"Neither one of us needs to go on a diet," replied Sam with an insolent grin. "One thing I've learned in this war--you eat good food when you have the chance. It may not be there tomorrow, or you may not be there tomorrow." Ro scowled and continued pacing. "You still look too comfortable." "I've had more practice being a prisoner than you have... at least recently. Maybe the captain knew what he was doing when he sent us over here. I think he was giving us a break." "This is hardly my idea of relaxation," muttered Ro, pacing anew.

 

 

"I would say that the Talavians are a bit at a loss.

 

 

They didn't know what to do with us, so they put us in here. It's the best cell I've been in lately, and the chow beats Cardassian prison cuisine by a parsec." With a disgruntled took on her face, Ro sank into the loveseat and grabbed a roll from a basket full of elegant pastries. She munched on it hungrily, but with a scowl on her face.

 

 

Sam sat up and crawled across the mattress toward her. Lolling on the edge of the bed, he wiped his mouth with a silk napkin. "Relax, I doubt the captain's meeting is going to last very long. He just wants to get what he came for, and get out of here. We'll probably be back on the ship in a few minutes." She grunted. "Sorry, but I don't like being told what to do. It's a problem I have with authority." "You must have been a natural candidate for Starfleet," said Sam with some amusement.

 

 

Ro smiled in spite of herself. "Let's say I was taken with the ships, the adventure, the grand ideals, and the chance to get out of the squalor I was living in. It took me a while to realize that Starfleet played politics, too, and I was always going to have a problem with authority. In the end, you have to answer to yourself and no one else. I can do that now." Sam nodded sagely. "I know what you mean.

 

 

Until this war--and my capture--I was like Grof. It was always my career, my promotion, my chance to kill Cardassians. I was selfish. After I was captured, I began to think about about other people and how I could help them. My happiness doesn't depend on career advancement and recommendations anymore." He laughed and looked at the chunk of cheese in his hand. "Food and clean underwear are enough." Ro chuckled. "Well, we have one of those items on board the Orb of Peace."

 

 

"So, how did you become captain of that noble vessel?" Ro grimaced, remembering Derek and all the friends she had lost when the Dominion cracked down on the Maquis colonies, and she couldn't bear to answer his question. "It's a long story, and not a happy one. Like you, I thought I was escaping from the war--but I wasn't." "I'm sorry," said Sam with genuine concern.

 

 

"You've got to go some distance to get away from this war." He looked frankly at her, and what he was thinking was very transparent. Sam was very appealing, now that he had gotten some cynicism to go with his good looks. A wartime romance might ease the pain for a few minutes here and there, but she could feel herself withdrawing emotionally, isolating herself from the threat of more pain. If Sam's motto was "Live for today, for tomorrow we may die," hers was "Live like a hermit, for tomorrow we may die." She rose from the loveseat and began to pace again, sorry that she had to hurt Sam's feelings. It was flattering that he wanted her... and so human.

 

 

The door banged open with a sudden thud, causing her to reach for a phaser pistol she didn't possess. Two gangly Talavians stood in the corridor, looking sheepishly at them. It wasn't that Ro felt unwelcome or unworthy; it was the opposite. Their hosts seemed to be embarrassed to be in their presence, as if they were unworthy. Ro wondered whether the Talavians might have a rigid caste system, with few members of the crew who were actually entrusted to talk to them.

 

 

"Wait here. Going home. Good-bye." The taller of the Talavians bowed respectfully.

 

 

When Sam began to fill his pockets with tasty morsels of food, Ro couldn't help but smile. A moment later, she felt the familiar tingle as a transporter beam rearranged her molecules.

 

 

She and Sam materialized in the transporter room of the Orb of Peace, where a grim-faced Captain Picard stood waiting to greet them. As Ro stepped off the transporter platform, a crate of food packets appeared behind her.

 

 

"We're getting some food," said Picard, "but it has come at quite a price. I've called a meeting in the mess hall to explain what we have to do to earn it."

 

 

Will Riker sat at lunch with Jack Torrance, Beverly Crusher, and two other marooned officers who were waiting for their ships to be repaired. Their tactical meeting had been abruptly canceled, and the brass had all left the starbase suddenly. So Captain Torrance, commanding officer of the base, had taken them to the officers' lounge for a previously delayed welcome lunch.

 

 

The tastefully appointed dining room was empty, except for two tables filled with young ensigns, who kept glancing nervously their way. They also kept looking at the chronometer on the wall, as if they were about to ship out any moment.

 

 

"So what's up?" asked Dalivar, captain of the Earhart, after an elderly Saurian had taken their orders. "Where is everybody going?" "There must be something cooking," agreed Beverly. "A big offensive?" "Nothing official," said Jack Torrance with a helpless shrug. "All of you would have gotten orders to ship out, too, if your ships weren't banged up." "Speaking of which," said Riker, clearing his throat uncomfortably, "we need to talk about getting our ships out of the shop." "Quit being such a worry-wart," said Torrance with a reassuring smile. "I've seen the progress reports, and they're almost on schedule." Almost on schedule, Riker muttered to himself.

 

 

That could mean anything!

 

 

"Never mind that," said Dalivar, leaning forward.

 

 

"What's going on? Are we finally going to retake Deep Space Nine?" Torrance shrugged noncommittally. "Like I say, I can't say." "You might as well tell us," grumbled Riker. "It's not like we're going to go anywhere." "Secrets must be kept," said Torrance, the smile fading from his youthful face. "For example, Commander Riker, you can't tell us anything about the secret mission that Captain Picard is on." "Trust me, you wouldn't like to hear about it," said Beverly with a bittersweet smile.

 

 

Although Riker wanted to complain loudly and often about the Enterprise being held up, he knew this wasn't the time or the place. He still didn't want to lodge an official complaint against Shana Winslow, but his gut feeling told him that he had to do something. Deanna hadn't told him anything about her meeting with Shana, but he could read Deanna fairly well. The look on the Betazoid's face had announced that she considered the meeting unsuccessful. And nothing had changed.

 

 

He had sent an intermediary, and it hadn't worked out, which made him feel even lousier. Things were happening all around them, and they were sitting on their rumps. Will felt like asking if they had a spare ship he could borrow, but he already knew the answer: they didn't.

 

 

He managed a smile. "So... we can't talk about the war, and we can't complain about our ships being docked. What can we talk about?" "Who's going to win the Solar Cup this year?" asked Jack Torrance. "I like Luna's chances." "Are they still having the games?" asked Beverly.

 

 

"Last I heard," answered Torrance. "Have to keep the morale up back home." Riker heard other voices, and he turned to see a few more officers enter the vast dining hall. He caught sight of a gray-haired, blue-skinned Artdorian standing in the doorway, as if scanning the room for people he knew. When the Andorian didn't see anyone he recognized, he headed on his way, but Riker had recognized him. He was one of the technicians who worked for Shana Winslow--in fact, he had written up the Enterprise's work orders the first day.

 

 

With nervous energy pulsing through his veins, Riker rose to his feet. "Excuse me, I'll be back soon.

 

 

There's something I've got to do." "Go ahead," said Beverly with an encouraging smile. "I'11 hold up our end of the conversation." The other men looked a bit surprised by Riker's abrupt exit, but none of them said anything. This was wartime, and everyone was entitled to be moody.

 

 

Will dashed out of the officer's lounge into a busy corridor. He spotted the Andorian immediately, thanks to his height and long antennae; he was striding down the corridor, making good speed on his long legs. He turned left into another hallway, and Will charged after him before he vanished completely.

 

 

Thankfully, this side corridor was not as crowded as the first one, and Riker was able to catch the taller alien. He wished that he didn't have to ambush the man in the hall like this, but he had tried every regular channel, except for going over Shana's head. The Andorian was going to regret his little stroll through the base.

 

 

"Lieutenant!" called Will, recognizing the Andorian's rank by his collar pips.

 

 

He turned to look down at Riker with implacable blue eyes. "Yes, Commander?" "I'11 be blunt--what's taking you people so long fixing the Enterprise?" The Andorian scowled, turned, and walked away.

 

 

Riker chased after him, feeling like a little dog nipping at the heels of his much bigger playmate. "I can order you to talk to me." "Yes, you can," answered the Andorian, not slowing down. "But that doesn't mean I will. Go through channels." "I've tried all the channels," insisted Riker. "I'm being stonewalled." The Andorian stopped and stared down at him.

 

 

"Everyone wants their ship, and everyone wants it now. But we know where these ships are going after they leave our shop--back to the front--back to a mismatch against Dominion warships. Your life depends on the job we're doing now, just as surely as if we served on your bridge crew." "Look, I don't need a lecture," snapped Will. "I just want my ship back, so I can rescue my crew behind enemy lines." The Andorian snorted. "Don't you understand, Commander, that if it hadn't been for us, you would be shipping out today, going in the opposite direction.

 

 

You actually have a guardian angel looking out for you, and you don't even appreciate it. That is all I will say." Riker gazed thoughtfully at the Andorian, who turned and walked away. This time, he let him go. If what he hinted at was even remotely true, then Shana Winslow was purposely delaying repairs in order to keep from sending people out to die. This attitude could permeate her whole staff, who were in a unique position to play God. Juggling their limited resources, they could give thousands of officers a few extra days before they faced combat again.

 

 

Perhaps she had done him a favor by making sure the Enterprise wasn't caught up in the big push, but she had also broken numerous regulations. On the other hand, it would be difficult to prove she was doing anything but her job, given the circumstances.

 

 

With a start, Riker realized that he was more concerned about Shana than he was the Enterprise. If all he wanted was his ship, he would just go over her head and let the chips fall where they may. A courtmartial wouldn't be out of the question.

 

 

But he couldn't do that to her, not without trying to help her first. She has to see met He tapped his combadge and announced, "This is Commander William Riker to Commander Shana Winslow, Repair Division." A male voice answered. "This is Ensign O'Reilly, Repair Division. I'm taking all nonessential calls for Commander Winslow." Riker sighed, thinking that he had been called worse than "nonessential." Politely he said, "It's really urgent that I speak with her." "I'll relay the message, sir." "Isn't there any way you can put me through to her?"

 

 

"No, sir. I'll relay the message: Commander Riker wishes to speak to Commander Winslow." "What about the status of the Enterprise?" Riker cut in.

 

 

"FI1 relay the message," answered her aide. "Repair Division out." Will grumbled under his breath, thinking that no admiral in Starfleet was as insulated as Commander Shana Winslow. So I can't reach her, and I won't go over her head--but maybe I can go under it.

 

 

Five minutes later, Riker strode onto the operations center of Starbase 209 and sat down at an empty auxiliary console, of which there were at least a dozen. The regular operations crew gave him a few glances, but they didn't question him. With satisfaction, Riker realized that they knew who he was--the mystique of the Enterprise extended deeply into Starfleet.

 

 

"Computer," he said, "patch me into the Library Computer Access and Retrieval System of the U.S.S.

 

 

Enterprise-E in dock nine. Command authorization: Riker delta-two-six-one-eight." While the ship was tethered to the starbase, starbase computers had control of it. Maybe Shana's people could dodge him, but he had the authorization to query the ship directly.

 

 

Everything was stored in the central data base, if one knew where to look for it.

 

 

"Access granted," reported the base computer.

 

 

Will inserted an isolinear chip into the slot on the console and waited until the computer popped the data back at him on the screen. It was the manifest of parts which needed replacement or repair, as generated during their initial consultation with the base technicians.

 

 

"Computer," he continued, "compare the items on this manifest with the list of parts which have been requisitioned and received by Repair Division for the Enterprise-E. Compare both of those lists to the parts which have actually been installed in the Enterprise-E during the last ninety-six hours. Report discrepancies." After a few moments, the eomputer's feminine voice reported, "There are twelve discrepancies between the manifest and requisitioned parts list, all involving gel packs that are not in inventory. A substitute has been ordered. There are 2,679 discrepancies between the manifest and the parts which have been installed." They've got the parts, but they're way behind putting them in, concluded Riker. "Assemble a report with these comparisons," he told the computer, "and send it to Commander Shana Winslow, compliments of Commander William Riker." "Yes, sir," answered the computer noncommittally.

 

 

On the derelict starship, named Ancestor by the Talavians, Sam Lavelie activated his magnetic boots and slammed feet-first onto the deck. All around him, five space-suited figures gradually found their footing, as they probed the darkness with their narrow beams of light.

 

 

Most of them unfolded tricorders, while La Forge set an object shaped like a pyramid on the deck. He pushed a button, and brilliant lights bathed the cavernous chamber, chasing the shadows to the most remote corners. With ease, Ro Laren lifted a weightless phaser rifle and used her laser-beam scope to scan the room.

 

 

To Sam, the room appeared to be a cargo hold, or perhaps a shuttlebay. If there had once been shuttle- craft or supplies stored here, they were long gone, replaced by drifting debris and broken ceiling panels.

 

 

And dust--the dust of ages seemed to hang all around them.

 

 

Four of them, Sam, Geordi, Taurik, and Enrak Grof scanned the ship with tricorders, while Ro and Tamla Horik stood guard with phaser rifles.

 

 

"Commander La Forge," said Sam, his voice echoing in his own helmet. "Do you see any of those anomalies you saw before?" "Do I!" exclaimed Geordi. "It's like there are ghosts made of air and heat--and power fluctuations.

 

 

They last a while, too. I should start timing them-- that data might come in handy." "Does anyone see any of those artifacts we're looking for?" asked Ro.

 

 

"No," came several disappointed responses.

 

 

"All right," ordered Ro, "Lavelie and Taurik, you're with me. We're going to make our way to the bridge. Geordi, you and the others stay here and take readings. Remember, if you find an artifact, slap a cornbadge on it, activate it, and step away. The transporter chief will beam it into the stasis field." "I wish we had someone competent at that post," muttered Enrak Grof.

 

 

"We want to keep this channel open for crucial data, not idle conversation." Ro glanced at Taurik, and the Vulcan pointed to a distant doorway that had been blasted open. The two of them were off immediately, and Sam shuffled behind them, checking his tricorder for phantom readings.

 

 

They were soon plunged back into eerie darkness, broken only by the lights on their helmets and wrists.

 

 

Sam could feel a thin layer of sweat inside his suit, and his breathing pounded in his ears. It wasn't exertion or the clumsy boots that caused his heart to race, it was the pervading gloom, broken only by bizarre readouts on his tricorder. Even Taurik was speechless as he stared at his hand-held device.

 

 

"What are you seeing?" demanded Ro. Sam glanced down, letting Taurik reply.

 

 

"There are indications of unusual substances and energy sources," reported the Vulcan, "including lifesigns of unknown origin. There are so many, in fact, that it is difficult to say where we should begin." "Pick one," said Ro, gripping her phaser with her heavily gloved hands. "The nearest--or the most recent." Taurik chose a direction and plunged down the dark corridor. Sam purposely hung back and let the Vulcan and the Bajoran lead the way. He had already seen the ghosts on his previous visit with Picard, and they hadn't. So they got the honor.

 

 

His path illuminated only by the wavering beams of light, Taurik found a low hatch that was hanging open on one cracked hinge. Without a moment's hesitation, he ducked into the hidden quarters beyond. To Sam, it looked like a cave in there, and he glanced down at his readings to see a mixture of gases: carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and oxygen, in barely breathable amounts. There was air in that room, where there shouldn't have been any atmosphere.

 

 

Sam followed Ro through the hatch. He heard her gasp, and he peered over her shoulder to see Taurik aiming his light beam at a corner of the room. When Ro added her beam, they could clearly see a pocket of air--it was quivering like a giant soap bubble. Inside this apparition, there were shining fixtures rising from an elegant slab--faucets, sinks, beakers, and burners--which existed nowhere else in the stripped room. It was as if they were watching a window into the past, a ghostly peepshow.

 

 

With extraordinary presence of mind, Taurik reached into the pouch on his belt, pulled out a spare combadge, and squeezed it. Holding the badge firmly, his hand reached through the air bubble and affixed it to the nearest unattached object, a purple beaker with a yellow thong around its elegant neck.

 

 

While Sam watched this supernatural encounter, he didn't see the sudden pulses on his tricorder. When a hand reached out from the ether and grabbed his shoulder, he yelled and pitched forward, practically crashing into Ro. Taurik was coming fast from the other direction, trying to get away before the transporter kicked in, and they almost bumped into each other. Fortunately, the magnetic boots kept them upright, but weightless momentum turned them into rag dolls.

 

 

"Watch it!" growled Ro.

 

 

"Behind us!" While Sam grappled with Ro's encumbered body, he tried to twist around to find the intruder. A chubby beige creature bounded into the room.

 

 

Sam's gasp was wiped out by amplified laughter, which boomed in his ears. "Oh, did I startle you?" asked Grof with undisguised mirth.

 

 

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" snapped Ro.

 

 

"Oh, I didn't know if it was crucial enough for me to use the corem channel," sneered Grof. "Why did you leave La Forge?" He shrugged. "I thought we were proceeding quite well with the search of that large room, but La Forge and I disagreed about something or other. So I went off in search of you." ii~11

 

 

"Were you trying to take over?" asked Sam.

 

 

"Well, of course I made a few suggestions," answered the Trill huffily.

 

 

Sam could hear Ro take a sharp breath, but before she could unload on Grof, a scratchy voice cut in: "Transporter room to away team. Looks like you've got something there and it's stable." "Congratulations!" exclaimed Grof. "I've got a power reading down the corridor here. I'll check it out." With lumbering footsteps, the Trill disappeared into the darkness. Taurik shouldered past them in pursuit, leaving Ro and Sam alone in the darkened room. He shined a light in the direction of the gases, but the elegant fixtures and marble-like counter were gone. The dust that hung all about them was the only testimony to the former splendor of the laboratory.

 

 

Through her mask, Ro glared at him, as if to say "Nice move." Sam could only point to his trioorder and the four life-signs about twenty meters straight overhead. Ro shined her light across the ceiling and found an access tube in the corner that was missing its hatch.

 

 

"This is Ro to the away team," she announced. "We seem to have split up into three groups now. I'm with Lavelie, going up one level. Grof and Taurik have kept going down the central corridor. Geordi, you and Horik are still at base, right?" "Yes, sir," answered the engineer. "You know, Ro, doesn't this remind you of that time when you and I ,, "Yes," she admitted, knowing exactly what he was talking about. Once, when a cloaked Romulan spy had gotten loose on the Enterprise, she and Geordi had been out of phase and unable to interact with anyone, except one another. On this ship, it was like everything was out of phase--long dead, yet longlived.

 

 

"Everyone, keep your eyes open, and stay in contact," ordered Ro. "At no time is anyone to be alone.

 

 

Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, sir," came the subdued responses.

 

 

Feeling rather embarrassed over his jumpiness, Sam took the point. He walked up a vertical bulkhead in his magnetic boots and stopped outsade the access tube. Unlike a Jeffries tube, this one was wide enough for only one person at a time to climb, and his boots were going to be a hindrance on the narrow ladder.

 

 

He turned them off and let his legs float free.

 

 

"Ro," he said, "I turned off my boots, and I'm just going to use my arms. It'll be faster." "Okay," she said. "I'm right behind you." He felt a gloved hand brush his heavily insulated calf.

 

 

A moment later, Sam was pulling himself upward with ease through a narrow shaft of darkness. He tried to tell himself that he was actually safer in here, because nothing could leap out and grab him, although that was only a theory. Sam had to push away some unraveled wires and broken circuits at the next hatchway, but he hoisted his weightless body onto the upper level without any problem.

 

 

Although Sam would have preferred to float around weightlessly, he activated his boots, anchored himseft on the deck, and took more readings. Four life-signs were straight ahead of them, in what appeared to be private quarters. From the remains of tables and chairs, this room could have been a recreation lounge, or perhaps a classroom.

 

 

He waited until Ro emerged from the access tube and got her feet under her again. He showed her his tricorder and motioned toward the open doorway.

 

 

There was a slight glimmering of light within that gloom, and it shouldn't have been there either.

 

 

Sam tried to take the point, but Ro insistedmand she was the one with the phaser rifle. He was right behind her, armed with nothing but a tricorder and several extra cornbadges. When they entered the quarters, they both gasped in unison. Seated at a table, apparently enjoying a meal, were four thin creatures with heads that reminded Sam of refracted crystals.

 

 

The elegant candles on the table sparkled in their multifaceted faces, and the utensils and glasses gleamed.

 

 

The look of horror in the diners' faces was unmistakable. They bolted to their feet and shrunk back in terror from the intruders. One of them ran to a far bulkhead and opened a wall panel, but both he and the panel were on the edge of the phase shift.

 

 

Gradually he faded away, like the glow on an antique television set.

 

 

The others cowered or ran to places outside the range of the ghostly window, and they too disappeared. Ro lowered her phaser rifle, and grumbled, "Remember the mission." "Right," muttered Sam.

 

 

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a Bajoran combadge, which he activated and placed on one of the crystalline candelabras. He had barely pulled his hand back before the candelabra vanished in a sparkling swirl of molecules. A few seconds later, the entire scene began to fade away, but the ghosts hovered in the background with accusing looks on their jeweMike faces.

 

 

Aghast, Sam turned to look at Ro, and the air escaped his lungs in a burst. "Something tells me this isn't right... or safe... or legal." "I know what you mean," answered Ro. "Let's just explore and not tag anything else." She looked at the controls on her wrist and added, "We've only got another twenty minutes." He motioned to the door. "After you."

 

 

Geordi was drawn to a ghostly object which few people could have seen, let alone identify. It suddenly appeared like a beacon over the double doors at the far end of the large hold. He had concluded that their base was a cargo hold, but he had no idea what that object over the doors was. It appeared to be a hologram, which looked very distinctive to him, although sighted people were completely fooled by them. At least it had all the signatures ofa hologram; perhaps it was a holographic work of art.

 

 

To Tamla Horik, it was nothing at all. La Forge could tell, because the DeRan had looked right at the disk without any indication of seeing it. To her, it was just an empty space over the door. The tricorder didn't find the apparition very impressive either-- just a weak energy reading.

 

 

"I'm going to go look at something," he told HoNk.

 

 

She lifted her phaser rifle. "Do you need help?" "I don't think so," answered La Forge, smiling through the faceplate of his helmet. "It's just one of those irregularities that only I can see. I won't leave the room--you stay and keep an eye on our equipment." "Yes, sir," she answered in a deep, mellifluous voice.

 

 

Geordi hurried across the room as quickly as the clumsy boots would allow. He didn't know how long this holographic image would remain, but he wanted to get a good look before it vanished.

 

 

When he was within about ten meters, he perceived it clearly enough to assume that a person with normal sight could see it now. Even then, he didn't think it would look very impressive--a small disk, perhaps a shield, with a shifting holographic design on it.

 

 

Wait a minute, thought Geordi, couM this be one of those ship g plaques that the captain had mentioned?

 

 

The seal did look official. Then again, perhaps it was a sign saying "Stay out." He stepped closer, knowing that he should be getting out a cornbadge to mark it for transport. He had a feeling that this was a self-contained unit, a lowpower hologram with a light source small enough to hold in his hand.

 

 

Focusing on his infrared vision, Geordi was able to isolate the source of the light in the center of the plaque. Hesitantly, he reached a gloved hand toward the small cube, almost unwilling to disturb it. Clearly this was a work of art, exquisite in its subtlety and detail. The images on the disk depicted an outdoor celebration in which throngs of gaily colored merrymakers danced. He wondered whether they were in costume or actually had crystalline heads of every hue in the spectrum.

 

 

As his hand moved closer, he realized that he would not be able to touch it without either climbing or floating half a meter higher. If he were going to go to that much trouble, he might as well tag it for collection. After all, it could mean a new food replicator for them.

 

 

Then he paused. This piece of art may or may not belong here, but it sure doesn't belong on a Talavian freighter. Geordi wanted to keep his find secret, which he could, but they had to secure supplies as quickly as possible and get back to the mission. This was no time to be overly analytical.

 

 

With reluctance, La Forge reached into his pouch for a combadge. The door under the disk was so beaten and bent that he doubted if he could walk vertically on it. Using the controls on his sleeve, he turned off the magnetic boots and bounded ever so slightly upward. After activating the cornbadge, Geordi waited patiently for momentum to bring his hand closer to the prize. He held out the extra cornbadge and prepared to puncture the illusion.

 

 

As his hand zoomed in, it struck an invisible wall-- a force-field--and a potent blast of electrical shock ripped into his body. As he tumbled away, Geordi had the presence of mind to scream before everything went dark.

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

"HoRIK TO ROW shouted the Deltan. "La Forge is injured!" "What kind of injury?" Ro shot back.

 

 

"He's just floating--looks unconscious! I haven't reached him yet." Ro reacted immediately. "Away team to bridge.

 

 

We've got an injured man--La Forge. Request emergency transport." "Is he bad?" asked Picard.

 

 

"We don't know." "Acknowledged. Boothby out." The channel crackled with static, which was not reassuring to the Bajoran.

 

 

"Away team, assemble back at the base," she ordered. "Repeat--break off search and return to base."

 

 

"But we're on the trail of a beautiful silver goblet," protested GroW' "Okay, Grof, we're going to leave you here alone--" "No, wait. I'll go!" "Good. Now move it." Ro began to clomp back to the access tube, and Sam followed closely behind. By his body language, he looked eager to get out of this ghost ship, and she couldn't blame him. They deactivated their boots and used their hands to descend head-first to the lower level. It seemed like a good idea to hurry.

 

 

Picard knelt on the transporter platform and pulled Geordi's helmet off his head. The engineer was out cold, and Picard snapped his fingers at his assistant, Hasmek, the one-armed Romulan.

 

 

"Hypospray of lectrazine!" ordered Picard. "The red one." Fumbling a little, the Romulan pulled the correct device from the box and handed it to Picard. "! recognize this one." Picard wasted no time in administering the hypospray to Geordi's neck. He didn't even know if his trusted officer was dead or alive--this was the only recourse he had, so he might as well use it.

 

 

"Unnh!' moaned Geordi, a moment before he doubled over and started to cough violently. Picard sat him up and rubbed his back. "Just stay calm-- you're alive." "Get the others back!" he croaked, grabbing Picard's collar. "Get them back! Too dangerous--" The captain stood up and pressed his combadge.

 

 

"Away team, assemble and account for everyone.

 

 

We'll beam you back to the ship in two minutes." "Yes, sir," answered Ro.

 

 

"I've got to talk to our employer," said Picard with a scowl.

 

 

Fraznulen, the Talavian captain, looked lustfully upon the objects assembled before him--a jewelencrusted candelabra, a purple glass beaker, and an exquisite porcelain cup. The tufts of red hair on his ears seemed to twitch with excitement. "You have done well! I knew you would have an affinity for this work, Boothby." He reached for the sparkling candelabra, which seemed to be studded with rubies, but his hand hit an invisible force-field, which gave him a slight shock.

 

 

"Ow!" he yelped, recoiling. "What is the purpose of this security? I own that object, we-paid!" "I rigged that up," answered La Forge, folding his arms. "Something over on the Ancestor nearly killed me by delivering a much bigger shock. There are risks you didn't tell us about." "We also encountered sentient beings," added Ro.

 

 

"And they didn't seem at all happy about being robbed." But Fraznulen was ignoring her as he stared at Geordi. "You encountered security devices? What was the object you were pursuing?" The engineer held his hands apart. "It was a disk about this wide--a hologram, a piece of art." The Talavian clapped his bony hands together.

 

 

"This is too great to hope! That is a ship's plaque. Can you describe what is on it?" "No, he can't," answered Picard, cutting in. "We're clone with this business, and we just want to leave. If you want these objects, just give us another batch of food and water, and we'll be on our way."

 

 

"Oh, no, Boothby, you can't do that!" groaned the scrawny Talavian, wringing his hands. "We can all be rich if we secure that plaque. I will trade you two food replicators if you will help us get it." He motioned regally toward La Forge. "I don't know what gifts he possesses--this one with the strange eyes--but if you will loan him to me, I will split the proceeds with you." Ro could see the captain barely contain his disgust.

 

 

"Captain Fraznulen, we will not do this anymore. It's unethical and extremely dangerous. It's insane to be mucking about these ships, with parts of them coming and going out of phase." "Just help me get that plaque, and I'll do anything you want!" promised Fraznulen. "I'11 even get that message of yours to the Federation, which is a service you won't find easily in Dominion space. We'll send over the food replicator right now and install it. What do you say, Boothby?" Picard's lips thinned, and Ro knew he had a tough decision to make. She didn't envy him. "Have you got a way to send our isolinear chip right now?" asked the captain.

 

 

"Yes, we have shuttlecraft--fast shuttlecraft! I'll send my best pilot with the chip this instant." Fraznulen turned to La Forge. "Just answer me one question, I beg you. What was on this holographic image that you saw?" He shrugged. "It looked like a festival, a celebration. People were whirling around, dancing, I think." Fraznulen sighed with rapture. "Yes, yes! It couldn't be better! The Ancestor was the mothership, we're almost certain of that." "Why did they come here?" asked Picard. "And what happened to them?" The Talavian shook his bulbous head sadly. "There are many theories, but none that pleases everyone.

 

 

My favorite theory is that they are hiding from someone. Whenever I see people in the Badlands, I assume they are hiding. Why come here otherwise?

 

 

Maybe an enemy is chasing them--someone fi'om another dimension." He shrugged his hairy shoulders.

 

 

"As you say, this a strange place, and perhaps they don't know they have been dead for thousands of years. The ghost worshipers I told you about are sincere--they believe that the ghosts are sending these objects back to the living, because they want us to learn their history. The faithful collect them, and they have instruments that can authenticate these finds of yours." He shrugged apologetically. "Of course, few of these devout worshipers have actually been to the Valley of Death. They don't know what it's like to go aboard these wrecks. I have to pay exorbitant prices to get anyone to do this work, especially with a war on and the plasma storms closing in. I sense that we haven't got much time left to consort with the ghosts." "Whether you call it religion or thievery, you know we're stealing from those people," said Ro.

 

 

"I don't have to justify our religion to you," answered the Talavian. "When you think of it, our beliefs are not much different than Bajoran beliefs.

 

 

Don't you worship gods who live in a wormhole? And don't they give you gifts? Your ship is named after one of them." Ro squirmed at this comparison, because it was uncomfortably close to Bajoran beliefs. She stopped herself from saying more, because the captain had to speak for them.

 

 

From a vest pocket, Captain Picard produced a rectangular, jewel-like circuit board, containing the collected wisdom of Enrak Grof. "Here's the cargo; call your shuttlecraft. After you take this away and install the replicator, Mister La Forge will show you where that special artifact is located. No one can predict when it will reappear, but you can be ready when it does." The Talavian rubbed his hands gleefully. "I can assure you, we will be ready. Thank you, Captain, thank you."

 

 

Will Riker walked down the main concourse of Starbase 209. The broad thoroughfare was lined with passenger loading ramps and duty-free shops, all of which were crowded with officers about to ship out.

 

 

They looked so young, most of them fresh from the Academy on an accelerated program. Were they ready for combat? That was hard to say; no one was truly ready for battle until they experienced it. He was certain that none of them were ready to die, and many of them would.

 

 

Will was in no hurry as he strolled the concourse.

 

 

Unlike the young officers, he had no place to go. His ship was still in space-dock, and its repair status was still a mystery, at least to him. He had hoped that the report he had sent to Shana, documenting that she had been stalling repairs on the Enterprise, would force a confrontation with her. It hadn't so far. Now he was resolved to wait until the week was up and the promised deadline was past, then he would have to make an official inquiry.

 

 

Overwhelmed by all the people, Riker slipped into an alcove off the thoroughfare and found himself looking at a display case of travel accessories, such as adapters, guide books, and universal translators. These objects seemed to be from a distant era, when people could travel for pleasure and exploration, rather than war. He wondered if life would ever get back to normal... or what passed for normal.

 

 

"Thinking of taking a trip?" asked a feminine voice.

 

 

Will turned to see a slender brunette. Although Shana Winslow was a petite woman, her physical presence was commanding. He hadn't realized until that moment how much he had missed her, even with that daunting scowl on her pretty face.

 

 

"Yes, I feel like taking a trip," he answered, "but I'm having a little trouble with my vehicle." Shana crossed her arms. "I saw that report you sent me. What was the point of that?" "Just to let you know that I know." "Know what?" He lowered his voice as a cadre of young officers walked past. "I know that you've been stalling repairs on the Enterprise, and probably other ships as well." "Why would I do that?" she asked with an angry glint in her eye.

 

 

"To keep us from going back into combat." "That's preposterous!" snapped Shana, speaking so loudly that heads turned in their direction.

 

 

Will gently took her real arm and piloted her into the travel store. They took refuge between tall racks of luggage; when a salesclerk approached, Will waved him off.

 

 

"You'd have an awfully hard time proving that accusation," muttered Shana.

 

 

"I don't want to prove it... except to you." He shook his head in amazement. "You don't even know you're doing it, do you?" "What I'm doing is my job... with no resources.

 

 

My staff should be two hundred percent bigger, according to our workload. They're all pulling double shifts, making repairs they're not even qualified to make. And even when we do have the parts, we don't have the people. Do you know how hard it is to keep good staff, when they know the war is out there?" She pointed accusingly toward space.

 

 

Riker gritted his teeth and tried to keep calm. "I've been doing my homework. The Gettysburg was in and out of here in three days, with worse damage than ours. The Targ was two days, because her Klingon captain made complaints about you right away.

 

 

Captain Torrance is petrified that you'll leave, because you are getting the job done... somehow. He can go ahead and pretend that everything is okay with you, but I know differently. This is all part of the nightmares, the chills, all the other symptoms you've been--" "You've been talking too much to your friend," countered Shana. "I've been doing some homework on you, too, and you're... a real Don Juan, aren't you?" "Don't change the subject," Riker whispered. He glanced around and saw that the salesclerk was busy with customers at the canteen display.

 

 

"You want your bloody ship?" asked Shana, her eyes glinting, "I'll give you your bloody ship!" She turned and limped away at such speed that Riker had to run to catch her.

 

 

He grabbed her gently by the waist. "Shana, wait--" "Take your hands off me!" she hissed, pulling away from him.

 

 

Now everyone in the store was looking at them, and they were about to drag this quarrel into the crowded concourse. She kept moving toward the door, and he called after, "It's not about my ship-- it's about you." Her back stiflened for a moment, then Commander Winslow lowered her head and joined the cheerful surge of young Starfleet officers, headed off to war.

 

 

A beat-up, khaki-colored shuttlecraft with red stripes on its hull pulled slowly away from the blackened ships of Death Valley. Almost reluctantly, it left the relative safety of the bubble to disappear into the dense clouds of the Badlands. Distant plasma storms sparkled in the murky heavens, as if welcoming the small craft as an offering.

 

 

Picard turned away from the viewscreen and looked pointedly at Enrak Grof. "There goes your precious information, Professor. We have risked our lives and allied ourselves with some unsavory characters for this. Now that we've sent your data to safety, I expect you to cooperate with us fully." Grof snorted derisively. "Do you really think you can trust the Talavians? What's to keep them from turning around and giving that chip to the Ferengi, or even the Dominion?" Picard frowned. "We put encryption on it, and we sent it the only way we had. I wish I could guarantee people's honesty, but I can't." "All right," muttered Grof, "I appreciate the effort.

 

 

Yes, I guess you have fulfilled your part of the bargain.

 

 

As soon as possible, I'll draw a map of the artificial wormhole and the location of the accelerator room.

 

 

It'll be from memory, but my memory is fairly accurate." "Make it so," said Picard. "As soon as we conclude our business with the Talavians, we'll finalize our plans." Taurik at the tactical station cut in. "Captain, it's Fraznulen. He's ready to begin the operation." "Shall I get suited up?" asked Grofi "No," answered Picard. "You're too valuable to risk on this. We're sending the minimum number of people to the Ancestor, just Ro and La Forge."

 

 

"You know, they say that not all the ships that disappear in the Badlands get hit by plasma." Ro Laren looked pointedly at Geordi La Forge and pulled her helmet over her head. She tucked her collar into the suit, zipped it up, and took a step toward the transporter platform. She hated the bulky magnetic boots.

 

 

"Where do they go?" asked Geordi.

 

 

"Other dimensions, maybe the other side of the galaxymor so they say." "I'd believe it," agreed the engineer. "What I can't believe is that the Maquis used to hide out in here." "This has always been a good place from which to launch an attack against the Cardassians," said Ro.

 

 

"They're scared of it." "They have reason to be," countered Geordi. He pulled his hellnet onto his head and adjusted the faceplate.

 

 

From the transporter console, Lena Shonsui cut in, "Interference is picking up, and I may not be able to keep the transporter lock much longer. Plus the Talavians have already beamed over and have asked about you." Ro glanced back at the diminutive transporter chief, who was about her favorite of the rescued prisoners. Shonsui took no guff from anybody and told people exactly what she thought. The Bajoran could imagine herself turning into such a grizzled veteran, if she had stayed in Star fleet long enough, or if she were to live long enough.

 

 

"We're ready," said Ro with a resolute nod. She and La Forge stepped onto the transporter platform, and Shonsui worked her console.

 

 

"Energize," said Ro, hearing her own voice reverberate in her helmet. She braced herself and gripped the handle of her phaser, without drawing it.

 

 

This time, when they materialized in the cargo hold of the Ancestor, it was already lit like a grand ballroom by racks of lights. They were surrounded by a score of Talavian technicians in orange environmental suits. Weapons and equipment hung on their backs, and another dozen were armed with weapons already drawn. The amount of equipment and containment pods assembled here was impressive, but it looked to Ro as if they were hunting big game rather than ghostly artifacts.

 

 

Geordi looked at her; even partly obscured by his helmet, his expressive face showed his reservations.

 

 

They activated their magnetic boots before they drifted too far off the deck.

 

 

From the assemblage of Talavians, a towering figure stomped toward them, and Ro recognized Fraznulen. He grinned exuberantly behind his faceplate and mouthed something Ro couldn't hear. She adjusted the controls on her sleeve in order to pick up his frequency, and Fraznulen waited for her to finish.

 

 

"I said, we're about to make history today!" crowed the Talavian captain. "Have your expert show us the place where the ship's plaque is hanging.

 

 

We'll take a few readings, and then your job will be over." Ro wanted to ask why they needed so many armed guards to collect one piece of art, but she didn't want to delay their departure a second longer than needed.

 

 

She nodded to Geordi. "Tell him where it is." "All right." The engineer turned slowly to get his bearings in the vast cargo hold, then he pointed to a distant wall. "It's over those double doors." Waving his hand, La Forge led the way; a contingent of armed Talavians fell in behind him, with Fraznulen urging them along. They were followed by technicians bearing machines and containers of various sizes. Ro was soon forgotten by the entourage, and she trailed cautiously behind them.

 

 

Geordi stopped about ten meters away from the doors, which were worn and broken when seen at close range. It looked as if a good shove would rip them from their frames. He pointed to an empty place over the doors. "It was up there." Instantly, he was surrounded by gangly technicians armed with hand-held devices and strange containers.

 

 

The Talavians scoured the area, checking and rechecking their instruments, but Ro noted that they never got any closer than a few meters to the spot Geordi had indicated. They were afraid, too.

 

 

She moved closer to Fraznulen. "Captain, can we leave now? Our job is done." He waved impatiently at her, never taking his eyes off the busy workers. "Let's finish our investigation... and make sure you're telling the truth." "We have no reason to lie," said Ro~ bridling at his insinuation.

 

 

"Oh, yes, you do. You've told us in no uncertain terms that you don't approve of us collecting these objects, so you could be protecting them. It will only take us a few moments to verify your claims. Excuse me--" He walked over to his workers, and they conferred on a frequency which Ro couldn't hear. Geordi motioned to her and said, "He won't let us go?" "Not yet. It seems they have to make some tests." "It was over that door," insisted La Forge, pointing to the spot. "But it's not there nowreno trace." Ro and La Forge watched the technicians huddling around Fraznulen. Every so often, one of them glanced at Geordi, but Ro had a feeling that they hadn't made a decision yet. She thought about contacting Captain Picard, but what could she tell him?

 

 

He already knew they were in danger from many different sources. If they had to run for it, they might elude the Talavian freighter in the Badlands, but they couldn't outright or outrun them.

 

 

Plus, they had struck an honest if onerous deal, and Ro wanted to conclude it honorably.

 

 

After a lengthy time, Fraznulen clomped over to her in his crimson space suit, and he motioned toward the door. "The evidence is inconclusive, I'm afraid. Some of our people think your man may be, how shall I put it... mistaken." Ro fought down her impulse to chew out this gangly popinjay. "We don't know enough about these matters to fool you, and we have nothing to gain. You know how unusual these sightings are, by their very nature--" He held up his gloved hand. "There is one test we haven't done. Actually it is more than a test. We have a tachyon beam inverter which can force a small area to appear for a few moments... under ideal circumstances." "I advise against that," said La Forge, shaking his beige helmet vigorously. "They've got to be crazy to shoot tachyons into a temporal flux--inside a ship-- and this isn't a dead ship. Plus they're bringing back an energy source, along with whatever else.

 

 

Personally, I'm leaving before they do this." "You two are not going anywhere," insisted the Talavian with a sinister tone to his voice. He didn't motion to his armed entourage, but they all leveled their weapons and took a step forward. "You don't want to endanger your ship also, do you? We can throw a tractor beam on it at a moment's notice." He spread his lanky arms, looking like some kind of nightmarish bird in his scarlet suit. "There's nothing to fear. We've done this process in the past, and we're not planning to capture the plaque, just make sure we have the right place. For us, this test will be definitive, and our agreement with you will be concluded." Ro glanced at Geordi, and he muttered, "Like I said, I've always wanted to see someone shoot inverted tachyons into a roomful of temporal fluxes and phase shifts." "Can we stand back?" asked Ro, noting that the technicians were already assembling an ominous metal barrel about ten meters long.

 

 

"Certainly," replied Fraznulen. "I will even send a cadre of my guards to protect you." Ro and La Forge backed away from the frenetic scene as Fraznulen assembled a team of four armed underlings to "protect" them. Now it really was time to contact the ship. "Ro to Orb of Peace," she said.

 

 

"Boothby here," came a prompt response riddled with static. "Can we transport you back?" "Not yet, but be ready to transport us at the first sign of trouble. They're about to try a very dangerous experiment." "Understood," said the captain. 'TI1 alert the transporter room. Please exercise caution." "It's a little late for that now," she replied, "but it's a good thought. You might look out for a tractor beam from the Talavians." "We'll take precautions. Boothby out." Ro sighed and looked back at the huddled workers as they assembled a metallic cannon which evidently concentrated the inverted tachyons at a specific area.

 

 

The look of horror on Geordi's face told her everything she needed to know about the device.

 

 

"They're insane," he said. "It will give them a glimpse into a random number of time-lines, but they had better not try to enter the tachyon stream. I would also say that the Badlands has got to be the worst place in the galaxy to try this." "Would these ships exist anywhere else?" asked Ro.

 

 

She had felt so near to death lately that the prospect of dying trying to make contact with a long-dead race didn't seem as bizarre as it should have. Bajorans were a fatalistic people, and she had been taught that death could come immediately or haunt them from either the past or the future.

 

 

When she looked up from her reverie, the Talavians were aiming their tachyon cannon at the spot on the bulkhead above the door. Fraznulen motioned grandly, and the technicians hunkered down at their posts. Several of the guards backed away, but the massive hold was suddenly very small--there was nowhere to run. Along with everyone else in the room, Ro was forced to watch, with her own rapid breathing echoing in her ears.

 

 

A dull purple streak shot from the mouth of the cannon, illuminating a circular area above the door.

 

 

Some of the guards cowered in fear. The spot glowed like a miniature sun a moment before it morphed into a holographic disk, much as Geordi had described. Ro was too far away to see any detail, but the technicians were beside themselves with joy at this sight.

 

 

When they shut off the beam a moment later, Ro let out her breath. Perhaps their benefactors knew what they were doing after all. Now they could let the Orb of Peace go.

 

 

Geordi looked at her and sighed. "I don't care if they do this every day for a living, I don't like it." "Let's tell them good-bye." Ro began to walk toward Fraznulen, who was conferring with his excited technicians. Before she had taken two steps in her cumbersome boots, the area over the door began to glow all by itself. Ro stopped and stared at the strange apparition.

 

 

"Captain Fraznulen," she said, but the Talavians had seen the metamorphosis, too. They turned and pointed with excitement, and some of them rushed to fetch equipment and containers. Ro gaped with awe at the sparkling image--even from a distance, the disk was exquisite.

 

 

Grinning, Geordi stepped up beside her. "Call me a liar, will they." Ro started to alert the ship to beam them up, when the disk changed in hue to blazing white, like a miniature nova. Without warning, white beams shot from its depths and penetrated the first row of Talavian technicians. Four of them erupted in fiery explosions.

 

 

Geordi gripped her arm, and both of them ducked as a blazing beam streaked from the now deadly disk.

 

 

It missed them, but turned two guards into smoldering bits of fabric.

 

 

Rolling onto her back, Ro barked into the communicator in her helmet. "Two to beam up! Now!" She flinched as a Talavian fell on top of her, a look of horror in his dazed eyes. A moment later, she saw why, as a pallet stacked with supplies came into sharp focus right beside them. The hold began to fill with ordinary supplies and goods, and elongated tubes of light materialized in the ceiling, making it as bright as daylight. Most disconcerting of all, Ro could feel gravity holding her to the deck. The ship is coming alive!

 

 

"La Forge to bridge? yelled a familiar voice in her ear. "Two to beam up!" She tried to look for Geordi, but the sudden appearance of stacks of supplies had cut off her vision.

 

 

"Bridge to tranporter room!" echoed another voice, sounding distant and shot with static. "Bridge to transporter room--come in!" That voice faded out, and Fraznulen's frantic voice boomed in her ears: "Implement rescue plan! Prepare to retreat!" Ro could make out nothing else in the strangled grunts which followed. All around her it was chaos, as some of the Talavians fired at the security disk, and others ran for their lives. The cargo hold was reeling--supplies and equipment rose from the deck like a lost civilization emerging from the ocean.

 

 

She struggled to sit up in her bulky suit, while she kept looking for Geordi. Finally all she could do was gape as the mighty derelict reverted to its ancient splendor.

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

ON THE BRIDGE of the Orb of Peace, Captain Picard gripped the back of the conn chair as his ship was jolted by a tractor beam. He wanted to put up the modified shields, but then they couldn't beam La Forge and Ro aboard. And they had to escape before the old wreck in front of them finished its startling metamorphosis into a gleaming warship.

 

 

Since he had dispatched Sam Lavelie to the transporter room to see why Chief Shonsui wasn't responding, the conn was empty. Reluctantly, the captain took the seat and told himself, steady as she goes.

 

 

He motioned to Jozarnay Woil on tactical. "Hail them. Demand that they release the tractor beam.

 

 

Don't they see what's going on?" "Yes, sir," replied the Antosian. His forehead tight- ened, pulling his bun of dark hair downward. "I'm hailing them, but they don't respond." "Keep trying," ordered Picard, scarcely able to take his eyes off the spectacle unfolding on the viewscreen.

 

 

One by one, the enormous metal hulks were glimmering to life as if awakening from a deep slumber. The crystalline halos of light which had danced around the derelicts were suddenly gone, as if they had been absorbed into the ancient wrecks.

 

 

His cornbadge chirped, and he answered it.

 

 

"Bridge." "Captain," said Sam Lavelle, "I'm in the transporter room, and Shonsui is unconscious--she looks bad.

 

 

I'll get the first-aid kit." "Get on the transporter," ordered Picard. "Lock onto Ro and La Forge and keep trying to get them back. I'll get someone in engineering to do first-aid." "Yes, sir." "Any sign of what happened to the chief?." "No, sir." "Get them back. Out." Picard tapped his combadge again. "Bridge to engineering." "Taurik here," came the calm voice of the Vulcan.

 

 

"Send somebody with a first-aid kit to the transporter room." "Yes, sir," responded Taurik. "Have we gotten La Forge and Ro back?" "Not yet. Stand by, and be ready to give me maximum impulse power--we may have to break a tractor beam." "Yes, sir." His jaw clenched, Picard leaned forward and stared at a massive warship that was listing vertically--he watched as it slowly righted itselfi All along its sleek hull, green lights beamed on and began to pulse.

 

 

"We're being scanned," said Woil in a quavering voice.

 

 

"By the Talavians?" "No. By the Ancestor." Picard tapped his cornbadge. "Bridge to transporter room. Have you got them, Lavelie?" "Not yet, sir. There's a lot of electronic interference that wasn't there before. What's going on?" "Cut through it, and find them. Without delay." "Yes, sir." "Sir!" barked Woil urgently. "The Talavians have dropped the tractor beam--I think they're retreating." "Ready shields." Picard leaned forward and gaped at a fleet of magnificent warships which had been resurrected from the grave. Even the plasma storms in the distant heavens seemed to pale in comparison.

 

 

Ro crawled on her belly across the deck of the cargo hold, trying to avoid the deadly crossfire that streaked over her head, ripping up stacks of supplies. From one torn box, tiny pellets rained down on her. Since her communicator still was not working, Ro took a chance and pulled her helmet off. She wasn't sure she would find breathable air, but she did. "Geordi!" she yelled. "Geordi!" She had to find him, because they weren't being transported out. With all that was happening, the ship must have lost their transporter signal. If she and Geordi were together, their cornbadges and life-signs might make it easier to find them and lock on. In this bizarre chaos, there wasn't much else she could do.

 

 

Ro crawled to the intersection between two aisles, and she saw a pair of beige-garbed legs. With relief, she looked up, and her mouth hung open in shock.

 

 

Above her was one of the residents of the Ancestor, a gangiy alien with a multifaceted, jewel-like head. He held a long thin hose toward her, and his intentions looked hostile.

 

 

Ro spun around and knocked his legs out from under him; he tumbled into a broken box of pellets.

 

 

As she scrambled away, she drew her phaser and made sure it was set to stun, but the alien didn't pursue her down another aisle.

 

 

"Geordi!" she yelled. "Geordi!" You are thieves, said a voice in her head. Demons, sent to torment us. Ro hurriedly pulled her helmet over her head, thinking that she was imagining the voice, or it was part of the melee. As she crawled over a dying Talavian, the voice returned: The Ancient Enemy has sent you.

 

 

"No!" shouted Ro, scrambling to get away from the voice and the destruction. "Ro to Geordi! Can you hear me?" He has found our hiding place, insisted the cultured voice in her head. We thought it wouM last forever.

 

 

"Ro to bridge!" she barked, trying to cling to her sanity. "Ro to the Orb of Peace!" When no one else responded, she finally decided to talk to the entity in her head. "We don't know anything about an Ancient Enemy--we thought these ships were deserted." Thieves, concluded the voice. Nothing is left. Begin destruct sequence.

 

 

Ro pulled off her helmet once again and shouted, "Geordi!" "Over here!" came a muffled response.

 

 

"I'm coming!" she yelled while she crawled toward the sound, her helmet in one hand and phaser in the other.

 

 

"Ro!" he called back. "Here!" When one door closes, another opens, said the voice in her head.

 

 

"Bridge to transporter room," asked Captain Picard, keeping his voice calm. "What is your status?" "This is Grof," cut in a garrulous voice. "Sam is busy with the transporter, and I'm trying to revive Lena. It doesn't look good, though. I'm not a medical doctor, but I'd say she's dead." Picard gritted his teeth. "Keep trying. Bridge out." He looked up at the viewscreen just in time to see the Talavian freighter turn on its thrusters and try to escape. At once, a white bolt from the massive Ancestor shot across space, engulfed the freighter, and blasted it into rainbow confetti. Picard looked on in horror, certain that the bolt was similar to the brilliant plasma bursts that lit the murky clouds. It had happened so quickly, now he was uncertain what had destroyed them--a weapon or a storm.

 

 

Picard slowly took his hands off the controls, thinking that he wasn't going to move from here any time soon. The emerging ships looked fully armed and operational, but they seemed to be on auto-pilot, reacting to stimuli instead of creating it. For the moment, he was doing nothing to provoke them.

 

 

"Transporter room to bridge," came the breathless voice of Sam Lavelle. "We've got them! When they touched helmets, the signal was just strong enough to lock on." "Good work. Stay at that post." "Yes, sir. Uh, you heard about Lena Shonsui?" "We'll deal with that later. Bridge out." Picard pointed to the Antosian. "Shields up." "Yes, sir. Shields at full power," answered Woil.

 

 

CouM we absorb one of those blasts, wondered Picard, and survive?

 

 

Probably not. The captain studied the positions of the strange fleet in relation to his own. A mad dash to the Badlands seemed to be the most direct approach, but it was suicidal. In retrospect, it had taken the Ancestor a second or so to react. There were so many other craft nearby--would they risk firing that dreadful weapon at their own ships?

 

 

"Captain," said a concerned voice. He turned to see Ro Laren stride onto the bridge, looking wideeyed and disheveled. "We've got to get out of here! I think they were talking to me telepathically. They said something about a destruct sequence--at least that's what I understood." Then she saw the reality of the awakened fleet on the viewscreen, and her mouth hung open. Ro finally gulped back her fear and stood at attention.

 

 

"The Talavian freighter tried to escape and was destroyed by a powerful weapon that looked like a bolt of plasma." Picard stood and offered her his seat at the conn. "I have an idea, but I need a good pilot." "Yes, sir," answered Ro, taking the conn.

 

 

"Do you know what awakened them?" asked Picard. "Was it that experiment?" "It all happened so fast--we thought the experiment was a success." Ro shook her head. "I think they're hiding, but I don't know from what." "Sir!" cut in Woil at the tactical station. "I'm getting huge power increases from the ships. They could be powering up to leave." "Or self-destruct," warned Ro.

 

 

The captain leaned over her, and they stared at the majestic fleet, which seemed to be caught in a blinking web of its own making. These ships and the Badlands were all part of the same mysterious fabric, thought Picard. All along their sleek hulls, green and blue lights were darkening into a violet hue, and he knew that their time was running out.

 

 

"They're in a tight formation," he told Ro. "Can you get close enough to one of the other ships--in a split-second--so that the Ancestor can't fire at us?" "If we go to full impulse, we can, but we'll be going awfully fast--we might hit one of them. But if I go in reverse, I'll have the strongest thrusters at the back to stop us." "Now they're scanning us again," said Woil urgently.

 

 

"Auxiliary power to forward shields," Picard told him.

 

 

"Yes, sir." The captain slid into an empty seat and nodded to Ro. "Proceed when ready." She plied the controls, and he felt his body surge forward with their sudden acceleration to the rear.

 

 

The Orb of Peace jagged sharply to starboard at the same instant that the Ancestor fired a charged bolt.

 

 

The streak grazed their shields, shaking the transport, but they were still in one piece as they swerved behind another ship.

 

 

Picard was tossed back into his seat when Ro activated rear thrusters to slow their progress. They were so close to the second ship that they could see the rivets in its hull.

 

 

He leaned forward to say, "Continue evasive maneuvers, but get us out of here." "Yes, sir." Ro gave up finesse as she piloted the boxy transport through the awakened fleet, zigging and zagging between the massive hulks, using them for cover. From his console, Picard put a split image on the viewscreen, half of it showing the foreboding dust cloud ahead of them and the other half showing the eerie scene they had left behind.

 

 

As they entered tile thick cloud, the other half of the viewscreen erupted in a blinding blaze of light. Like a horrible chain-reaction, each one of the newly resurrected ships lit up for an instant and exploded, forming an immense circle of fire that seemed to burn the heart of the Badlands. Picard held his breath, thinking that a shock wave was bound to overwhelm their ship, but the horrible devastation faded as quickly and mysteriously as it had begun.

 

 

Ro let out a loud sigh and gazed at her controls.

 

 

"I'm slowing down to one-fourth impulse." "Come to a full stop," ordered Picard, astounded by what he was now seeing on the viewscreen. "Come about... quickly!" He adjusted the scene on the viewscreen, compensating for a sudden rash of interference. Soon all three of them gaped at a sight which boggled the mind.

 

 

There before them, floating at obscene angles like toppled tombstones, were the dead, gray hulks of ships that hadn't flown in thousands of years. It was the same eerie sight that had greeted them almost twenty-four hours earlier.

 

 

"That can't be!" exclaimed Woil. "We saw them explode." "Full stop," ordered Picard softly. "Don't get any closer than this." "Yes, sir," rasped Ro.

 

 

"They self-destructed," insisted the Antosian, staring blankly at the screen. "We saw it." Picard answered, "Perhaps in this time-line, in this dimension, they are always like this--rotting derelicts. Everybody who comes here will see them this way. In the other phases where they exist, who knows?" "Taking gifts from the ghosts will be more difficult now," said Ro.

 

 

"At least we got our replicator," murmured Woil.

 

 

"But at what cost?" Picard shook his head. "One ship destroyed with all aboard, and our transporter chief dead--all to collect a few trinkets. Ro, you have the bridge. Keep a steady course for the artificial wormhole, but stay in the Badlands." "Yes, sir." "I'11 send a relief crew up here to man some of these stations. Well done, Ro." "Thank you," she said quietly.

 

 

Feeling both lucky and cursed, the captain walked off the bridge and descended the spiral staircase to the lower level. He wasn't surprised to find a crowd gathered outside the doorway of the transporter room, but he was surprised to find Hasmek holding a hand phaser.

 

 

"What are you doing?" Picard asked the Romulan.

 

 

He motioned to the weapon and held out his hand.

 

 

"I heard there had been a murder." Hasmek handed the phaser to the captain. "You can't be too careful." "Did you see anything to confirm that?" "No, Captain. I was asleep when all the commotion started." "Lucky you." The captain shouldered his way past Maserelli and Horik. "Get back to your posts." "Yes, sir," they answered in unison. Whispering to each other, the Deltan and the human scurried away.

 

 

When Picard entered the transporter room, he found Grof and La Forge bent over Lena Shonsui's lifeless body, grimly trying to revive her. Sam Lavelie stood at the transporter console as ordered, and he looked stunned over the death of his shipmate.

 

 

The captain walked slowly toward the prostrate figure and the two men who were working on her, with no chance of success.

 

 

"It looks futile," said Picard.

 

 

"That's what the tricorder says." Geordi shook his head and sat back on his haunches. "And there's not a mark on her--no sign of what happened to her." "The tricorder doesn't tell you anything?" "No, sir. And we don't have the equipment or personnel to do an autopsy." "Maybe it was her heart, all the excitement," suggested Grof. "I often thought she wasn't a well woman." "You hated her," muttered Lavelie.

 

 

"No, I thought she was incompetent, which is not the same thing. She did, however, hate me." "Belay that," ordered Picard through clenched teeth. "Hasmek was talking about this being a murder. I want to know what gave him that idea." "Maybe it was the suspicious timing of it," said Sam. "Just when we were about to get La Forge and Ro on board--and finally get out of here--our transporter operator dies." "Well if somebody had listened to me," muttered Grof, "she wouldn't have been transporter operator?

 

 

"Don't you have any feelings?" asked Sam angrily.

 

 

"I did everything I could to save her!" growled the Trill.

 

 

"That's enough," ordered Picard. "Since she was in this room alone, we can't say what happened to her.

 

 

None of us have a medical background, and we don't have anything but a first-aid kit. For the time being, we'll have to attribute her death to unknown causes.

 

 

Unless someone can furnish proof, I don't want to hear any more talk about murder." "A lot of us were physically weakened by captivity," admitted Sam, looking somewhat chastened.

 

 

"Grof, I'm sorry--you did try to save her." "Of course I did," muttered the Trill. "With this pathetic crew, we can't afford to lose anybody." Picard sighed deeply, glad that the two men had concluded their argument without his intervention.

 

 

Unfortunately, Sam was correct that the circumstances and timing of Shonsui's death were suspicious. He didn't want to believe there was a murderer in their midst, but then he hadn't wanted to believe there was a saboteur either. He couldn't ignore facts: The unexplained failure of the food replicators had cost them time, effort, and Lena Shonsui's life. On top of that, he had almost lost his two most trusted crew members.

 

 

Picard glanced at Geordi, and the stricken look on the engineer's face showed that he was thinking the worst, too. Talk of murder and the bad blood between Shonsui and Grof was sure to spread through the tiny ship. They still had a dangerous mission ahead of them, and Picard had to keep this crew together. somehow.

 

 

One thing was certain, they couldn't survive any more incidents like this one.

 

 

"La Forge and Lavelie," said the captain, "I'd like to put a two-person guard on our new food replicator.

 

 

Would you take the first shift?" La Forge didn't look surprised, but Lavelie blinked at him. "Do you think somebody sabotaged the other replicators?" "I'm taking no chances," answered Picard. "I'11 also revise the schedule, so that nobody is left alone." The Trill shook his head with disbelief. "There was no privacy on this ship before, and now there will be even less!" Geordi motioned to Sam. "Come on, let's get to our post. I could use a few peaceful moments." As La Forge and Lavelle filed out of the room, Lavelle stole a suspicious look at Grof. That look worried the captain.

 

 

"Grof," he said, "from now on, you're with me." The Trill scowled. "You don't trust me either, do you?" "Just the opposite. If somebody is trying to sabotage our mission, then you would be the most logical target. If we lose you, we don't stand a chance." Grof smiled smugly at the compliment, then his smile twisted into a grimace. "Do you think somebody will really try to kill me?" "Only if somebody in this group wants to sabotage our mission," answered Picard. "Maybe it was, as you say, poor health that killed her." He didn't add that if the saboteur turned out to be Grof, Picard was going to keep him under tight and personal surveillance.

 

 

"I bet it's that Romulan," said Grofwith a knowing nod. "Or maybe Ro Laren--somebody told me she was a Maquis." "Let's not speculate," replied Picard, thinking most of the speculation would focus on Grof. He bent over Lena Shonsui's body. "If we get stopped and searched again, I don't want to have her body on board. Help me get her ready for the funeral." Will Riker was awakened from a sound sleep by the chirping of his combadge. He rolled over in the narrow bed and looked around the unfamiliar quarters. "Lights," he said, and the lights came on.

 

 

He grabbed his badge from the nightstand. "Riker here." There was nothing but silence in the guest cabin, which was a utilitarian room hardly five meters wide.

 

 

"Riker here," he said again.

 

 

A raspy, hesitant voice answered him, "It's me." "Shana!" exclaimed Will, sitting up in bed. "Are you all right?" "No," she admitted with a nervous laugh. "I had another nightmare again... worse than all the others. This time, it was me going up in a ship with shoddy repairs and bad parts. It was my fault that I was going to die!" Will threw back the covers. "Are you in your quarters? I'll be right there." "No, Will, no--" she pleaded. "I can handle this... I just wanted to talk." "We'll talk in person," Riker said soothingly. "Stay there." A few minutes later, he stood at her doorstep.

 

 

When his first chime wasn't answered for several seconds, he wondered if Shana would again try to avoid him. "Come on, Shana," he muttered to himself as he rang once more.

 

 

The door slid open, and she stood before him, fully dressed in her uniform, as was he. Even in the midst of personal crisis, they were still Starfleet officers. She slumped gratefully into his arms, and he held her up, thinking she felt as light as a person in moon gravity.

 

 

When the slender brunette gazed into his eyes, he could tell she had been crying. "I'm here now," he assured her. "Whatever you need, I'll get it for you." She sniffed and gave him a brave smile. "You won't be here for long--your ship is almost done. Be ready to take her on a test spin in about six hours." "My ship is silicon and deuteriumwit can always be fixed. What about you?" Will held her by the shoulders, and he could feel her body tremble under the crisp fabric of her uniform.

 

 

"You'll be gone, and so will I," answered Shana.

 

 

"I'm resigning." She pulled away from him and moved resolutely into the dining area of her quarters. Riker followed her, and he spotted a padd on the table; on its screen was the beginning paragraph of a letter. "What happened?" She snorted a rueful laugh. "You. I read those reports you sent me, and I went back and reviewed all of our records since the war began. You were right!

 

 

Subconsciously, I was taking longer to schedule ships when I knew their commanders, or their crew had been in a lot of combat. You were rightmI wasn't in any hurry to send you back to the front, even after you started to make my life miserable. I was protecting those crews, and it was easy, because there were always plenty of rush jobs to delay them." She shook her head with disbelief. "Some of my own subordinates saw it, but they didn't say anything!

 

 

In wartime, the absurd becomes the norm. I mean, somebody was going to have to wait--why shouldn't it be crews we liked? It made crazy sense. Most of the crews didn't complain about a few extra days of shore leave, I can tell you." Her hands flopped to her sides. "That's why I have to resign, Will. I can't be trusted to do this job properly." "I was really hoping you could avoid this," said Riker. "Before you do anything rash, check in with your base counselor. Maybe you can take a leave of absence instead." "I was coping all right until this damn war started," grumbled Shana, pounding a fist on the table. "It's like I could see what was going to happen to themm since I went through it myselfl I guess I couldn't send them back to the front." He put his arm around her shoulders, feeling limbs that were fragile, yet sinewy and strong. "What's the name of your base counselor?" "Arlene Bakker." He tapped his combadge. "Commander Riker of the Enterprise to Counselor Arlene Bakker." "This is Bakker," answered an alert, if rushed, voice. Riker had the feeling that he had caught her at work, not rest.

 

 

Will gazed fondly at Shana as he answered, "I'm with Commander Shana Winslow, and she would like to place herself under your care. Also she wants to take a medical leave of absence." Bakker paused as the seriousness of his request apparently sunk in. "I'11 meet you down at the psychiatric wing right away. I believe you know where it is." "Yes. Riker out." He looked at Shana and mustered his most encouraging smile.

 

 

She stared right past him. "So I'm crazy because I won't send people off to die." Riker frowned. "You're not crazy, Shana. This war is. You've done your duty. Come on, let's get you some help." He touched the panel to open the door, and they stepped into a quiet corridor. This odd couple--a strapping, bearded man and a fragile, dark-haired woman--walked slowly toward the turbolift.

 

 

Wrapped in a water-resistant fabric, Lena Shonsui's body looked even more slight and inconsequential than it had before. Captain Picard was reminded of the dozen bodies they had piled on the Orb of Peace transporter platform only a few days ago. All of the deaths seemed so senseless, although it wouldn't have been any better to see them die by enemy fire or consumed in a plasma storm. Death was part of war, and part of exploring space--but that never made it any easier.

 

 

Picard heard footsteps and looked up to see the rest of the crew filing in, two by two. He had paired Lavelie with La Forge, Hasmek and Taurik, himself with Grof, and had kept the established pairing of Tamla Horik and Enrique Maserelli. Ro Laren and Jozarnay Woil remained on duty on the bridge, with Ro cautiously steering them through the deadly muck of the Badlands.

 

 

Is one of them a murderer? he asked himself as he studied the earnest, frightened, and arrogant faces.

 

 

The Romulan was already known to be a killer, but he was also Picard's personal reclamation project. WouM he risk his life to stop this mission? Why?

 

 

He glanced at Grof, whom he had picked to be the new transporter operator, a fitting punishment for complaining so much about Shonsui. Transporting her lifeless body into space would be good practice for him.

 

 

The Trill studied the transporter console and nodded smugly. "Ready when you are, Captain." Picard gazed at the ragtag crew standing before him, and he wished he had more confidence in them.

 

 

Of course, there were La Forge, Lavelie, and the Vulcan, Taurik, whose implacable expression brought an air of normality to the proceedings, but the others were strangers. They studied the body on the transporter platform with a mixture of fear, grief, and curiosity.

 

 

"Thank you for coming," began the captain. "I've given far too many eulogies lately, so I'll be brief.

 

 

Although I didn't know Chief Shonsui very well, her conduct under adverse circumstances demonstrated her training and dedication. She was a veteran Starfleet officer, so she must have led many lives, performed many duties. All of the thousands of officers who served with her can be proud. I don't know anything about her family and friends, but I feel certain she will be missed." He took a deep breath. "I know there's been a lot of speculation about her death, but we have no proof that it was anything but a natural cause. However, we are now taking precautions we weren't taking before, because we are so close to fulfilling our mission." He balled his hand into a fist. "I know it will be difficult to destroy the artificial wormhole, but we have the knowledge and the resolve to do it. We will soon have the opportunity. For all the brave men and women who have died, for all those who will die if we aren't successful, we must submerge our fears and complete this mission. If we fail, there will be no one to deliver a eulogy for the Federation." With tight lips, he looked at the body. "May her beliefs in the afterlife be fulfilled. Energize, Mister Grof." "Yes, sir."

 

 

The Trill plied the controls, and the small bundle on the transporter platform disappeared in a sparkling blur.

 

 

Sam Lavelle rubbed his eyes. "Anyone want to join us in the mess hall for a toast?" "Certainly," said Taurik, glancing at the Romulan.

 

 

"That is, if you have no objection." Hasmek motioned to the door with his remaining arm. "Lead the way." Geordi looked at the lieutenant and sighed. "Sam we've got to get back on watch." "I want to give everyone a break," said Picard, "in shifts. Maserelli and Horik, you return to engineering.

 

 

Grof and I will relieve the bridge crew." "But the transporter--" protested Grof.

 

 

"Is unneeded at the moment. Let's go." Picard strode purposefully out the door, making it clear that they were all still on duty.

 

 

Sam sat at a table with La Forge, and across from them sat Taurik and Hasmek, who looked uncomfortably like cousins. He didn't trust Hasmek, he didn't trust Grof, and he wasn't too sure about some of the others. It was clear from the awkward silence that the others had their suspicions, too.

 

 

Geordi looked at him. "You said something about a toast?" "Oh, yes." Sam lifted his glass of apple juice and mustered a smile. "To our fallen crew member, Lena Shonsui." Taurik and Geordi politely lifted their glasses, mumbled their regards, and drank. The Romulan looked quizzically at his protein drink, then at them, and asked, "What is the purpose of this ceremony?" "Just to show our respect," answered Sam.

 

 

"To whom? She is a dead body floating in the Badlands--how can she understand this gesture?" Sam felt himself getting short-tempered with the Romulan, when Taurik broke in, "To humans, death brings great suffering to the survivors. They console each other with gestures such as this." "Oh," said Hasmek, nodding. "They're a very emotional race--I forget." "I've seen Romulans get emotional, too," countered Geordi. "You aren't exactly Vulcans yourselves." Hasmek smiled wistfully. "I'm afraid we are Vulcans, even though we're trained differently." "On what criteria do you base that theory?" asked Taurik.

 

 

"On the theory that I'm married to a Vulcan," answered Hasmek, staring off into the distance. "I went through the Koon-ut-la, Pon farr, the Koon- utkal-if-fee, the whole thing... and I could never love anyone but my wife. She's burned into my soul." "That is very unusual," said Taurik in a classic of understatement. "Where is your wife now?" "I wish I knew." Hasmek rose to his feet, looking tired and disgruntled. "I've had enough of these funeral ceremonies. So, my Vulcan cousin, why don't we relieve the happy couple in engineering?" Taurik efficiently finished his drink. "Yes, I am refreshed. Thank you, Sam." Lavelle waved to his old friend. "Look out for yourself, Taurik." "I will take every possible precaution." The Vulcan stood and strode swiftly from the room, with Hasmek shuffling after him.

 

 

Geordi watched them go, then shook his head. "I'm sure the captain knows what he's doing, but that Romulan makes me nervous." "The captain is looking at the big picture," said Sam. "If the Romulans ally themselves with the Dominion, the Dominion won't need to bring reinforcements from the Gamma Quadrant. We've got to make it clear to the whole galaxywright now--that we're going to win this war." Geordi smiled and lifted his glass. 'Tll drink to that." Chapter Eight

 

 

ON THE VIEWSCREEN of the Orb of Peace was an amazing sight, which Ro hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity. It was pure, unadulterated space, with nothing but stars and nebulae glimmering as far as the viewscreen could scan. After days of negotiating the murky clouds of the Badlands, she felt as if she could pilot regular space with her eyes closed.

 

 

Unfortunately, there was a war raging in that beautiful starscape, so they were stopped on the outer edge of the Badlands, deciding how best to proceed.

 

 

"Captain," said Enrak Grof, "from this point onward, I believe your plans are rather sketchy." "First we need to collect information," declared the captain, undaunted by the obstacles facing them. He turned to the assembled group, which consisted of Grof, Ro, Hasmek, and Sam Lavelie. "We need an observation point, from where we can keep an eye on the collider. We need to find out how close they are to making the artificial wormhole operational. Some of you have been there--do you know of such a place?" "Working on the collider, we only saw what we could see with the naked eye," answered Sam. "And our course to the black hole was closely monitored." "I never paid much attention to where we were," admitted Grofi When no one else commented, it was left to the Romulan to step forward. "My previous ship made a pass very near the collider, and we noticed that one of the planets in that grid has a large outer ring. You might be able to hide a small ship like this one in that ring, and you could track them from there with your sensors." Picard crossed to the science station and brought up a chart of the sector on the viewscreen. "Can you locate this planet?" "I think so." The Romulan stepped in front of the viewscreen and pointed to a black cloud in the center.

 

 

"Okay, here are the Badlands." He moved his finger slowly to the left and asked, "Can you enlarge that region?" Picard consented to the request, and they soon focused on the likely location of the magneton collider. While they were doing that, Ro checked the ship's data banks from the conn, and she found confirmation of what the Romulan was telling them.

 

 

"Captain," she cut in, "the ship's computer shows a planet matching that description in solar system SU-395. It has a fairly large ring system." Hasmek smiled smugly. "I haven't steered you wrong yet, have I, Captain?" "But how do we get there?" asked Sam. "Without the Dominion swarming all over us." "It's a pity that you don't have a Romulan cloaking device," said Hasmek.

 

 

Captain Picard gestured thoughtfully at the Romulan. "I've considered this problem. Every time we cut straight across space, the Dominion picks us up on their long-range sensors and sends a ship to investigate. The problem is that we stick out when we're all alone. But there must be other merchant traffic in this sector. What if we were to follow closely behind another merchant ship, maybe even a convoy?" Hasmek smiled. "That's an excellent ideainto piggyback on another ship and disguise ourselves.

 

 

You're thinking like a Romulan, Captain." "I'11 take that as a compliment," replied Picard.

 

 

"Activate longsrange and short-range scanners. Check the computer for known shipping lanes around here." As his orders were being carried out, the captain stepped closer to the conn. "Ro, you've been on duty now for twelve hours straight mwhy don't you take a break and get some food. You too, Mister Lavelle.

 

 

We've got enough people here to monitor the shipping lanes. When we need you, we'll call. When you see La Forge in the mess hall send him back to engineering." "Yes, sir," answered Ro. She rose from her seat, surprised at how stiff her legs and back felt. She really did need a short break, and Sam would be good company.

 

 

They wound their way down the spiral staircase and strolled into the mess hall, where they found Geordi La Forge staring curiously at a plate of very rare meat, surrounded by a ring of puffed pastry.

 

 

He looked up at them as they entered. "Hello.

 

 

Taking a break?"

 

 

"Under Captain's orders," answered Sam. "What is that you're eating?" "That's a good question," answered Geordi doubtfully. "I asked the replicator for a hamburger, and this is what I got." "Talavian cuisine is not quite what we're used to," said Ro distastefully.

 

 

"But it's not bad," added Sam, never taking his eyes off the food. "If you don't want it, I'll take it." Geordi shook his head. "You're a better man than I, Gunga Din. If you're going to stay here in the mess hall, I can go back to engineering." "That's the plan," said Ro.

 

 

La Forge jumped to his feet and strode out the door.

 

 

"If you don't get sick, Lavelie, maybe I'll try it next time." Sam immediately sat down in the chair vacated by La Forge and tore into his Talavian hamburger.

 

 

With amusement, Ro asked, "Are you planning to eat your way through this war?" "In a word, yes," mumbled Sam, his cheeks bulging with food. He swallowed, then gazed at her. "When the war is over, I plan on being a restaurant reviewer on Pacifica, and I'll weigh about two hundred kilos.

 

 

What are you going to do?" "I haven't thought that far," answered Ro, trying not to think how unlikely it was that any of them would survive. She finally got a glass of water from the new food replicator and sat down next to him.

 

 

"What were you planning to do before the war?" asked Sam.

 

 

Ro snorted a derisive laugh. "I was planning on being a farmer and raising a bunch of half-human, half-Bajoran kids. Silly, huh?" He frowned at her. "No, it's not silly at all. I could see you doing that." "It's too late for some things," said Ro somberly, "and that's one of them. Even if we drive out the Dominion, I'll probably spend several years in a Starfleet brig." "How could they do that to you, after all the help you've been?" "Well, let's see--I deserted from Starfleet, then waged war against them as part of an outlawed organization. If we had run across anybody but Captain Picard and the Enterprise, I would probably already be in the brig." "Even though you and the Maquis were proven right," grumbled Sam, "and we really couldn't trust the Cardassians." "That's little comfort to me now." Sam leaned forward and looked at her with sympathetic brown eyes. "You lost somebody very dear, didn't you?" Ro shook her head. "I was foolish to think I had gotten away from war and killing; it was just beginning. And youmyou've never lost anyone special?" "I've never had anyone special to lose," answered Sam wistfully. "Oh, there have been women--and friends, like Sito--but I've never had time to think about marriage and raising a family. I can tell you, I'm a different man than the one who charged headfirst into this war... it seems like a hundred years ago. When I get out of this, I'm going to take time to enjoy life. Maybe I'd even like to be a farmer. Is it hard?" Ro smiled and nodded slowly. "Hardest and most rewarding thing I've ever done. After a life spent among nothing but death, it's nice to give life to something." For several moments, they sat quietly in each other's company, just two people caught up in a whirlwind, unable to escape until the wind died down. The longer they sat there, the more introspective Sam grew; the lines on his handsome face furrowed deeply in the austere lighting.

 

 

"What's worrying you so much?" asked Ro.

 

 

He leaned forward and whispered, "What do you think happened to the transporter chief?." "She died. Of what, we don't know." The Bajoran had her suspicions, but she wouldn't say any more than that.

 

 

"And here we are, guarding the food replicator," muttered Sam, shaking his head. "Who are we guarding it from? It must be one of us." Ro could feel her neck muscles tightening, and she craned her head back to stretch them. "If I had an explanation, I'd tell you. All we can do is proceed with the mission and take extra precautions, as the captain is doing. Besides, replicators can break down, especially in surplus craft like this, and the chief's death could have been a coincidence. Like you say, being imprisoned by Cardassians causes a lot of stress." "I know," muttered Sam. "There wasn't a mark on her, and I looked. Something else bugs me--why kill Shonsui and leave the transporter operational?" "Unless you needed the transporter," answered Ro.

 

 

Sam didn't respond, long enough that Ro began to wonder if he'd heard her comment about the transporter. Then an odd smile broke out on his face.

 

 

"Ro," he said softly, "if you go to the brig, I'm going, too. I want to look alter you, and make sure no more harm comes to you." Ro looked deep into Sam's eyes, and saw sincerity and a kind of affection she thought was long gone from her life. Did she feel the same way? She didn't know. "I'll think about it," she said. "I don't want to make any promises I can't keep." Sam looked at her wistfully. "That's not your nice way of saying 'let's just be friends,' is it?" Ro leaned across the table, put her arm around Sam's shoulder, and pulled him toward her in a forceful embrace. Then she kissed him squarely on the lips, an action to which he gratefully and passionately responded.

 

 

Ro finally let go of the breathless man. "Sam," she said in his ear, "does that answer your question?" Sam blinked at Ro, took a deep breath, and said, "Yes, I guess it does." Ro said nothing, unsure of exactly what to say next.

 

 

She was rescued from the awkward silence by the beep of her tombadge. She tapped the badge and answered, "Ro here." "This is the bridge," came Picard's voice. "We found a merchant ship within range, and we need you and Lavelie on the bridge immediately. I'll send someone else down there." "Yes, sir. On our way." Ro bolted to her feet, but Sam caught her hand.

 

 

"That was nice," he added.

 

 

"Yes, it was," Ro said. She hurried out, with the human right on her tail.

 

 

Captain Picard beamed broadly at the face of a solemn Patonite in the center of the viewscreen.

 

 

Beside him stood Hasmek, Ro sat at the conn, and Taurik manned tactical. Lavelle crouched in a dark corner of the dimly lit bridge, manning an auxiliary console and a phaser pistol aimed at the Romulan.

 

 

"Thank you for giving us the protection of your noble vessel," said Picard with a friendly bow.

 

 

"Peaceful travels," said the Patonite, "and may you avoid the conflict." "If it is the wish of the Prophets," replied Picard, glancing at a similar sentiment on the frame of the viewscreen.

 

 

"Defeat to the Federation," added the Patonite.

 

 

"Defeat to the Federation," seconded the captain, his smile now stretched to the breaking point.

 

 

The transmission ended, and the screen returned to a view of the sparkling starscape, oblivious to their ruses and machinations. Picard slumped his shoulders and released the rictus grin from his face.

 

 

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and the captain motioned to Ro. "Set course for the ringed planet. Does it have a name?" "Not in our records," answered Ro, her fingers moving swiftly over her console. "Course laid in.

 

 

ETA: five minutes at maximum warp." "Engage." Once again, the stars reverted to a blur--mere streaks of light in the black firmament. This was a crucial momentrathe last five minutes of their run, when they would be naked to Dominion sensors. But Picard hoped that the sensor sweeps weren't that constantrathe Dominion had a lot of space to watch.

 

 

"Weren't you once enemiesof the Patonites?" asked Hasmek, making small talk.

 

 

Picard took a breath, glad to be distracted. He rummaged through the historical data in his mind and answered, "We had a serious disagreement. That was about a hundred years ago, and they still hold it against us." "What does that tell you?" asked Hasmek smugly.

 

 

"That doing good isn't always good," answered Picard. "We've always known that, which is why we've strengthened the First Contact protocols.

 

 

Would it have been better to simply conquer the Patonites?" "By now," said Hasmek, "a hundred years later, they would no doubt be loyal vassals, willing to fight for you, rather than trade with the enemy and root for your demise." "We win some, and we lose some." Picard looked pointedly at the Romulan. "But we're going to win this one." "I believe you might," replied the one-armed Romulan with amusement.

 

 

"Taurik, any sign of pursuers?" "No, Captain," answered the Vulcan from the tactical station.

 

 

"I can put the planet on screen," said Ro, sounding satisfied with their progress.

 

 

Picard nodded, and the screen was taken over by a blurry image of a banded, oblate spheroid. As the image cleared, they saw a cloudy, blue-gray planet encircled with black and yellow rings. The captain couldn't help but be reminded of Saturn in his home solar system, despite differences in coloration of the clouds. As they drew closer and saw more detail, plus a squadron moons, it was clear that the planet was a giant.

 

 

"Class-A planet," said Taurik. "Failed star. Plane- tary surface may be tenuous; atmosphere of methane, ammonia, hydrogen, helium--unsupportive of life.

 

 

The planet has thirteen moons. The rings have a thickness of one to two kilometers, and they consist mostly of unconnected particles of silicate and ice." "How big are the particles?" asked Picard.

 

 

"They are small in size, mostly between ten and a hundred centimeters in diameter. We should be safe with our shields up." "And well hidden," said Hasmek with approval.

 

 

We'll be saJe from Dominion patrols, thought Picard, but will we be safe from each other? He couldn't shake the nagging fear that one of their number was trying to terminate the mission.

 

 

"Entering the rings in thirty seconds," reported Ro.

 

 

Picard turned to see thick tan and black bands cutting across the pale, gaseous surface of the planet.

 

 

As they drew closer, he could see the granular consistency of the rings, which looked like a strip of beach suspended in space.

 

 

"Juno," said Picard with a smile.

 

 

"Pardon me, Captain?" asked Ro.

 

 

"This planet reminds me of one in my home solar system, Saturn. It was named after an ancient god, and I'd like to call this planet Juno, who was Saturn's daughter." "That's easier to remember than 'seventh planet in SU-395,'" replied Ro. "Entering the rings of Juno in five seconds." "Slow to one-fourth impulse." "Yes, sir." Soon they were engulfed in sand-colored particles, which were so thick that Picard found himself squinting at the viewscreen. "Shield status?" he asked.

 

 

"Shields holding at ninety-four percent," answered Taurik. "Damage is minimal, but a prolonged stay of several days would compound the damage and seriously degrade shields." "I plan to be here no more than forty-eight hours," replied Picard.

 

 

They suddenly entered a field of particles which were entirely black, like lumps of coal or obsidian.

 

 

This must be one of the black bands, Picard decided.

 

 

"I'm trying to find the collider," said Lavelle from the rear of the bridge, "but a heavy concentration of magentic particles is affecting the sensors." The captain stepped behind Ro. "Conn, get us back into the light-colored particles, and come to a stop." "Yes, sir." A moment later, the crate-like transport floated in a thick morass of sand, rocks, and ice cubes.

 

 

"That's better," said Sam.

 

 

Picard walked between the stations. "I want everyone to look for that artificial wormhole. Use the coordinates we stored before." "There is a gravitational drift," added Taurik. "If we don't compensate, we will be on the other side of the planet in seventeen-point-six hours." "Can we use a synchronous orbit?" asked Picard.

 

 

"Inadvisable, sir. We would have to be on the inner rings." "I can compensate," said Ro, "and keep our relative position, even though the ring is moving." "Sir, I found it!" called Sam Lavelie. Picard took two quick steps toward the rear of the bridge and hovered over the lieutenant's shoulder.

 

 

"It's about an hour from here," he explained, gazing at his readouts. "Our scanners have gotten a very strong signal, which matches your earlier sighting." "Begin recording and monitoring," ordered Picard, "energy readings, magnetons, comm signals, whatever emissions are coming from that thing. Can you put it on the viewer, Lieutenant?" "Yes, sir." A moment later, a silvery, skeletal tube appeared on the screen, floating in the blackness of space. It was hard to realize how immense the collider was until Sam fine-tuned the image to show the ships surrounding it. Some darted through its coils like fish on a tropical reef; others cruised the outside of the structure like flies on the carcass of a giant beast. Ten kilometers long and two kilometers wide, Picard reminded himself, and every centimeter of it looked impregnable. Their entire ship would fit inside one of the joints connecting the supports at the gaping mouth.

 

 

He tapped his combadge and said, "Bridge to Grof." "Grof here," answered the Trill.