They passed the better part of the day chewing the subject to the bone before they let it drop. By then, they had emerged from the far end of the valley, and spotted the distant fortress that made that other one seem tiny by comparison.

It was late. Dan’nor was surprised by the knock on the door. Ice water trickled the length of his spine. We’ve been found out. The Civil Service has come to get me.

He composed himself, opened the door—and breathed a sigh of relief. It was Ma’alor.

He came in without being invited, made his way to a chair. Dan’nor closed the door, noted the look in Ma’alor’s eyes. There was no mistaking it, even in the dim light.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Something about his father?

The dark one told him.-but it was a moment before Dan’nor could grasp the import of what Ma’alor was saying.

“How can that be?” he said, as it finally sank in.

“Ralak’kai is a Klah kimmbri. And

anyway, that sort of thing has never been part of the Conflicts.”

Ma’alor grunted. “It is now. As I say, they must be desperate. Maybe there’s been a drastic decline in viewership. Or who knows why.

The point is that they’re doing it.”

Dan’nor shook his head. “So now what?”

“A change of schedule,” said Ma’alor. “We move sooner than we had planned.” He leaned forward. “I must tell you, it’s going to be tougher than it would have been before. Much tougher.” He let the late evening silence elaborate on his behalf. It did so, eloquently. “Are you still with us?”

Dan’nor nodded.

“Commander?”

“Data-damn, but it’s good to hear your voice.”

“I apologize for my tardiness. There were circumstances here which prevented my communicating earlier.”

“That’s all right,” said Riker, leaning back in his command chair. “Just hang on and we’ll beam you right up.”

The first officer was just about to contact O’Brien in the transporter room when Data stopped him.

“Request permission,” said the android, “to remain planetside.”

Riker chided himself: He had just assumed that Data had completed his work down there. “You need more time to locate our people?” he asked. “I have located them,” said the android, “in a general way. However, precise coordinates are unavailable. Therefore.

. .”

By now, Riker had a pretty good idea of how Data’s mind worked. “You think the quickest way to find them,” he expedited, “is to go after them yourself.

Correct?”

“Correct, sir.”

The first officer was all too aware of the need to keep this conversation short-to peck up and retreat to a safe distance again, before the Klah’kimmbri noticed an extra blip in the sky. But he didn’t want to rush this decision. It was too important-not only to Data, but also to the whole of the conscripted away team. “You have the means to accomplish this?” he asked. “I do, sir,” said the android.

“I can’t give you much time. That disease that Fredi had-it’s spreading. Before long, I’m going to have to leave this sector-get us to a starbase. You understand, Data?”

“Perfectly, Commander. Allow me two

A’klahn days. I believe that is all I will need.”

The first officer could feel his molars grinding together.

“All right,” he said finally. “You’ve got two days-exactly. Riker out.”

He looked to Wesley. The ensign was turned around in his seat, waiting for instructions.

“Take us back to our previous position,” said Riker. “We’re going to stick it out a little longer.”

“Aye, sir.” Wesley tapped in what had by now become familiar coordinates. “Ready.”

“Engage.”

Silently, Riker cheered Data on. If

anybody could find the away team in that mess, he could. But in two days?

What the hell did Data have in mind?

IT WAS COLD up in the hills. The wind raised goose bumps wherever it touched Pulaski’s bare skin.

The day before, shortly after the last of their patients had been taken from them, a horde of silent wagoneers had come and packed up the med enclosure.

There had been no warning. But the other meds seemed to accept it, so Pulaski didn’t try to stop it either.

She had been educated by experience. One did not stand in the way of things-unless one was ready to get knocked down. And although the fight hadn’t quite gone out of her, she had determined that she would pick her spots.

No doubt, it was intended that they should set up their installation somewhere else. But where? And for whom?

She didn’t know. Then again, she didn’t know a lot of things-still. In some cases, she had answers-those supplied by the other weds, or even by the warriors-but they were unsatisfactory. Or insufficient. For instance-what was all the fighting about?

And if it was something important enough to risk lives for, why did the lordly ones-the marshals-decline to participate? What was their function, after all-other than to wrench

her patients from her before they’d had a chance to heal correctly? As for the theory that they were here because they were criminals-it was certainly possible, if that referred to political crimes. Certainly, she could have been capable of such activity, if the marshals were any indication of what the authorities were like outside. Pulaski doubted, however, that any of the coeds could have been guilty of baser crimes. She had seen them in action. They were dedicated, concerned-if a little too afraid of the marshals.

Definitely not the throat-cutting type.

The wind picked up and she pulled her cloak closer about her. The soles of her feet were starting to hurt. Her boots weren’t made for this terrain.

It seemed she could feel every pebble, every bit of gravel that littered their trail.

And as far as she could tell, it was only going to get worse. For some time, they had been able to see a path amid the high ground to their right. As they progressed, the path had descended-as if it would ultimately meet the one they traveled now.

Pulaski had a pretty good idea that they would be on that higher trail before very long. Great, she told herself. That means it’ll get even colder. And in time, my boots will peel off altogether.

She scanned the descending path more closely than before, resolved to check the equipment wrappings again before they started up. The way was narrower up therethere wouldn’t be any room to slip around the sides of the vehicles and make adjustments if something began to come loose. And there were too many items in short supply already for them to … Pulaski stopped in mid-thought, gasped. She couldn’t help it. What she had seen had caught her completely off guard. There was a watcher on that trail up above them. He had concealed himself as best he could, but the place didn’t offer much cover. It was amazing, in fact, that he had managed to

escape their notice far so long-to blend in with the hillside, despite his size.

In that first shocked instant, Pulaski’s eyes had locked with his. And there was an intensity in that gaze that had shaken her to her roots. Nor, as time resumed its passage, was she able to tear her eyes away from the watcher’s. Not until after he conceded her discovery of him and clambered to his feet.

There were cries of surprise from the other coeds, sounds of fear from the wagon drivers. For they had no one to defend them-and this watcher posed a threat. It was obvious in the way he held his weapon-some sort of broadax-and in the way he scrutinized the carts full of medical supplies. Pulaski could see now that he was a warrior. But for reasons she couldn’t fathom, he had discarded his helmet and part of his armor. His black hair blew in the

swirling winds; his savage eyes narrowed against the flying grit.

Why was he alone? Was he the last survivor of an ambush? Or was there some other reason?

No matter. Regardless of how he’d arrived at this pass, he certainly wasn’t a bearer of good ridings. He had been stalking them like a predator for who knew how long, waiting to pounce. Apparently, there was something he wanted from them. As frightened as they were, coed and driver alike, no one ran.

Everyone seemed to prefer the anonymity of the group.

So when the watcher made his way down from his perch-a difficult task, and one that he accomplished with animal use-they were all at his mercy. He approached the wagon train warily, his eyes darting here and there. He shifted the ax from one hand to the other, as if waiting for someone to challenge him: Pulaski thought about how much damage that ax could do to the contents of the wagons. How many lives might be lost if the intruder were allowed to peed unchecked If she had had more time to consider it, she probably

wouldn’t have intervened. But she didn’t have that much time. As Pulaski slipped between the warrior and the cart nearest to him, she drew his scrutiny again. Up close, his gaze was even more fascinating-more frightening.

“What do you want?” she heard herself ask.

Cruel eyes widened beneath that dark and massive brow. For a second or two, Pulaski thought he would strike her-just as the marshal had, but with killing force.

Then his strangely expressive lips shaped a single ward: “Food.” His voice was a rumble, but the meaning was clear enough. Pulaski relaxed a little.

Food? Well, that was something they could surely stand to part with. After all, big as he was, the warrior could hardly take it all with him.

“Kopaa’kar,” she called to the med nearest the end of the train-never taking her eyes off the intruder, as if she could hold him with her gaze as surely as he held her. “Uncover the food. Let him take what he wants.” As Kopaa’kar hurried

to comply, the warrior’s attention was turned in that direction. Pulaski felt grateful as he moved away, drawn toward the last wagon.

She was shaking, she realized as she watched him go.

But that was all right. He’d take some food and soon he’d be gone. Just as she thought that, she felt another kind of scrutiny-a more familiar kind.

By now, she had developed a sixth sense about it.

The flying machine, like the intruder, seemed to come out of nowhere. And as if it were a kindred spirit, it headed right for him. The warrior noticed it before it had come within half a dozen meters of him. For some reason, he seemed to feel threatened by it. And with alarming quickness, he tried to squash it with his ax. The flying machine jerked out of harm’s way—and the ax

struck a covered mound of wagon cargo instead.

There was a crack-the sound of equipment breaking beneath the tarpaulin.

Then, with a snarl, the warrior ripped his weapon free and went after the flying device again.

Pulaski couldn’t believe it. She had come this close to avoiding any damage at all. And now every one of their precious instruments were in danger.

How could she just stand there and watch? She had to do something. The flying machine was staying just a step ahead of the warrior-all the time keeping him before its lens.

An idea came to her-a way to end the

destruction-and she lunged for the nearest wagon. With any luck, there would be some metal support-pole components among the cargo-hah. Wrestling with the tarp, pushing aside other pieces of equipment, she got a grip on one of the long piers of metal.

Fortunately, it didn’t offer much resistance-it just slipped free. By now, the machine was retreating in her directionpursued by the flailing warrior. It was facing the other way-still oblivious to her presence.

Just before it came within striking distance, Pulaski realized that she was smiling-in anticipation of what she was about to do. It was like finishing the job she’d started back in the enclosure. Then the machine retreated a little more, and Pulaski swung with all her might.

She felt the impact as the metal strut connected solidly with her target.

And a moment later, her eyes were scraped raw as the damned thing exploded in her face.

She recoiled, staggered, fell against something hard.

Tried to squeeze out the pain along with the tears.

My god, she thought, I’m blind. I’m blind . .

. But she wasn’t. When she opened her eyes, they hurtlike the rest of her face. But she could see fine.

That wasn’t the problem at all. The problem was that she didn’t have the slightest idea of where she was-or how she’d gotten there. When she looked around, she saw a host of strange faces gathered around a long line of wagons-the entire tableau framed by a severe, mountainous landscape.

At her feet, there was a smoking, sparking machine of some sort.

None of it looked familiar. None of it.

Her mind reeled with the immensity of herddloss.

Something had happened to her memory…

Someone walked past her-someone big, with an ax in his hand. He kicked at the sizzling hunk of debris on the ground-and looked at her over his shoulder.

He was dangerous looking-not the kind she’d want to get too close to. But the sight of him kindled a spark inside her. A spark of recognition.

Did she… know him? Yesshe did.

The name escaped her for the moment. But she knew exactly who this one was. A scene flashed in front of her-the inside of a cabin, and a group of people standing around a gaming board … It was all coming back now. She just needed a few minutes to sort it out. The one with the ax didn’t linger, however. He went to one of the wagons, the one farthest from her, and ripped off the tarpaulin that still half covered it.

One of the strangers came over to her and put his arm about her shoulders. “Pulaski, are you all right?”

Pulaski. That was her name, wasn’t it? And she was a doctor-a medical officer on . .

. on a ship of some kind. The … damn, it was on the tip of her tongue …

Someone else came over and applied something cool and wet to her face. It stung for a moment, then it felt good. She leaned back against the wagon behind her, letting the pain of her burned skin leech away. Abruptly, there was a name in her head.

Enterprise. Of course-that was the name of the ship. And that other place 214

she’d recalled, the cabin-that was on another ship, the Gregor Mendel.

Faces and events spilled over one another as the dam inside her broke. Picard, Geordi, Riker … she’d called Riker after

Badnajian disappeared. Worf …

WO rf!

Tearing away the dressing that covered her fate, Pulaski looked around for the Klingon. But he was nowhere to be seen. At the last wagon, there were people working to put the tarpaulin back into place. “Where did he go?” she asked.

“Who?” asked one of those tending to her. “The warrior?” “Yes,” she insisted, “the warrior.

Where did he go?” The stranger pointed to the path above them. “That way,” she said. And then, misinterpreting the reason for Pulaski’s question, “You need not worry about him. He spared us.”

Pulaski frowned. There was no evidence of Worf on the trail either. Being a Klingon, he could move quickly on treacherous terrain. What had happened to him, that he didn’t know her-that he could leave her here like this, as if she were just another stranger in a crowd of strangers? Indeed, what had happened to her that she hadn’t recognized him?

Had all of them who’d been on the Mendel had their memories tampered with this way? But why-for what purpose?

And how was it that she’d gotten hers back?

More to the point, now that she was starting to remember, what was she going to do about it? Stay with the line of wagons and bide her time—or follow Worf, knowing all the time that she might not be able to help him once she found him? If she found him.

Pulaski made her decision, moved past those who had bin helping her. They watched her skirt the wagon, then head for the steep slope that separated them from the upper trail.

“Pulaski? What are you doing?”

“I’m going after him,” she called back.

“You can’t,” someone said. “He’s a

warrior. He’ll kill you.” Certainly, there was a chance of that. She didn’t discount the seriousness of the warning.

But she didn’t turn back either.

“Sorry, sir,” said Radzic. “It was just a false alarm.”

Biker looked at him and nodded. “Of course.

Keep at it, crewman.” On his way past the science stations, he had an urge to strike something.

He curbed it.

,Damn. For a moment, he thought that they’d actually gotten somewhere. That they’d located one of the crew on the Mendera Tetracite named Seedirk. No question-it was a Tetracite all right. Two of them, in fact. Only, upon closer inspection, neither one had turned out to be the right Tetracite.

The first officer was beginning to see why Data had opted to find their people on his own. Even after they had discovered the Tetracites, it had taken hours to check their physical particulars against Seedirk’s profile.

At a closer distance, they’d have accomplished it in much less time. But they didn’t dare linger at a closer distance-a fact that twisted in him more and more with each passing minute.

It was increasingly clear that their hopes rested with the android. Though Biker still didn’t know what Data’s plan was-and nearly half of his allotted time had come and gone.

Biker had barely reached the command center when the turbo doors opened and Burtin strode onto the bridge. The first officer saw him out of the corner of his eye, bit his lip and met the doctor halfway.

He should have checked in with sickbay some time ago.

He knew that. But with this Tetracite affair and his trying to figure out what Data was up to, it had completely slipped his mind. Burtin looked a hell of a lot more determined than Riker had ever seen him. His words were clipped, insistent: “We’ve got to talk, Commander.” “Certainly,” said Riker.

He indicated the observation lounge and they both stepped inside.

Burtin didn’t bother to take a seat, so Riker didn’t either. They stood beside the inference table, and even the gentleness of the lighting didn’t soften the lines in Burtin’s face.

“You know,” said the doctor, “for a long time, I was in awe of this assignment. Kate Pulaski, Captain JeanLuc Picard, the Enterprise-these are names you hear about. Read about. You don’t get to see them up close-especially if you’re only a bone-splicer out on the frontier.

“Out there, Commander, we take every little sickness seriously-and I mean seriously. I know that’s not the case here. You’ve got the latest technology-the latest equipment, the latest medicines. And you’ve got the best-trained personnel. So when a little old disease comes along, you don’t panic. You just take care of it.

“I figured that that’s what I would do. I mean, Doctor Pulaski wasn’t all that frantic about Fredi’s ailment. Concerned, yes, but far from frantic. So I tried to take it in stride-as I thought she would have. Even when the godforsaken thing mutated. I tried to act as I thought the assistant chief medical officer of this ship should act. I got to work on the problem-and I didn’t make an uproar about it. “Then it got worse. It started spreading.

But did I rock the boat? No. I calmly apprised the ranking officer of the situation. I calmly recommended a course of action. I only gave in to my instincts in one regardI recorded my misgivings for the record, despite the fact that I thought I’d ultimately be laughed at.

“Hey, look at this—comsome crazy

quack dragged the Enterprise to a starbase because two people on the ship got sick. Amazing. Didn’t he know he wasn’t on the frontier anymore?”’

“Now I see that I didn’t go too far at all.

If I made a mistake, it was in not going far enough. We’ve got seventeen patients now. Every available blood-purification unit is in constant use. Critical care is completely

engaged-we’re spilling over into the less secure areas, having rigged up portable field generators to maintain the quarantine. “It’s gone too far, Commander. I can’t state that strongly enough.

Twentyfour hours from now, we’ll see twice as many cases-and twice as many again twentyfour hours after that. By then, of course, you and I will probably be among the afflicted.” Burtin paused. “The nearest starbase is six days away at warp nine. I checked. In six days, half the population of the Enterprise could be writhing in the corridors, gasping for breath.”

He took a deep breath, let it out.

“Strangely enough, I still feel as though I shouldn’t panic. But I am panicking, Commander. I want this ship headed for Starbase NinetyOne-now. And I don’t care if we leave behind that away team or not.”

Riker frowned. Was that what he was doing?

Sacrificing the many for the few? Or was he keeping a cool headknowing that medical officers always painted the worst picture possible, and that things seldom turned out as badly as they predicted?

Finally, he shook his head. “I gave Data two full days. I can’t leave before then. I’m not discounting what you’re saying, Doctor-believe me, I’m not. But I can’t just abandon our people down there without giving them a chance.”

Bur-tin’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. “It’s your choice, Commander. That is, until you come down with the disease yourself-at which time I have every intention of relieving you of your command.” And with that, he headed for the exit.

As the lounge doors opened, Burtin turned again-as if he had thought of something else to say. But he was interrupted by the commotion outside, on the bridge.

Both men were spurred to action. The first officer, a little quicker, was only a step behind the doctor as they emerged … And saw Wesley Crusher

sprawled on the deck beside his conn station. Troi was kneeling beside him, clasping his shoulder.

“What happened?” asked Riker-though he already knew the answer. “He collapsed,” said Troi, her face taut with Wesley’s pain and fear. “Not more than a few seconds ago.”

“It’s all right, sir,” said Wesley. “I think the symptoms are just beginning.” He tried to get up under his own power, failed and slumped against the deck again. “But I’m going to need a gurney to get to sickbay.”

Burtin was kneeling beside the ensign too, now.

He looked up at Riker, said nothing. But his silence was thick with accusation.

With the return of full circulation to his stiff, rope-scored limbs, Picard was beginning to fuel the pain he’d been spared since his failed escape attempt. It had already gotten so bad that he winced with every halting step.

“Get a move on,” called the marshal behind him.

“Or I’ll give you a taste of what real agony is like.”

The courtyard echoed with his threat. Other marshals heard and turned their heads. When nothing happened, they turned away again. Ralak’kai and Geordi walked on either side of Picard, similarly hobbled by their physical discomforts. They exchanged glances. “A taste,” suggested Ralak’kai, “of the hospitality we have to look forward to?”

Picard grunted. “No doubt.”

The marshals might have been less testy, the human

observed, if the full complement of prisoners had arrived. They had been quite vocal in their anger when they saw all the empty wagons. Unlike that other fortress, there had been no careful guards to greet them here. Nor could Picard, now that he was inside, see more than a few casual watchers up on the walls.

Obviously, there was no fear of invasion in this place. And indeed, what need was there for guards when the fortress was crawling with sky riders-and nothing but sky riders? The only warriors he saw were those who had brought them in the wagons.

Was this some sort of headquarters for the marshals, then? A dispatch point?

And if that were the case, why had Picard and the others been transported here? Not for punishment alone, he thought. After all, that could have been meted out a while ago, andwitha lot less effort. Then why? As some sort of work force? He looked around. There didn’t seem to be a lot of work that needed doing.

Or…

“Move it, I said!”

Picard felt a blow in the middle of his back, and his legs were too inflexible to absorb the impact.

He pitched forward, caught himself on hands and knees as a cloud of dust rose around him. He didn’t quite see the action that ensued, but he gathered that Geordi had come to his defense. Perhaps even shoved the marshal as the marshal had shoved Picard.

What he did see was a second sky rider striking Geordi down from behind. As the dark man fell, the metal band he wore on his face went flying. In that moment, Picard understood that the band was not part of Geordi. And he understood mare than that comfor without it, the dark man seemed confused-disoriented.

The band is some sort of seeing device, he realized. Geordi is blind. To his credit, the dark man didn’t whimper or cry out at his loss.

But then, even after knowing him only this short time, Picard hadn’t expected him to.

Instead, Geordi calmly and methodically searched the ground around him with probing fingers. And when after a few seconds he hadn’t found anything, he resolutely got to his feet.

There was no point in begging, he knew. It would not get him anywhere. Picard saw where the metal band had landed. So did Ralak’kai. But the marshals weren’t about to let them recover it for their companion.

“Come on,” said one of the sky riders. Picard felt another jolt, though this time he managed to stay on his feet. “Are you deaf or something?” “My friend dropped something,” he said, confronting the marshal.

“Let him have it back.” It grated on him to say the next word: “Please.” The sky rider’s mouth spread slowly into a leering grin. “What happens to him, was he said, “is no business of yours. was He removed his blaster from his holster.

“Unless you insist on making it so.”

“It’s all right,” said Geordi, taking a step in the other human’s direction. Apparently, he’d heard the sound of the weapon being withdrawn. “Don’t push him-I can live without it.”

Nonetheless, Picard was about to press his suit-when one of the warriors stooped to pick up the metal band.

Without hesitating, he went over to the dark man and placed it in his hands. Then, still silent, he went back to his place by the wagons.

Nor did the marshals make him pay for his benevolence. There was a large number of warriors in the courtyard right

now-perhaps the sky riders thought it unwise to antagonize them. In any case, they waited long enough for Geordi to slip his device back into place. But no longer.

A third time, Picard felt a prod from behind.

Except that this time, it was with the barrel of a blaster.

“Go on,” said the marshal who wielded it.

“Give me an excuse.” But the human didn’t give it to him. He no longer had a reason to.

He walked as best he could across the remainder of the courtyard, until he was swallowed by the stone-cold maw of the keep.

PAY DM T!

Biker himself directed the security force that ushered the Mendel survivors off the transporter platform. Troi was there, too, to help assure them that they were in a safe place-a friendly place. It had been apparent from the second the survivors materialized that Biker’s hypothesis had been accurate: they had absolutely no idea of where they were. Their memories were gone-though with some rehab therapy, they would probably get most of them back.

To compound their confusion, they had been beamed up without any warning-another quick-as-blazes, get-in-andget-out maneuver, which brought the ship within transporter range for just the few moments they needed. Fortunately, though they were pushing their luck pretty hard, there was still no sign that the Klah’kimmbri had spotted them. As Biker scanned the survivors” faces, he felt a little rush of vindication. Sure, they looked scared and uncertain. But they were alive. And if he’d listened to Burtin, they would probably have died by the time another rescue vessel showed up.

Not that it made the doctor’s warning any less valid. But it was a victory-and Riker felt he’d earned the right to revel in it. Victories of any sort had been exceedingly rare since they’d arrived in the vicinity of A’klah.

It was also good to know that Data’s plan-whatever it was-was working. There was no way that these eight survivors could have come together by coincidence. Somehow, Data had rounded them up and kept them in one place-though stumbling on them without instructions from the android had been a stroke of luck.

Seeing that the Menders people were in good hands, Riker turned to Chief O’Brien.

“Good job,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. I do my best.” A fleeting smile, and then O’Brien was intent again on his board-reducing energy levels by careful stages.

“Commander Riker,” intoned an ambient voice. The survivors looked around warily for its origin.

The first officer, however, recognized that it was Fong calling him from the bridge.

“Riker here.”

“Sir-I think we’ve got another

group-believe it or not. Seven more-and Palazzo is one of them.”

The first officer felt himself grinning.

“Oh well,” said O’Brien. “At least they didn’t wait until I’d powered down

completely.”

“Excellent news, Mister Fong,” said

Riker. “Make the necessary course adjustments and proceed at optimum speed.”

“Receiving coordinates now,” said O’Brien.

“They’re not too far away from where we found this bunch.”

If Data had been with them in the transporter room, Riker might have hugged him. The android was working some kind of miracle down there. His jubilation was tempered only by one factor-the names that were still among the missing. Picard. Pulaski.

Geordi. Worf.

Of course, it was possible that they’d be discovered in yet another group. Or that Data was busy gathering them up now. But the android was running out of time. His deadline was less than a day away.

Data had already done more than anyone had expected of him. How much more could he do?

And then, no matter how efficient the android was, there was one obstacle even he couldn’t surmount: the fact that some of the Mendel’s crew-and perhaps some of their own people as well-were already dead.

Already beyond rescue.

Riker hoped with all his heart that his friends weren’t in that number.

It hadn’t been easy for Pulaski. Her feet were killing her, she was cold and the wind had rasped away patiently at her facial burns until they stung like the devil. Also, she wished that she’d taken some of that food herself.

But she had managed to find the Klingon, and then to keep him in sight without being spotted. That made all her smaller problems seem a good deal more tolerable.

What’s more, her memory had come

back-all of it. Not just up to the moment when she vanished off the Mendel, but also all the events that had transpired since then-first in the Klah’kimmbri installation where they’d apparently blocked out parts of her memory, and then, later, her experiences as a med.

She remembered how the flash of light from the destruction of the flying monitor had brought everything to the surface again-after a brief period in which site couldn’t seem to remember anything. And she recalled, as well, the straits in which she’d left the Enterprise-at the mercy of a disease that had the potential to be devastating. She wished she had her communicator, or that she could somehow get word to the ship-for she believed she had a cure. She couldn’t be certain, of course. But in all the time she’d spent here-wherever here was-the disease hadn’t touched her. And if she was right about the bacterium’s capacity for mutation into something contagious, she should have felt the symptoms by now. In fact, the disease should have killed her. Hell-it should have killed anyone that she’d come in contact with after her initial exposure to Fredi; without knowing it, she would have been a carrier.

Yet she was alive, unafllicted. And so, apparently, was Worf. Something in this environment had to be protecting her. Something that she and the Klingon had in common.

Pulaski thought she had a handle on what that something might be. Unfortunately, the Enterprise could become a plague ship before she got a chance to test her theory.

Which only made the pursuit of Worf that much more critical. In the three or four hours since she’d left the transport train behind, she had been thinking up ways to approach the Klingon-and discarding them. She knew it wouldn’t be enough to just tell him she was a friend. Or to try to explain the situation and ask him to help. At best, he’d take off, leaving her to fend for herself in this ungodly wilderness. At worst, he’d silence her for the danger she represented-as someone who could draw attention to him.

Recently, however, she’d come to see another possibility. Based on her observations of his progress, it seemed to her that Worf had a destination in mind. He was far from lost.

More than that, she had a feeling, he was not on his way to link up with other warriors. In the enclosure, her patients had kept their armor at their bedsides, and they always put it on before they left. The Klingon, on the other hand, was missing parts of his protective garb-most notably, his helmet. No enemy would have taken that from him. The only other conclusion was that he had thrown it away himself-as an act of rebellion.

Knowing Worf as she did, and knowing his force of character, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d decided that these battles were somehow beneath him-somehow contemptible. After all, even without his memory, he was a Klingon-and Klingons, he’d said often enough, placed honor above everything. How honorable could these combats be, if the behavior of the marshals was any indication? Was it possible, then, that he was deserting-and that he knew a way out of here? That if she just hung on a little longer, he would lead her to some sort of civilizationwhere she had a chance of contacting the ship?

There was no guarantee-but she hoped so. And until she had a viable plan for defusing a confrontation with Worf, she decided to try and ride that hope.

Even as she pondered these things, Worf dropped out of sight over the brink of along, stone escarpment.

Pulaski was scared to death to lose him-especially now, so deep into the wilderness-but she also couldn’t go after him right away. First, she had to make sure that he was well beyond the escarpment-that he’d had enough time to descend farther, and wouldn’t hear her scrabbling around behind him.

At times like these, Pulaski wished she had the Klingon’s hunting instincts-not to mention his surefootedness. A single wrong step and she’d be one sore physician.

When she had waited as long as she possibly could, she emerged from. her most recent hiding place-some rocks beside a gentle incline that twisted into the steep one-and started down. Of course, there was no way to know if her timing was true until she reached the bottom. Staying low, using her hands as well as her feet in crablike fashion, the doctor got down the escarpment without any slips-or, for that matter, any noise that would have alerted her quarry. Her arms and legs were charley-horsed by the time she was done, and there was a sharp pain in her left knee from her unaccustomed exertion-but it could have 227

gone a lot worse. Not for the first time that day she was grateful for her good fortune.

As she neared the edge over which Worf had disappeared, Pulaski could see the kind of terrain that prevailed below. It was a broad, meandering valley between two ridges, with a white river frothing at the center of it. One of the ridges was what she and Worf had just climbed out of. Just below her was a drop of another few meters, and then a slope as steep as the escarpment-although this one was grassy, nurtured by the flood. It was open territory, affording few places where one could conceal oneself. The Klingon should have been plainly visible from the doctor’s vantage point.

But he wasn’t. She couldn’t find him anywhere.

Pushing herself up a little off the incline, Pulaski tried to get a slightly better view. It didn’t change anything. Somehow, Worf had eluded her. The doctor staved off the panic she felt rising inside her. It doesn’t make sense, she told herself. He’s got to be down there.

She looked about the sheer cliffs that defined the slope, seeming to stand guard over it. He couldn’t have scaled those things-nor would he have had any reason to. There was a thin trickle of ice water down her back. Unless he suspected that he was being followed. Pulaski scanned the cliffs again, then the slope. Could he have made it all the way down to the river? It didn’t seem possible-he hadn’t had enough time.

Still, it was the least impossible possibility. And that was the one she’d been taught to pursue back in med school. Allowing herself to slide forward, she dangled her legs over the edge of the naked-stone slope. Then, with a gentle thrust of her arms, she slid the rest of the way over the brink.

Her landing wasn’t dignified, but it was effective. She found herself sitting at the top of the grassy incline, her rear end having taken the brunt of the impact.

That’s when she heard the crunch of gravel behind her,

and whirled-just in time to see Worf come out of his crouch at the base of the escarpment. His ax was poised at shoulder height, and there was a killing lust in his eyes.

Without thinking, Pulaski launched herself forward.

She tumbled end over end down the slope, certain that the Klingon would bury his axhead in her back at any moment.

When she somehow twisted sideways, and started to skid rather than somersault, she had a fraction of a second to see that Worf wasn’t on her heels after all. She’d left him well up the incline-though he had started after her.

The doctor’s body ached from her tumble, from the nightmarish rigors she’d put it through. As she tried to arrest her descent, to get her feet beneath her again, she began to think: what should I do? Where can 1 go that he can’t follow?

Or was it best to stop and wait for him-to try to confront him now with his past, before the blood fever could rise to a crescendo in his Klingon brain?

She was still deciding when she noticed the other figures on the slope. They were past Worf and off to the side, though her frantic scrambling made it difficult to discern any more about them. Worf didn’t seem to notice the newcomers. He was too intent on catching up with Pulaski.

But that didn’t last long, because a couple of seconds after Pulaski sighted them, one of the strangers opened fire on the Klingon. It was a soft, almost indiscernible beam-more of a rippling effect than any visible sort of light. However, it hit Worf like a ton of bricks. The Klingon toppled, rolled and finally slid to a halt, sprawled on the verdant slope. His ax ended up a couple of meters from his open hand. As she gained her balance, and the strangers began to descend, Pulaski felt her heart sink. For she saw now how much they resembled the marshals.

Nor was there any way she could outrun them. Not as long as they had weapons like that one.

Vaguely, she wondered what the penalty might be for desertion.

While the others slid and scuttled down the slope to help the warrior’s intended victim, Dan’nor approached the warrior himself.

Curiously, the still form was missing some of its armor.

Dan’nor wondered how that could have come about-even as he stopped by its side and knelt, blaster at the ready.

It turned out, however, that there was no need for caution. The warrior was truly unconscious.

Replacing his weapon in his belt, Dan’nor turned the combatant over to get a better look at him-to see if he needed any immediate medical attention. After all, he could have injured himself when he fell. The Klah’kimmbri was surprised to see a face that he recognized. He almost smiled.

Wasn’t this the one he’d seen on the screen that time?

The one who had seemed so efficient to him?

He couldn’t be sure it was the same warrior.

After all, he’d had a helm on then, and it had concealed part of his face. But Dan’nor was almost sure.

What was he doing here, so far from the fighting?

Dan’nor looked down slope, saw that the other rebels had caught up with the fleeing female.

Perhaps she could shed some light on this.

As Ma’alor and the others trudged back up the incline, it seemed that the female was almost eager to reach the warrior. She was climbing faster than any of them. Strange behavior, thought Dan’nor, for one who was so recently striving to get away from himAt the last, the female knelt on the

unconscious one’s other side. She pulled his eyelid up-to expose his staring

eyeball-harumphed, and let it down again. Then she put a finger to his neck, just below the line of his jaw.

“He’s not hurt,” Dan’nor offered. “Not really. It was just a small jolt.” “He should be up in half an hour,” said Ma’alor, standing over them-not an easy trick on this steep a hill.

“Maybe less, judging by the size of him.”

The female nodded. “I agree.” She looked up at Ma’alor. “And since you didn’t lie to me about this, I’m more inclined to believe the rest of it-that you aren’t a pack of marshals bent on bringing us back for punishment.” She surveyed the other faces around her. “But then, what are you? What are you doing here?”

Ma’alor shook his head. “First, I

want some more information from you. How you came to find your memory, for instance. And what your link is to this one here.” He indicated the warrior.

The female told them-appearing to hold nothing back. As she spoke, Dan’nor got an

entirely new perspective on the error he’d made as Fulfillment Facilitator-the mistake that plunged this Pulaski and her crew mates into the Conflicts.

He also found that he liked something about the female.

There was a strength in her, a resolve-not unlike the quality he had come to admire in Trien’nor.

“Remarkable,” said Ma’alor, when she had finished. “You’re saying that a simple, bright flash was enough to restore all your memories.” “That’s right,”

said Pulaski. “Now it’s your turn. If you’re not marshals, what’s your business here?”

Ma’alor didn’t tell her everything, but he told her enough. More, in fact, than Dan’nor had expected he would. He spoke of Ralak’kai’s initial imprisonment; of the innovation the Conflict Masters had so recently devised for him-a public execution, justified by his supposed attempts to escape from this Conflict zone. And, of course, of the concurrent executions of all those who’d aided him in his efforts-lending the event the proportions of a spectacle.

“We are here,” Ma’alor explained, “to make sure that the

spectacle does not take place. To show the Council-and our people as well-that we will no longer stand for the Military’s depravities.” Pulaski took a moment to digest it all. “So you’re heading for that fortress now? The one where your friend is being held?” Ma’alor nodded. “Yes.”

She half smiled. “Then I wish you all the luck in the world.” Ma’alor eyed her. “You don’t seem very optimistic for us.”

She shook her head. “Forgive me-it’s not that.

I was just trying to think of a way you could help me, and I can’t. I still have no way of getting out of here.

No way of contacting my ship-and that disease could be running wild by now.” She paused. “I know that sounds a little selfish, with all you’re trying to do here-but I guess I’ve got my own problems as well,”

“I see,” said Ma’alor. “But tell me-would you be more interested in our venture if it were one of your crew mates that was to be executed?” Pulaski’s brows met above the bridge of her nose.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Dan’nor interrupted. There was something about the way Ma’alor was conducting this conversation that irked him.

“We have sources,” he said. “They’ve determined, as best they can, the identities of those who will die alongside Ralak’kai-and at least one came from the Enterprise. Possibly, more than one.”

Ma’alor looked at him, but he did not berate him. Perhaps he would do that later. “It’s the truth,”

he confirmed. “And we have actually seen someone of your race at Ralak’kai’s side in the Conflicts.

So my guess is that our information is accurate.”

Pulaski looked more than just interested. Her eyes had become hard, unyielding.

“Take me to them,” she said, “and I’ll help in any way I can.” Ma’alor considered it. “All right,” he said finally. “We can always use an extra pair of hands.” He looked around, eyes narrowed like those of a hunting bird. “But you must keep up with us.

Otherwise, we’ll be forced to leave you behind.”

Pulaski nodded. “I understand.” She regarded the unconscious warrior. “But I’ll need some help carrying him-at least, until he wakes up from that blast you hit him with.”

Ma’alor looked at her. His mouth

twisted as if he were about to laugh. “You don’t understand after all. I meant that you could come along—not your friend here.” Abruptly, his eyes became as hard as hers. “He would slow us down-we can’t afford that. Not on open terrain like this, where we run too great a risk of being spotted. And not with Ralak’kai’s execution approaching so quickly.”

Pulaski didn’t give in-not an inch.

“Getting there is one thing,” she said. “But once you’re there, you’re going to need help to free your friend.” She placed a hand on the warrior’s unfeeling shoulder. “No one fights like he can. No one is as skilled at moving quickly and quietly.

He could be the difference for you between success and failure.” “Can he handle a blaster?” asked Rin’noc.

Pulaski turned to face him. “Better than anyone I’ve ever seen.” Dan’nor inspected the still, cruel features in a new light. Certainly, they could use the skills of a trained fighter. None of them were experts at this sort of thing-not even Dan’nor himself, with his Military background.

“That’s all well and good,” said Ma’alor. “But he doesn’t know us. He doesn’t even know you-not anymore. Why should he fight for us? Why not just tear our throats out and run at the first opportunity?” Pulaski shook her head from side to side. “He won’t hurt us. Not after I’ve had a chance to talk with him.” She

paused. “I must admit, I’m not a hundred percent sure that he’ll help us. But I know he won’t hurt us.”

Ma’alor spat. “How can you say that? Without question, he would have hurt you-if we hadn’t arrived in time to stop him.”

“I know,” she said. “But it’ll be different after I’ve had a chance to reassure him. He’ll listen to reason-he always has.”

Ma’alor made no attempt to mask his

skepticism. “No,” he said. “I won’t allow it.”

“However,” said Dan’nor, “you don’t

necessarily have the final decision in this matter.”

For the second time in the last few minutes, Dan’nor was subjected to Ma’alor’s stare. But he went on anyway.

“I say we take the warrior with us,” he told the others. “And I volunteer to carry him first.”

There was a long silence. They could hear the rush of the river, the sighing of the wind on the open slope.

At last, someone spoke. “I’m with

Dan’nor,” said Rin’noc. “And I’ll take my turn at carrying too, if I have to.”

“I agree,” said Ka’asot. “It won’t

hurt to have a warrior with us when we reach that fortress.”

Nurel’lid had yet to voice his opinion. He seemed torn. Until Pulaski fixed him with her gaze. “He’ll die,” she said, “if we leave him here like this. The only question is who’ll get to him first-the marshals or the wild animals.”

That tipped the scales. “All right,” said Nurei’lid, though he couldn’t face Ma’alor as he said it. “We’ll take him.”

Pulaski nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you. All of you.”

Ma’alor scowled. “Very well then. We’ve prided ourselves on observing democratic principles. I bow to the will of the majority-though not without reservations.”

He reached inside his pack, drew out his climbing ropeand tossed it to Dan’nor.

“If we’re going to bring him along,” said Ma’alor, “he

should be bound. So that he doesn’t wake up and make short work of us.” Dan’nor didn’t question the wisdom in that. Uncoiling the rope, he set to binding the warrior’s arms and legs.

They were in three separate tells-Geordi nearest the narrow aperture that served as a window, then Ralak’kai, then Picard. And the flying eye device seemed to prefer Ralak’kai’s company to that of his friends. “I wonder why,” said Geordi.

“Perhaps,” suggested Picard, “it has something to do with your resemblance to the marshals.”

Ralak’kai made a sound that was equivalent to a shrug. “Who knows? Like most of what we have encountered here, it is a mystery to me.” A clatter of footfalls came to them from down the dimly lit corridor. The maker of the footfalls had come quite close before they realized it was not their usual jailer-nor was he bringing them another round of that foul-smelling porridge.

This was one of the marshals. If anything, he seemed even haughtier in his bearing than the ones they had met so far. Geordi wasn’t sure, but he thought that their visitor also wore more regalia than the average sky rider.

Like the flying eye, he stopped in front of Ralak’kai’s cell; in fact, the machine appeared almost to perch on his shoulder. But he addressed all three of them, his golden eyes flitting from one to the other. “You seem calm,” he said.

A strange way to begin a conversation, Geordi thought. “We would be more calm,” noted Ralak’kai, “if we knew what we were doing here.”

At that, the marshal’s eyes lit up. “Ah,”

he said. “Now I understand. No one has told you.”

Geordi didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Told us what?”

The sky rider turned to face him. “It’s very simple,” he

said. “Just before day’s end, someone will come for you. You will be escorted down to the courtyard. Then, with the sunset serving as a most dramatic backdrop, you will be executed-slowly, and painfully.” The words didn’t sound real. It took some time before Geordi could come to grips with them.

“Executed?” he repeated. “But why? What for?” The marshal appeared to grow slightly more serious. “For attempting to desert your companies,”

he said. “For trying to thwart the intent of the Conflicts. For compounding your crimes on the outside with aberrant behavior on the inside. was Suddenly, he smiled. “Do you think that’s enough?

Or should I heap on additional charges?” “You are mad,” said Picard. All Geordi could see of him was his accusing finger, thrust in their visitor’s direction. “We aren’t criminals and you know it. The only aberrant behavior I’ve seen has been on the parts of your blasterhappy cohorts.” His voice gained in intensity as he went an. “As for thwarting the intent of your bloodbaths-I have no regrets about that. I’d do it again in a minute.”

“Well said,” offered MAUL

The marshal nodded. “Good. A little emotion-that’s more like it.” “Wait a minute,” said Geordi, catching on. “This is part of the show-isn’t it? That machine is supposed to record our pre-execution hysteria.”

“Of course,” said Ralak’kai, as it dawned on him too. “Our tearful good-byes, our pleas for mercy.”

Picard muttered a curse. “You can take your machine and go straight to hell-which, from what I’ve seen, can’t be very far from here.” He laughed-actually laughed. “We’re through providing entertainment for you-was “That’s correct,” said MAUL “You can kill us if you want to. But it won’t be the

spectacle you’re obviously looking for. Eh, Geordi?” Geordi still felt numb at the prospect of being executedespecially at the hands of this pompous ass.

However, he played along with the others.

“Right,” he said, noticing how the flying eye turned toward him now when he spoke. With less effort than he

might have thought, he was able to fashion a grin.

“You’d have more fun executing this flying pile of nuts and bolts.”

The marshal looked at them. “Perhaps,” he said.

“We will see.” He glanced at the window, as if to gauge the amount of daylight left in it. “I will be surprised if you still feel this way a few hours from now.” With that chilling remark still hanging in the air, he took his leave of them. The flying eye, however, remained.

“All right,” said Ralak’kai, when the sounds of the marshal’s departure had died. “Let’s be true to those brave words now.” He swatted at the machine, though he couldn’t reach out far enough to actually have a hope of hitting it. “We may die-but we can do it with dignity.”

Geordi grunted in assent. But he

didn’t feel as brave as his words. He found that he was trembling; his knees were unsteady. He had to sit down on his cell’s only chair before he suffered the embarrassment of falling down.

My God, he told himself. If you’re like this now, what will you be like at the end?

WORE WAS NO SOONER AWAKE than he

was aware of the bonds that held him fast. He tried to break them, but they were too strong. Where was he?

What had happened to him? The last thing he remembered was turning the tables on that female who had pursued him. Then he glimpsed movement over his shoulder-craned his neck to get a better view of it. What he saw made his stomach muscles tighten reflexively.

Marshals. Five of them. And another-the female! Had she been some sort of bait? he wondered. Or a distraction, so that he would not pay attention to his real pursuers? But no-that did not make any sense. Marshals needed no

subterfuge. Not with their flying sleds and their Masters.

Perhaps she had merely drawn attention to him-his fear all along. Perhaps they had been tracking her, and then spotted him only when he emerged from concealment.

But why had she followed him in the first place?

To recoup the food he had stolen? He did not think so. Nor did he

believe she was a deserter-like him. A deserter would not be conversing so companionably with the marshals now.

If there were only some way he could free himself.

Now, before they realized he was … Damn. Too late.

“Looks like your friend is awake,” said one of them.

The rest turned to regard Worf-and he wished he could shove their smug expressions down their throats, one at a time.

The female separated herself from the group and came over to him. Knelt beside him.

Her expression, at least, was not smug. In fact, she almost seemed frightened.

“Worf,” she said. “Where do I begin?”

How did she know his name? He rumbled deep in his throat, not sure he liked the idea.

“Please,” she said. “Don’t shut me out. I know you’re angry, afraid-but it’s important that you listen to me.”

There was something in her voice, in her choice of words, that caught him off balance. He was not certain what he had expected of her, but it was not entreaty.

“Why should I?” he asked.

“Because,” she said, “I know who you are-who you really are. I know where you come from and why you’re here. And the reason I know these things is because I come from the same place.”

He inspected her individual features for a sign of insincerity-gazed deep into her eyes. “You look nothing like me,” he spat. “That’s true,”

she conceded “I don’t. But that doesn’t change anything. We come from a ship called the Enterprise.

Does that sound familiar?” He rolled it over his tongue. “Enterprise. was It carne more easily to him than he would have thought. On the other hand, it brought forth no images-no recollections.

“That’s right-Enterprise. And we were transported here against our will-you and I and a handful of others. We were placed on these battlefields-but not before they took our memories away from us.”

Worf grunted his skepticism-indicated her companions with a toss of his head. “If you were like me,” he told her, “you would not be in the company of marshals.”

She shook her head. “They’re not

marshals. Take a good look at them. They are of the same race as the marshals-but they are opposed to them.” He thought about that, sifted through it-uncertain of how much truth there could be in it. And yet, he was reluctant to reject it all out of hand.

“Give me a reason to believe you,” the Klingon demanded. “Why should I lie?” she asked. “Make no mistake-I do want something from you. I want help. But we can do without it. My friends here would probably prefer to abandon you-leave you to fend for yourself. Damnation-they’ve been carrying you half the day, and you’re no lightweight.” Worf glanced again at the marshals, then at his surroundings. It was true that they had moved him from the last place he remembered. And there were neither sleds nor other conveyances in sight. If they were trying to trick him, they had gone to great lengths. And as the female had said-what reason could they have to deceive him? Why not just kill him, or torture him, or bring him back to serve again as a warrior?

Worf eyed the female. “How is it that you have regained your memory-while mine is still a blank?”

“By accident. Purely by accident. Remember that flyingeye machine I swatted? And how it blew up in my face? Somehow the flash destroyed whatever block was placed in my brain-though at first, I remembered even less than before.” She paused.

“I would do the same for you, if I had a means of making the same kind of flash-and if I felt sure I wouldn’t be damaging your eyes at the same time.”

He thought back to the fortress, and how the sudden light from the sky had driven those warriors mad. Was that what

had happened to them? If they had been allowed to live, would their memories have been restored?

And was that why they were murdered by the marshalsto prevent the existence of a band of warriors who could remember? And, remembering, who could stir up the others into some sort of rebellion? That cinched it for the Klingon. Possibly, the female was not telling him the whole truth. Hut too many pieces fit together for her to be lying through her teeth.

“What kind of help do you want from me?” he asked. “What can 1 do that you cannot do yourselves?”

“We’re going to try to free some of our people,”

explained the female. “Some of those who were taken from the Enterprise along with us. It means getting into a fortress that’s crawling with marshals-and we thought that your experience as a warrior might come in handy.”

He scowled. That piece fit into place as well. Too neatly? he wondered. On the other hand, what did he have to lose? He could hardly help but improve his situation.

“All right,” he said.

Her brow wrinkled for a moment, and she shook her head. “No. You still have your doubts—don’t you?”

She sighed. “What proof can I give you that I’m telling the truth? What can I say that will convince you?” And then her eyes lit up.

“I know,” she said. “When you were very little, you sustained a wound-some sort of hunting accident. And since Klingons don’t believe in cosmetic surgery, you carry the sir to this day. In fact, it’s just below your …”

He growled dangerously. “Enough,” said Worf.

“I believe you.” He lowered his voice, so that the others could not hear. “But how did you know?” he asked.

The female shrugged. “I’m your doctor, Worf. I know everything there is to know about you—at least, from a medical standpoint.”

That did not please him-nor did he disguise the fact. “You know so much about me—and I know so little about you. Not even your name.” She chuckled.

“Pulaski,” she told him. “Kate

Pulaski.” And under the watchful eyes of her companions, she began untying the ropes that held him.

“Puh-laskee,” he repeated. He had heard some strange names in his time among the warriors, but that was one of the strangest.

Ensconced in the command center, Will Riker stared at the computer-enhanced image of A’klah on the viewscreen. He didn’t need the computer to remind him of the seconds ticking away. All around him, ship’s personnel went about their duties. Like him, they were painfully aware of the time-though they didn’t show it. There was a tension in the air-a sense of expectation that was almost tangible. Troi emerged from the turbolift and took her usual path across the bridge. Gracefully, she settled into her seat.

“You’re early,” said Riker.

“I know,” she answered. “But the MendePs people were all right for the time being. They’ve come to trust us, to feel secure.” A pause. “And I felt that I should be hers right now.”

He tapped his fingers on his armrest. “Truth be told, Deanna, I’m glad you made that decision.

It’s starting to feel a bit lonely at the top.”

A moment passed, during which he knew she was scanning his emotional ebb and flow. “Are you having a change of heart?” she asked. He shook his head. “No-not really. How can I? There are twenty-six people down with that bloody disease nownat as many as Burtin predicted, but enough to scare the hell out of me.” He shifted in his seat. Suddenly, it seemed too small for him. “I don’t dare wait any longer. As soon as we

make contact with Data, we’ll beam him up-along with whomever else he’s managed to round up. And that’s it. There’s no time for another extension on his deadline.”

Troi didn’t offer an opinion. That wasn’t her function. But she did probe to determine the full extent of his feelings. “Can you live with yourself,” she asked, “if you have to leave the others behind?

Or worse yet, if you have to abandon Data into the bargain?” Biker thought about that, and not for the first time.

“Good question,” he told her. “I wish I had an answer.”

Dov’rellir had been chosen as the marshals’

field headquarters because of its uselessness as a true fortress. Whoever built it had-remarkably enough-failed to reckon with the eminently negotiable trails that led down the mountainside into which it was built. Any invader could descend along those trails and plunk himself down into the fortress, as long as he took some care not to be spotted.

The assumption that no one would be crazy enough to attack a keep full of marshals only made Dov’rellir that much more vulnerable. It was a situation for which Dan’nor found himself grateful as he picked his way down the mountainside, darting from cover to cover. Of course, once they got down into the fortress proper, it would be a different set of affairs. There was no way around the sheer numbers of the marshals-nor was there any telling how long he and Rin’noc and Ka’asot would be able to district them while Ma’alor and the others carried out their real purpose here.

As Dan’nor reached a spot within a few meters of the battlements, he stopped and considered the courtyard below. The gallows at the center of it was easy to see-it dominated the open area. What’s more, there were two aerial monitors transmitting pictures of it from two different angles.

For a moment, he saw the tableau through the eyes of someone still in the Military. Appreciated its drama, which would no doubt hold the masses enthralled in front of their videoscreens.

But the thought vanished in the midst of more immediate concerns.

Strange, wasn’t it? He had always hoped to make it to the Conflict zones-to be in the thick of the action.

And now he was-though not the way he’d originally intended.

Rin’noc joined him, then Ka’asot. On the far side of the mountain, near the point where the wall curved around and met the slope, Ma’alor’s party was ready also. They were waiting for him to make his move. Taking a deep breath, Dan’nor slithered down from the trail, blaster in hand. Fortunately, the battlements were all but unguarded-a measure of the marshals’ confidence. A single figure leaned against the stones of the wall, watching the proceedings in the courtyard. Dan’nor’s aim was perfect-the marshal never knew what hit him. Nor did any of the other sky riders notice as he crumpled. Slowly, with great care, Dan’nor led the way along the battlements. He took up the point farthest away from the mountain, waited for Rin’noc and Ka’asot to establish themselves. Then, when he was sure that they were as secure as they could be, he opened fire on the uniformed figures below. It was the signal for Ma’alor’s group to come down off the mountain.

The plan was working. With Dan’nor and the others attracting all the attention, it had been simplicity itself to slip into the fortress and find an open entrance to the keep.

Ma’alor had seemed nervous when he armed the Klingon with an extra blaster-even if it was permanently set on stun. Even now, he kept glancing over his shoulder-to make sure that Worf was still on their side.

But the Klingon no longer had any doubts as to where his

loyalties belonged. Anyone who wanted to thwart the intentions of the marshals was worth helping, as far as he was concerned. And if he really was liberating someone he had known on a ship somewhere … all the better.

The first corridor they came to was empty.-as was the second, which ran at an angle to it. Blind luck? Or a trap?

When they turned into their third passageway, and there was still no sign of a defender, Ma’alor was becoming suspicious as well. “Something’s wrong,”

he said. “Where is everyone?” Nurel’lid shook his head, baffled.

“I don’t know either,” said Pulaski. “But I’ll feel better if we keep

moving,.” She had declined a blaster-a good idea, Worf told himself. The doctor did not look at all comfortable in this endeavor. As Pulaski suggested, however, they kept moving. A fourth corridor proved to be as empty of resistance as the first three. And then, on the verge of yet another turning, they heard voices. “dis . , do not understand.

I thought you had been alerted to my mission here.”

“I was not alerted to your mission. And without word from the Conflicts Commander himself, I cannot allow the prisoners to be removed.” The first voice seemed cold, dispassionate; the second was controlled but seething with emotion underneath.

“A laudable sentiment-laudable indeed. However, I have my orders as well. And they call for the prisoners to be removed to a more secure location.”

“What? Are you telling me that Dov’rellir is less than secure?” “I would not presume to disparage your efforts here. Nonetheless, there are places less vulnerable to the expected rescue attempt.”

“Rescue attempt?” The voice had climbed an octave. Its control was failing.

“You have not been warned about the rescue attempt?

Someone has not been doing his job.” A pause. “After the transport of the prisoners is completed, I will have to investigate this matter …”

Pulaski turned to Worf. Her face was a study in apprehension. Her lips formed two words: “They know.”

Worf nodded. It seemed that their mission had been anticipated. Yet their plan had thus far gone without a hitch. They had gotten this far-expected or not, they had to forge ahead. Ma’alor, the closest to the turning, glanced over his shoulder at the rest of them. He still appeared determined. Or was that a glimmer of doubt in his eyes? A sign that he was having second thoughts about their ability to free the prisoners?

No matter, Worf told himself. If the rest of them wish to retreat, let them.

The Klingon would not go back. Not now, when his chance to avenge himself on the honorless ones was just around the corner. “Worf,” whispered Pulaski,

wide-eyed. “Where are you going?” He shrugged her off as gently as he could, approached the turning of the corridor.

Ma’alor whirled, trained his blaster on him.

The Klingon wondered what setting it was adjusted to.

For a moment, the two of them eyed one anotherMa’alor insisting on his right to lead, Worf challenging him to do what he had come here to do. And all the while, the voices of the marshals were ringing in the stone passageway beyond them.

Finally, Ma’alor let the nose of his blaster drop. Reaching out with his free hand, he clasped the Klingon’s shoulder-a gesture of respect? Of gratitude for reminding

him of his mission? Worf suffered it, knowing it brought him a little closer to that which he hungered for.

Crouching, they proceeded to the brink of the turningall except Pulaski. Worf could see the muscles in Ma’alor’s neck tense as he prepared to spring.

Then they were rolling and blasting in a corridor full of marshals, and there were screams of surprise and the wssk of weapons being drawn and the sound of bodies hitting the boor.

It was difficult to anticipate the blaster beams, as invisible as they were but for their eerie rippling effect. Nonetheless, Worf’s battle-honed reflexes served him well. He bounced from wall to wall, dropping marshals with unerring accuracy.

Impressive, he told himself,

considering he had never handled a blaster before.

At-least not that he could remember.

But it did not fill his aching need for revenge. It was too simple-too detached. He needed to take one of the slugs in his hands-to crush him, to feel his bones splinter.

For the shame and the suffering they had inflicted. For their leering laughter.

And for what his kind had done to Worf’s kind back at the fortress. Unfortunately, there were just a few of the marshals left standing. And as Worf looked on, Ma’alor and Nurei’lid dropped two of them.

That left but one. Apparently unarmed, he was hiding behind the prisoners.

Worf was oblivious to the half dozen or more figures that sprawled across the corridor. He had forgotten about the trio he had come in with, the comrades they had left outside.

Even the prisoners-one of them

Klah’kimmbriseemed to melt away. He had eyes for but one face, one despised form.

In the back of his mind, he wondered why the marshal did

not run away. Or pick up a weapon and fire at him. Or at least threaten him with reprisals.

But he did not wonder so much that it cooled his blood-fury. Never breaking his stride, he reached out and took the marshal by the throat.

Raised him off the floor with the strength of one arm.

Arid with great satisfaction, began to squeeze the breath out of him. But there was something wrong here. The flesh of the marshal’s neck did not yield. Nor did his grasp seem to have any effect on the cursed one’s breathing.

In fact, he was able to smile. And speak. “It is a pleasure,” he said evenly, “to see you again, Worf. I had feared I would not find you in time.”

The Klingon’s eyes narrowed as he squeezed harder. His arm trembled with the effort.

Yet it gained him nothing. The marshal still seemed unaffected. “I would take this for a show of affection,”

said the honorless one, “but for the fact that you are incapable of recognizing me. Therefore, I must conclude that it is something else. Perhaps a display of aggression?”

“Worfl.” The cry came ringing the length of the corridor. The Klingon looked back over his shoulder and snarled. Who dared? It was Pulaski.

And she was approaching with an obvious sense of urgency.

“Put him down,” she insisted. “That’s Data.

Don’t youoh, that’s right. You don’t.”

The Klingon turned back again, saw the affable expression on his victim’s face. He did not quite understand, but one thing was obvious. This seeming marshal was another ally. And a durable one at that.

In disgust, he thrust his burden from him. The pale one landed almost effortlessly on his feet.

“Gods!” roared Worf. His cry echoed

unmercifully. “What must one do to find revenge in this place?”

AFTER THEIR INI77ALSO, attention-getting salvo, Dan’noreaand his comrades had not had an easy time of it. Early on, Ka’asot had absorbed a beam, and he hadn’t moved since.

Immediately afterward, an attempt had been made to storm their position on the catwalk. He and Rin’noc had been hard-pressed, and more than once a blast had splattered on the stones just behind Dan’nor. But in the end, they had turned their enemies back.

Now, it seemed, the marshals had decided that the price of dragging them down was too steep. They were playing a waiting game-until help could arrive from the field in the form of some flying sleds.

Of course, the plan had been to be out of here long before that time. To be up the mountain again and gone before the sky riders could arrive. Nor were the earthbound marshals likely to pursue-for once the rebels were above them on the slope, they-would enjoy too great an advantage. But Ma’alor was taking longer than expected. What was keeping him? Had the prisoners proved harder to find than they’d anticipated? Or had the marshals found them first and taken them out of the game?

Just when Dan’nor concluded that their gambit was a failure, he saw a figure emerge from the opening by which his comrades had entered the keep. No one in the courtyard seemed to notice as Nurel’lid headed for the wall, followed by Ma’alor and someone in rough-spun garb-someone who had to be Ralak’kai.

But that was it. No one else trailed after them.

Dan’nor swallowed. Worf. Pulaski. And the others who were supposed to have been imprisoned with Ralak’kai …

All gone? All of them-just like Ka’asot?

It was a lot to pay for one man’s freedom.

An awful lot. But if they could show the Council that they would not tolerate such things … then perhaps they had purchased more than they would leave Dov’rellir with.

To keep the others safe and unseen, Dan’nor opened fire again. A fraction of a second later, Rin’noc followed suit. In the courtyard, marshals scattered, some taking cover behind the gallows. Dan’nor took some satisfaction in knowing that that ugly thing would never be used. That the aerial monitors would never have a chance to transmit their spectacle.

The marshals returned their fire. But they never saw Ma’alor, Nurel’lid or Ralak’kai

climbing the wall-not until it was too late. Nor did they offer more than token pursuit as the rebels escaped up the mountainside.

When the time came, it was even tougher to give the order than Riker had expected. But then, he wasn’t just leaving an away team to face danger and the likelihood of death. He was leaving five of the people he loved best in all the universe.

Nor did he feel inclined to distinguish between real people and artificial ones. He felt as bad about Data as he did about the others. In a way, perhaps, worse—because the android had volunteered for this, had gone in with the hope that he could save his crew mates.

And now, the first officer was forced to choke off that hope. Maybe forever.

Doctor Burtin had chosen to be on the bridge as Data’s deadline became imminent.

Obviously, he had exercised his prerogative to keep Riker honest-though that was hardly necessary.

Duty came first. It was a viewpoint to which Picard would certainly have subscribed.

“All right,” said Riker. “We’ve waited long enough.” He turned to Sharif at the corm station.

“Log in coordinates for Starbase Ninety-one.”

Sharif did as he was told. “Logged, sir.”

“Warp nine, Mister Sharif. En-“

“Commander?”

Riker shot to his feet. He knew that voice!

“Data!”

“That is correct, sir. I have five to beam up.”

“Transporter roam,” cried the first officer, barely able to contain his exuberance. “Mister O’Brien …”

“Aye, sir. I’m locking in on them now.

Got them.”

“Energize,” commanded Riker.

There was a long pause-or maybe it just seemed long. The first officer had time to look around the bridge-at Troi, at Fong. And at Burtin.

“They’re here, sir,” said O’Brien finally.

“All five of them. Captain Picard, Doctor Pulaski, Lieutenants Worf and La Forge.

And Lieutenant Commander Data, of course.”

Riker nodded, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I’m on my way.”

One moment, he had been standing in a dank, stone corridor. The next, he found himself somewhere else entirely-on a strange sort of illuminated platform in a pleasant if austere-looking room.

The others were there with him. The warrior and Cieordi and the woman and the marshal who had come to relocate them. Or had they determined that he was not a marshal, but rather one of Ralak’kai’s people in disguise?

Picard was very confused.

“You can come down from there now,” said the only other person in the room-a fellow half-concealed behind what appeared to be a machine. He was still tinkering with it as he spoke.

“Of course,” said the one who resembled Ralak’kai. “As soon as Doctor Pulaski gets her bearings.”

The woman appeared a trifle unsteady. She was clutching the pallid one’s arm for support.

“Thanks for the help,” she told him. “I guess androids are built to withstand the rigors of teleportation better than humans.”

Androids? Teleportation?

Picard wondered what he had gotten himself intothough, no matter what it was, it had to be better than awaiting execution. He turned to Geordi, and the dark man shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m new here myself.”

Grrr…

“Simmer down, Worf,” said the female. What was her name? Pulaski? “This is the place I told you about-the Enterprise. was Picard glanced back at the warrior, saw the wild and wary look in his eyes, and decided to give him as wide a berth as possible. Geordi must have had a similar thought because he followed Picard off the platform without a moment’s hesitation.

At the same time, an opening appeared in the wall comin the wall?-and three people stepped through. One was tall and bearded; another, a female, was darkly beautiful. The third, another man, was unremarkable looking. “Ah,” said Pulaski, “just the people I want to see.” Suddenly recovered, she made her way past the others. 252

“Data told me about the spread of the disease.

We’ve got to move quickly.” The bearded man stared at her. “Doctor-you have your memory, don’t you?”

“Yes. That’s another thing we have to discuss.”

“I too have something to discuss,” said the pallid one, raising a slender finger for attention. He came down off the platform, leaving the warrior there alone.

“I was able to bring together two other groups of Federation personnel. What’s more, I have their coordinates, and …” The bearded man stopped him with a clap on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Data. We’ve got them already. We stumbled onto them while you were gone.” The one called Data seemed to brighten at the news. “Ah,” he said. “Well done, sir.”

“There aren’t any other groups?” asked the bearded man. “Are there?” The pallid one’s expression changed again. “No, sir. There were no other survivors.”

A somber silence swept the room. Finally, the bearded man dispelled it with a command-though he appeared to be speaking to no one in particular. It was almost as if he were addressing an invisible helper, hovering somewhere near the ceiling.

“Riker to bridge. Let’s get out of here, Mister Sharif-any heading that appeals to you. Before we run out of luck with the Klah’kimmbri.” “I’m afraid we already have, sir. The energy mantle is materializing again.”

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Picard looked around, but he couldn’t catch anyone speaking.

The bearded man frowned. “All right, then.

Maintain present position for the time being.”

He turned toward Picard, nodded. “Welcome back, Captain.”

Picard returned the nod. “Thank you,” he said.

Captain?

Then the bearded man was exiting through that same hole in the wall-and taking half the people in the room with him.

The dark-haired female with the lovely black eyes seemed to be the one in charge now. She smiled at each of them in turn-first Picard, then Geordi, then the warrior.

“Relax,” she said. “You are all safe here.

In a little while, all your questions will be answered.”

There was something about her that made Picard want to trust. He could feel some of the tension going out of him.

“But first,” she said, “we must see that you are made comfortable. Won’t you come with me?”

Picard was the first to comply. And why not? He was curious to see what was out there.

As the sickbay doors opened, and the four of them stepped through, Burtin was still bringing Pulaski up-todate. Until now, he had restricted his monologue to medical information.

“And so,” he said finally, “I advised Commander Riker to take off for Starbase Ninety-one-where we could have enhanced our ability to keep our people alive.

We were on the verge of doing that when Mister Data here called up for a teleport.”

Pulaski glanced at him. “You mean you were going to sacrifice me and the others so you could get to Starbase Ninety-one a little sooner?” Burtin inspected her profile, taut with purpose.

“Yes,” he said. “That seemed to me to be the best course of action.”

Pulaski nodded. “And you were absolutely correct, Doctor.” Another glance in his direction, this time accompanied by a conspiratorial smile. “Though if my theory stands up, we can take care of this little epidemic without any help from Starbase Ninety-one.”

Sickbay’s diagnostic area was littered with field generators, most of them in use. There were biobeds everywhere,

including more than twice the usual number in critical care. And every blood purifier they owned was hard at work, with a nurse to oversee it. “How many?” asked the chief medical officer.

“At last count,” said Burtin, “thirty.

Less than I expected,” he admitted.

Pulaski grunted. “It could have been worse.”

Reaching into her rough-spun garment, she removed a square of the same material that had been gathered into a makeshift pouch.

“Here,” she said, handing the package to her colleague. Burtin took it, looked at it.

“What’s this”?” “Gruel,” said Pulaski.

“Or the antidote, depending on your point of view. I snatched it from the captain’s cell before we left.”

Riker seemed puzzled, but not Data. He voiced the explanation even as Burtin was putting it together in his own head. “Interesting,” said the android.

“Since none of the away team has come down with the disease, you have isolated a common denominator. an element in your diets.”

“Exactly,” said Pulaski. “And since all any of us ate was this foul-smelling stuff’-she indicated the contents of the half-open pouch in Burtin’s hand-“it’s not unreasonable to assume that it contains a natural antibiotic. Coincidentally, the one we’re looking for.”

Burtin regarded his superior with redoubled admiratioLike “Have you got a good feeling about this one too?” he asked.

” Pretty good,” she told him. “But there’s only one way to find out for sure. I want the gruel fed whole to Fredi and Vanderventer. And at the same time, we’ll analyze it-so when it works, we’ll have a fair idea why.”

“What about the memory-restoration procedure?”

asked Riker. ““That will have to wait,” said Pulaski. “A few hours, anyway. It’ll

take time to set things up. And until I dose Fredi and Vanderventer, and get the analysis process under 255

way, memory-restoration is on the back burner anywaythe epidemic is my main concern.”

Now it was Data’s turn to look puzzled.

“Back burner?” he echoed. “Come on,” said Riker, turning him around. “I’ll

explain on the way to the bridge.”

PICARD LEANED snctc in his seat at the conference table. “You are to be commended, Data. If I were here, I must admit, I would have expressed the same reservations as Mister Fong. Yet you carried off your masquerade quite well. With-shall we say-a certain amount of flair. was The android smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “It is good of you to say so, Captain. But I was fortunate in that my red-dyed hair and my uniform put me in a position of implied authority. Once I realized that I enjoyed certain advantages, I merely played along.”

“You’re too modest,” remarked Riker. “Using marshals to gather the Mendel survivors into two groups-and to stand guard over them, so they’d each be in a predetermined place when we went to beam them up … that was nothing short of brilliant, Data.”

For once, the android was speechless. Picard almost thought he could see Data blush—though it might have been a trick of the light and his officer’s hair, which was still bright red.

The captain decided that it would be merciful to change

the subject. He turned to Pulaski.

“I trust your efforts are continuing to meet with success?”

The doctor nodded. “That gruel really packs a wallop. Less than eight hours after ingestion, Fredi and Vanderventer were not only feeling better-they were completely free of the bacterium. And of course, now that we’ve isolated the antibiotic, we’ve been able to cut that time in half by injecting it directly into the bloodstream. It won’t be long before the last of our patients is on his or her feet.”

“What about the memory restorations?” asked Geordi. Naturally, that was a subject of some immediacy to hire.

“No problems there either,” said Pulaski.

“We’re just going slowly so as not to make any mistakes. The optic nerve is a delicate thing-since we’re stimulating it directly, we have to exercise caution.”

“Also,” said Troi, “we cannot merely hook everyone up to machines and tell them to hold still. These are people who have been traumatized over and over again in a short period of time-as much by their sudden appearance on the Enterprise as by anything else. They must be emotionally prepared for the restoration of their memories and the brief period of confusion that precedes it.” She glanced at Worf with a little half smile. “Or else they’re liable to try to destroy the very apparatus that helped them.”””

The Klingon scowled and looked around, daring anyone else to comment on the incident. No one did.

“Actually,” Pulaski continued, “the more troublesome procedure will be the removal of the

language-translation implants that the Klah’kimmbri were thoughtful enough to lend us. But there’s no harm in leaving them in until we’ve taken care of our other problems.”

Picard grunted. “Not the least of which is what to do about the numerous representatives of Federation worlds that still toil under the A’klahn mantle.”

“Completely unaware of who they are and where they come from,” said Geordi.

“We can’t just leave them here,” maintained Riker.

“It’s our responsibility to set them free.

To give them back what the Klah’kimmbri took from them.”

“I agree,” said Picard. “But how?”

Worf placed his elbows on the table.

Apparently, he had been waiting for someone to pose that question.

“I say we attack, “the Klingon advised.

“Quickly-before the Klah’kimmbri can formulate a strategy of their own. We have enough sensor information now to determine where their planetary defense installations are. We do not need to see them in order to hit them.

And once the Klah’kimmbri are defenseless, they will have no choice but to release the conscripts to us.”

Riker shook his head. “We can’t just go in there shooting. It would be an act of war. And as much provocation as the Klah’kimmbri have given us, war is to be avoided at all costs.”

Provocation indeed, thought Picard. But of course, his first officer was right.

“Violence is not an option here,” he confirmed.

“Nor, I am afraid, is negotiation. The Klah’kimmbri High Council has

demonstrated its reluctance in that regard.”

“If only we could restore the conscripts”

memories,” said Pulaski. “Imagine what kind of chaos it would cause; the marshals would be swamped by a rebellion of that magnitude. The Council would almost have to deal with us-to have us remove our people before they posed a threat to the general peace.”

“There is a way to do that,” said WorFrom His suggestion was simply put: “Fire the

phasers.”

Picard was about to rebuke him for repeating his earlier suggestion when the IC-LINGON’S meaning dawned on him. .

“Of course,” said Data, straightening. “A barrage calculated to light up the sky over each Conflict zone-without actually effecting any damage. The flashes of illumination would enable the participants to regain their memories.”

“In most cases,” amended Pulaski. “Not everyone’s nervous system is set up like a human’s or a Klingon’s. But it sounds like a good idea to me.” Picard mulled it over. It was a good idea, he decidedbut it had a major

shortcoming.

“From our point of view,” he said, “this would be a nonviolent effort. No question about it. But from the Klah’kimmbri point of view, it would be no different from an actual attack. And, unfortunately, we cannot ignore their point of view.” He noted the disappointment around the table, sighed. “The use of weapons is out of the question.

Period.” Suddenly, Geordi snapped his fingers.

“Wait a minute. We don’t need weapons to create a light display.” He spread his hands. “All we have to do is take the debris that’s floating in space, orbiting A’klah, and use our tractor beams to give it a nudge. Create a sort of meteor shower-except, instead of meteors, it’ll be the Klah’kimmbri’s own crea-tions coming home to roost.”

“Their own empire-building devices,” noted Troi. “Poetic justice,” remarked Riker.

“And the flashes of light as the stuff burns up in the atmosphere … just might do the trick,” said Pulaski. She shrugged. “It’s worth a try, anyway.”

They all looked to the captain. He took their scrutiny in stride, turned the idea around in his mind so as to inspect it from all sides. “Yes,”

he said finally. “Perhaps it is worth a try.” He addressed Geordi. “Of course, I don’t want anyone hurt by falling debris. It has all got to burn up before it reaches the planet’s surface.”

The engineer nodded. “Absolutely, sir.”

“Captain?”

Picard acknowledged the android. “What is it, Data?” “I do not mean to … what is the expression? Gum up the works?” “That’s it, all right,” said Riker.

“I do not mean to do that, but what about the nonFederation conscripts? Do we have the right to restore their memories as well?” Again, the scrutiny. After a moment, the captain nodded. “I think we do,” he said. “We are not tampering with them. We are undoing the tampering that the Klah’kimmbri have already been guilty of. And the conscripts could hardly have been primitive beings to begin with, if they were snatched off spacegoing vessels.”

The android seemed satisfied with that.

Picard was satisfied too-with the entire plan, and an all levels. As captain of the Enterprise, he had taken care of the Federation’s concerns-the Prime Directive not the least of them. As someone who had been caught in the Klah’kimmbri web of tyranny and subjugation, he was grateful for the opportunity to turn the tables on his captors.

Most important, as an ethical being, he was glad to be able to bring their ghastly Conflict machine to a grinding halt.

He included everyone present in his gaze.

“Thank you,” he said. “All of you.”

“I guess,” said Geordi, “I’ll get us

geared up to start moving all that space junk around.”

The captain couldn’t suppress a grin-not entirely. Geordi was a good man to have around-with or without his memory.

“By all means,” agreed Picard. “Make it so, Mister La Forge.”

Weary. He was so weary.

Harr’h had thought he could put the incident of madness and slaughter behind him just as he had counseled the others to do. But it was harder this time. At night, he lay half awake, wrestling with demons he had thought he’d conquered.

Is life that precious? they asked. Is survival worth the sacrifice of your pride, your very soul?

Maybe the brooding one, Worf, had been wiser than any

of them. Maybe desertion was the only real answer-the only escape from one’s demons.

More and more, he had come to think so.

Now, however, he needed to put his doubts aside.

Half a dozen meters below them, the enemy’s raiding party was negotiating a narrow ledge. As soon as he gave the signal, they would pounce-and the battle would begin. Somewhere, a flyingeye machine was waiting just as they were. Perhaps a marshal as well.

All eyes were on Harr’h. He raised his arm, prepared to drop it. And then the sky began to rain fire.

“That’s the last of it,” said Geordi, from his position at the engineering station. “Except for the pieces that are too small to do any good.”

“Excellent,” said Picard.

“Should I attempt to establish contact?” asked Worf. “No,” said the captain. “This time, we will wait for them to make the first move.”

Nor did they have long to wait. Within minutes, the Klingon received a transmission.

“Put it up on the screen, please,

Lieutenant.”

It was the first time Picard had seen the High Council of A’klah. But they were very much as Riker had described them. Haughty. Self-confident, self-possessed.

Except that now there were subtle cracks in that confidence. Even signs of agitation.

“Councillors,” said Picard. “To what do we owe the honor of this communication?”

The one who seemed the eldest spoke for all of them. “You have disturbed the ages-old serenity of our world. For what reason?” “We have learned that you are in possession of our comrades. We want them back”

“We told you before-diswe know nothing of your comrades. And if we did, we would not be moved to release them by the mere inconvenience you have perpetrated upon us. To speak plainly, we thought you capable of greater force.”

“We are capable,” returned the captain. “But we opted not to destroy. As I said before, our only objective is to recover our people.” “And as 1 said before, we do not have your …”

” Enough, was said Picard, rising to his feet.

“The charade is over, Councillor. I know all about you-your Conflicts and your methods of propagating them. What is more, I know you have conscripted our people.

And the reason I know is because-until recently-I was one of your conscripts.”

The Councillor did not register the shock he must have been feeling. On the other hand, he did not seem to have a rebuttal. “Soon,” said the captain, “you will discover the true purpose of our maneuver-though I suspect you may have an inkling of it already. At that point, you will not only admit that there are conscripts-you will beg us to take them from you.”

“Have a care, Enterprise, was said the councillor. He had finally found his tongue, and was trying to give the appearance of a strong position.

“We too are capable of bringing force …”

But Picard saw no need to hear the rest.

“Terminate contact,” he told Worf.

A moment later, the image of the Council was replaced by that of the planet, swaddled in its golden veil.

Riker stood up beside him. “Good job, sir. I think they’ll come around, now that they know where we stand.”

Picard harumphed. “After their broadcasts are terminated, their marshals toppled, their cities threatened by an outpouring of angry offwonders?

Yes, Number One. I think they’ll come around.”

Putddasxt Poirrrsn to the far side of the cargo deck. “Over there,” she told the crewman. “Where that big, blond fellow is standing. His name’s Vanderventer-he’ll know what to do with it.” The crewman grunted as he shifted the heavy storage module from one shoulder to the other. “Over there, Doctor?”

“That’s right,” said Pulaski. “Sorry

to make you work so hard, but it’s important we get those dermaplasts to where they’re needed. Nobody’s going to sport an open wound on my ship.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the crewman, though not with the utmost enthusiasm. As Pulaski watched, he wound his way among the knots of Rythrians and Merethua and Tant’lithi that stood between him and the makeshift medical station manned by Vanderventer.

It would have been nice if they had had the room to use transport vehicles to carry supplies, instead of crewmen borrowed from every section on the ship.

But with nearly eighteen thousand refugees crowding all available living

quarters and cargo space, they were lucky to be able to get anything anywhere.

It certainly hadn’t taken long for the Council to cave in and admit to the Conflicts. The captain had been right on target in that regard. With their memories back, the participants posed a real-if primitive-threat to all manner of facilities and personnel in and around the Conflict zones. What’s more, it would have been only a matter of time before some of the participants went marauding farther afield. Of course, even after the Council had agreed to drop the mantle and release the conscripts, it had taken a while for all of them to be beamed up. A long while.

On the other hand, the limitations imposed by transporter capacities had been a blessing for those in medical and security sections-since it had fallen to them to allocate space and supplies to the refugees. If all 18,000 had beamed aboard at once, it would have been an impossible task. Not that other sections of the ship’s crew hadn’t been busy. The command staff and xenology had had the difficult assignment of establishing contact withand screening the conscripts.

After all, to fulfill their agreement with the Council, they had only to remove Federation personnel. Among the nonFederation participants, they could not beam up anyone who failed to express a willingness. Not unexpectedly, everyone had expressed that willingness. And so the captain had offered to take them as far as Starbase 91, where they could make arrangements to contact their respective home systems. Underlying this offer, needless to say, had been the idea that all those rescued might serve as goodwill ambassadors, spreading a positive image of the Federation to cultures not entirely familiar with it. “Doctor?”

Pulaski emerged from her reverie and saw Burtin ap-265

proaching. He looked a little weary, but he was smiling through his weariness.

“A lot like the frontier?” she asked.

He surveyed the crowded cargo deck. “I guess it is.” Burtin’s smile faded, and he turned to her. “Which brings up something I wanted to discuss with you.”

“I know,” said Pulaski. “You’re considering a transfer back to the frontier.”

He nodded. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“To someone who knows you, yes.”

Burtin shrugged. “What can I say? I just haven’t been able to get comfortable on this big ship.

I mean, I always thought it would be the best thing in the galaxy to serve aboard the Enterprise. I guess some of us are meant for less exotic assignments.”

She met his gaze, held it. “It has nothing to do with the disease and the way you handled it? Because, for all your self-doubts, I couldn’t have done any better myself.”

He smiled again. “I don’t believe that. And even so, that’s not the issue. Here, I’m just a technician, overshadowed by a bunch of fancy equipment. If one is a genius at pathology comz I believe you are-then it’s different. But when you’re an old-fashioned sawbones like I am, your talents are wasted in a place like this.”

He looked around. “Besides, there are lots of good, young doctors that would kill for a berth on the Enterprise. It’s rare when you find one willing to bleed a gut on the frontier.”

“Then I can’t talk you out of it?” asked Pulaski. “I’m afraid not,” he told her.

She placed a hand on his arm, squeezed. “I’m going to miss you, Sam Burtin.”

It took a moment for Burtin to respond.

“Same here,” he said finally. Then he was off to see to the distribution of some foodstuffs that had just come down on the turbolift.

“Eight years,” said Strak. “Eight years since we were stolen off the bridge of the Le-Matya. was As the Vulcan 266

articulated the words, he endowed them with a certain wi/lness-like a dry wind in a barren desert. Quite a trick in the temperature-controlled environs of TenForward, where some of the Federation officers among the conscripts had gathered to celebrate their freedom. “And yet,” he went on, “it could have been worse. I might have perished on that planet-and never known I was good for anything but driving wagons.”

Picard nodded. “I know the feeling-though I was subjected to it for only a short time.” He paused. “And I am not a telepath. I had only my own pain to cope with.”

“Fortunately,” explained Strak, “I found ways to construct telepathic blocks. Or I could never have remained sane.”

“In any case,” said Picard, “your ordeal is over now. Once we arrive at Starbase Ninety-one, you will be able to secure passage to Vulcan-or to resume your career with Starfleet, whichever you choose.”

“Yes,” agreed Strak. “Though I will always remember A’klah.” He paused to reflect.

“And that is the way it should be. All experiences are pathways to wisdom. Even the distasteful ones.”

“Indeed,” said the captain.

The Vulcan looked around at the crowd, then at the exit. “I trust you will not be offended if I take my leave of you. I find that I am not in the proper state of mind for a large gathering.”

“No need for apologies,” Picard

told him. “I understand.”

With a simple nod, Strak departed.

But Picard wasn’t alone for very long. He felt a slender hand on his elbow and turned.

“I thought that that depressing Vulcan would monopolize you forever,” said Dani. She looked at him, perfectly deadpan. “Do you think it would be out of line to hug you in front of all these people?”

Picard could feel the color rising in his face.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps,” he said, “it could wait for a more private moment.” “I don’t know,”

she said. “When I get the urge to hug you, you know I can’t help myself.”

He frowned. “Your father loved to embarrass me, too. Must you be such a chip off the old block?”

She laughed softly-but decided not to make good on her threat. Picard was grateful-particularly when he saw his first officer approaching. “Captain,”

said Riker, inclining his head just a bit, out of respect. He turned to Dani. “Miss

Orbutu.”

The captain was a little surprised. He had been preparing an introduction in his head. “I didn’t know that you two knew each other,” he said.

“Actually,” said Dani, “we don’t.”

She smiled pleasantly at Riker. “I’m

afraid you’re one up on me, Commander.”

The first officer returned the smile-but a little ruefully. “We intercepted some of the Conflict broadcasts, and you were in one of them. We were able to identify you based on the likeness in your computer file.”

“I see,” said Dani. Was that a bit of wanting-to-forget in her voice? “But I’m still surprised that you remembered me. You must have seen a great many broadcasts”

“After a while, yes. But I must admit, I went back to that one more than once.”

Dani was about to say something else when Riker preempted her. “Your glass,” he said. “It’s empty. Would you allow me to refill it?”

“Well-yes,” answered Dani. “Of course.”

She relinquished the glass. His mission established, Riker made his way toward the bar.

Dani watched him go. “A charming man, this first officer of yours.” Picard nodded. “The only man I would ever trust with the Enterprise when I retire-though that day is, of course, a long, long way off.” Behind Dani, Data passed through the crowd. He hadn’t yet had the red dye

removed from his hair, Picard noted.

Could it be that the android was enjoying this small conceit? What a perfectly human thing to do.

Not surprisingly, Data’s appearance brought back thoughts of the marshals. And of Ralak’kai.

“What’s the matter?” asked Dani.

“Suddenly, you look grimmer than that Vulcan.”

Picard chuckled. “I was thinking of my frRalak’kai. And his compatriots. I was wondering if our efforts had brought them very much closer to their goal.”

Dani shrugged, thoughtful now herself. “I suppose it depends on how well their Council can function without the Conflicts.”

The captain grunted. “Exactly right.”

By that time, Riker had returned with Dani’s glass. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he told her.

Picard lifted his own glass, still full of synthenol. “A toast,” he said.

“To Ralak’kai. And all those like him.”

“To Ralak’kai,” said Riker.

They drank.

The sudden termination of the Conflicts-owing first to the reluctance of the memory-restored

participants, and then to their departure from A’klah-had had a much more profound effect than anyone might have guessed.

The Conflicts had been the only thing that kept the minds of the “lower-caste” Klah’kimmbri occupied.

It had been a vent for their daily anger and frustration. With their 269

videoscreens dark, their lives disrupted, the people were willing to listen when street speakers like Ralak’kai offered an alternative. The balance, always delicate, had been tipped. The atmosphere was ripe for rebellion.

Only a couple of days after Dan’nor’s return from the Conflict zone, entire sectors of each factory town along the river were claimed by the workers and barricaded. What was more, the Civil Service tired quickly of spilling their blood in attempts to break the rebel strongholds. In the end, the truth was painfully obvious: the Military was nothing more than a huge bag of gas, and the rebels had put the first pinholes in it. It might take some time for the entire bag to collapse-but collapse it would.

In the dim light emanating from the tarnished overhead fixture, Fidel’lic did not

seem so haughty and aloof as when Dan’nor had seen him last. The shadows took the edge off his lean countenance, making him appear childlike and even a little fragile-at least to Dan’nor. The back room where Dan’nor had first stumbled upon Trien’nor and the other rebels was furnished now much as it had been then. It had a table and some chairs and some cobwebs in the corners where the walls met the ceiling.

Of course, the place was a little more crowded tonight, and not only with workers. Fidel’lic’s personal bodyguards had to stand behind him; there were only so many seats around the table, and they were all occupied by rebels. The one exception was the chair graced by the councillor. Ralak’kai smiled at him. “It isn’t exactly the Council Chamber—is it?”

“No,” said Fidel’lic. “It is not the Council Chamber.”

“But then,” said Trien’nor, no worse for wear after his short existence as a wagoner, “what you have to say could not be said in that most awe-inspiring of places.”

Fidel’lic eyed him with apparent

equanimity-though he

knew who Tri’enor was, and he could not have felt anything but disgust for the fallen First Caster.

“Quite correct,” he said. “Not everyone there is as forward-looking as one might hope.”

The councillor took a quick accounting of the other faces confronting him-those of Ma’alor, Zanc’cov, Nureflid, Rin’noc. And finally, that of Dan’nor himself.

If he remembered the younger Tir’dainia, he didn’t let on. There wasn’t even a flicker of recognition.

Just as well, Dan’nor thought. I’m a different person than I was then. “Not everyone,” Fideflic went on, “takes your movement as seriously as I do.”

“That’s very interesting,” said Ma’alor. “But it doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Ralak’kai held up a hand. “Let him

finish, Brother. The councillor was gaol enough to come herethe least we can do is hear him out.” Fidel’lic continued as if he had never bin interrupted. “It is obvious,” he said, “that there will never be anything like the Conflicts again. And without question, that is for the better.

The Conflicts were a relic of our former barbarism-a shameful thing that should have been abolished long ago.

“Our true fulfillment as a people-and as individualslies not in petty entertainments.” His voice took on a different quality-a sort of measured forcefulness. “Our destiny is something much greater-to regain the stars. First, Trilik’kon Mahk’ti; then those other systems that we once dominated. And when that is done, we can extend the empire beyond even the dreams of our fathers.” He looked around, snaring his listeners now with his eyes as much as his voice. “We can do that. We are Klah’kimmbri. But it will not be easy. To begin with, we must work together, forgetting our squabbles of the moment.

We must redesign our factories to 271 STAR

TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION

make not shoes, but the components of spacegoing vessels. We must redevelop the engines that propelled us from sun to sun, the armaments that made us masters of every race we encountered. And we must improve on these technologies coms when another Destroyer comes through our home system, we will be ready for him. “The future is remarkably bright,”

said Fidel’lic, “if we take hold of it together.

You, representing the people. And I, representing the government. We can bring everything to a halt by fighting one another-or heap glory on ourselves by simply reaching out for it.” He leaned forward. “A new day for the Klah’kimmbriand all I need is your word that you are with me. Do I have it?” The rebels all looked to Ralak’kai. The smile had never quite faded from his face. “I don’t think so,” he told the councillor. Fidel’lic couldn’t mask his exasperation. And what was that other thing Dan’nor saw in his eyes? Fear? After all, Fidel’lic had risked much to come here-including his alliances on the Council. He shook his head reproachfully, as if they had lost more than they knew. Without another word, he rose from the table-and would have exited, if Trien’nor hadn’t stopped him. “Councillor,”

said Dan’nor’s father. Fidel’lic turned to look at him. “A’klah does have a destiny. But it is not the one you conjure. Nor is there room in it for you.

If I were a councillor, I would run as far and as fast as I could. For if you try to oppose us, make no mistake-we will bring you down. was Fidel’lic’s mouth curled into an expression of disdain. “That remains to be seen,” he said. And then he did leave, pulling his entourage along with him.

For a moment after the councillor’s departure, all was silent in the room. The enormity of what Trien’nor had said was still sinking in.

Finally, from somewhere-from everywhere-a cheer rose up to fill the silence. And it became so loud, so deafening, that it threatened to shake loose the very rafters and the cobwebs that depended from them. Dan’nor had no doubt that Fidel’lic could hear it as he made his way out of the tavern.

Only now that the labor of settling the refugees was over, and the ship’s crew had settled back into a routine, had Worf taken the time to return to the gym. He found it full of humans-more so than usual. In fact, there were too many of them for him to concentrate properly on his exercises. However, Worf did not balk at the situation-not as he might have a few weeks ago. For he had learned that humans were very much like eurakoi. Both were burdens that needed to be sustained, with one growing stronger for the sustaining of them. And it had taken a stint on A’klah to discover just how strong his burdens had made him. Worf thought about the Klingon veteran he had confronted in that mountain pass. The per bastard had succumbed to the dishonor of killing for the marshals’

purposes-even when one of the tenets of Klingon warriorhood was to fight safely for one’s own causes, and never for anyone else’s. Stripped of his memory, his heritage, the veteran had not had the force of character to resist. Nor had any of the other warriors in the Conflict zones. But none of them had endured the daily challenges that Worf faced. The never-ending temptation to strangle some bureaucrat with his own proverbial red tape. The insults heaped upon him hour after hour by well-meaning ensigns.

 

In a very important sense, then, living among humans had made Worf a better Klingon. Of course, he would never give any of them the satisfaction of telling them so. Raising the eurakoi to shoulder height, he darted a glance at the digital display. No minutes and one second.

. . two seconds … three seconds …