EVEN BEFORE THE DOORS to the Enterprise’s security detention area opened and allowed him to enter, Riker made sure his expression was schooled so as not to betray any of the anger or frustration he was feeling. He knew that the emotions might very well serve him during the forthcoming interrogation, but only if he controlled them and not vice versa. It would not do to present anything other than a calm, controlled demeanor to the Satarran when he finally met the captured spy face-to-face.

When the doors opened, however, he saw from the look on Deanna Troi’s face that his presentation still needed work.

“Will?” she said, her eyes conveying her obvious concern. “Are you sure you’d rather not wait to do this until later? Your emotional state may not be conducive to the interview.”

Noting her use of the less confrontational term to describe what was about to occur here, Riker shook his head. “There’s no way of knowing what he’s been up to without questioning him. We can’t afford to put it off.”

“I can sense your resentment toward him,” Troi warned. “If he detects it as well, he may find a way to turn that against you.”

“Of course I’m resentful,” Riker countered. “He’s killed at least one member of the crew, perhaps two. What else has he done, or what was he planning to do, before we caught him?”

Hearing the edge in his voice, he drew a breath. Troi was right, of course. In order to extract any useful information from the Satarran, he would have to form some bond of trust with the prisoner, something he would not be able to do if he allowed his emotions to control his actions and words during the interrogation. Hopefully, that in turn would provide a means of assessing the spy’s character and determining the truth of any answers he offered.

“I’ll be fine,” he said after a moment, offering a small smile. “Besides, you’ll be there to make sure I stay on track, right?”

The counselor seemed to relax, obviously picking up on his attempts to calm himself. “Count on it,” she replied, hands on hips and her own smile laced with an air of caution that made her seem like a mother warning a recalcitrant child to behave in front of guests. The humorous image evoked by her words actually succeeded in allowing him to relax, if only to a small degree, which naturally was Troi’s goal all along.

You really do know me too well.

Riker motioned to one of the two ensigns seated at the detention area’s control console. “Let’s go see our guest,” he said.

“Commander Riker,” said the ensign, an Indian man who the first officer remembered was named Mansingh. The younger man rose from his chair as Riker turned to face him. “Sir, Lieutenant Vale has requested to be present during questioning. She apologizes for any delay, but she’s on her way here now.”

Shaking his head, the first officer replied, “Tell her to take her time. I don’t want any more people in there right now.” To Troi he said, “It’ll make him nervous enough with two of us. Any more, and he might clam up for good.”

Troi seemed to consider the notion briefly before nodding in agreement. “Her emotions will also be running high from the loss of her lieutenant. I don’t want to have to ride herd on both of you.” Turning to Mansingh, she added, “Ensign, please tell Lieutenant Vale I’ll want to speak with her when we’re finished with the prisoner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the ensign acknowledged as he returned to his duties at the console.

Led by the other security officer, Ensign Sevek, Riker and Troi walked to the brig’s only occupied detention cell, the one farthest from the door. As they drew closer Riker felt an almost electrical tingle playing on his exposed skin, the effect of the active containment field that formed the cell’s front wall, the sensation serving to remind him that it had been a very long time since he had ventured down to this part of the ship.

Then they were at the cell, and Riker got his first look at their most unwelcome guest.

The Satarran was a lean, muscular humanoid, dressed in a brown Starfleet-issue one-piece coverall that was standard issue for brig detainees. The drab color of the garment contrasted sharply with his pinkish skin. His face was long and narrow, with long, dark hair swept back from his face and tied at the base of his neck.

His eyes were narrow, bright yellow orbs that peered out from beneath a pronounced brow, and they locked with Riker’s own from the instant the first officer had moved into his view. Other than that, he remained motionless, lying down on the cot that was affixed to the cell’s rear wall.

“Open it,” Riker said, and Ensign Sevek, with one hand on the phaser still in its holster at his waist, used his free hand to key a command sequence to the control pad mounted just to the side of the cell’s entrance. Energy crackled as the forcefield deactivated, creating a hole where the cell’s front barrier had been just long enough for Riker and Troi to step inside the small compartment. To Riker’s surprise, the Satarran said nothing, not even when the forcefield was reestablished.

The cards are dealt, Riker mused as he felt the field’s tingling sensation tickling the back of his neck. Let the games begin. After studying the prisoner for several seconds and deciding silence had hung in the air long enough, he broached the first nonconfrontational subject that came into his mind.

“Are you well?” he asked. “I know that you were injured during your capture.”

“I am,” the captive said in a voice that Riker found to be neutral in tone, even friendly. Reaching up to touch his narrow nose, the Satarran added, “Your security chief proved to be a most formidable opponent. Please pass on my compliments. As for the rest, your medical officer healed my injuries, and everyone I have come into contact with has treated me most fairly. Thank you.”

“My name is Commander Riker, second-in-command of the Enterprise,” he said, “and this is Commander Troi, our ship’s counselor.”

“I am well aware of your identities,” the Satarran replied, his eyes never leaving Riker’s. He moved to a sitting position on the cot, and the first officer felt his muscles tense in anticipation of the prisoner launching some sort of attack on him or Troi. Instead, the Satarran merely placed his hands on his knees, his expression remaining passive. “We have spoken at length already,” he added, “if you’ll remember.”

Riker did indeed remember, but saw no reason to concede that fact just yet. “I have some questions for you.”

“I should think so,” the Satarran said, and Riker noted how the prisoner seemed to be absently stroking his left forearm as he spoke. “Though it would appear that you and your people are well suited to solving any mysteries I represent. I doubt anything I say would be of any use to you.”

Shrugging, Riker kept his own expression pleasant. “Let’s start with something simple, like your name.”

The Satarran smiled. “Simple indeed. Very well. My name is Kalsha.”

“And how long have you been aboard the Enterprise, Kalsha?”

Apparently mulling over the question, the prisoner paused before responding. “Eight of your weeks.”

Riker looked to Troi for clarification, and saw the counselor’s brow crease as if she were confused or perhaps even struggling to comprehend a difficult concept. What was wrong?

After a moment, she said, “He’s lying.” Was it his imagination, or had he heard a hint of uncertainty in her voice? It was almost imperceptible, but he was sure it was there nonetheless.

Regarding the counselor, Kalsha’s eyes narrowed and his expression turned to one of appreciation. “I was told a Betazoid was among your crew,” he said, and Riker caught him rubbing his forearm again. “Obviously you are that individual, and you are correct. I am lying.”

Riker felt his ire rising as the Satarran’s wan smile returned. The last thing he wanted was for the interview to deteriorate so quickly. Kalsha was baiting him, obviously. The trick now was for Riker to remember not to fall for it.

“Of course you lied,” he said. “You’re a professional spy, and that’s what spies do. I expected no less from you.”

“If that’s true, then what is the purpose of this interrogation?” Kalsha asked. “Did you truly expect that I would simply crumble under the pressure of you staring at me?”

“No, I didn’t,” Riker replied. “But, as a professional, I expected some courtesy, at least.”

Kalsha’s eyes widened, as did his smile. “Courtesy?” He paused, seeming to weigh the word. “Courtesy, stemming from respect. You have shown me respect, Commander, whereas I have not returned it, though I must admit that I do in fact respect you.”

“Really,” Riker said, making no effort to hide his skepticism.

Nodding, the Satarran continued, “With that in mind, I have a proposition. No doubt you already have some idea of which questions you might pose that I have no intention of answering. However, I am not interested in weaving a network of lies as we talk. Therefore, I will answer your questions truthfully so long as they remain, as you suggest, courteous of our situations. Is that acceptable?”

Riker looked to Troi, whose own expression was one of surprise. “He’s sincere in his proposal,” she said.

“Yes,” Kalsha said, “let your Betazoid counselor be the arbiter here if you are unsure. What I tell you will be true.”

It was an effort for Riker not to cross his arms, stroke his chin, or offer any other physical sign that the Satarran had caught him off guard. This was not at all what he had expected from the captured spy. Kalsha had offered an open, honest dialogue? Riker’s gut told him not to squander it.

“It seems,” he said a moment later, “that neither of us has anything to lose by that.”

Kalsha nodded in apparent approval. “Excellent. So, let us talk.”

“I presume,” Riker said, “that you are aware we found Ensign Liryn where you left him?” Much to his relief, the Bajoran security officer had been found unconscious but otherwise unharmed inside a Jefferies tube on deck fourteen.

Kalsha sighed heavily at the question. “Of course I am, otherwise I would not be here. Come now, you can do better than that.”

Feeling his jaw tighten, Riker forced himself to wait an extra beat before responding. Poker face, he reminded himself. Still, he found it easier to sidestep the verbal jab than he had a minute earlier. Obviously, the Satarran was still trying to assert some kind of control over the conversation, even if he had pledged honesty in his answers. “Should we hold out any hope for finding Lieutenant Diix as well?”

He knew the answer as soon as Kalsha’s eyes dropped to look at a point on the floor of the cell. He remained that way for a few seconds before slowly shaking his head. “Regrettably,” he said, “the Andorian is dead, and I was forced to dispose of his body. For that I sincerely apologize.”

“You say that as if his life somehow mattered to you,” Riker said, annoyance once again beginning to lace his speech.

Anger flashed in the Satarran’s eyes. “It did matter to me. I am not a murderer.”

“Forgive me if I think your declaration rings a little hollow,” Riker snapped. “By my count, you’ve killed two of my people.”

“Commander,” Troi said, her tone one of caution. Though he did not visibly acknowledge her, Riker forced himself to ratchet his emotions down a notch, knowing she would sense the change, or at least the attempt.

“By my count, it could have been many more,” Kalsha replied, his own voice laced with apparent irritation. He paused, perhaps to collect himself, once more stroking his left forearm before continuing.

What’s with that, anyway? For a moment, Riker thought the Satarran might have concealed something beneath his skin, a weapon or communications device of some kind, but he just as quickly dismissed the idea. After all, the prisoner had been thoroughly searched and scanned before being confined to his cell.

“Despite what you may think of me,” Kalsha continued, “I do not kill without purpose or reason. I spared the Bajoran man and the human woman before him. Had my mission been to kill all of you, I would have.”

“Are you saying your mission doesn’t involve killing us?” Troi asked.

The Satarran turned his head to regard the counselor. “That was not my original mission, no.” Riker noted how the irritation that had clouded Kalsha’s features only a moment ago now seemed replaced with what he might recognize as resignation on the face of a human. “My primary target was the android.”

“Disable Data?” Riker asked. “Why?” When no answer seemed to be forthcoming after several seconds, he pressed, “Is that beyond the bounds of our agreement?”

“It should seem obvious to you by now,” Kalsha replied. “The android was the one member of your crew who stood the greatest chance of uncovering our operations here. With him neutralized, the threat of discovery was drastically diminished.”

“You plotted to kill him,” Riker said. “That would seem to go against your supposed credo of sparing life whenever possible.”

The Satarran shrugged. “Unlike you, I do not view the android as anything other than what it is: a machine. To me, it was a tool to be used and discarded, and nothing more.”

Bracing at the stark admission, Riker leaned forward, his voice taking on a hint of menace. “Data’s my friend.”

“I meant no insult, Commander,” Kalsha said, the cadence and tenor of his voice unchanged. “Understand that our level of technology is far behind yours in a number of areas, particularly with regards to artificial life-forms. We have not yet had the opportunity to fully appreciate the potential that a…that an individual such as Commander Data represents.”

Nice save, Riker mused. “Fair enough,” he said, allowing a bit of warning to remain in his voice as he spoke the words. “Speaking of technology, let’s talk about that suit of yours. Our engineers are having a field day looking it over.”

In actuality, La Forge had already reported that there was nothing about the garment which came close to rivaling anything created by Federation science. Only the way in which its network of sensors, holographic emitters, and dampening fields worked together to provide the wearer with the ideal camouflage and ability to mimic nearly any humanoid life-form offered any real interest to the engineer.

Still, it provided a nice way to keep the questioning on track.

“It serves its purpose,” Kalsha said. Apparently realizing that the fingers of his right hand had been playing across his left arm, he abruptly ceased the motion. It took Riker several seconds to understand the significance of what he had been witnessing since entering the detention cell.

That’s where the control pad was.

The Satarran, no doubt an experienced undercover operative, had probably grown to rely heavily on the metallic exoskeleton and its chameleon-like qualities in the course of carrying out his various assignments. More than likely, the garment had protected him on countless occasions, perhaps even the single thing that had saved his life in some of those situations. For all intents and purposes, it might as well be a second skin for him.

Kalsha smiled again. “I do miss the shroud. It is often an indispensable tool in my line of work.” Indicating his left arm, he added, “It is also possible that I’ve grown to rely on it too much. Perhaps that is a sign that I have been pursuing my chosen profession for too long.”

“They even found the concealed burst transmitter that was activated when the suit was removed from you,” Riker said. “What was the purpose of that?”

Kalsha shrugged. “The transmission notifies my superiors that I’ve been captured. Rest assured that I am considered expendable, Commander. They will make no effort to rescue me.”

Glancing to Troi, who after a moment nodded confirmation that the Satarran was being truthful, Riker allowed himself a small smile of his own. “I appreciate your honesty,” he said, wondering how far he might be able to push Kalsha’s apparent sense of charity in that regard. “With that in mind, I do have some more questions for you. First, how many more of your people are aboard this ship?”

“I have no idea.”

The quick answer actually made Riker blink twice before he caught himself and reestablished his bearing. “Excuse me?”

“We operate individually, Commander,” Kalsha said. “I was sent here alone to carry out my assignment. If others have been dispatched, it is without my knowledge.”

Riker looked to Troi, who seemed to be struggling with her own thoughts yet again. “I’m sensing no deception,” she said. “The answers he’s given to this point are truthful, so far as I can determine.”

The question, he knew, was whether the Satarran was actually being honest, or if he simply possessed enough experience and savvy to thwart even her abilities.

“Fine,” he said after a moment. He turned back to Kalsha. “We already know that you accessed our computer and altered several of the security protocols, deactivated internal sensors and so on. What else have you done?”

“What was required of me, Commander,” Kalsha replied, his expression returning to one of unreadable detachment.

Was it Riker’s imagination, or had the Satarran’s words actually carried a hint of resignation?

I think this interview just became a lot more difficult.