found. What
about Ro and everyone else?
    He shook off questions that couldn't be answered in
order to concentrate on the task at hand, for which
the disruptor was the perfect tool. Wanting to damage
the door as little as possible, the captain decided to
cut a triangle at the bottom. He pulled the trigger, and
sparks and motlen metal sputtered into the air as the
disruptor sliced a diagonal line through the copper-
tinged door.
    Picard flinched from the sparks, but he kept a
steady aim until the first diagonal cut was finished.
Then he shifted the blazing beam to the other side
and started a new diagonal gash. When the cutting
was finished, Picard gave the triangle a swift kick, and
it went skittering into the corridor beyond. He got

226                                                                    227




down on his hands and knees and crawled through to
the other side.
    Picard knew he should expect anything, but he was
still surprised when the barrel of a phaser rifle prod-
ded his neck. "Drop the weapon and rise slowly to
your feet," ordered Sam Lavelie.
    The captain glared at the young officer. He thought
about resistance until he saw Hasmek, standing on the
other side of him, also aiming a phaser at his head.
  "Drop it," ordered the Romulan.
"I'm not the changeling," insisted the captain.
"That's what the other Captain Picard said," re-
plied Sam, waving his rifle. "Until we sort this out,
put down the weapon."
    "You morons!" bellowed a voice from inside the
bridge. "That's Captain Picard! I've been with him
every moment since Geordi vetted him."
    Hasmek scowled. "Well, that sure sounds like
Grof." He lowered his weapon a few centimeters.
    The captain crawled through the hole and rose
slowly to his feet. When Lavelie and Hasmek still
continued to train their weapons on him, he stuck the
disruptor in his belt and raised his hands. "Hold me if
you want, but don't let it get away."
    Lavelle shook his head in shock and disgust. "! still
can't believe it was Taurik."
    Picard blinked at him. "How do you know it was
Taurik?"
    "I told him," said a voice. They whirled around to
see Ro's head emerge just above the landing of the
staircase. Holding her phaser above her head, she
climbed the rest of the way and walked cautiously
toward them. "That is Captain Picard."
    "How do we know?" Hasmek aimed his weapon at
her. "And how do we know you are Ro Laren?"
 She barely looked like Ro, thought Picard, with

soiled clothes and welts all over her face and wrists.
His sympathy went out to her, but Hasmek had a
point--anyone walking around by himself on this
ship was highly suspect.
    "There's no time for this!" insisted Ro. "Woil shot
the changeling--there's a chunk of it on the lower
deck. It's wounded, and we have to keep after it."
    Lavelle and Hasmek looked at one another with
confusion in their eyes, unsure what to domunsure
who to trust, except themselves.
    "Lavelie," said Picard, "when you served on the
Enterprise, there was one officer whose respect you
were always trying to win, but never could. I can tell
you who that officer was."
 "Go ahead," answered Sam hoarsely.
 "Will Riker."
    With relief, Lavelle lowered his phaser rifle. "It's
him."
    Ro looked at Sam and smiled. "I had the same
problem."
    They heard grunting sounds and turned to see Grof
trying to squeeze through the triangle the captain had
cut in the door. "Will somebody help me?" he bel-
lowed.
    Picard and Sam pulled the Trill to his feet, as the
Romulan finally lowered his weapon. "I guess I'll have
to believe you people."
    "Come on," insisted Ro, leading the way back
down the stairs to the lower level.
    A few moments later, they stood outside the hatch
to the escape pod, inspecting Woil's body and the
charred lump of changeling flesh. The captain had
Geordi open the hatch and hand him a tricorder, and
he scanned the changeling matter until the tricorder
could identify it.
 "Hopefully, you've at least slowed it down." The

228                                                                    229




captain turned slowly in a circle, intently studying the
tricorder readings. Finally an audible beep and flash-
ing lights told him that he was getting warm. "It's
below us, in the torpedo room."
"Let's finish it," said Sam, hefting his rifle.
"Grof, Hasmek--you go with Geordi to the bridge.
Try to get control of the ship, and get the combadges
working. Ro and Lavelie, you're with me." The cap-
tain jogged down the corridor with his two former
officers right behind him.
    Moments later, they descended into the bowels of
the ship, squeezing cautiously between the life-
support ducts and pipes. Leading the way, Picard kept
glancing at his tricorder, but he didn't need the device
to tell him they were on the right trail. Gooey residue,
like the slime from a snail, greased the deck and the
torpedo rails.
    They found the creature at the very back, slumped
against an empty torpedo tube. Apparently, it had
been thinking about escaping into space, but didn't
have enough strength left to crawl into the tube. It
looked vaguely humanoid, like an unfinished pewter
mold of a human, but the shape kept ebbing and
shifting, as if maintaining even this poor imitation
was too great an effort.
    Picard drew his disruptor, determined to end it
here and now. Ro and Lavelle moved warily beside
him, their weapons ready for action, but nobody got
any closer than ten meters.
    "Careful about opening fire this close to the hull
and the torpedo," cautioned the captain.
    A slit, which might have been a mouth, gapped
open like a wound, and an eerie voice gurgled forth.
"Still being practical, Captain? I had no idea that

humans were capable of such sustained opposition. I
didn't want to kill you, because I thought you could
still be useful to us. Now I see I was foolish to let you
live, but I wanted to know more about the weaknesses
in our defenses."
"Why did you kill Lena Shonsui?" asked Picard.
"I caught her scanning me during a transport. She
was too smart, too suspicious. I went through the
wiring--" The voice trailed off. Picard stepped back
from the silver blobs that splattered outward. For
several seconds, the Founder struggled mightily to
maintain any semblance of a shape.
    "You might as well just give up. It's over," said
Sam.
    The thing laughed--or whimpered, it was hard to
tell. "I'm dying... yes. But you won't destroy the
wormhole. When I left the bridge, I put out a distress
call. The Jem'Hadar are bound to see it."
    With that, the creature rose into a serpentine rod
and tried to slither into the torpedo tube, but Sam
took swift aim and drilled it with a pinpoint burst.
The beam cut the changeling in half. As the creature
melted into a bubbling pool, it made an inhuman
screech.
    "Both of you stay here and make sure it's dead."
Picard tossed the tricorder to Ro and dashed through
the jumble of pipes and tubes. He had to get to the
bridge.

    The viewscreen showed a lone Jem'Hadar attack
craft streaking toward them like a bullet. Picard could
feel grim reality setting in among the shocked crew,
all of whom were on the bridge, and he had no words
to counteract the image on the screen.

230                                                                    231




"How long before they get here?" asked the captain.
Geordi furiously worked the conn. "Less than a
minute, I'd say."
    Grof slammed his fist on the tactical station. "And
we've got no control at all! If we only had thirty
minutes--"
    "I'm sorry, Captain," said Hasmek somberly. "It's
been quite an exciting trip, but it appears to be over."
"Are shields up?" asked Picard.
    "Yes," answered Geordi. "It had to leave shields up
to protect us from the ring debris."
    Grof plied his console. "Stall them--I'll get to
work on the computer. I can think like a Founder."
    Picard gave the Trill an encouraging nod, but a
moment later he was forced to turn back to the
viewscreen. The dagger-like ship streaked toward
them, its hull pulsing with blue and gold energy
bursts, while they lay beached inside a sea of sand.

Chapter Fourteen

SAM NUDGED a small lump of the changeling with the
barrel of his phaser rifle, and it crumbled to gray dust.
All around them, the remains of the creature were
drying up and crumbling. Ro had the only tricorder,
but the thing sure looked dead to Sam.
    "I think we can report to the bridge," he said. "This
changeling is space dust."
    "The readings so far agree with you," answered Ro.
"But let's be thorough and finish the cycle."
    "Okay." Sam crossed his arms and whistled a
popular tune. The tones echoed pleasantly in the
underbelly of the Orb of Peace, while Ro frowned and
shook her head.
 "That wasn't you, was it?" asked Sam wistfully.
    "What wasn't me?" Ro barely looked up from her
tricorder.

232                                                                   233




"At the height of the madness, you visited Hasmek
and me in engineering."
    Ro's spine stiffened. "And what did I do? I mean,
what did it do?"
    Sam grinned. "It gave me one hell of a kiss and
tried to tear my clothes off."
    "And you thought that was me?" Ro scoffed, and
she looked both ticked off and mildly amused. "And
you enjoyed it, I suppose."
    "Since that first kiss, I've been hoping for a repeat,"
admitted Sam. "I guess I didn't hide it too well from
anyone. But I knew something was wrong, and I sent
it packing."
    Ro smiled at him, looking relieved. "I can tell you, I
would rather have been kissing you than be locked up
in that tool box."
    "Yeah," said Sam with concern, "you should get
some first-aid on those bruises and cuts." He stepped
forward and gently touched one of her wounds. She
lowered the tricorder, and her stained, brusied arms
wrapped around his lean body. They held on to one
another tightly, like man and woman, like comrades
in arms, like two people who needed a hug.
    Their longing embrace was interrupted when the
deck jolted under their feet. They staggered to main-
tain their balance, and Sam grabbed Ro by the hand.
"What the hell's going on?"
    The transport stopped shaking, and Ro folded up
her tricorder and stepped away from him. "Maybe
later," she said with disappointment.
    "I hope there is a later," grumbled Sam, snatching
his phaser rifle.
    He followed her through the duct work and up the
ladder to the second level. They climbed the spiral
staircase and dashed onto the bridge, where the

gloomy faces directed their attention to the view-
screen. Obscured by the dirt of Juno's rings, a
Jem'Hadar attack ship sat off their bow, barely visible
except for its blinking blue and gold lights.
    "I guess the changeling wasn't lying," muttered
Sam.
 "What was that jolt?" asked Ro.
    "Tractor beam," answered Picard. "As soon as they
arrived, they informed us we were being 'rescued.'"
    "Their tractor beam cut right through our shields,"
added Geordi.
 "So their shields are down," said Ro.
    "Yes," answered Geordi, "but we have no control
over our weapons, even that one measly torpedo. We
can't even activate our self-destruct sequence. We're
sitting ducks."
    As Sam watched the viewscreen, his eyes drifted
upward to one of the Bajoran platitudes on the frame.
It read, "Follow the Prophets into the Unknown."
Sam imagined he would do that soon, because he had
no intention of being a Dominion slave ever again.
    "Captain Picard," he said, lifting his phaser rifle,
"permission to resist capture."
    The older man nodded grimly. "Permission
granted. I'm sorry I led you into this, Sam."
    "Think nothing of it, Captain. You gave me a
chance to fight back--to be a Starfleet officer again--
and that was how I wanted to die, not as a slave."
    The Orb of Peace was jolted once more, and every-
one staggered to remain on their feet. "We're mow
ing!" yelled Grof. "It's dragging us away!"
    "Everyone, keep working to get control of the
ship!" ordered Picard. "Until they beam us out, keep
working."
  Suddenly, out of nowhere, a blazing light cut

234                                                                  235




through the dust of millennia and slammed into the
Jem'Hadar ship. For a moment, Sam thought it was a
plasma bolt, but he then remembered this wasn't the
Badlands. Like a lightning bolt of divine retribution,
another streak wracked the Jem'Hadar ship, and it
exploded into a billion shimmering particles, which
were quickly swallowed up in the rings of Juno.
Within seconds, every visual trace of the Dominion
ship was gone.
    Along with everyone else, Sam gaped at the view-
screen, unable to believe that they had been rescued
once again... by whom?
    "Were those photon torpedoes?" asked Ro in amaze-
ment.
"That's what they looked like," answered Geordi.
A small craft maneuvered slowly into view. It,
too, was obscured by the debris, but it was a very
familiar size and shape, like a breadbasket with
skis.
 "That's a Starfleet shuttlecraft!" exclaimed Geordi.
 "With torpedoes?" asked a puzzled Ro.
    "They're normally not so well equipped," said the
captain with a smile. "But we did modify one for.. 2'
    "For the android cavalry," quipped Geordi. He
grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Captain. I didn't mean to
interrupt."
    "Quite all right, Mister La Forge. I couldn't have
said it better myself."
    A spontaneous cheer went up on the bridge of the
Orb of Peace, and Sam clasped hands with Ro, then
Hasmek, then Grof.
    It was like a party by the time Data materialized
on the bridge in a column of sparkling molecules.
Hasmek drew his phaser at the sight of the yellow-

eyed android, but Sam grabbed his wrist. "He's a
friend."
    "Hello, Captain Picard," said Data matter-of-
factly. "I observed that you needed assistance. I trust
my intervention was not unwelcome."
    "Oh, it was welcome, Data. Very welcome." The
captain warmly clasped the android's hand. "But
what are you doing here?"
    "I perceive your ship is in some distress, so I will
make my answer brief. The Enterprise was forced to
retreat from the rendezvous point, and I was left
alone in a shuttlecraft to watch for you to release the
subspace beacon. Unfortunately, I lost track of you
soon after my launch.
    "Pursued by Dominion vessels, I learned that I
could elude them and their sensors by landing on
extremely inhospitable planets, such as this one we
are currently orbiting. For the last ten-point-seven
days, I have been hopping from Class-A to Class-Z
planets, trying to get as close as possible to the
artificial wormhole, assuming that you would eventu-
ally arrive here. I spotted it three days ago. No doubt,
we both chose this planet as an observation point for
the same reasons: proximity and sufficient cover."
    "Then you've been here all this time?" asked
Geordi in amazement. "Why didn't you let us know?"
    Data cocked his head slightly. "My orders were to
observe, wait for the release of the subspace beacon,
then alert the Enterprise. It was never my intention to
interfere, until it appeared you were in extreme
danger."
 "Where is the Enterprise?" asked Ro.
    Data shook his head. "I am afraid I do not know.
She did not return to the rendezvous point. She could

236                                                                  237




be in a starbase, undergoing repairs, or she could be a
casualty of war."
    There were grim faces at that frank assessment, but
no one could stay glum after such a dramatic rescue.
    "Data," said Geordi, pointing to the conn, "we had
a changeling as an unwelcome passenger, and it
locked us out of our computer. Will you take a look?"
  "Certainly. It is good to see you, Geordi."
    "You're the most beautiful thing I ever saw!" said
the engineer with a grin.
    "Thank you." Data sat down at the conn, and his
fingers flew over the console, moving so quickly they
were a blur. Diagrams and lines of computer code
blazed across the screen as fast as the computer could
display them. Hasmek and Grof, who had never seen
Data in action, crowded around and gaped in aston-
ishment.
    Grof whispered to Sam, "I always thought a joined
Trill was the most advanced being in the galaxy, but
I'm not so sure anymore."
"He'll live longer, too," said Sam with a smile.
Suddenly, lights flashed on all the consoles, and
reassuring blips and beeps filled the bridge. "The
computer is repaired," announced Data, rising to his
feet. "All systems are operational."
    "What are you?" asked Hasmek, staring into Data's
golden eyes.
 "An android."
 "I never expected to see an android out here."
    "I can truthfully say I never expected to see a one-
armed Romulan here either."
    "How much time do we have left?" demanded
Picard, hovering over the tactical station.
 "Seven hours," answered Grof.

    "Now that Data's here, that ought to be enough
time," said the captain. "And having his shuttlecraft
gives us a lot more options. La Forge, take Data to the
escape pod and get the decoy finished. Explain the
plan to him as you go. Ro, you have the bridge. For
brief periods, use our tractor-beam to keep the shut-
tlecraft close by."
    "Yes, sir." Ro slid into the conn seat and studied
the instruments. Even beaten up, thought Sam, the
Bajoran looked beautiful sitting in that chair.
    "Hasmek, get the first-aid kit." ordered Picard.
"See if you can get Horik and Maserelli back on their
feet."
 "Yes, sir."
 "Lavelie and Grof, come with me to engineering."
 "That's a good idea," said the Trill importantly.

    Five minutes later, Sam stood hunched over the
display table in engineering, looking proudly at the
diagrams he had converted from Grof's basic sche-
matics. The Trill was taking all the credit, of course,
and Sam kept still, trying to concentrate on the
mission.
    "I tell you, Captain, it was a good thing you met up
with me," bragged Grof. "I don't see how you could
have gotten this far without my help, and now here
you are--perched on the edge of success. You must be
very pleased."
    The captain gave him an engaging smile. "I am, and
I know I couldn't have done it without your help.
That's precisely why I want you to continue with us
all the way through--to the final step. Professor,
you've got to come with us over to the collider."
 A look of horror twisted GroPs features and made

238                                                                 239




his spots darken. "No, no! I was going to say that now
that we have the shuttlecraft, I can just leave with
Data. There is no reaon for me to remain here. I'm a
civilian."
"Like civilians aren't being killed," grumbled Sam.
The captain's smile faded, and his lips thinned.
"Data will be with us on the mission, and so will the
shuttlecraft. Whether you're with the demolition
team or not, you'll be part of the mission. Your
diagrams are excellent, but nothing compares with
your firsthand experience of having worked there."
    Sam blurted, "You're wasting your breath, Captain.
He's a coward."
    Both Grof and the captain shot Sam angry stares,
and Picard said, "I don't think that attitude helps,
Lieutenant. We're too close to our goal to let anything
stand in our way, and I mean anything. If I have to do
it without either one of you, I will."
    Picard looked directly at Grof with those piercing
eyes and high arched brow. "I've seen enough to know
that you're no coward, Professor. Since we have a
limited amount of explosives, we have to be accurate.
You've come this far with us--I just wish you would
see it to the end."
    While Sam crossed his arms and waited, the Trill
looked down at his hands. "I've tried to do my job
against all the obstacles life has thrown at me, but this
isn't my job! I never wanted this war. I always thought
we could work out our differences with the Do-
minion."
    "War is about making sacrifices," said Picard. "Are
you willing to sacrifice the Federation? That's wha*
it's come down to. If we don't stop them right here
and now, we're finished. Professor, we stand a lot
better chance of success with you along."

    "I'm no soldier," protested the Trill. "I'm no good
shooting a phaser or rigging charges--"
    "No," said Picard, "you're our scout, the one who
knows the territory. You just lead us, and we'll do the
rest. With any luck, no one will shoot a phaser. We
want to get in and get out, remember? And now that
we have two ships, our chances of getting out alive
have doubled."
    "I didn't consider that," replied Grof, mustering
some false cheer.
    "Let's proceed," said Picard, leaning over the table
display. "We're going to have two targets--the accel-
erator room and the atmospheric treatment center."
    "What?" bellowed Grof, shooting a stare at Sam.
"That's completely unnecessary. Did Lavelle talk you
into that?"
    "No one talked me into it," answered the captain
with great restraint. "It makes perfect sense to have
two targets, in case they stop one of us. If Lavelie is
successful in flooding those conduits with hydrogen,
they won't need more than a spark to set it off."
    Grof buried his face in his hands. "You're deter-
mined to destroy everything I worked for."
    "No, I just want to destroy the Dominion's ability
to wage war in this quadrant. We'll build your worm-
hole again--only next time it will be for the cause of
peace." Picard bent over the display and pointed at
the highlighted accelerator room. "Armed guards--
where are they?"
    "Two at this junction," answered Grof with a sniff.
"Two more on the other side, plus workers in the
room itselfi"
 "How many?"
 "Three or four."
 "What will they be wearing?"

240                                                                   241




    Sam moved to a keyboard and began to take notes,
as the tactical session stretched to almost two hours.

    Sam could hardly wait for the escape pod to launch,
because hanging from the bulkhead in an uncomfort-
able harness was no fun. He glanced at Picard, Grof,
Data, and Geordi, thinking that they all looked miser-
able, except for Data, who had a contented expression
on his face, as if he were just glad to be here.
    Grof had shifted in his harness until he was hanging
upside-down, with his feet in the air and a nauseated
frown on his hirsute face. It was all Sam could do not
to laugh at him, but then this was no laughing matter.
Their departure had already been delayed twenty-five
minutes, and there was no end in sight.
    All except Geordi were dressed in yellow jumpsuits,
like those worn by the Vorta technicians they were
likely to encounter on the collider. They couldn't pass
any kind of close inspection, but a fleeting glance in
the hallway might not give them away.
    The captain scowled and tapped his combadge.
"Picard to bridge. We've got to launch--it will take
an hour to get there."
    "I know, Captain," answered Ro's brusque voice.
"But the steady traffic away from the collider hasn't
let up. In five minutes, it looks like there will be a
window."
     "It won't matter much if we get there too late," said
Picard. "Launch in five minutes, regardless." "Yes, sir."
    Everyone but Data glanced at the captain, and Sam
assumed they were all trying to draw strength and
courage from him. Sam sure was. Captain Picard had
that rare trait of making bravery and duty seem like

second nature, not the struggle it was for most of
them.
    The captain noticed their hound-dog expressions
and smiled. "We'll be cutting it close, but we have
enough time. We've been over it quite a few times, but
does anyone want to discuss the mission?"
    Geordi snorted a laugh. "Do you realize, we're
going after the biggest target in Dominion space in the
smallest spacecraft we could possibly find."
    "And look at our support vessels," said Sam, snick-
ering. "A shuttlecraft and a passenger transport."
    Now they were all chuckling, except for Data, who
looked quizzically from one laughing man to another.
    "And? shouted Grof, "we're going to blow it up
with an overloaded phaser and a couple of homemade
grenades!"
    The laugher died down at that remark. When his
combadge chirped, the captain answered it softly,
"Picard here."
 "All you all right down there?" asked Ro.
    "Yes, just having a moment of gallows humor. Are
we ready to go?"
    "We have thirty seconds left on our countdown.
Good luck."
 "I'11 see you later, Ro!" shouted Sam.
    "I don't know if you'll be that lucky," she answered
dryly. "Bridge out."
    Sam's grin melted from his face as he counted down
silently to himself. The first thing he heard were
hissing sounds, followed by a loud clank, then a
rushing noise as they were launched. The centrifugal
force pressed all of them against the walls of their
spinning sphere, and Grof howled like a kid in a
carnival ride.
 Seen from space, thought Sam, it must look like a

242                                                              243




video-log run in reverse, with a craggy meteoroid
shooting from the side of a transport ship. The decoy
streaked from the murky rings of Juno into open
space and went immediately into warp drive on a
preprogrammed course. Hopefully, thought Sam, all
that waiting had been worth it, and they wouldn't be
noticed by the Dominion ships prowling the area.
    "Ah, it feels good to get out of that gravity," said
Geordi, floating effortlessly in his harness.
    "I must admit it does." Grof drifted contentedly,
no longer any more upside-down than the rest of
them.
    "We really haven't got anything to do for an hour,"
said Picard, "so why don't all of you try to get some
sleep. Data will wake us up."
 Right, thought Sam, as if we couM sleep.
    He lay floating in the cramped sphere with two
other humans, a Trill, and an android, thinking how
much was riding on this ragtag band. Sam tried not to
dwell on the forces arrayed against them, but it was
hard when they were hidden inside a fake meteoroid
because they feared those forces so much. At least
they had the element of surprise, and pure audacity.
    It was quiet inside the tiny craft as it moved
through space on its inexorable path to destiny.
Picard seemed to meditate, La Forge studied a tri-
corder, Data watched minute readings on the jam-
ming device, and Grof began to snore. Sam finally
closed his eyes and tried to rest.

    "Wake up, Sam," said a gentle but firm voice, as a
hand poked his shoulder.
    "Huh?" asked the young man, his eyes popping
open.
 "We're here," said Picard simply.

    Sam looked around at his floating cabinmates, and
they were all busy, either working on the transporter,
checking the makeshift explosives, taking tricorder
readings, or double-checking the jammer. There was
no viewscreen inside the crude escape pod, so they
were dependent upon portable instruments.
    "Five minutes until the first stop," announced
Geordi. "Data and Lavelle, get ready."
    "There's been no contact with the enemy?" asked
Sam.
    "The jammer has been active," answered Data, "so
we have been scanned."
    "And we're still here," added Geordi. "We're pass-
ing no closer than four hundred kilometers to their
precious collider, and we look like a regular space
rock. There's not much more we can do."
    "The question," said Grof, "is how they'll react
when we beam aboard the collider. I never took much
interest in security--perhaps I should have."
    "Hopefully," said Data, "this apathy toward securi-
ty is a system-wide flaw."
    "Their security is hardly lax," muttered Grof huff-
ily. "After all, they do station a fleet of ships around
the collider, even if most of them have pulled back.
The Dominion expects an invasion from Starfleet, not
five fools in an escape pod. And they probably don't
expect too much of an invasion, with Starfleet reeling
on all fronts. Ironically, Captain, your lack of re-
sources may be your greatest asset."
    "Let's hope we have enough time," said Picard,
gazing at his chronometer. "According to you, Prores~
sot, another fleet should be pouring through the
artificial wormhole in eleven minutes."
    "Their shields have to be down," added Sam, "or
they can't use it."

244                                                                   245




    "That's what we're counting on." Geordi plied the
transporter controls, then nodded with satisfaction.
"Sam, you're first out, and Data will be right behind
you. Get into position."
    With a gulp, Sam unfastened the buckles of his
harness and floated free into the center of the sphere.
He grabbed the handrails they had installed at the last
moment and swung his feet onto the transporter.
When he was sure he could maintain contact with
only one hand, he let go with the other and drew his
Klingon disruptor. When fighting Jem'Hadar, it was
advisable to shoot to kill. Besides, Sam didn't intend
to be captured again.
    "Just remember not to lose your combadges," said
Picard to everyone. "Or we have no way of finding
you."
  Sam nodded grimly. "I'm ready."
    "Coming into range," said Geordi, hunched over
his instruments. "I'm locking onto a solid surface,
and there's good atmosphere."
    "What more can you ask?" Sam gripped his disrup-
tor tightly and tried to keep from looking too afraid.
This is what I want, he told himself, a chance to
destroy that monstrous slave pit/Guiltily, he glanced
at Grof, who was gazing down, unable to meet his
eyes.
    Sam looked at his partner, Data, who was carrying
the bag containing the phaser set to overload, a few
tools, and an emergency fire-starter in case the phaser
failed.
 "Energizing," barked La Forge.
    Sam could feel the familiar tingle, and he made sure
that his feet remained in contact with the pad. It
wouldn't do to get scrambled and killed in a trans-
porter accident now.

    A moment later, he landed heavily on his feet on a
gray metal catwalk suspended between metal girders
and huge ducts. He looked around at the utilitarian
chamber, the junction of dozens of spokes in the
collider. With dismay, he realized that the instru-
ments and valves were above him on a suspended
platform. As far as he could tell, there was no way to
get there from his position, except to jump twenty
meters straight up.
    A soft thud sounded behind him, and he whirled
around to see Data materialize on the catwalk. The
android took in their surroundings in a fraction of a
second, then made a decision in the next fraction. He
crouched down and leaped upward, catching the
platform above them with his powerful hands. With
ease, Data threw his leg onto the platform and hauled
himself up.
    So intent was Sam in watching this display of agility
that he didn't see the guards until it was almost too
late. With pounding footsteps, a detachment of
Jem'Hadar soldiers came running in from a tunnel on
the same level as the platform. If they hadn't stopped
to form ranks, Sam would never have gotten off the
first shot. He drilled the lead Jem'Hadar with his
disruptor, and his chest exploded in a shower of
sparks.
    The other guards ignored Sam and fired directly at
Data, who was the real threat. The android deftly
avoided most of the deadly beams, and those that hit
him scorched his clothing but left him unharmed.
Nevertheless, Sam knew that he had to bottle up the
enemy in the tunnel, or they would overwhelm Data
with sheer numbers.
    Running as he went, Sam shot repeatedly into the
mass of Jem'Hadar guards, killing two more and

246                                                                   247




distracting the others. He dove behind a large duct
just as the Jem'Hadar shifted their attention to him
and showered his position with a withering array of
fire. Sam hunkered down, unable to move, as the
catwalk and duct were blasted into metallic shavings.
    He heard a rumbling sound, and he looked up to see
Data grab the catwalk the Jem'Hadar were standing
on and shake it like a blanket. Several Jem'Hadar
tumbled off, and the others retreated into the tunnel.
Sam sprang to his feet and killed two spiny-faced
warriors who landed near him. Then he turned his
disruptor upon the tunnel entrance, keeping the rein-
forcements at bay.
    Data went calmly to the instrument panel and
began to enter commands with one hand, while he
spun a valve with the other. Sam kept firing nonstop
at the advancing Jem'Hadar, until he noticed phaser
beams coming from another direction, causing Data
to duck for cover. He looked down and spotted a new
detachment of Jem'Hadar filing onto a catwalk below
him. They quickly formed ranks and fired at both of
the intruders. Once again, Sam was forced to cower
from the blistering phaser fire.
 He wondered, Is everybody having this much fun?

    Captain Picard and Enrak Grof beamed down to a
quiet, nondescript corridor in the tail of the collider.
This stretch of corridor was the only place cut off
from Jem'Hadar view, according to Grof, and Picard
was relieved to find it empty. Behind them stood a
large hatch which opened to a space dock; blinking
red lights alerted them that no ship was docked at
present. Ahead of them, the corridor bent to the left,
following the curve of the tail section. Beyond that,

two Jem'Hadar guards waited at the entrance to the
accelerator control room.
    Grof bustled importantly past him, and Picard
grabbed his arm before he could turn the corner.
"Where are you going?" he whispered.
    "I used to work here," hissed the Trill. "Maybe
they'll remember me and let me pass."
    The captain stared hard at Grof, thinking that it
wasn't too late for him to betray the Federation and
save his invention, and his hide. Then again, the less
commotion they made, the better. If there was an easy
way to get in, plant the grenades, and get out, they had
to try it.
    Picard nodded. "If you need help, shout. Then
throw yourself on the deck."
    "Aye, Captain," whispered Grof with a twinkle in
his eye. Coming back to this familiar place, scene of
his greatest triumph, had put the Trill at remarkable
ease.
    With his usual cocky assurance, Grof marched
around the bend in the corridor, his footsteps echoing
loudly. Picard sank against the bulkhead, his disrup-
tor leveled for business, and waited.
    Finally GroPs footseps stopped, and a voice barked,
"Who goes there?"
      "It's me, Enrak Grof," answered the Trill testily.
"Surely, you remember me. I came here every day."
  Picard edged closer to catch every word.
    "You've been gone," said one of the guards accus-
ingly. "You're not on the list anymore."
    The captain impatiently checked his chronometer.
Time was running out--they were down to less than
five minutes, and there wasn't any time for small talk.
  Without warning, an alarm pierced the air, and

248                                                                  249




Picard had to cover his ears to keep his wits. Their
incursion had been discovered.
  "Help!" yelled Grof. "Help!"
    Crouching low to throw off their aim, Picard scut-
tled around the corner and opened fire with his
disruptor. He shot everything that stood, hoping that
Grof had hit the deck as ordered. Two Jem'Hadar
lurched toward him, their bodies aflame, shooting
wildly. Picard rolled to his right, jumped up and kept
firing until they were down.
    Grof no longer sounded so confident as he lay on
the deck, pinned by a singed corpse, wailing in fear.
Picard rushed down the corridor and dragged him out
of the carnage. Their clean yellow jumpsuits were now
covered with blood and white residue from the
Jem'Hadar's neck tubes.
    Picard shook the Trill until he stopped whimpering,
then he had to scream over the sound of the alarm.
"Get hold of yourselfl Open that door and get us in
there!" He pushed the Trill toward the door, which
was locked by a blinking combination panel.
    Grof nodded, took a deep breath, and mastered his
emotions. He bent over the lock and began to work,
while Picard vaulted over the bodies and hurried back
to the comer. The enemy could beam into their
position, they could come from the accelerator room,
or they could even dock in a transport ship. Unless
Grof could get them into that room, they would be
trapped in this lonely stretch of corridor, with the
alarm screeching in their ears.

    Geordi floated over the small control panel of the
escape pod, preparing to go in reverse and make
another pass by the collider to pick up the demolition
teams. It was terrible not having a viewscreen or even

audio contact with his comrades, but they had to
maintain comm silence. Geordi assumed the mission
was going as planned. If not, it didn't much matter
what he did.
    Suddenly his little craft was severely jolted, bounc-
ing Geordi around like a hamster inside a ball. Sparks
spewed from the jammer, and he barely had time to
grab an oxygen mask and pull it over his head before
the air hissed out. Either he had hit something, or he
was under attack! Either way, he was dead if he stayed
in this can.
    Geordi checked the range on the transporter and
saw that he was still close enough to the collider--just
barely. With no time to think, he flicked on the
distress signal, which sent a coded message to the Orb
of Peace. Then he grabbed the handrails and swung
his feet onto the transporter pad. A two-second delay
scrambled his molecules just as another Dominion
phaser blast shredded the escape pod into gleaming
strips of confetti.

250                                                                   251


Chapter Fifteen

SAM SHOOK OFF the fear and reminded himself that he
had to save this part of the mission. After all, it had
been his idea. He jumped to his feet and used his
higher position to blister the Jem'Hadar below him.
He kept running, finding better vantage points, while
they remained pinned down. The Klingon disruptor
in his hand wreaked terrible vengeance, and it seemed
to have a mind of its own. At one point, it whirled him
around to pick off a Jem'Hadar who had leaped across
the broken catwalk and started after Data. The gray-
clad figure plummeted down a long spoke into the
depths of the collider.
    Sam glanced up at Data and saw the android
spinning huge valves in a blur of motion. He could
only watch for a second before he had to turn his
attention back to the Jem'Hadar guards below them.

Gripping the disruptor with both hands, he let it spit
its red flame over and over again at the advancing
guards.
    When the bodies piled up on the catwalk below
him, he turned his attention to the tunnel above. Only
two Jem'Hadar remained from that force, and they
were tentative, merely holding their ground. He used
his disruptor to further weaken the upper catwalk,
and a whole section of it came clattering down on top
of those below.
    Sam felt like a one-man wrecking crew as he swept
the place with disruptor fire. He forgot about Data
until a loud bang on the catwalk caused him to turn
around and see the android. "Task complete," said
Data as phaser fire zinged past him. "But Geordi is
late."
    They crouched down behind a large duct as the
emboldened Jem'Hadar increased their fire. Sam
thought about what Data had just done on that upper
platform, flooding the tubes of the collider with
hydrogen, then tossing in a phaser set to overload. It
was like coating a roof with gasoline and tossing a lit
match onto it.
    "How much time until it blows?" asked Sam,
breathing heavily.
    "Two minutes and fifteen seconds. Geordi should
have transported us by now."
    Enemy fire blistered the duct, and it burst open
with a geyser of steam, forcing both Sam and Data to
dive onto their stomachs. They crawled along the
catwalk, trying to get away from a frenzied counter-
attack by the Jem'Hadar massing below them.
  "Where the hell is he?" moaned Sam.

252                                                                   253




    Geordi dropped into the middle of a corridor and
sprawled on his stomach as crossfire streaked over his
head. He twisted around to see two Jem'Hadar fall
back into the open hatch, then he looked in the other
direction to see Captain Picard motioning urgently.
    "Come on!" he yelled over an ear-splitting siren.
Geordi didn't wait to be told twice--he jumped to his
feet and charged after the captain. As he rounded the
corner, a blue beam sliced off a chunk of the bulk-
head, and he dove, skidding across the deck.
    La Forge ended up at Picard's feet, and he looked
up to see the captain, calm and steely-eyed, firing
down the length of the corridor. "Grof, get us in
there!"
    Geordi looked back to see the Trill working franti-
cally on a door panel. "They changed the codes! But I
know how they think."
    La Forge jumped up, drew his phaser, and won-
dered whether he would be more help to Picard or
Grof. When another Jem'Hadar charged around the
corner, firing blindly, Geordi joined Picard in blow-
ing a hole through his chest.
"What happened to you?" asked the captain.
Geordi shook his head. "I got attacked, probably by
the automated defenses. I went down with no warn-
ing, but I did alert Ro."
    "We have less than three minutes," muttered Pi-
card. "Grofl"
    "I got it!" yelled the Trill. "I got it!" The door slid
open with a pop, and a huge, ugly Jem'Hadar towered
over Grof. They could see a red beam burn a hole
through the Trill's shoulder and come out his back.
He crumpled to the deck a microsecond before
Picard's disruptor sliced the Jem'Hadar in half.
 A yellow-suited Vorta bounded into the doorway,

firing wildly down the corridor, and Geordi almost
regretted having to kill him. Two more Vorta techni-
cians cowered in the control room, and Geordi shot
enough phaser blasts to send them scurrying for
cover.
    The captain dashed forward and knelt down beside
Grof, feeling for a pulse. After a moment, he told
Geordi, "He's alive. Let's get him inside."
    With each of them grabbing an arm, they hauled the
wounded Trill into the control room and laid him on
the floor. The captain motioned to the two remaining
ťorta engineers to get out, and they gratefully scur-
ried from the room. Geordi made sure the door shut
after them, and he studied the unfamiliar controls,
trying to figure out how to keep it closed.
    After making Grof as comfortable as possible,
Picard hefted his bag of homemade explosives and
ran to a large window. On the other side of the
window, several huge gleaming coils spun slowly, like
a giant drill. That was the accelerator itself, thought
Geordi, from which the whole incredible chain reac-
tion began. Magneton particles sped faster and faster
down the length of the collider until they bent time
and space into the singularity called a wormhole. It
was an incredible achievement, due in no small part
to the man who lay bleeding at Geordi's feet.
    La Forge watched as Captain Picard attached an
explosive charge to the window. He was on his way to
the instrument panels when the second door slid
open, and two Jem'Hadar burst into the room.
    The engineer opened fire from a crouch, killing one
of them and forcing the other one to duck for cover
behind a duty console. They didn't seem to want to
shoot in the control room, and Geordi couldn't blame
them, with their fleet about to come through the

254                                                                    255




wormhole any minute. They needed this room intact,
because there was no way for them to get word to the
Gamma Quadrant to abort.
    The door shut, and La Forge blasted the control
panel with a phaser beam, intent upon keeping it shut.
Now they were trapped in a room that was about to
blow up.
    As Picard fixed a grenade to a bank of delicate
instruments, the Jem'Hadar jumped up and shot at
him, shattering a large viewscreen. Geordi's beam
caught the enemy in the shoulder and spun him
around. Picard continued his work as if nothing had
happened.
    Taking a moment to breathe, La Forge looked down
at Grof, who was squirming in pain. He tried not to
think how unlikely it was that any of them would get
out of here alive, especially with bombs set to go off
all around them. When the wounded Jem'Hadar
jumped up and started firing again, Geordi laid down
blistering cover fire for the captain.
    He heard angry pounding on the door behind him,
and he could only imagine how many Jem'Hadar
were trying to get in. Geordi glanced at his chronome-
ter and saw that they only had two minutes left before
all hell broke loose. He had a lot of faith in Ro, but it
was hard to believe anyone could get them out of this
alive.

    Over the noise of the shuddering transport, Ro
Laren shouted into the cornpanel, "I'll run interfer-
ence! Stand by on the transporter."
    "Yes, sir," answered Tamla Horik from the shuttle-
craft Cook. "Maserelli is on it."
 "We're going right down its throat. Ro out."
 Alone on the Orb of Peace, she hunched over the

256

conn, piloting the bulky transport through a sequence
of desperate evasive maneuvers. The ship rocked
every time it was hit by defensive fire from the
collider, but the shields continued to hold.
    Ro looked up at the viewscreen, watching the
mammoth collider loom closer. It was about to engulf
them like a whale swallowing a minnow. She switched
views to the shuttlecraft, which hugged her stern like
the tail on a kite while the Orb of Peace absorbed the
brunt of the fire.
    Hell of a pilot, that Tamla Horik. Too bad their
original plan to dock with the escape pod at a safe
distance had been blown to bits, along with the pod.
Now it was up to her.
    Ro saw ominous lights gleaming along the entire
length of the collider, and there were no Dominion
ships in sight. The ships were gone not because they
feared the Orb of Peace, but because an untried
wormhole was about to blossom open, right on top of
her! If that wormhole opens while I'm in it, my ashes
might end up on the other side of the galaxy.
    The Orb of Peace shuddered again, and her shields
dropped to eight percent. This trusty transport de-
serves a better end than this, thought Ro, but maybe
she always wanted to finish like a warship--in a blaze
of glory.
 "Now!" she barked into the cornpanel. "Get them
nOW["

    Sam Lavelie covered his head as sparks and molten
metal rained down upon him. He and Data cowered
on what was left of the catwalk as Jem'Hadar troops
converged on them from above and below. Sam
returned fire, but he wasn't overly concerned about
them--not when Data's phaser was about to explode

257




in the hydrogen-filled air ducts. It promised to be a
spectacular death for all present.
    He looked at the android, who was lying on his
back, gazing upward at the spindly girders and cat-
walks. Data was as calm as if they were lying on the
beach at Atlantic City.
"Time left?" rasped Sam.
"Twenty-eight-point-five seconds," answered the
android. "It has been a pleasure serving with you
again, Lieutenant."
    "You, too, Data. I couldn't have done this without
you." Concentrated Jem'Hadar fire ripped up the
catwalk, and a terrible groaning noise warned Sam
that the metal had weakened and was about to crum-
ble. He dropped his disruptor, shut his eyes, and hung
on.
  This is it/
    Sam felt a tingling along his body, and he wondered
if he had been hit. Suddenly hands grabbed him under
his arms and yanked him hard; he started to fight
against them.
    "Quit struggling!" snapped Enrique Maserelli.
"We're trying to save your butt!"
    Sam opened his eyes to see Enrique and Hasmek
pulling him off the small transporter pad of the
shuttlecraft. They dumped him unceremoniously on
the deck and turned to assist Data when he appeared
a moment later.
 "It's gonna blow!" shouted Sam.
 "We know!" answered Tamla Horik.
    Sam stared at the viewscreen and could see the
collider light up like a glowing bar of steel. "Oh, my
gosh," he muttered, "it's starting up!"

    Geordi and Picard stood shoulder to shoulder over
the fallen body of Enrak Grof, watching the door
explode inward. Behind them, various instruments
were beeping and blinking urgently, and the accelera-
tor spun like a giant drill. The countdown to the
wormhole had already started.
    Picard and La Forge opened fire upon the first wave
of Jem'Hadar who stormed the door, and three of
them fell. At this moment, thought Geordi, it was
pointless to hide--everything and everyone in this
room was going to go in less than fifteen seconds.
    Suddenly the captain began to glow and turn trans-
parent. "I'11 tell them you're here!" he shouted, his
voice trailing off as he disappeared.
    A reason to live, thought Geordi in shock. He dove
behind a dead Jem'Hadar as a dozen live ones burst
into the accelerator room. Grof disappeared in a
flurry of sparkling lights, and two Jem'Hadar fired at
the deck where he had lain.
    Geordi scrambled away from the charges they had
placed, and four Jem'Hadar rushed after him, trying
to capture him alive. They tackled him, and the
biggest one hauled him to his feet and smashed him
across the mouth with a bony fist.
 "Fool! You can't stop the Dominion!"
    The pain brought Geordi to alert, and he saw a
Jem'Hadar rip the charge off the accelerator window.
Mustering all of his strength, Geordi ripped himself
out of their grasp and flung himself to the deck as the
first explosion ripped through the room, smashing
glass, twisting metal, and turning several Jem'Hadar
soldiers into burning totems.
    Geordi felt the tingle along his body just as the
second explosion bathed the room in flames. He felt

258                                                                  259




the heat scorching his body, and then he was some-
where else--on a shuttlecraft.
    He stepped off the transporter into a very crowded
cabin. "Captain," he said glumly, "they took the
charge off the accelerator."
    Picard nodded and looked around at the crowd of
people. "Where's Ro?"
    "The Orb of Peace is beaking up!" warned Horik at
the controls.
    "I've got her!" replied Maserelli, frantically work-
ing the transporter panel on the tiny ship.
    A moment later, a wild-eyed, singed, bruised
Bajoran appeared on the transporter platform.
Coughing violently, she fell into Geordi's arms.
  "Maximum warp!" ordered Picard. "Now!"
    There's no point setting a course, thought Geordi,
just get the hell out of here!
    On the shuttlecraft's small viewscreen, he saw a
disheartening sight. It appeared as if the wormhole
was about to blossom open, and the ghostly images of
a hundred Jem'Hadar ships appeared in its cavernous
mouth. They were too late/
    Suddenly, the gleaming collider erupted in flame,
and every seam and support burst open. The massive
structure writhed like a ten-kilometer-long snake, and
the ships in its mouth spun out of control, shooting
outward like sparks from a campfire.
    A monstrous rift opened at the twisted mouth of
the structure; it began to grow exponentially, flowing
outward like a tidal wave of light. Dominion ships
that had escaped were sucked into the rift, and the
collider buckled like a tin can. The crew stood shoul-
der to shoulder on the cramped shuttlecraft, watching
in amazement as the rift imploded with a blinding
flash of light.

260

    Fortunately, Tamla Horik never took her eyes off
her controls. "Shock wave--brace yourselves!"
    Geordi held onto Ro, who was still dazed, and Sam
Lavelle covered Grof's immobile body. Hasmek
gripped a chair with his lone hand, and Maserelli and
Picard held onto control panels. Data merely widened
his stance. When the shock wave hit them, the tiny
craft was buffeted, but it held together.
    Tamla's shoulders slumped foward with relief.
"Shields down to fourteen percent, but holding."
    "Yahoo!" shouted Enrique. "We did it! We did it!"
Spontaneous but weary cheers broke out around the
cabin.
    Geordi was about to join in the celebration, until he
looked down and saw Lavelle trying valiantly to stop
Grof's bleeding. Sam pressed bandages against the
awful wound as he grabbed a second hypo from a first-
aid kit--but it was pointless. Even the Trill seemed to
know his time was over. His trembling hand grasped
Sam's wrist and halted his desperate measures. It
grew very quiet in the cabin of the shuttlecraft.
  "Sam! Sam!" Grof said hoarsely.
    "I'm here," answered Lavelie, holding the Trill's
hands.
    "I can't see, but I heard the shouting... what
happened?"
    "We did it!" answered Sam. "We stopped them,
and now we're going home. Just hang on--you'll be
fine."
    The Trill frowned. "Did we... did we damage it
much?"
    Sam looked at Geordi and swallowed hard. "No,
no, it wasn't too badly damaged," he lied. "As soon as
we capture it, we'll get it working again in no time.

261




You'll be there on the maiden voyage to the Gamma
Quadrant."
    The Trill nodded contentedly and closed his eyes.
"Yes," he rasped, "I'll be there. Everyone will know...
I designed it."
    Captain Picard knelt down beside him. "Professor,
I'm putting you in for a commendation, something I
rarely do for a civilian. They'll not only know you're a
great scientist, but a great hero of the Federation."
    The Trill nodded. Then he winced with pain and
gripped Lavelle's hand. "Sam, aren't you luckymwith
me, you've got no messy symbiont to dispose of."
    "You're not going to die," insisted Lavelie. "Come
on, Grof, where's that old fire? You can make it
home!"
    "I'm going home," said the Trill softly. "I can see it!
Thank you... my friend. May I call you my friend?"
"Yes, Grof, yes."
    The Trill nodded with satisfaction. Then his body
went limp, and his hand slid from Sam's wrist.
Lavelie pounded on Grof's chest, trying desperately
to restart his heart, and Picard finally had to pat the
young man on the back.
    "He's gone, Sam," said the captain. "Don't worry,
he won't be forgotten. Now let's get everybody
home."
    "That will be difficult," said Data, who had taken
the co-pilot's seat. "We have a Jem'Hadar battle
cruiser following us."
    Now it got really quiet on the crowded shuttlecraft,
and Picard moved behind Data. "Can we reach the
Badlands?"
    "No, sir. At their superior speed, they will intercept
us in approximately five minutes."

    The captain slammed his fist into his palm. "Take
evasive maneuvers and put out a Starfleet distress
call."
    "What Starfleet ship will hear us way out here7"
scoffed Hasmek. "You're a perpetual optimist, Cap-
tain."
    "Optimism has always worked for me," answered
Picard with a wistful smile. "No matter what hap-
pens, this has been a job well done. We can all take
considerable pride in today's work."
    Geordi looked around and saw Ro and Lavelie
consoling each other. Maserelli put his hands on
Horik's shoulders, and even Hasmek looked resigned
to death.
 "We have one torpedo left," said Data.
    Picard smiled. "We always seem to have only one
torpedo. Ready it, and ready the self-destruct se-
quence." He looked around the cramped cabin.
"Does anybody have a problem with that?"
    "No," answered Sam, gripping Ro like a life vest.
"We're ready."
"Who wants to live forever?" said Geordi hoarsely.
"In these remaining minutes," said Captain Picard,
"I'd like to salute a fellow captain who had her first
command go down in a valiant sacrifice. I'd like to
salute that proud vessel, too--the Orb of Peace, and
her captain, Ro Laren."
 "Hear! Hear!" came several calls.
    Ro, who looked burned, beaten, and half-dead,
nodded wearily. "Thank you. I learned a lot. And
thank you, Captain, for taking me back into Star-
fleet."
 "Where you belong," added Picard warmly.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Geordi saw Data cock
his head. Then he conferred briefly with Tamla Horik

262                                                 263




in the seat beside him. Maserelli leaned over to
eavesdrop, and a grin stretched across his face.
    "Captain," announced Data, "our distress call has
been answered by a coded message on a secret chan-
nel. It is the Enterprise."
    "How close?" asked Picard, leaning forward along
with everyone else.
    "I am changing course now--we should reach them
in time." The android swiftly worked the controls.
    Geordi looked at Hasmek and smirked. "You see, it
pays to be an optimist."
    The Romulan broke into the first real smile Geordi
had seen on him. "I should be able to get a promotion
out of this. Maybe to a pleasant desk job somewhere.
I'm tired of being a spy."
"We have to win the war first," muttered Geordi.
"Oh, you'll win," said Hasmek confidently. "I'm
going to look like a genius for predicting this when no
one else will."
    "We are within range of the Enterprise," said Data.
"From the course of the Jem'Hadar ship, it would
appear they are not aware of the Enterprise."
    "Slow down to impulse," ordered Picard, "and
make them come out of warp."
      "Yes, sir," answered the android, carrying out the
order. "They are still following us." "On screen."
    The viewscreen shifted to the Jem'Hadar cruiser
streaking toward them, glittering blue and gold along
its sleek hull. Intent upon their prey, they disregarded
the Enterprise, which flashed out of warp with quan-
tum torpedoes and phasers blazing. The Jem'Hadar
crusier took the full measure of every weapon the
Sovereign-class starship could bring to bear, and the
shields around it glimmered like a halo. When the

264

halo went blank, the Enterprise unleashed another
barrage as she flew past the listing ship. The cruiser
sparkled like a diamond in the sun before erupting in
a monstrous cloud of gas and debris.
    "Enterprise to Cook," came a familiar voice over
the comm channel. "Data, you're not alone."
    "No, Captain Riker. I have the captain, Ro, and La
Forge with me, plus several others. Nine in total."
    "Great!" exclaimed Riker. "But we need to get out
of here, because more enemy craft are on the way. No
time to dock--set your self-destruct for two minutes,
and we'll beam you over."

    "Sam Lavelie," said Beverly Crusher with surprise
as she helped him off the transporter platform. "Where
did you come from?"
    "It's a long story." He looked around at the happy
reunions as Picard, La Forge, and Ro were reunited
with Will Riker and the crew of the Enterprise.
  "Are you all right?" asked the doctor.
    "Yes." He heard a tinkling sound and turned to see
Grof's body materialize on the transporter platform.
Dr. Crusher instantly bent over the Trill with her
tricorder.
 "Dead," she concluded. "Who is he?"
"A brave man," answered Sam hoarsely. "A hero."
In the next instant, Hasmek appeared on the trans-
porter platform, and Dr. Crusher looked askance at
the one-armed Romulan as he stepped down. "You're
not regular crew," she said.
 "No, I'm special crew," he answered with a smile.
    "Commander Riker, how did you know we were
here?" asked Geordi suspiciously.
    The handsome first officer grinned. "Outer patrols
picked up a Talavian shuttlecraft carrying a fellow

265




with an isolinear chip. It told us exactly where to look
for the artificial wormhole... and you."
    Sam looked down at Grofs body and smiled. "Your
ego saved our lives, Grof. Thanks."
    "We've got everyone," announced the transporter
chief as Horik and Maserelli stepped off the platform.
    Riker tapped his combadge. "Riker to bridge: maxi-
mum warp to Deep Space Nine."
    "Deep Space Nine?" asked Picard with surprise
and delight. "Did we win it back?"
    "Two days ago," answered Riker proudly. "We've
turned the tide in this lousy war, and the wormhole is
safe! I hope your team did something to help?"
    "Oh, I think we might have," answered Picard,
nodding with satisfaction. "What about you and the
crewmhave you faced many hardships while we were
gone?"
    "It wasn't really that bad for us," admitted Riker
with an embarrassed smile. "We spent a week at
Starbase 209, undergoing repairs."
 "Not bad," replied Picard with envy.
    "I didn't save the universe, but maybe I helped one
person," added Riker.
    "Oh?" said Picard with a slight smile. "She sounds
like a lucky young woman." The captain marveled at
his first officer. Just like Riker to find romance under
the most unlikely circumstances.
    "I'd say more heroic than lucky. But with some
very hard work on her part, it looks like her luck is
about to change."
    "I look forward to hearing all about her, Number
One," the captain replied warmly.
    As the others filed out, Ro grabbed Sam's hand and
pulled him aside. For the first time since he had met
her on the Orb of Peace, the Bajoran looked scared.

 "What's the matter?" he asked.
    "Everything is fine for you, but not for me," said
Ro worriedly. 'TI1 probably end up in the brig over
this."
    "If you do, I'll personally break you out," Sam
assured her. "And I'm sure I can get Captain Picard
to help me."

    Sam was with Ro eight hours later, when Captain
Picard caught up with them in the lounge. They were
in Federation space, only a few hours away from Deep
Space Nine, and it felt good just to sit and eat. Sam
was on his fourth helping of blintzes, okra, brie
cheese, and trout aimondine.
    Ro watched him in amazement, shaking her head.
"You'd better come up for air, Lieutenant, because
the captain is on his way over."
    Sam gulped down a huge mouthful just as Picard
reached their table. "At ease," said the captain with a
smile.
 "Please sit down," offered Ro.
 "Thank you."
    Sam peered closely at the captain, thinking there
was something odd about his appearance. "What's
missing?" asked Sam. "Ah, it's the earring and nose
ridges."
    "I don't mind losing the implants," answered Pi-
card, "but I rather miss the earring."
  Picard smiled.
    "I've asked you here today because I have some-
thing to say to each of you."
 "What?" asked Ro suspiciously.
    "First you, Ro. As much as I would like to simply
restore your Starfleet commission, that is beyond my
power. However, I have submitted a report to Star-

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fleet Command about your recent efforts on behalf of
the Alpha Quadrant. I would not be at all surprised if
eventually, if you feel the path of your life leading
back to Star fleet, there will be a place for you here.
And if that is where your path leads you, I would be
honored to serve by your side."
    To Sam's surprise, there were tears in Ro's eyes as
she thanked the captain for his words.
    "As for you, Mr. Lavelie," Picard continued, "wel-
come back. I would not be at all surprised if a
promotion was in your future."
    "Actually, Captain," Lavelie replied, "I'm not sure
whether my future is in Star fleet or not. I have some
leave coming .... "
    "At least several months," Picard said, "combining
personal and medical."
    Sam realized that Picard was way ahead of him.
Ahead of both him and Ro, actually. "So I thought I'd
take some time, see what life has to offer outside of a
uniform."
    "An excellent idea," Captain Picard said. "Any
immediate plans?"
    Sam smiled at Ro, and she smiled back. She--
they--had already made a decision. Next week might
still be up in the air, but they had begun to think
about tomorrow. Sam answered the captain. "Going
to find a farming planet, sir. Get some real earth
under my feet, feel the sun on my back. Seems to me a
fighting fleet could use some good, healthy, nonrepli-
cated food now and again."
    "Indeed it could." Picard looked thoughtful. "We're
almost at Deep Space Nine. Even these days, it's still
a crossroads. I'm sure you can find transport to
someplace that suits your needs." The captain looked

at them both, and to Sam it seemed he was pleased
with what he saw. "You have both been handed a new
life--no, you both earned a new life. Make the most
of it."
    Ro, her hand in Sam's, smiled at the captain. "We
will, sir," she said. "It's a gift of the Prophets."

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