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The transporter whined shrilly; Soran’s image began to dematerialize, then reappeared with a sputter of sparks. The scientist’s features darkened with rage as the guard furiously worked the console controls. Soran’s form once more wavered, then dissolved, but not before Geordi read the word on his lips: Imbeciles ….

Then he was shoved upon a pad himself. The Klingon vessel faded from view and was replaced by the sleek, gleaming bulkheads of the Enterprise. Geordi got the faintest impression of Captain Picard dematerializing beside him, and then he was stepping forward and sinking to his knees in front of a waiting Dr. Crusher ….

On the surface of Veridian III, Picard gazed up at the lilac sky and thought of Eden before the creation of humankind. No sound of aircars, of industry or voices, no sight of cities or ships streaking toward the horizon; the only sounds were the stirring of small mammals in the lush foliage, of birds singing high and sweet, the only sights those of clouds, mountains, ancient trees.

He stared down and saw that he stood on the dusty clay surface of a plateau ringed by greenery. Before him, a large scaffolding had been erected against a single towering rock face—the only sign of humanoid disturbance.

On instinct, he turned and saw Soran gazing calmly at his antique pocket watch. The scientist closed the timepiece, put it away, and smiled thinly at Picard.

“You must think I’m quite the madman.” He seemed outwardly composed, but there was a hint of volatility in the way the corners of his lips trembled slightly, a hint of pain in his eyes.

Picard drew in a breath, hesitated, then yielded to the truth. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

Soran’s blue eyes hardened faintly, though the smile did not change. “Think whatever you like, Captain.” He turned and began to move away, toward the scaffold.

Picard took a step. “Soran… I understand you were interrogated by the Borg.”

His body did not turn, but his head jerked back sharply to regard the captain with dark suspicion. “What concern is it of yours?”

“I… have had experience with the Borg myself.” Picard hesitated, choosing his words carefully not just for Soran’s sake, but for his own; speaking of the experience, even with trusted friends, still did not come easily. He could see that his words, his intensity, had impressed Soran. The scientist stared, frowning, as the captain continued: “They captured me. Made me one of their own. Used me against the Federation…” He paused at the painful memory. “The experience nearly destroyed me. But I survived. I had help… good friends …. “He took another step toward Soran and held out an arm. “Soran… don’t let what happened to you destroy you. We can help—”

Such potent bitterness swept over the scientist’s face that Soran could not entirely repress a grimace. “I appreciate your concern, Captain. But this has nothing to do with destroying myself. Quite the contrary, in fact.” He gathered himself, managed another unheartfelt smile. “Forgive me ifI don’t respond to your emotional plea. You see, I don’t quite believe that you’ve shown up because you’re overwhelmed by concern for me. The only possible reason you’re here is that you’re not entirely confident you can shoot down my probe