DATA FLEW WEIGHTLESSLYdown the Jefferies tube on a perpendicular path through the decks of theAsgard. When he emerged from the hatch on level ten, he kicked off the bulkhead like a swimmer making a turn in a race and shot down the corridor, his hands at his sides. The android saw flashes of light and fleeting shadows ahead of him, and he heard voices and footsteps. They weren’t actually footsteps, he corrected his impression, but the kind of scuffling, pulling, and gliding motions a humanoid had to use to move in a weightless environment.

As he neared the hatchway where the yacht was docked, Data entered a cloud of rancid gray smoke. From this haze emerged a hulking figure. The android stopped to do battle with the intruder. He caught the foe’s arms as the limp environmental suit crashed into him, and Data immediately realized that his attacker was unconscious and badly burned, as were the hatch and portions of the corridor. The foe must have tried an explosive device on the forcefield, Data surmised, with disastrous results. He continued to hear scuffling sounds, and he concluded that a second intruder was making his escape.

Data would have gone after him, if not for the wounded being in his arms. By the time he stabilized his prisoner’s weightless body and reached for his combadge, Data heard his companions gliding down the corridor at breakneck speed. Picard zoomed into view slightly ahead of Geordi; as soon as the captain stopped himself, Data gently pushed the unconscious being into his arms.

“Captain, this one needs medical attention,” he reported. “A second one is fleeing, and perhaps I can catch him.”

“Make it so,” agreed Picard. “La Forge, let’s get this person on board and give him some first aid.”

“Where did he come from?” asked the incredulous engineer. “Don’t tell me there are squatters on this wreck!”

The android pushed off the bulkhead and streaked after the fleeing intruder. As he glided down the corridor on sheer momentum, Data consulted his tricorder, knowing that the ghostly life signs they had detected were more real than previously thought. A flash grenade suddenly exploded just a few feet ahead of him, forcing the android into the bulkhead and causing him to drop his tricorder. For a moment, he was disoriented. He proceeded to run diagnostics on his positronic brain and neural network.

The tests were interrupted by the chirp of his combadge. “Data,” came the captain’s voice, “we heard that explosion. Are you all right?”

“I am reasonably well,” answered the android, retrieving his tricorder and finding that the readings had returned to gibberish. “After using a flash grenade, the second intruder escaped. I am returning to your position. Data out.”

By the time the android got back to the yacht and artificial gravity, the captain and Geordi had removed their prisoner’s helmet and had placed the unconscious being on a fold-out examination table. The female humanoid had a slender, almost delicate face with sepiahued skin and long brown hair tied in a ponytail. Picard took off his own helmet and grabbed a medical tricorder from the first-aid kit.

“Androssi,” said Data.

“That was going to be my guess,” replied Picard. “La Forge, make sure that hatchway is secure. We don’t want any more unexpected visitors.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll set up a sensor array, too,” answered the engineer, moving to obey the captain’s orders.

“She is breathing at regular intervals,” observed Data, leaning over their dazed patient.

“Yes,” said Picard as he studied the tricorder. “I don’t think she’s in severe danger, just suffering from shock, concussion, and a few burns. I don’t want to leave theAsgard and let her associates escape. We could revive her and question her.”

Data nodded. “A low dosage of tricordrazine would stimulate neural activity.”

“Go ahead and prepare a hypospray,” said Picard. “I’ll use the restraints to keep her on the table.”

A minute later, they were prepared to revive their prisoner, and Picard administered the hypo to the Androssi’s neck. Within seconds, she blinked awake and stared at them with amber eyes that were almost the color of her skin. Immediately she began to struggle against the restraints. Her wiry strength was impressive, but the bindings held firmly.

“You’re not going anywhere,” said Picard. “Besides, you’re injured, so I wouldn’t try to struggle too much.”

Still seething over her misfortune, the Androssi female glared at the captain. “Am I under arrest?”

“Considering that we found you in a restricted area on a Starfleet vessel without permission…yes,” answered the captain. “If you answer our questions, we’ll release you as soon as possible. Where did you come from? Were youliving on theAsgard?”

The prisoner shifted her eyes back and forth, surveying her surroundings and assessing her chances of escape. La Forge joined them. The prisoner seemed agitated when the engineer gazed at her with his ocular implants. Then she stared frankly at Data, who gave her even more of a start.

“Androids? Cyborgs? What are you?” she asked.

Picard scowled. “We’re asking the questions, remember? You were on theAsgard when we arrived. Were you living here?”

“We’re a forward reconnaissance team,” she answered. “Keeping track of the movement of Starfleet spacecraft.”

“Fascinating,” said Data, cocking his head. “You have spotters embedded among the derelicts in order to safeguard and coordinate your operations. We have seen one of your associates. Are there only two of you on theAsgard?”

“I think I’ve said enough,” answered the Androssi warily.

“You were trying to steal this shuttlecraft, weren’t you?” asked La Forge.

“We’re salvagers!” she answered. “Not thieves. We thought this tiny craft was salvage, the same as the rest of the vessels in this junkyard. Itwas deserted when we found it, and forcefields can be automated.”

Picard shook his head. “You nearly killed yourself trying to get in.”

She said indignantly, “There’s only one difference between you and us. We consider this area to be free space, open for salvage. You’ve decided to illegally restrict access and hog its wealth all to yourselves.”

“Wrong,” snapped La Forge. “We’re trying to recover the bodies of our fallen comrades and foes. You’re only interested in profit off the misfortune of others.”

The Androssi sniffed. “We don’t care about dead bodies. If you want any more information, you’ll have to torture me.”

“We don’t torture our prisoners,” said Picard carefully. “However, we do make deals, and I know the Androssi are not averse to making a deal. Couldn’t we convince you to wait until we finish recovering our bodies and making our investigation? Then perhaps we could open up this site for salvage.”

“You can’t make that deal,” the prisoner replied. “We’re already operating under a contract.”

“The Androssi do not have a strong centralized government,” remarked Data. “It is unlikely we could strike an agreement they would all observe.”

“What he said,” answered the Androssi, staring curiously at the android. “But if you gave us a humanoid machine likehim, we could make a trade that would be very beneficial. We recently came upon a Romulan cloaking device. I believe we could adapt it to a Starfleet spacecraft.”

Data felt a bit flattered, but Picard scowled at their guest. “Commander Data is considerably more valuable than a Romulan cloaking device—he’s the equal of any of us. In any event, we have treaties with the Romulans precluding our use of such technology.”

“Sounds like another super Starfleet deal,” scoffed the Androssi.

“Do you have a name?” asked Data, intrigued by their visitor.

“Ghissel,” she answered, accenting the second syllable. “That’s the last question I’m answering.”

“Very well,” said Picard. Tight-lipped, he turned to his comrades. “Find the other one and bring him in. I’ll stay here and watch our ‘guest’ while I try to reach theEnterprise.”

“TheEnterprise,” echoed Ghissel, sounding impressed. “What a prize that would be.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” said Geordi. “Data, I set up a portable sensor array in the hatch. With two more, we could triangulate the location of any life signs we find.”

“Good idea, Geordi,” replied the android. He turned to the Androssi and said, “We will find your companion, but we do not wish for anyone to be harmed. How many of those grenades does he have?”

“Plenty,” she answered with a smile.

Exasperated, Commander Will Riker pounded his fist on the arm of the command chair and stared at the chaos on the bridge. A wild spike of energy had just struck theEnterprise as she disgorged her first contingent of shuttlecraft. They were in thesupposedly safe gateway. Several bridge consoles had blown out, and the ship’s computers had switched automatically to red alert, complete with blaring klaxons and red emergency lighting. They had gotten three shuttles launched before disaster had struck. As fetid smoke filled the bridge, Riker seethed at taking damage from a random incident. He’d rather a real foe.

Christine Vale announced from the tactical station, “Unidentified raiders at bearing three-hundred-thirty mark twenty-two.”

“Conn, do we have impulse?” asked Riker, trying to sound calm.

“Half impulse at best,” answered Lieutenant Perim. “I’ve set course.”

“Are shields holding?” asked the acting captain.

“At sixty percent,” replied Perim.

“Computer, cancel red alert—go to yellow alert,” ordered Riker. “Conn, set course to intercept the intruders. Tactical, inform all launched shuttlecraft to pursue them, too. Ops, tell the shuttlebay that we are canceling all shuttle launches until further notice, and get me a damage report.”

His orders elicited a chorus of “Yes, sirs,” and Riker finally settled back in his seat as security personnel worked to put out the hot spots on the bridge.

“Damage report, Commander,” said Jelpn, a lanky Deltan who was filling in for Data at ops. “Our deflectors prevented the most serious damage, but the transfer conduits and electroplasma sublimators overloaded and failed at an average of thirty-two percent shipwide. We should expect power irregularities. Engineering estimates that impulse engines will be at full in twenty minutes, and shields will be full strength in ten minutes.”

Riker was just about to congratulate himself on dodging a bullet when Lieutenant Vale interrupted. “Sir, I’ve received a message from Captain Picard on a subspace frequency. He’s been trying to contact us and requests assistance.”

“Tell him we’re chasing intruders and repairing damage, with a full report to follow,” answered Riker. “How urgent is his situation?”

“Just a moment, I’ll find out,” said Vale as she relayed the message. Impatiently, Riker grabbed a spare fire extinguisher and helped the security personnel put out the smoldering remains of a power conduit.

Yellow alert, normal lighting, and a modicum of order had returned by the time Vale said, “Captain Picard’s situation is not urgent, but he has encountered hostiles and has a prisoner.”

“Tell him we’ll dispach a shuttlecraft and security team as soon as we can,” replied Riker, returning to the command chair. “Ops, ask Counselor Troi to report to the bridge.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the Deltan.

Since they were clearly in more danger than they had anticipated, Riker needed another senior officer on the bridge to take over…in case he got injured. The Betazoid’s presence was always calming, both to himself and others, and he wanted her to be present if he had to talk to Captain Leeden, which seemed likely.

“ShuttlecraftHudson has sustained enemy fire,” announced Vale from the tactical console.

“Tell them to break off,” said Riker angrily, sitting up in his chair. “Can we get a fix on these enemy craft?”

“Onscreen,” answered Vale, working her console. “The quality will be poor.”

Static and lines of interference obscured most of the image, but they could see a small green cruiser go darting under two hulks locked at the stern and twirling like a propeller. A Starfleet shuttlecraft appeared for a moment, but it broke off rather than follow them into the maze of derelicts.

“Are they Orion?” asked Riker.

Vale nodded. “That’s the warp signature I got, but Orions have been known to sell cruisers to other worlds.” The lieutenant sighed and shook her head. “They’re gone from our sensors, and we have limited range right here. ShuttlecraftCortez says they can follow the last one and keep them in visual contact.”

Not liking this as the only option, Riker grumbled. “Tell them to pursue but keep out of weapon range. If the Orions stop, theCortez is to get their location and back off.”

While the tactical officer relayed orders, the turbolift door opened, and Deanna Troi strode onto the bridge. The counselor’s dark eyes took in the smoking remains of one console and a team of technicians making repairs at another. Her gaze finally drifted to Riker, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Troi reporting for duty,” she said. “What happened, Will?”

Riker heaved his big shoulders and told her. He ended with the observation, “This is like chasing off vandals from a sacred house…before they can break all the windows. Considering the danger, I needed another senior officer on the bridge.”

“Understood,” answered Troi.

Riker turned to Jelpn at ops and asked, “How is theHudson?”

“They reported only minor damage. They still have impulse engines.”

Riker nodded, thankful for small favors. “Lieutenant Vale, send them Captain Picard’s location with orders to assist him.”

“He’s docked at theAsgard,” said Vale as she worked her console. “Sending orders.”

The commander took a breath and gazed at his beloved. He whispered, “In case you thought you were going to be bored on this cruise, we have plenty to amuse us.”

She gave him a seductive smile. “I haven’t been bored since we left the Ba’ku planet.”

“Shields back to ninety percent,” reported Jelpn.

Riker nodded. “Good.”

“Will,” said Troi, “while it’s quiet, I meant to ask your opinion on something. Almost every member of our crew lost someone they know in this battle. This mission has been unsettling for them. I would like to add a few memorial services to the ship’s calendar of events.”

“Good idea,” said Will. “I just hope we’ll have the time to attend them.”

“Commander!” called Christine Vale. “There’s an Ontailian ship, theMaskar, near the gateway, and they request permission to enter the battle site.”

Riker allowed himself a smile. “They must have us confused with Captain Leeden and theJuno. Put their ship onscreen.”

A moment later, a sleek blue warship appeared on the viewscreen; parts of its hull were so slender that it looked like a paper airplane, and there was a distinct lack of markings. TheMaskar looked about half the size of theEnterprise and far more suited for operations inside the graveyard than the larger ship.

“They joined the Federation just as the Dominion War was breaking out,” said Deanna. “This battle was partly to save their homeworld, which is one light-year away. Their planet has low gravity, and they’re not humanoid.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Riker with a chuckle. “Vale, put their captain onscreen.”

As before, the image was less than perfect, but it was still rather startling to see interconnecting trellises made of tubes and pipes, with vines growing in profusion. More than the bridge of a starship, this chamber looked like a narrow jungle gym, or perhaps a greenhouse. As the image improved, Riker could see that the vines were really the long limbs of very slender creatures, which came in a variety of colors. Like sloths, the Ontailians crept through the structure, hanging and swinging from beam to beam on their wiry limbs. Looking carefully, Riker spotted a lumpen head and slim torso on one of the creatures, at the junction of its appendages. The Ontailian was so graceful that he moved with the silky ease of an octopus, and several of his fellows manipulated tools and worked controls on the tubes. It was a true bridge, and these remarkable creatures were running the elegant starshipMaskar.

Although Riker had stepped forward to greet his counterpart, no such representative of the Ontailians emerged from the workers. Some sharp chittering sounded, and Lieutenant Vale explained, “It’s taking a while for the Universal Translator to catch up.”

“We are theMaskar,” a synthetic voice finally announced. “Hello, FederationStarship Enterprise. We know of your exploits. We have business inside the sacred field, assisting theJuno. May we obtain your blessing to enter?”

Riker hovered momentarily over the Deltan at the ops station. “Have we verified their warp signature?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Jelpn. “It’s quite unique. They’ve been assigned here for almost ten months.”

Riker mustered a smile. “Please enter the sacred field with our blessing. I remind you to be cautious—it’s dangerous in there.”

“It is an honor to be here with the sacred,” said the crackling voice.“Maskar ends transmission.”

The image on the viewscreen shifted to the angular blue starship, which sliced through the debris of the boneyard like a knife through butter. Within seconds, the sliver of a ship had vanished among the hulking wrecks and sparkling spits of energy. The battle zone looked relatively quiet for a moment. Every crisis had been dealt with.

Riker turned to see Deanna Troi frowning with concern. He had almost forgotten about hisImzadi until then. He recognized that expression well enough. Something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked.

Her brow furrowed, Troi shook her head. “I had the strongest impression that they were hiding something. Like they slipped past customs with contraband in their luggage.”

“Have you ever met Ontailians before?”

“No,” she admitted. “My feelings may be incorrect.”

“We had better get used to them,” said the ops officer, Jelpn. “There are five Ontailian ships working this site on a regular basis, more than anyone else.”

“Conn, take us out of the boneyard,” said Riker, making an executive decision. “I’m not going to drop shields to launch any more shuttlecraft until we’re five thousand kilometers away.”

Geordi La Forge stared at the remains of a meal, two tattered blankets, some gel packs, and cables, all of it stored weightlessly in the space under a food replicator in a break room near the laboratories on theAsgard. What was more impressive was the portable generator that had been left behind, which Data was inspecting for booby traps. The food replicator blinked at Geordi, giving every indication that it was working. Owing to the low gravity, the squatters had performed several crude alterations to the replicator, including one that added an oxygen line out.They’re using the replicator to refill the oxygen in their suits, thought the engineer. Pretty clever. In this one little corner of the expired starship, life still struggled for survival.

“Theywere living here,” said La Forge in amazement. “Living off the land.”

“Forward observers,” remarked Data as he studied his tricorder. “From some residual tachyon readings, I believe they had more equipment than this.”

“A transmitter?” asked Geordi, pushing himself off the bulkhead and floating in his suit like a big balloon in a holiday parade.

“Perhaps a portable subspace transmitter,” answered Data. He shined a light into the cabinet where La Forge had been looking and found some ripped wires and still swirling dust. “The layer of dust from static electricity has been disturbed,” he pointed out. “Ghissel’s companion was here and removed the transmitter. We must find him before he can call for help.”

Bobbing just above La Forge’s head was a heavy-duty crate that contained a portable sensor array; he retrieved it, leaving a second one undisturbed. “I’ll set up one array here—you find another position for the third, then we’ll triangulate. Even with the interference, we should have a strong sign where he is.”

“Very well,” nodded Data, “I will proceed to the port side of the saucer section.”

“Just don’t take long.” La Forge glanced around nervously.

“Are you afraid?” asked Data, cocking his head.

The human nodded. “Yes, this is a creepy place inside a spooky place. Don’t turn your emotion chip on, unless you want that old-fashioned tingle.”

“I will leave it deactivated,” Data assured him, “although I had assumed this was an atmospheric situation.”

“So let’s get rid of the bogeyman,” said La Forge. “We may not be able to get through on the com channel, so once you get a clear reading from all three arrays, don’t wait for me—just go there. I’ll do the same.”

With a nod, the android grabbed the second sensor array, pushed off the bulkhead, and glided from the room into the corridor, where he executed a turn to the right.

La Forge shook his head and checked his own tricorder. Life-sign readings were still vague, as if there were scattered pockets of cockroaches on the ghost ship, but linking the three sensor arrays should give a clear picture of where the uninvited guests were. Just to be safe, he checked his hand phaser and found it to be fully charged and set to stun, although he was no fast draw in the bulky suit.

While keeping a watchful eye on the doorway, the engineer placed adhesive pads on the feet of the scanning device, stuck it to the deck, and began to activate it as quickly as he could.

On the examination table in the cramped quarters of the yachtCalypso, the slender Androssi female writhed in her restraints. That was after making sure that Picard was watching her. It was a good thing he had left her compact environmental suit on, because she didn’t appear to be wearing anything underneath. The captain had paid little attention to Ghissel since his companions left, having spent his time contacting theEnterprise. That had been a sobering experience, since they were suffering their own assortment of setbacks. But at least he had gotten through to them, and a shuttlecraft was on its way.

“There’s no sense struggling,” he told the Androssi female. “Your suit can handle your needs until we are finished here.”

“I’m stiff and sore,” she complained. “I have burns. Isn’t there any other way to restrain me?”

The captain checked his readouts to make sure the sensor array was working. So was one of the remote arrays, and he hoped the other one would be active soon.

“Captain Picard!” she whined. “This is how Starfleet gets a reputation for being so brutal!”

“You know, I liked you better when you refused to talk,” said the captain with a sigh. “It’s quite common for a person with burns to be in restraints temporarily, and you’ve been treated to the best of my ability. You could have been more cooperative, but you preferred to act as if you’re guilty. So let’s wait and see what happens.”

Ghissel began to whimper. “I haven’t been in gravity like this for a long time.Something is digging into my back. Please take a look at my belt and see what it is.”

Picard stopped watching the readouts and turned to his prisoner, who was wearing a fairly substantial tool belt. “I’m just looking, but you have to promise to be quiet.”

“I will,” she breathed.

The captain rose from the pilot’s seat and walked across the short bridge to the examination table in the galley area. The Androssi stopped struggling and released the tension in her body, lying passively on the table for the first time since awakening. Ghissel gazed hopefully at him with her frank amber eyes.

“Thank you,” she said in advance.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” muttered Picard. He studied the unfamiliar environmental suit, which was burned through in a few small areas but otherwise intact. The helmet was resting on a countertop. He heard a crunching sound and glanced up to see Ghissel chewing something. She opened her mouth and expelled a misty sneeze in his direction.

Picard coughed once, and the compartment began to swirl all around his blurred vision. He grasped the side of the examination table and felt as if he were swaying on a boat…and about to get seasick. Picard remained on his feet as long as he could, but his legs gave out. He slumped to the deck in what seemed like slow motion, and a moment later he was conscious but paralyzed.

Ghissel activated something on her utility belt, and it shimmered with a burst of energy. The captain could hear latches snapping open.

Rubbing her wrists, Ghissel sat up and smiled at him. “It’s only a muscle toxin. It knocks out some species, but apparently not you…and has no effect on us. You won’t die, Picard, but you won’t be able to move for several minutes. And thank you for sending your android away, or this would have been difficult.”

As Picard looked on in helpless rage, his escaped prisoner ran to the hatch and worked the console. It took her several seconds, but she was a quick learner. As soon as the door slid open, another suited figure stepped in from the airlock. He set a transmitter on the deck, spotted Picard, and drew a Klingon disruptor from his belt.

Jean-Luc couldn’t scream or even twitch—he could only lie there, waiting to die while the spittle drooled from a corner of his mouth.