Chapter Seventeen

“NOW SIT DOWN THERE,” Beverly Crusher told Worf, pushing him back onto the examination table. Worf wasn’t so weak that he couldn’t out-muscle the good doctor, but her tone of voice told him he shouldn’t try.

He twisted his head from side to side. “What happened to Shana Russel?” he asked.

“Still unconscious,” she sighed, checking his readings on the luminous panel behind him. “We could bring her to, but she has some minor internal injuries, so it’s better to let her rest.”

“I’m not injured,” muttered Worf, sitting up before she could stop him. “I just bumped my head.”

“Apparently, her head isn’t as thick as yours,” the doctor snapped, pushing him back down. “But at least she’s lying quietly.”

He saw a member of the security contingent hovering in the doorway and called him with a booming, “Ensign Cavay!”

The fresh-faced ensign hurried toward him and skidded to attention. “Yes, sir,” he replied.

“Until further orders,” said the Klingon, “you are to personally guard Shana Russel and see she doesn’t go anywhere.”

Dr. Crusher scoffed, “She’s not going anywhere.”

“Yes, she is,” countered Worf. “As soon as she’s able, she’s going to confinement.”

Beverly Crusher waved a hypo at her agitated patient. “Are you going to relax long enough to let me examine you, or do I have to use this?”

Worf tried to release the tenseness from his shoulders and accept the bed underneath him. He had won, he told himself, he had caught her. She wouldn’t murder again; the contamination was ended. He pressed his insignia and said hoarsely, “Worf to Captain Picard.”

“Picard here,” answered the captain with obvious concern. “Geordi told us what happened. Are you and the young lady all right?”

“She’s the murderer, Captain,” rasped Worf. “Shana Russel killed Lynn Costa and Karn Milu in order to ruin Emil. Her mother was Megan Terry—check the computer playback . . .”

“You relax, Lieutenant,” ordered the captain. “I’ll arrange her transfer to the starbase. Make your report as soon as you’re able.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Worf, trying to relax. He bared his teeth in triumph as he whispered, “This time, it’s certain.”

Emil Costa paced in his small but comfortably appointed cell on Kayran Rock, wondering what was happening. For sixteen hours, he had not been summoned to the courtroom and had not received any word from Commander Data, or anyone else for that matter. Meals and library materials had become his entire existence, and he finally began to realize what long-term imprisonment would be like. He had been so intent on defending his innocence on those ridiculous murder charges, he hadn’t realized what kind of life he would have after the other trials were over. Now he knew, and it caused him to pace all the more worriedly.

He was surprised a moment later when the outer door opened, and Captain Picard, Commander Data, and the female Kreel walked toward him.

“Captain!” he swallowed, moving to the edge of the forcefield. “What a surprise. Hello, Commander Data, First Assistant Kwalrak.”

He was relieved by the captain’s smile. Even the normally reserved android looked pleased. “Dr. Costa,” began Picard, “you will be happy to know that the murder charges against you have been dropped. Shana Russel has confessed to both murders.”

“Shana Russel!” he gasped, sitting on the foot of his narrow bunk.

“Her name is actually Jasmine Terry,” explained Data. “She is Megan Terry’s daughter, and she claims you are her father.”

“Megan . . .” rasped the white-haired scientist, his eyes glazing over with a deluge of memories and regrets.

“We will arrange for you to view her confession,” said Picard sympathetically. “At the moment, we have a matter that is more pressing—what to do about the charges stemming from the shuttlecraft incident. First Assistant Kwalrak has talked to her superiors, and we believe we can reach an agreement. If you will plead guilty to charges of assault and endangerment, the Kreel will agree to allow you to serve a term of five years under house arrest, here on this starbase. In exchange, you will agree to teach classes in biofilter development to young Kreel.”

“You see,” interjected Kwalrak with a lopsided grin, “we have realized that just buying transporter technology, without having the knowledge to support it, would enslave us to the vendors. We want to learn how to develop it ourselves. And Doctor Costa has an excellent broad-based understanding of the principles behind transporters.”

Picard looked at the doctor and added, “You won’t be doing the work for them—you’ll just be teaching. Staying here on the starbase will ensure that. And it will ensure that the Federation will drop any additional charges related to your handling of the new submicrobe.”

The old scientist looked at Data and smiled quizzically, “You’re my lawyer, shall I take this deal?”

“The alternative,” answered the android, “is to be bound over to the Kreel for trial on their home planet. The Federation would not be able to assist you. If you feel you can live inside this asteroid for five years, you should take the deal.”

“I’ve lived in far worse places,” said Emil, rising to his feet. “Consider it done.”

Captain Picard nodded to the attending security officer, “Release him.”

A small chime sounded, and the old man reached out to make sure the forcefield was gone. He gratefully stepped out of the cell and shook Data’s hand. “Thank you,” he gushed, “you’re a wonderful lawyer.”

“Do not thank me,” said the android, “thank Lieutenant Worf and Counselor Troi.”

Deanna Troi was strolling down a corridor, feeling vigorously healthy for the first time since the attempt on her life. She also felt a bit at loose ends, knowing the investigation had finally been concluded. Sweet little Shana Russel, she mused, a cold-blooded murderess. It was somewhat flattering, she decided, to know that Karn Milu had spent several weeks training the girl in order to circumvent Deanna’s insight.

Suddenly, a strong hand gripped her arm, and she turned to see the beaming face of Commander Riker. “Good to see you up and about,” he grinned. “Where are you going?”

“To the bridge,” she answered hesitantly, having no real reason to go there.

“No, you’re not,” he said, steering her toward a turbolift. “You’re going to Kayran Rock with me on shore leave.”

“I am?” She frowned puzzledly. “I didn’t put in for shore leave.”

“I requested it for you,” he winked, “for the same time as mine.”

A surprised smile graced the Betazoid’s face, and she bounded into step beside him. She whispered conspiratorily, “How long can we be gone?”

“We’re not due to leave for ten whole hours!” he beamed. “I figure we’ll stay until they come after us.”

Deanna gripped Will’s arm and suppressed a giggle as the turbolift doors closed around them.

On the bridge, Lieutenant Worf straightened to attention when Captain Picard and Commander Data entered. Data took his position at the ops console, beside a smiling Wesley Crusher at the conn. Except for the absence of Commander Riker, the bridge crew was at full complement for the first time in several days.

“Status, Lieutenant?” Picard asked Worf. “

Maintaining station with Kayran Rock,” answered the Klingon. “The last scheduled shore leave will end in ten hours. We are cleared to leave at that time.”

“Lieutenant,” said Jean-Luc Picard, “it’s good to see you on the bridge again.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he nodded. “It’s good to be back.”

“As for the job you did while you were away,” the captain went on, “I have something to say.”

“Yes, sir?” asked Worf.

“Well done.”