"The collider is in scanner and viewer range," said Picard. "If you would, Professor, come up to the bridge and start analyzing the data." "Are we in a safe place?" "Relatively," answered Picard. "We're in the rings of a planet that I've code-named Juno. It doesn't seem we've been detected." "On my way, Captain," said the Trill excitedly.

 

 

"Why do you need him?" asked Hasmek with curiosity. "It's clear that most of your crew doesn't trust him." "They don't trust you either," whispered Picard, "but you continue to prove your worth." "Touch6," replied the Romulan with a sly smile.

 

 

When Enrak Grof stomped onto the bridge a moment later, Hasmek was careful to retreat toward the rear, standing beside Taurik and Lavelie.

 

 

Suddenly the bridge was crowded again, with people staring at the tubular structure on the viewscreen.

 

 

It looked like what it was--a tunnel through the stars.

 

 

Despite the crowded conditions, Picard didn't have the nerve to send any of them away. It was clear that Grof reveled in seeing his handiwork again, while Sam grimaced as though he were going to be sick to his stomach.

 

 

"Do we really have to destroy it?" begged Grof.

 

 

"It's so magnificent!" "The accelerator room," Picard reminded him gently. "Remember, you said that if we destroyed that control room, it would set them back a long time." "Sir, I've been thinking," Sam cut in, taking a step forward, "we might be able to start a chain reaction that would damage the collider along its entire length." "You just want to destroy it, don't you?" hissed Grof angrily.

 

 

"Yes, I do!" snapped Sam. "That thing's an abomination, built on the blood and bones of innocent people!" "Mister Lavelie, you're dismissed." Picard spoke firmly but not without some measure of sympathy. He had been depending a great deal on Sam Lavelle, pushing him hard, when his mental state was less than ideal.

 

 

"I'm sorry, sir," muttered Sam, lowering his head.

 

 

He rose from his station and backed toward the door.

 

 

"Mister Hasmek, go with him," ordered the captain. "The two of you are a new pairing in our buddy system. I think you could both use some rest." Sam paused in the doorway. "We really could take it all out." "We'll have a strategy meeting later," promised Picard. "Keep your idea in mind." "Some of us have earned your trust," said Hasmek as he followed Sam off the bridge. With a parting glance at Grof, he added, "Others just demand it." The captain gritted his teeth and said nothing. He hated siding with Grof, but the professor hadn't exaggerated when he said that he was the most important member of this party. None of the rest of them possessed one-tenth of his knowledge of the massive magneton collider and its potential weaknesses.

 

 

"What insolence," muttered the Trill, gazing angrily after the the human and the Romulan. "I'm afraid Sam has become partly deranged by his experiences. I don't see why we need him for anything else.

 

 

Why not confine him to quarters for the duration?

 

 

And the Romulan, too." "Until we have devised a plan, we don't know whose talents we need." Captain Picard pointed to the console vacated by Lavelle. "Have a seat, Professor. There's a lot of data coming in, and we need to know what stage they're in. If you can tell us what to look for--" "No," grumbled the Trill, "it's simpler to do it myself than to try to educate everyone. Just keep people from interrupting me." Picard cleared his throat. "Very well." An hour later, the same crew remained on bridge duty: Ro on conn, Taurik on tactical, Grof on the auxiliary station, and Picard in charge of pacing. He was doing an excellent job of buffing the deck with his soft-soled Bajoran boots, but he wished the bridge of the Orb of Peace were a few meters longer.

 

 

Grof finally leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and clucked. "I'm sorry, Captain, but this doesn't look good." The captain loomed over him. "What doesn't look good?" The Trill pointed to overlapping windows of data streaming across his screen. "The neutrino readings show that they've been testing it, although not on a large scale. The residual magneton readings are higher than I would have liked--if I were still there working on it--but they're within acceptable levels. I only see a handful of workers and a lot of support vessels." "What is your conclusion?" asked Picard.

 

 

The burly Trill frowned. "It seems to me, Captain, that it's already operational. I would say they're in the latter stages of testing--still doing some tweaking, though." Picard gritted his teeth and asked, "How soon before they can bring through reinforcements from the Gamma Quadrant?" "The post-construction plan was to bring through a lone Jem'Hadar ship as the final test," answered Grof.

 

 

"I would say they are close to running that test. If it's successful, the floodgates will open twelve hours later. That's how long it will take to assemble the fleet." Picard looked deeply into the bearded, spotted face of the Trill, wondering if this information were entirely truthful. Even if Grof were honest, was he accurate? All of their plans, their lives, and the future of the Federation depended on Grof's analysis, and he knew it. If he really wanted to protect his creation from harm, all he had to do was feed them false information.

 

 

Unfortunately, Picard had little choice but to trust the Trill. Lavelie and Taurik knew a few details, but only Grof knew the layout.

 

 

"Mister Taurik," he asked, "do you concur with the professor's analysis?" The Vulcan nodded. "Yes, sir. Given the emissions, it would seem that tests have commenced. Certainly, the number of workers has been greatly reduced from when we left." "What's it been, a week, a week-and-a-half?." asked Grof.

 

 

"Eight-point-three days," answered Taurik, cocking his head.

 

 

"At least they don't seem to be operating with undo haste," said Grof, gazing at his readouts. "They're sticking to the regular timetable." Picard straightened up and felt an unpleasant stiffness in his back. "All right, we know we haven't got much time. They could start bringing through ships any moment, so we have to act quickly. Grof, I need you with me; I'll have La Forge join us." "Fine, Captain, I'd like to get this meeting over with." Grof stood and rubbed his hands importantly.

 

 

Picard turned to the conn and gave his trusted pilot a smile. "Ro, I need you to stay on the bridge." "Yes, sir," she replied. "I'11 keep making the necessary course corrections." The captain nodded. "Taurik, you stay here, too, and monitor the collider. Let us know immediately if there are any developments." "Yes, sir." Picard took one last look at the skeletal tunnel stretching through the cosmos, and he shook his head.

 

 

Such control of time and space was unheard of--it was both a remarkable achievement and a monstrous threat. If only the Dominion could have created this artificial wormhole in a time of peace, in a spirt of peace. But so many inventions came during war, when desperation, fear, and hatred fueled the imagination and the will.

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

SAM PACED ANXIOUSLY in the narrow confines of his cabin, which was nothing but a converted storage room. It was made even more cramped by the lean Romulan stretched out on the sofa he had borrowed from the rec room, which left Sam a flimsy cot. They were both supposed to be sleeping, but Sam couldn't, not after having embarrassed himself with his outburst on the bridge.

 

 

Of course, he told himself, Captain Picard has to defer to Enrak Grof. I did the same thing when I was GroJ's captain. There ~ no way around that self ish Trill, even though he is a collaborator and a traitor/ "Will you stop grinding your teeth," muttered Hasmek, keeping his eyes purposefully closed. "We might as well admit it, we're all part of GrolPs Follies.

 

 

He just wants to keep everything revolving around him. You never know what he'll tell the captain next, but it's always something that will keep him in the spotlight." "He's valuable for his knowledge, not his personality," answered Sam.

 

 

"And does he know half as much as he claims to know?" scoffed the Romulan. "Thus far, Ro and I have piloted this craft, and the captain has kept us focused on the mission. What has Grof contributed, except to cause dissension? What an egomaniac--the way he got his notes delivered to the Federation. I'll bet that scurrilous courier is sitting around some tavern." Sam stopped his mindless pacing and stared at the Romulan. "You'd kidnap Grof in a flash and take him home with you, if you could. We all want to know what he knows, and what he's going to do with his knowledge." "I'll tell you one thing," countered Hasmek, "he's not going to destroy his precious invention. It was good that you challenged him on that point, because it showed him for the liar he is." "Yeah," answered Sam absently. He was thinking about Ro Laren and how unlikely it was that he would be given a chance to spend any time with her-- alone--until this was all over. He tried not to think about how it would probably end.

 

 

"And now you and I have been dismissed from the bridge," grumbled Hasmek, "although we've done more than anybody for the success of this mission. We brought the captain all the intelligence he has.

 

 

Without us, he'd be totally lost! Not that he has much of an idea of what he's doing, as it is."

 

 

"That's enough," said Sam, flopping onto his bed.

 

 

"At least we're alive. That's more than billions of people in this war can say. I remember when you were telling us how grateful you were just to be alive." "It's true," admitted Hasmek. "For that, I owe Picard my allegiance and respect." He laughed at Sam's startled expression. "Oh, you thought I didn't know who he was? A bogus name and that dreadful earring are not going to hide the best officer in Starfleet. But you're a fool if you think Jean-Luc Picard can protect us from death. Death stalks this ship like a pack of hounds." Sam screwed his eyes shut and tried not to think about the Romulan's dire words. Still, it was hard to rest when his life was in the hands of a man he didn't trust and didn't like--Grof.

 

 

Captain Picard folded his hands in front of him and concentrated on the animated conversation between Enrak Grof and Geordi La Forge, two men who could bat around technical terms with the best of them.

 

 

They were sitting in the captain's quarters, which had recently served as brig on the Orb of Peace. Now, with the addition of a table and chairs, it served as a ready room.

 

 

Picard understood most of the concepts and hypothetical possibilities under discussion. He certainly understood their goals and desired results, but Grof and La Forge had yet to touch on the most difficult part of their task.

 

 

"Let's forget the collateral damage and the amount of explosives for a moment," said the captain, slicing a hand through the air. "We've got to figure out how to get in there, deliver the charge to the right place, and get out. Grof, I'm certain you'll know how to find the control room and where to put--" "Me?" blurted Grof. He laughed nervously. "I'm not going in there, or anywhere near the collider. Do you know what they would do to me if they caught me? This is a suicide mission, and I never agreed to that. No, sir." He folded his arms and gazed obstinately at Picard.

 

 

The captain's lips thinned. "I don't intend to lose a single person on this operation. I intend to get in there and get out. Every step will be planned in advance, including the escape route. Believe me, Professor, if we don't do this correctly, all of our lives will be in danger." The captain opened up his padd and took out a stylus. "The first step is to get within transporter range of the collider. We'll list all the options for doing that, even if they're bad." Geordi shrugged. "Well, we could fight our way in--that's the most direct and worst idea. We could hijack a Dominion ship--" "Bah," grumbled Grof. "Why don't we just go up to them and ask politely, 'May we please bomb your collider?' This is pointless. It's a suicide mission, no matter how you look at it!" Picard frowned at the Trill, fighting down an impulse to slap a hand over his mouth. "Are you saying that nothing ever comes close to this giant structure, floating in the middle of space? What about meteoroids and space debris? How does their security handle near-collisions and pass-bys?" "Of course, there is a normal amount of debris," conceded Grof, "especially with all the construction and traffic. The collider has shields, but they draw a lot of power. They're really intended to be used only during a full-scale attack. The wormhole can't operate with shields up. Normally sensors probe the passing objects, chart their course, and pass the information to the computer. Then robotic phasers shoot down any objects that look as if they'll hit the collider." "So a certain amount of debris just drifts by," said Picard, "and is allowed to go on its merry way." The Trill looked at him, his dark eyes widening in excitement. "Yes, yes, that is true! I believe the tolerance is two hundred kilometers." "Well within transporter range," said Geordi with a smile.

 

 

"So we could float an unmanned bomb disguised as space debris close to the collider," said Grof, "but what then?" "It wouldn't necessarily be unmanned," replied Picard, thinking on his feet. "If we could disguise our space debris well enough, we could station two or three people inside--and beam the charge over to the target. If necessary, we could send a team over there, tOO." "If the decoy is small enough, we can jam their sensors, no problem," said Geordi. "You know, we already have the perfect shell to build this thing around." Picard smiled. "The escape pod. Of course, that's our last pod, and when it's gone, there's no way off the Orb of Peace." Grof gulped. "These people who go over to plant the bomb--do you think you could beam them back?" "That would be the plan," answered Picard.

 

 

"Although we might need a diversion. It's also possible that we won't need to beam anyone over. We might be able to accomplish this entirely with the transporter." Grof nodded thoughtfully. "This plan is still mostly suicidal, but not completely. I'm impressed." "We're also good at what we do," said Geordi, rising from the table. "I've got to scrounge together a portable transporter, because the escape pod doesn't have one. I may have to disable the main transporter.

 

 

Is that all right, Captain?" "Wait a minute, Geordi. I want to discuss other matters with you." The captain turned to the Trill, who was making notes on his padd. "Professor, I hope you're working on a schematic of the collider, especially the accelerator room and surrounding corridors." "I was listing the subsystems we need to take out," replied Grof. "I'm going to hate to destroy the accelerator room, but it can be rebuilt, given time." "Why don't you go back to the bridge and start drawing those schematics. I understand you're working from memory, but be as accurate as you can." "Count on me, Captain." Gripping his padd, the burly Trill jumped to his feet and charged out the door.

 

 

Geordi watched him go, then smiled. "I'm glad he's on our side... finally." "He had better be," said Picard, thin-lipped.

 

 

"You've got a lot to do. Realistically, how long do you think it will take to prepare our decoy?" The engineer shrugged. "We'll need time for construction and testing--let's say, twenty-four hours."

 

 

"I hope we have that long," answered Picard grimly. "Before we get distracted, I think we should manually program the subspace beacon and ready it for launch. We don't know how long it will take for the Enterprise to get here." Geordi nodded. "Yes, sir. Do you know what message you want to encode?" "Just these coordinates, the coordinates of the collider, and a deadline in twenty-four hours." Picard led the way out of the room.

 

 

The engineer followed his captain into the bowels of the ship--the little-used third level. In the aft part of the underbelly were pipes and tubes for lifesupport systems; they squeezed through there and entered a long, narrow room with rails on the deck and ceiling. This was the torpedo room, a lonesome place since they had spent all but one torpedo early in their journey.

 

 

According to the green light, their single remaining torpedo rested in chute one, aimed fore; the aft chutes were all empty, as were the racks which normally held spare torpedoes. However, a long silver cabinet rested under the racks--it looked like a large toolbox with a lighted membrane panel for a lock. Geordi bent over the tiny instrument panel and studied it with his implants.

 

 

"I was thinking," he said, while entering keystrokes, "we could use the hydrogen scoop to gather particles to camouflage the meteoroid." 'TII assign someone to that," promised Picard.

 

 

Geordi frowned at the box. "Why isn't this thing working? Let me try the alternate code....Ah, there it is." He stepped back.

 

 

With a slight whir, robotic arms gently lifted the cabinet and set it on the tracks. The upper covers of the box lifted automatically and folded neatly aside, revealing a small beacon the size and shape of a fireplug. An amber light blinked soothingly on its tip.

 

 

Geordi still looked troubled. "It's not supposed to come up, armed like that. I haven't done anything to this beacon. Have you, sir?" "No," answered Picard, not liking the tone of his eompanion's voice. "Who's had access?" "We haven't sent anyone down here since we rescued Lavelie and his crew." The engineer lifted the cover and put it carefully back into place over the beacon. "Although we haven't restricted access down here either." The captain scowled, realizing that he had made a grave mistake in not protecting the torpedo room. But he only had a skeleton crew, and it wasn't possible to guard every square centimeter of this ship, especially from someone on board.

 

 

Geordi yanked open an access panel on the side of the beacon, revealing an array of miniature circuits and wires. He also opened an instrument panel located on the rear fin of the beacon. Checking the readouts as he manipulated the inner circuits, his expression grew more and more concerned. Picard could tell that the prognosis was not good.

 

 

Finally La Forge sat back on his haunches and shook his head. "We were lucky they didn't know exactly what they were doing, or I wouldn't have noticed that they miscalibrated the guidance system and disabled the subspace relay. We would have launched this thing, thinking all was well, and it would have crashed in silence."

 

 

Picard's eyes narrowed. "There can't be any doubt it was sabotage?" "No doubt. When they got into it, they accidentally reset the defaults, which is why my access code didn't work, and why it came up in ready mode." "How much knowledge did someone need to do this?" "A passing acquaintance with Starfleet codes and beacons is all they'd need. In fact, this could've been done days ago." The engineer looked around the cramped underbelly and scowled. "And no video logs down here. or anywhere else on board. I've been on the Enterprise too long. I forgot that security isn't built in on every ship." "Is the beacon fixable?" asked Picard.

 

 

"Yes, but not if I'm devoting all my attention to making a fake meteoroid, a bomb, a jamming device, and a portable transporter." "The mission comes first," said the captain gravely. "At least now we know for sure that the enemy is on board. You'd better check all of your equipment." Geordi looked stricken. "The explosives and fuses!" He ran down the long deck, between the torpedo rails, then squeezed under the pipes. With a dagger twisting in his stomach, Picard trailed after him, certain that they were at least one step behind their tormentor, probably more. What had been an unpleasant possibility was now a terrible reality. They had a traitor within their midst, and he would have to deal directly with the threat.

 

 

Under normal circumstances, the captain would turn back, abort the mission. But these were not normal circumstances. No one else knew about the artificial wormhole--no one else was in a position to stop it. As happened so often to Picard, the job was his or no one's.

 

 

The saboteur hadn't wanted to reveal himself just yet, but they knew. Could they use this to their advantage--hunt the traitor down before he, or she, knew they were on the trail? On this tiny ship, with everyone already in each other's pockets, could they even keep this a secret? So far, the only ones who knew were him, Geordi, and their foe.

 

 

No, thought Picard, he had to be rooted out and chased to ground. We cannot be distracted from our mission.

 

 

With a number of decisions weighing heavily on him, the captain followed La Forge to a locked storage room off the main cargo hold. The smell of rotting fruit was rather pungent down here, and Picard made a mental note to have the crates removed. At the moment, food seemed to be the least of their concerns.

 

 

He stood stoically as the engineer unlocked the door to the storage room. The walls were partly mesh.

 

 

Although they looked intact, they looked uncomfortably flimsy, too. The transporter didn't have vaults or force-fields, so it was difficult to say what precautions they could have taken.

 

 

The crestfallen look on Geordi's face told the captain all he needed to know. The engineer held up a plasma pack which had been roasted black--it looked like a bag of old coffee grounds.

 

 

"Our friend has been here," growled Geordi. "If I had a tricorder, I could tell you how bad it is, but all of the stores look ruined--fuses, plastic explosives, plasma packs, everything." "Haven't you got anything else that will do the job?" Geordi smiled grimly. "Well, there's that old standby--a phaser on overload. But that's highly inaccurate, and we don't even have Starfleet phasers." Picard felt his shoulders slump, and he quickly straightened them. "What about the hardware replicators?" "They're in engineering, right under everyone's noses." The engineer quickly tapped his cornbadge.

 

 

"La Forge to engineering." "Woil here," came the pleasant voice of the Antosian.

 

 

"Yes, uh... listen, I planned to run a level-three diagnostic on the hardware replicators, but I forgot.

 

 

Have they been operating?" "Yes, sir, I think so. We replicated some magnesium couplers about half-an-hour ago. Want me to run that diagnostic for you?" "No, no, that's all right. Get all the systems up to date, because we have a lot of work ahead of us." "I heard, sir, and I think it's a good idea to float the bomb in there as space debris!" Geordi looked stunned. "Who told you that?" "I think Grof started the rumor, but it is correct, isn't it?" "Keep your mind on your job," ordered the engineer. "And keep an eye on those replicators. La Forge out." He shook his head with disgust.

 

 

"Blabbermouth!" "Let's remember, Grof is a civilian."

 

 

Geordi scowled. "What a fix. We haven't got enough people to guard every system on this ship, and we don't know if we can trust the people we've got!" "Leave that to me," ordered the captain. "You go ahead and turn that escape pod into a meteoroid. Use as many of the crew as you need. In fact, it will be good to keep people working in a group--make sure they're involved." "Yes, sir," replied Geordi. "And I ought to be able to re-create some of the lost explosives with the hardware replicators. It will be hard to work with these people and look at them, and not wonder who it is. Who couM it be?" "Right now, I'm only ruling out you and me." "You suspect Ro?" whispered La Forge.

 

 

Picard rubbed his chin. "Let's say I can hear Will Riker in my mind, telling me that she's an avowed enemy of the Federation. We've been counting on a lot of leopards turning their spots--maybe too many." "Still, it's hard to believe... we have to find them." La Forge slammed a fist into his palm.

 

 

"Geordi, you have to forget about the spy, the beacon, and everything else, and concentrate on building the meteoroid." "Yes, sir," said Geordi with resolve. "I'11 be sleeping in a hammock in the escape pod until further notice. Nobody gets in or out, without my permission.

 

 

Security will be my job, too." As Geordi stepped carefully through the underbelly of the transport ship, Picard called after him. "Let's keep this between ourselves until I tell you otherwise." "I'm in no hurry to tell anyone, Captain," Geordi assured him. He headed up the ladder and disappeared into the second deck.

 

 

Picard tugged on his Bajoran earring, knowing that he would have to eliminate his shipmates from suspicion--one by one--until he found the enemy in their midst.

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

 

Ro Lam~N ,}~outmz she would go mad if she had to listen to any more of Groffs cackling and gleeful muttering to himself. He was quite pleased with his genius, but she wished he would take it elsewhere, away from the bridge of the Orb of Peace while she was on duty.

 

 

"This is really good!" he complimented himself as he worked. "Yes, it was exactly like that." She turned to look at the obnoxious Trill and caught the eye of the Vulcan, Taurik, on tactical. He raised an eyebrow and resumed monitoring his readouts. Ro sighed loudly, and turned back to the conn.

 

 

She wasn't due to make another correction for three minutes, and floating in a sand pile was getting a bit boring. She had to admit that some of her resentment with Grof stemmed from the fact that he was privy to

 

 

the captain's plans and she wasn't, although the Trill hadn't tried very hard to keep them secret.

 

 

From his exuberance, she assumed that the plan to float a bomb, disguised as space debris, close to the collider was a good one. At least the opinionated Grof was satisfied. In his zeal and creative flourish, she could see why he had succeeded so well in his profession, undoubtedly at the expense of anyone who got in his way.

 

 

The Bajoran was startled from her reverie by the sound of footsteps, and she glanced back to see Captain Picard enter the bridge, followed by Tamla Horik and Enrique Maserelli. Suddenly it was crowded again.

 

 

"Status, Mister Taurik?" asked the captain.

 

 

"No change, sir, although a few more work parties are active." "Last minute tweaks," suggested Grof, barely looking up from his work. "I'd bet they're going to make another test soon. You'll be happy to know, Captain, that my work is progressing well." Picard gave him a forced smile. "Thank you, Professor. Ro and Taurik, please come with me." The Bajoran breathed a sigh of relief. Finally I'll hear what's going on J?om the captain, not Grof. She rose from her chair just as Tamla Horik sauntered toward her.

 

 

"You've got a correction to make every four and a half minutes," Ro began. "It's along this gradient--" "I know," said Tamla Horik. "The captain told me about it, and I studied your log. I don't foresee any problems." She plunked herself into the vacated seat.

 

 

"Great," muttered Ro. With relief, she turned to the captain and was surprised to find him looking stern and tight-lipped. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was about to be chewed out rather than taken into his confidence.

 

 

"Keep working, Grof," said the captain.

 

 

"Aye, sir!" With a wave, Picard led the Vulcan and the Bajoran off the bridge. They headed down the spiral staircase to the lower level, and into the captain's quarters.

 

 

Picard sat at the table, still looking grave and preoccupied. Ro took a seat across from him, and she tried to appear as unconcerned as the Vulcan beside her. Nevertheless, the captain's stern visage was disconcerting. They both folded their hands and waited patiently for him to brief them.

 

 

With his brow knit into a double-stitch, Picard's gaze shifted between Ro and Taurik. "I must take the two of you into my confidence, and I'm ordering you not to tell anyone else what we discuss in here." "Yes, sir," answered Ro, wondering why he hadn't told Grof the same thing.

 

 

"Yes, sir," replied Taurik.

 

 

Picard's jaw clenched in anger as he spoke, "Have either one of you been in the torpedo room in the last few days?" Now Ro didn't even try to hide her puzzlement.

 

 

"No, sir. There was no reason." "No, sir," answered Taurik.

 

 

"How about the cargo hold?" "I was down there once or twice to get vegetables," said Ro, "and to put away the supplies the Talavians gave us." "And I as well," answered Taurik.

 

 

"Did you see anyone else in the storage room at the time, the one with mesh walls?"

 

 

Ro frowned puzzledly, trying to remember what had been stored in there. "No, sir--" "Is something wrong with the cache of explosives?" asked Taurik bluntly.

 

 

"Yes," answered Picard, never taking his eyes off the Bajoran. "We have to determine who has been performing acts of sabotage against this ship and her mission. Ro, would you consent to have Taurik do a mind-meld on yon?" Ro sat straight in her chair and bristled at the implications. "Is this a loyalty test, Captain?" "No, this is a survival test. I have to find a traitor in our midst, and logic suggests I start with you." "I was never a traitor," said Ro softly. "Call me an early-adopter of the 'Cardassians-can't-be-trusted' rule, but I'm not a traitor." "Then let Taurik mind-meld with you." Ro glanced at the stoic Vulcan, who raised an eyebrow, as if the prospect of melding with her might prove enlightening.

 

 

She fought down every angry, distrustful nerve in her being, and there were a lot of them. Maybe she had earned the title of "Most Likely to Be a Traitor," but she had also earned some respect, including the right not to have her mind and inner thoughts probed.

 

 

"This is unworthy of you, Captain," she said through clenched teeth.

 

 

His eyes narrowed. "I have a war to fight, and a fleet of Jem'Hadar warships could come pouring through that tunnel any minute. I haven't got time to spare anyone's feelings. I have to find out who is working against us. If you were in my position, you would do the same thing." Ro sat back, blasted by the famous Picard forth- rightness. "You're right," she said, "I'd do the same thing. All right, Taurik can go tip-toeing through my mind, but he'd better wear his knee-high boots." Picard's stern visage finally cracked, and he gave her an anguished smile. "I'm sorry I had to be so insistent. We won't do the mind-meld--I just wanted to know if you would allow it." Ro grinned with relief and slumped back in her chair. "Some other time, Taurik." "I would have obeyed orders," said the Vulcan, "but I caution you, Captain, that I am unable to perform a number of mind-melds in a short period of time. Each one would be extremely draining, both on myself and the subject, necessitating several hours of recovery time." "That's all right, Taurik," said Picard, "I don't intend for you to perform a mind-meld on anyone, but it's the only threat I have. I believe a willingness to go through with it shows some innocence. If anyone steadfastly refuses to allow it, we may have to take other measures." "Who's next on your list?" asked Ro. "Grof?" "No. We have to leave the professor alone to do his job. Besides, he doesn't have to resort to subterfuge to throw us off, he only has to give us false information, which he can do any time he wants. Like it or not, the mission depends on Grof. And La Forge, too. We have to leave both of them alone." Picard looked at the Vulcan. "You present a problem, but I believe your willingness to perform the mind-meld exonerates you. None of this proves anything, of course, but it's a starting place. I want to see how everyone reacts to the threat of discovery.

 

 

"The next time we go through this process, it will be with Lavelie and Hasmek, but I wanted to try it first

 

 

with the two of you. I assumed if anyone was likely to refuse on principle, it would be Ro." He flashed the Bajoran a brief smile.

 

 

"If there's a spy on board, we need to be extremely careful," cautioned Ro. "You need back-up, security--" "I agree," said Picard, "but we have to proceed in parallel with our mission. I don't want to disrupt our teamwork, now that we're finally in position and have a good plan. Ro, I'd like you to report to La Forge in the escape pod and help him all you can. Leave the investigation up to me. I'll call you as I need you." Ro stood and rapped on the table. "You're taking a big gamble, Captain." "I know," he replied gravely. "But it would be worse to disrupt our mission to have a divisive witchhunt--that would be playing into their hands. Do your jobs. This investigation is my responsibility."

 

 

Hasmek groaned and sat up on the sofa in Sam's makeshift quarters. "When are we getting out of here?" Sam set down his padd, upon which he had been writing a letter to his sister in New Jersey. He had no idea how he was going to get it delivered, but it made him feel better. It made him feel connected.

 

 

"Relax," he said, "they'll get around to us when they need something. It's not that big of a crew, and the others will have to sleep sometime." "Do you ever think about getting out of here?" asked Hasreek, staring absently at the ceiling. "I don't mean this room, but the war, the insanity. You're a smart fellow, Sam, you must think about getting out." "That wouldn't be smart," answered Sam. "There's nowhere to go, and no way to get there." The Romulan turned and looked earnestly at him.

 

 

"You could help me get home." "The captain's already promised to get you home," answered Sam uneasily.

 

 

"But we both know that's not a high priority to him. Picard is much more likely to get us all killed rather than get us home. If you helped me, I could make sure that neither the Federation nor the Dominion could ever harm you again." Sam burst out laughing. "If you could promise that, you'd be a miracle worker, not a one-armed Romulan who's awfully far from home." "When things start to go wrong," said the Romulan, "just stick with me." "Okay," said Sam, still mildly amused. Everyone in this war thought they had a recipe for survival, a plan, when all they had was a tenuous grasp on reality and old-fashioned luck, or lack of it.

 

 

He picked up his padd and finished the letter to his sister: "So, Joanne, I hope this war is treating you better than it's treating me. I know it's affecting everyone, wherever they are. You always had a more fatalistic view of life than me, so you're probably coping all right. I keep thinking I can change itwdo something to have an impact. I'm trying, but I don't know if anything can be done. I hope it will come to a head soon, one way or another. Love, your Sammy." With his eyes getting damp, Sam turned off the padd and closed the lid, just as a knock sounded on the door.

 

 

"Come in!" called Hasmek, sounding downright cheerful.

 

 

The door opened, and Captain Picard walked in, followed by Taurik. Sam jumped up and greeted his Vulcan friend. "Hi, Taurik."

 

 

The Vulcan looked more stoic than usual as he gave Sam only a slight nod.

 

 

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" asked Hasmek, rising to his feet and bowing. "Are we about to be released?" "That depends," answered Picard. "I have a few questions to ask both of you, and I don't want our conversation to leave this room." "This sounds serious," replied Hasmek.

 

 

"It is. Have either one of you been in the torpedo room recently?" "No, sir." Sam glanced quizzically at Hasmek, who smiled.

 

 

"What's in the torpedo room?" asked the Romulan.

 

 

"Please answer my question," insisted Picard.

 

 

"No." "Have either one of you been in the cargo hold, other than to handle food?" "What's in the cargo hold?" asked Hasmek with amusement.

 

 

"No, sir," answered Sam.

 

 

"Are either one of you performing acts of sabotage against this vessel?" The captain's stern gaze traveled from one man to another.

 

 

"No, sir," answered Sam resentfully.

 

 

"I stopped doing that when you blew off my arm," said Hasmek with a mirthless grin.

 

 

"Will you submit to a mind-meld to prove it?" asked Picard.

 

 

The Romulan burst out laughing. "Oh, go right ahead, but it won't prove a thing." "What do you mean?" asked the captain.

 

 

"I mean, I'm married to a Vulcan, and she's an adept instructor in mind-melding. In fact, she was a child prodigy. I've been exposed to lots of melds, and

 

 

I've learned the techniques to resist them, which I will not hesitate to use." The captain frowned and glanced at Taurik.

 

 

"This is possible," answered the Vulcan. "Hasmek has mentioned before that he is married to a Vulcan, and we know that Romulans have considerable interest in the procedure." The Romulan lifted his chin with pride. "In fact, that's the reason I was chosen for this delicate assignment--my resistance to the Vulcan mindmeld." "You would submit, if I asked you?" said Picard.

 

 

With a sneer, the Romulan pointed to his empty sleeve. "I'm in no condition to fight you, so I would submit. But I guarantee that you won't learn any more about me than you already know." The smug smile vanished from the Romulan's face.

 

 

"Besides, Captain, it's obvious that your nemesis is Grof. He's the one who stands the most to gain and the least to lose. He already runs the ship." The captain sniffed disdainfully at the barb. "And you, Mister Lavelie, would you submit to a mindmeld?" "Yes, sir." Sam came to attention, but he couldn't hide the fear on his face as he thought about having an unknown enemy on board. "Sir, you really should look closely at Grof." "Or that Maquis officer," said Hasmek. "Once a traitor, always a traitor." "It's not Ro!" snapped Sam. "You can just forget that idea." "A little protective of the Bajoran, are we?" asked Hasreek with amusement.

 

 

"That's enough," ordered Picard. "If you accuse somebody of these very serious charges, you had

 

 

better present some proof. Do either one of you have any proof?." "His words, his own actions," insisted Sam.

 

 

"I could say the same about Ro Laren," answered Picard, "if we are going by past experience. I've tried to give everyone on this vessel a new start, but someone has reverted to type. I'll find them." "You'd better," said Hasmek grimly, "or this crew will mutiny." Picard's eyes narrowed at his former foe. "We're in a desperate situation, and I won't hesitate to take desperate measures. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, sir!" piped Sam, although his confidence was waning.

 

 

"We finally have a workable plan to take out the collider," said the captain, "and we have a lot of work to do. I'm expecting both of you to do your share." Hasmek gaped at him. "Won't that be rather difficult, with someone on the ship trying to stop us? Isn't this the same person who tried to starve us to death?" Picard ignored him. "I want the two of you to relieve Woil in engineering. Tell him to get some sleep. He lost his buddy when we lost Shonsui, but we'll find him a new one. Keep each other in sight at all times, and be prepared to assist La Forge from engineering." "It's time to pray to the war gods," declared Hasmek, "because we are in deep trouble." "Keep that opinion to yourself," ordered Picard, "and don't tell anyone what we discussed in this room. We're going to depend on the buddy system.

 

 

Now go to your station." "Yes, sir," answered Sam, squeezing past them to get out the door. He was glad to be going back on duty, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was headed downhill in an old red wagon with the wheels falling off.

 

 

Ro Laren followed Captain Picard and Taurik onto the bridge of the Orb of Peace. Grof sat at the auxiliary console, looking self-satisfied and self-absorbed, Tamla Horik was on the conn, and Enrique Maserelli was on tactical. The viewscreen showed a split view of the magneton collider in one half and the perpetual sandstorm of Juno's rings in the other.

 

 

"Hello, Captain," said Grof cheerfully, "I was just about to show you the first draft of the floor plan. I believe it's very close, although there may be some things I've forgotten." Picard gave him a polite smile. "That's excellent, Professor. I need to devote full attention to that, so let me dispose of a few other matters first. Why don't you report to Mr. La Forge at the escape pod. He has a few questions for you." Ro smiled inwardly. She had been with the captain when he had warned Geordi that he would be sending Grof down, and that he should keep him busy.

 

 

"Of course," answered Grof, bounding to his feet, the picture of cooperation and confidence. "Is there anything else you would like me to convey to Commander La Forge?" "Only that the three of us will meet later." With a nod of his head, Picard dismissed the scientist and turned his attention toward Maserelli and Horik. As Grof stomped down the stairs, Enrique squirmed under Picard's baleful gaze, while the Deltan kept her attention on her console, and her back to the captain.

 

 

Taurik stepped toward the tactical station, and

 

 

Enrique realized that he was being relieved. Ro moved quickly behind Tamla Horik at the conn.

 

 

"Status?" asked Picard.

 

 

"Maintaining position," answered Horik.

 

 

Enrique looked down at his readouts and reported, "Almost no work crews are present at the moment, and most of the support vessels have backed off. Grof thinks they're about to do another test, but then, he's been saying that for hours." Picard nodded gravely. "I have to speak with both of you. Taurik, take tactical. Ro, on the conn." Enrique looked curious as he stepped away from the tactical station. Tamla Horik relinquished the conn to Ro. She and Enrique stood at attention, respectful and alert, probably thinking they were about to be briefed on the plan to take out the collider.

 

 

"What I'm about to tell you is to be kept in confidence, and not to leave this bridge," began the captain. "Have either one of you been to the torpedo room recently?" Enrique shook his head. "No, sir, I've never been there." "Me neither," answered Tamla. "Is something wrong with our last torpedo?" "No, but we have had two incidents of attempted sabotage, along with the earlier episode with the food replicators." "What does that mean?" muttered Enrique nervously.

 

 

"It means we are taking measured precautions to root out the traitor on board, without disrupting our mission. Neither one of you is under any particular suspicion, but we have to make sure. Therefore, I'm going to ask you to submit to a Vulcan mind-meld."

 

 

Tamla gave Taurik a nervous smile. "I suppose that wouldn't be a problem." Picard turned to Enrique. "And you?" "I don't... I don't know, sir," said the handsome human with the dark beard. "I've always been scared of mind-melds--I mean, you could go crazy, or die!" "Highly unlikely," replied Taurik. "However, reactions do vary from subject to subject." "I'm afraid you don't have much choice," said Picard. "It's an order." Enrique gulped, straightened his shoulders, and stared straight ahead. "Okay, sir. Can I... can I hold Tamla's hand?" A smile slipped from Picard's taut face. "That's unnecessary. We won't perform the mind-meld at this time, but I'm grateful that both of you consented." "Yes, sir," breathed Enrique, his shoulders slumping with relief.

 

 

"Return to your stations. Ro and Taurik, you're with me." The captain strode off the bridge, and the Vulcan and the Bajoran jumped to their feet and hurried after him. He paused at the top of the spiral staircase, glanced around, and whispered, "Our last subject is Jozarnay Woil, who ought to be asleep in the dorms.

 

 

I'm not sure if I should be disappointed or pleased with our progress so far, because everyone seems innocent." "There is logic in this course of action," said Taurik, "although the findings may not be conclusive." "I know." Picard tugged thoughtfully on his earring. "Thus far, no one seems unduly concerned about going through a mind-meld, which is interesting to me."

 

 

"Perhaps it's not as fearsome a procedure as Hasmek believes," observed Taurik dryly.

 

 

"It should be fearsome, to the wrong person." With a wave, Captain Picard led them down the spiral staircase and along the corridor. A moment later, they stopped outside the large dormitory, where so many of their original crew had been murdered. No one deigned to sleep there now, except for the monkish Antosian, who preferred open spaces to tiny cabins and corners.

 

 

Picard tapped a wall panel, and the door opened.

 

 

He led the way into the darkened room, which reminded Ro of a low-ceilinged gymnasium. Rows of hammocks, which had once hung like moss from the ceiling, were now gone, taken by people to furnish their new quarters. Geordi slept in one of the hammocks aboard the escape pod.

 

 

Loud snoring led them to the sleeping Antosian, who was curled up in the center of the room in a morass of sofa pillows, taken from the empty rec rooms. Ro regretted that they had to wake him up-- in fact, he looked so blissful that she wanted to curl up beside him and go to sleep.

 

 

"Lights!" barked Picard, and a ceiling full of tubes glimmered on, bathing the room with artificial sun.

 

 

"Huh?" muttered Woil, cringing and swiping a hand at the offending light. He tried to burrow into his cushions.

 

 

"Wake up, Mister Woil," said the captain. "That's an order." Recognizing the voice, he rolled over, blinked at Picard, and staggered to his feet. The Antosian's usually neat bun of black hair looked disheveled and ratty, with wisps sticking out at odd angles. He looked weary, half asleep, and Ro's sympathy went out to him. She hoped he wouldn't resist the order, necessitating the mind-meld. Although she didn't exactly love this ragtag crew, she didn't want to discover that one of them was a traitor and murderer.

 

 

"Am I on duty, sir?" asked Woil with sleepy confusion.

 

 

"At ease," said Picard. "We need information. Have you been in the torpedo room since your arrival on this ship?" "No, sir," answered the Antosian, frowning in thought. "I don't think so." "What about the cargo hold?" "No, sir, I've mainly been in engineering, with a little bridge duty. Wait a minute, I believe I went into the hold once to check a stasis field." "Did you ever enter the storage area at the back, the one with mesh walls?" "No, sir." The tall Antosian rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. "May I ask why, sir?" "There have been two more possible acts of sabotage against this ship and her mission. Are you responsible for any of them?" Woil blinked at him, then smiled. When he realized the captain was deadly serious, the smile slid off his pudgy face. He looked uncertainly from the captain to Taurik and finally to Ro. Her stomach started churning, because she had a premonition that the Antosian was not going to submit.

 

 

"Why do you suspect me?" asked Woil.

 

 

"We suspect everyone," replied Picard. "Will you answer my question?" "No, it wasn't me. I didn't commit any acts of sabotage!" He sounded both pleading and indignant, reactions which Ro could easily understand.

 

 

"Will you submit to a Vulcan mind-meld?"

 

 

Woil narrowed his eyes and looked suspiciously at Taurik. "No, sir, I won't. That's against the beliefs and laws of my people." "I should make myself clear," said Picard. "This is an order." "I respectfully decline, sir." The Antosian lifted his chin and stared straight ahead. "We are taught that such intrusions into the mind are the same as violating a person's body." Ro's stomach twisted into a bigger knot, and her hand inched toward her phaser. She could see Picard's shoulders rise and fall as he decided how to deal with this insubordination.

 

 

"I know Antosian teachings," said Picard with sympathy, "and this isn't the same as the techniques that were forbidden on your planet. There will be no lasting harm, no intrusion, other than to review the few days since you arrived on this vessel. Ro, did I ask the same of you, despite your objections?" "Yes, sir," she answered.

 

 

"I still refuse," declared the Antosian. "I doubt if you'll be able to bring court-martial charges against me for refusing." Picard's lips thinned. "Mister Taurik, can you perform the procedure on a person who is stunned?" "Yes, sir," answered the Vulcan, surveying Jozarnay Woil with interest.

 

 

"Ro, draw your phaser and set it to light stun." "Yes, sir." Anticipating that order, she had the weapon halfway out of its holster before the captain finished his sentence. She double-checked the setting on the Bajoran phaser to make sure it was set to stun.

 

 

"Wait a minute!" growled the Antosian, dropping into a defensive crouch and backing away from them.

 

 

"This is sacrilege!"

 

 

"I'm giving you one last chance," warned the captain. "Nobody gets out of this test." "What about the Trill and the Romulan?" protested Woil. "Are you saying they checked out clean?" "Everyone I've asked so far had agreed to the mindmeld," answered Picard truthfully. "You're the only one who hasn't." The Antosian grimaced at the difficulty of his decision. Ro felt sorry for him, because she knew how difficult it was to forsake long-held beliefs for a greater good.

 

 

"Submit to it," she begged him.

 

 

"No!" Reluctantly, Picard ordered, "Fire." The big Antosian ducked and tried to scramble away, but Ro drilled him in the shoulder with a phaser beam. He took one more step and sprawled on his stomach across the barren deck.

 

 

She lowered her weapon, regretting the stunning that would lead to a forced mind-meld.

 

 

Unfortunately, Woil hadn't given them any choice. She could tell from the captain's troubled expression that he wasn't happy over their actions either. Anyone who thought a commanding officer had to like every order he gave didn't know much about command.

 

 

Picard turned distastefully to Taurik and said, "Proceed." The Vulcan closed his eyes, put his hands together, and seemed to meditate.

 

 

"Isn't there any other way?" asked Ro.

 

 

"We have to know for sure," said Picard grimly.

 

 

After a moment, the Vulcan opened his eyes and moved to the unconscious body. He turned Woil over and positioned his head and neck. Just as he spread the fingers of his right hand and placed them on the

 

 

Antosian's cheekbone and chin, Picard's combadge chirped.

 

 

"Picard here," he said impatiently.

 

 

"Captain{" came Enrique's breathless voice. "The magneton and neutrino readings from the collider are going off the scale. We think they're operating the artificial wormhole!" "Alert Grof, and have him meet me on the bridge," ordered Picard, rushing for the door. He pointed back at Ro and Taurik. "Go ahead with the mind-meld, while he's still out." "Yes, sir." Ro still felt reluctant, but a direct order was a direct order. She holstered her phaser and turned back to Taurik. "Go on." He looked down at the body stretched out before him and said, "There is a possibility that he may come back to consciousness. Perhaps I can control him, perhaps not. Would you please give me the phaser, so that I can use it if necessary." "Sure." She handed the Vulcan her phaser weapon and was surprised a moment later when he turned it on her.

 

 

"Put your hands up," he ordered. "Away from your combadge." She gaped at him. "Is this some kind of joke?" "It is no joke, I can assure you." Something chilling in his voice warned her that he wasn't lying, as if Vulcans could lie. She lifted her hands over her head.

 

 

Taurik took a step closer, and he stared intently at her, as if he were trying to memorize every line of her face. His own face began to shimmer and flatten, as if it were turning into a pool of water. For a moment, his face morphed into a mirror with her own image staring back at her{ Ro watched in horror as his outstretched arm turned the color and consistency of liquid mercury.

 

 

A changeling! Ro reached for her combadge, as his hand extended into a gleaming tentacle and ripped the device off her chest. She whirled to escape, but another tentacle wrapped around her legs like a steel cable and yanked hard, dumping her face-first onto the deck. Ro barely had time to roll over before the creature's phaser spit a red streak into her chest, then all was peace and darkness.

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

 

THE MAGNETON COLLIDER lit up along its entire length with a brilliant blue light, like a giant coil of gas flames. A red light pulsed down the center of the massive tube, going faster and faster until it became a blur. Picard squinted at the blazing sight on the viewscreen, but he couldn't look away; he was intent upon seeing what emerged from the glowing tunnel, even if it signaled the end of the Federation.

 

 

He heard running footsteps and a gasp, and he turned to see Enrak Grof stagger onto the bridge. He gaped at the viewscreen and murmured, "It's startedm a full test--maybe the whole fleet coming through. By heavens, it's magnificent!" Picard scowled and turned to Maserelli. "Are the levels still rising?" Enrique gazed from his console to the screen, a look of shock on his face. "It should be torn apart," he answered.

 

 

"Oh, no," insisted Grof with pride, "that's why we used the grid and the Corzanium--to withstand the pressure. Wait until you see it blossom--any second now!" Picard wished that Grof could have been a little less gleeful about seeing his artificial wormhole in its full glory, but he couldn't deny that it was magnificent. If only death and destruction weren't waiting on the other side.

 

 

With the rush of a wave crashing onto the shore, a blue and white cloud opened from the mouth of the collider like the petals of a flower caught in fast photography. A golden light filled the center of the tube and shined outward like a gigantic phaser beam.

 

 

From this mass of blinding light and swirling clouds, a small ship was flung into the blackness of space.

 

 

As quickly as it had begun, the petals of the wormhole collapsed onto themselves, and the kaleidoscope of lights disappeared. The massive collider went dark, except for a few errant sparks rippling along its metallic skeleton. The only difference was that a small Jem'Hadar attack ship drifted in the void of space, having traveled across the galaxy in the blink of an eye.

 

 

"I would like to know whether the Jem'Hadar on that ship are dead or alive," said Grof.

 

 

"What difference does it make?" asked Horik at the conn.

 

 

"A great deal," answered the Trill. "If they're dead, we may have a couple of days' grace. If they're alive, we have exactly twelve hours until the real fleet comes through."

 

 

Picard tapped his combadge and said, "Bridge to La Forge." "La Forge here," came the engineer. "Thanks for sending me all the helprowe're on schedule." "No, we're not," answered the captain, "because the schedule has been moved up. The Dominion has just completed a test on the wormhole where they brought through an attack ship. We have twelve hours until it's fully operational and a fleet comes through." Geordi gave a low whistle. "Wow. I guess we'd better get back to work." "Double-time," answered the captain. "Bridge OUt." He tapped his combadge again. "Bridge to Ro." "Ro here," came the familiar, businesslike voice.

 

 

"Was the procedure successful?" With Grof standing nearby, Picard was forced to be circumspect. He didn't want to alarm the professor until they had gotten complete schematics from him.

 

 

"Yes," answered Ro, "in that it came out negative." Picard frowned, being both pleased that Woil was in the clear yet mystified at the same time. If it wasn't him, then who was it? Given the shortage of time, he would have to rethink his methods.

 

 

"Did Taurik have any problem?" asked Picard.

 

 

"Not that I could tell. Both he and Woil are now resting." "Stay with them," ordered Picard, "then all three of you report to La Forge. I'm afraid the Dominion just performed a successful test on the artificial wormhole.

 

 

According to Grof, we only have twelve hours." "That's unfortunate," replied Ro with extreme understatement.

 

 

"Bridge out," concluded Picard. He glanced around at the assembled crew, all of whom were stunned, except for Grof.

 

 

"There's one good thing," said the Trill.

 

 

"What?" asked Picard doubtfully.

 

 

"Now that I've seen it work, I can destroy it with a clear conscience." The captain nodded, wishing that he could get back to business-as-usual as easily as Grof. He tried to put the inner threat out of his mind, knowing that if they didn't stop the artificial wormhole, it wouldn't matter what their intruder did. He had made sure that everyone was under some sort of scrutiny, and that was the best he could do at the moment.

 

 

"Keep that attack ship under observation," ordered Picard. "Grof, I believe it's time to go over your schematics, and finalize our own plans." "I would concur," said Grof, heading for the exit.

 

 

"Time is of the essence." Picard took one last look around the Bajoran bridge before he accompanied Grofto the captain's quarters.

 

 

Both Horik and Maserelli looked spooked, but they manned their stations like the well-trained officers they were, falling back on routine to ward off fear.

 

 

Deep in Dominion space, about to confront a Dominion fleet, and with a saboteur on board, only a madman could be completely calm.

 

 

Who was it? Picard tried to review just the facts-- no suppositions or unfounded suspicions. Someone had destroyed their food replicators, delaying them, possibly forcing them into the open. If Lena Shonsui's death was connected--and he wasn't sure it was-- then someone had tried to maroon Ro and Geordi.

 

 

Disabling the subspace beacon was an obvious ploy-- their nemesis didn't want anyone coming to their aid.

 

 

Destroying the explosives was equally transparent-- they feared the mission would be successful.

 

 

"Captain Picard," snapped an impatient Trill voice, "we haven't got all day." Grof waved his padd from the top of the spiral staircase.

 

 

If Grof is the one, thought the captain, then he's a brilliant actor. I'll keep an eye on him personally.

 

 

"Lead the way, Professor."

 

 

Sam Lavelie straightened up, weary from leaning over the waist-high table which silowed the master systems. He looked around the dreary engineering room, thinking it had none of the Bajoran charm of the rest of the ship. It was utilitarian and spartan, with few upgrades or niceties, as if engineering was a somber pursuit not given to pleasant aesthetics.

 

 

Hasmek, who couldn't sleep when stretched out on the sofa in Sam's quarters, was fast asleep at the duty console, his head cradled in his remaining arm. So much for the buddy system. Sam realized that if Hasmek were the saboteur, he could do a lot of damage to the Orb of Peace in his position. But he wasn't the bad apple--he was just an unlucky slob.

 

 

He didn't know exactly why, but his gut instincts told him that it wasn't Hasmek. Maybe that was because both of them were convinced it was Grof.

 

 

Sam looked around at the gray walls and beeping monitors, tracking warp cores and propulsion systems that hadn't changed for several hours. Thrusters were handling the occasional course correction without drawing from main power. The warp core itself was in a shielded shaft in the tail of the ship, so there wasn't much to see.

 

 

They may have been on duty, but they weren't part of the action, and Sam knew it. He resented being segregated with the Romulan, but in truth he didn't mind the solitude. Sam didn't feel like being sociable with a group of edgy, sleep-deprived people, one of whom might be trying to kill them all.

 

 

I might make an exception for Ro or Taurik, but only them.

 

 

He got up and made the rounds of all the stations, even though he could get most of the same readouts from the master display. He almost wished this were a Starfleet vessel, so he could reassign a console to become the conn, tactical, transporter, any station on board--just to see what was going on.

 

 

Sam heard the door whisper open, and he turned around to see Ro stride into the room and lean her slim body over the display table. His first instinct was to wake up Hasmek--to keep him from getting into trouble--but it was too late for that. She glanced at the Romulan and shook her short-cropped fringe of hair.

 

 

He stepped sheepishly from behind the bank of monitors and saw Ro gazing at the master display. She glanced at him, then at the sleeping Romulan. "Things not too exciting around here?" "I'm sorry," said Sam. "Shall we wake him up?" "No, let him sleep. There should be somebody well rested when the action starts. Besides, I really came to see you." Ro fixed him with her deep brown eyes and leaned casually against the table.

 

 

Sam stepped closer to her. "Are you here to relieve me?" "No, just to talk to you. So much is going on around here--I need to be able to trust somebody." Ro looked away from him, as if embarrassed, and for a moment, she seemed vulnerable, approachable.

 

 

Sam took another step closer. "What's worrying you?" He cringed at his ridiculous question, thinking there were plenty of things for a sane person to worry about.

 

 

She sauntered toward him as if she had just discovered how to walk in that sexy body. "If we fail, I don't want to be alone. I want to know I can depend on somebody to be there, even if it's just to hold my hand as we go down in flames. I don't want to be alone.

 

 

Does that make sense to you?" "Sure," answered Sam, not anxious to be alone ever again, not if he could be with someone like Ro. They embraced and kissed each other with hungry passion.

 

 

Sam was surprised--she seemed almost like a different woman than before. No longer reticent, but insistent-- Gripping his chest and shoulders, she pulled him away from the sleeping Romulan and the beaming consoles. Shoving him urgently while she nuzzled his neck, Ro propelled Sam toward a dark alcove where an airlock was hidden away. There was nothing Sam wanted more than the feel of her all over him, but he knew it was wrong to desert their posts. It was also a bad idea to leave the Romulan alone, unobserved, in a place like engineering.

 

 

Insanely, against every urge in his body, Sam pried the passionate Bajoran away. "Ro, we can't do this now. Later--" "How do you know there will be a later?" she insisted.

 

 

"There has to be--we'll make it happen." "I'm afraid," she breathed, gripping him tightly. "A lot of them think I'm the one... the one who's been sabotaging the mission. If they come after me, will you protect me?"

 

 

"Sure," he told her with a comforting smile. "Why don't we tell the captain that we want to be buddies, like Tamla and Enrique?" "No, no!" she said, gripping his hands. "Let's keep it a secret, just between us. I want to have a special signal to call you, if I need you." "Okay," said Sam hoarsely.

 

 

She looked around the room, then fixed him with her large, radiant eyes. "From any station on the ship, I can send a general alert to every other station. If you see an alert for a meteor shower, come to the station of origin. I'll be waiting." "All right," agreed Sam, squeezing her hands.

 

 

"I love you," she replied in a voice which sounded dark and husky.

 

 

Before the stunned human could reply, Ro Laren brushed his lips with the most gossamer of kisses, then reluctantly pulled away. She put on her poker face, straightened her shoulders, and strode purposefully through engineering and into the corridor.

 

 

Forcing his lungs to breathe and his legs to walk, Sam shuffled after her. He paused by the display table and stared at the closed door, wishing that he hadn't told her to wait until later. Why did I send her away?

 

 

"You're playing with antimatter," said the supposedly sleeping Romulan, never opening his eyes.

 

 

Sam scowled at Hasmek and started to disagree, but he couldn't. Ro's neediness played into his fantasies, but like most fantasies that came true, the reality was not altogether appealing. He had been hoping he could depend on Ro to get them through this mess, and now it appeared as if she might end up depending on him instead. Ah, the downside of everything.

 

 

"You wouldn't help me escape from this ship," said Hasmek with a sniff, "but I'm sure you'd help her."

 

 

"Nobody's escaping," answered Sam with grim certainty, "until it's all over."

 

 

The acrid smell of cleaning solvents brought Ro Laren slowly back to consciousness. After her olfactory senses awoke, aches in her back, neck, and leg muscles followed, until finally she was forced to pry her eyes open. She found herself in total darkness.

 

 

When Ro tried to shout, she discovered that a thick gag stretched across her mouth; she couldn't reach the gag with her hands, because they were tied together.

 

 

Instinctively, she kicked with her legs and found that they were bound together, too, and a length of freight cable tied her feet to her hands. Ro was in a fetal position, sitting up and barely able to move.

 

 

She tried to stay calm and assess the situation. Her headache and general fuzziness made her believe that she had been unconscious for some time, maybe hours. The smells, darkness, and cramped confines suggested that she was in the equipment locker at the rear of the dormitory. Despite her anger, Ro realized she was lucky to be alive, because she had been at the changeling's mercy. It had stunned her--on a heavy setting--but it could have killed her.

 

 

All this time, she thought in amazement, it had been Taurik, the Vulcan. The changeling must have been on Sam's crew since they left the collider as prisoners, out to mine Corzanium. No one knew about it, not even Grof. It had accidentally found itself part of the Federation's only plan to stop the artificial wormhole, and now it was going to sabotage the mission, from within. With the ability to look like anyone on board, even the captain, it could go undetected for as long as it needed.

 

 

I have to get out of here.t

 

 

Ro squirmed, yanked, and kicked, but all she got for her efforts were more stabs of pain in her arms and legs. Plus she fell to the side and plowed ear-first into a cold metal bulkhead. Panting, fighting to remain conscious, Ro lay there in the abject, silent darkness.

 

 

I have to bepatient, she told herself. I have to think.

 

 

Why did it keep me alive?

 

 

One answer was that it was still taking prisoners, still finding slaves for the Dominion. Anther possibility was that it needed a living reference, which meant that it was out there, pretending to be her/ Ro lashed out frantically, but she only succeeded in twisting herself into an even more painful knot. She had to move slowly, in tiny increments, if she hoped to explore her cell. If there was anything in here that could help her, she had to find it.

 

 

"As long as you understand, Captain, the charge must be big enough to take out this entire panel of instruments as well as the circuitry behind this bulkhead." Enrak Grof indicated two key points on his meticulous diagram.

 

 

Captain Picard leaned across the table in the makeshift ready room and studied the plans. It all seemed so simple when laid out in black and white and perused at one's leisure. Get in, place the charge, and get out.

 

 

But they no longer had high-yield explosives to beam into the collider, so coming close wasn't good enough. They had to be exact, which meant that a team had to beam over to the catwalks and access tubes of the spidery structure and manually place the charge, whatever it was. Although he had considered this possibility before, it sounded especially daunting, now that it was their only option.

 

 

As if this problem wasn't bad enough, his mind kept slipping over to the saboteur. He couldn't help but wonder what harm their hidden foe was doing to the ship and the mission, while he sat in conference with this egomaniac, Grof. Nobody had contacted him in a panic--nothing seemed amiss--but the captain knew that the enemy's next strike could be decisive.

 

 

Picard reached for the padd and mustered a smile.

 

 

"Thank you, Professor, excellent work. I think it's time to print up your schematics and make copies for Mister La Forge and myselfi And I'd like to get you working on the escape pod with La Forge." "Good idea, Captain." Grof checked his timepiece.

 

 

"We only have eleven hours." Picard rose to his feet, suddenly anxious to check on the rest of his crew. He led the way out of the ready room and down the corridor, past the cargo hold and engineering to the aft section. Here, on either side of the ship, were two small hatches. One was closed and marked by a red light, showing that the escape pod had been launched. The other hatch was wide open, and the sound of voices bursting from the pod was surprisingly reassuring to the captain.

 

 

He ducked his head, looked inside, and saw Ro Laren, Geordi La Forge, and Jozarnay Woil bent over a piece of machinery. The three of them barely fit inside the cramped sphere. Although the pod was intended to accommodate eight, that was with all the passengers strapped to the walls, hanging in zero gravity, not roaming freely. The escape pod had no artificial gravity, except now when it was still part of the ship. It didn't usually have all this extraneous equipment crammed into every spare centimeter.

 

 

Geordi patted the metal box fondly, then looked at

 

 

Picard. "Hello, Captain. I used the distortion amplifiers from our secondary emitters to make this jammer.

 

 

It will block their sensors and make us look like a simple meteoroid. It's crude, but it only has to do one thing, and we can test that with our tricorders." "Excellent," said Picard with a genuine smile. He glanced at the big Antosian. "I regret, Mister Woil, that we had to put you through the mind-meld, but our security is vital. How do you feel?" The Antosian shrugged. "Fine. I don't feel any different at all." The captain looked around. "Where's Taurik?" "Oh," said Ro, "he wasn't feeling well after the procedure, so I suggested he stay in the dormitory and sleep." Picard frowned, thinking it odd that the subject of the mind-meld felt great, but the Vulcan had to rest.

 

 

Perhaps Taurik wasn't an expert at the procedurea there was no reason to think all Vulcans should be equally adept at it. He hadn't been particularly enthusiastic.

 

 

"What's all this talk about mind-melds?" asked a gruff voice behind him.

 

 

Picard turned to look at Grof, who so far had been kept in the dark about the most recent attempts to sabotage their mission. He didn't want the Trill to lose confidence and revert back to being recalcitrant and uncooperative.

 

 

"It's part of our ongoing investigation into the failure of the food replicators," he explained.

 

 

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with." Picard gave each of the others a stern look, to remind them not to discuss it.

 

 

"Come on," said La Forge, "we need to finish installing the transporter, then work on the outside of this thing." Picard snapped his fingers and scowled. "I'm sorry.

 

 

With the distractions, I forgot to set the scoop to pick up debris from the rings." "That's all right," replied Geordi. "I alerted the bridge--they're doing it. I plan to stucco the sphere, using a molecular bonder and the transporter." The captain nodded, certainly glad that he had brought Geordi along on this desperate journey. "Can you find something for Professor Grof to do?" "Sure," answered the engineer. "Know anything about molecular scanners and pattern buffers, Professor?" "Certainly, I used to program them in secondary school." The Trill muscled his way past Picard and entered the cramped pod. To escape the crowd, Ro leaned her body into the curve of the wall and studied a tricorder.

 

 

"I'm glad everything is under control," said Picard.

 

 

'Tll check on engineering." "Captain," called Ro, "don't worry about Taurik.

 

 

He's going to call me when he wakes up. I know he's still my buddy, and I'll watch out for him." "Very well," said Picard, grateful that he had Ro along, too. "We have less than eleven hours." 'TII remind them," vowed Grof.

 

 

Picard backed away from the hatch and took the short walk down the corridor to engineering. When he entered, he was encouraged to find both Lavelie and Hasmek alert and at their posts. Sam came to attention, and the Romulan sat up with curiosity.

 

 

"At ease," he told them, as if that were even possible. "Is our status normal?"

 

 

"Yes, sir," answered Lavelie. "Not much has happened down here." "How goes the search for our hidden enemy?" asked Hasmek.

 

 

"Slowly." The captain stepped into the room, letting the door shut behind him. "But the mission is progressing quickly, which is why I'm here. We have less than eleven hours." "With no evidence," muttered Hasmek.

 

 

Picard ignored him. "Mister Lavelie, you mentioned that you had an idea for destroying the entire magneton collider, not just the accelerator room." "Yes, sir," answered Sam, eager to share his plan. "I spent a lot of time floating along various parts of that monster, and there are air lines running through every centimeter of it--to feed the workers' space suits. I think you could flood those lines with hydrogen, which is part of the breathing mixture, and ignite it.

 

 

With luck, you might blow the whole thing up." Hasmek turned around, looking impressed. "Very inventive, Sam. I like it." Picard cocked his head thoughtfully and lifted the padd in his hand. "I have Grof's schematics here, and I need to enlarge them and make copies. After you do that for me, take a look at them and see if you can find a way to implement your plan. At the very least, it would make quite a diversion, and we might need that." "Sure, Captain, let me transfer it to the computer." Lavelie took the padd from him, crossed to his duty console, and jacked it in.

 

 

While Sam worked on Grof's files, Picard strolled around engineering, a room in which he hadn't spent much time since coming aboard the Orb of Peace.

 

 

Considering all this little ship had been through, its energy and propulsion systems were in remarkably good shape. Of course, they had been using guile to get around Dominion space, avoiding fights whenever possible.

 

 

He looked up and saw Hasmek watching him. The Romulan rose to his feet and walked slowly toward Picard, a troubled look on his face. "I've been thinking about our personal spy." "Yes?" "I don't understand what he's doing. I think he must be crazy, or suicidal. For example, taking out the food replicators. Isn't that suicidal?" "It didn't prove to be," answered the captain. "It forced us off our mission and deeper into the Badlands--" "Where we nearly got killed. We were very lucky to find someone who could help us." The Romulan shook his head. "Maybe he learned his lesson after that, because that was the last crazy thing he did." Picard frowned thoughtfully at the one-armed Romulan. The destruction of the explosives and the subspace beacon had seemed so immediate that he hadn't thought much about the first incident. Taking out the food replicators was so bizarre that it had been difficult to accept as an act of sabotage... until more acts followed. Everyone needed food and drink.

 

 

Or did they?

 

 

"And the death of the transporter operator," said Hasmek puzzledly. "I was asleep, but the rest of you were on duty. Who could have left their post, gone to the transporter room, done it, and gone back-- without anyone seeing? Unless we have a ghost on board. No, I think her death must be unrelated."

 

 

Picard suddenly realized who could have done the murder as Hasmek described it--who could have flowed through the air ducts or slithered along the decks, who could have intruded into her body and caused death without leaving a mark. A changeling.

 

 

It could look like any of them--be any of them.

 

 

Lavelie had mentioned seeing a changeling in the Dominion prison.

 

 

"Captain," said Hasmek with irritation, "you're not listening to me." "On the contrary, I've listened very carefully." The captain gazed at the Romulan's face, wondering if he really were a Romulan.

 

 

The changeling had to be Hasmek, Ro, or someone from Lavelle's crew--someone not from the Enterprise. After learning how changelings had infiltrated the Klingon high command, Starfleet had developed a complex medical test to ferret them out. They had administered the test to every officer, from ensign to admiral, but that didn't do them any good here.

 

 

Without Beverly Crusher, he had no chance of duplicating that test on the Orb of Peace. Even then, he doubted if they had the equipment and supplies needed.

 

 

"Captain, you are very distracted," said the Romufan with exasperation. "We'll speak later." "I am distracted," agreed Picard, starting for the door. "But our conversation was enlightening." "It was?" "Absolutely. Lavelle, keep working on the diagrams." "Yes, sir." Picard walked out of engineering, and the door slid shut behind him. For a moment, he stood there, staring down a deserted corridor, aware that his nemesis could be the fire extinguisher, the grille of a vent, or the light above him. Fighting a changeling was almost too difficult to contemplate, and he hoped his suspicions were wrong.

 

 

But what if they weren't?

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

 

GEORm STOOD UP from his labors and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead. The escape pod wasn't built for manual labor, and the air circulation was poor. Woil was standing outside the hatch, taking radiation readings with a tricorder, and Ro and Grof were installing a transporter pad in the only empty square of bulkhead left on the curved inner surface. A transporter pad had been pulled whole from the main transporter platform, and they had to anchor it and get power to it.

 

 

"Since there won't be any gravity on board," said Ro, "we'll have to install some bars or handles for people to stabilize themselves. They'll have to put their feet on the pad, right?" "Right," answered Geordi. "That's a good idea.

 

 

There are extra handles in the lavatory."

 

 

"I'll get them," declared Ro, starting for the hatch.

 

 

"Wait a minute, the captain said people weren't supposed to be alone." Geordi looked disapprovin~y at her.

 

 

"I have to go check on Taurik, anyway," insisted Ro. "He's my buddy, so I won't be alone after I get him back on duty." "I don't know--" "Oh, let her go," grumbled Grof. "Maybe then we'll have room to move around in here." In a blink, the lanky Bajoran was gone. Geordi sighed and went back to work, thinking that it had always been hard to tell Ro Laren what to do.

 

 

Gasping for breath, the Bajoran stopped kicking on the walls of her dark cage. A lightheaded feeling came over her, and she sat still, meditating, until it passed.

 

 

The raw pain on her wrists and ankles helped her to remain conscious. For the first time, Ro realized that the air didn't replenish well in this dark, smelly equipment chest, and she was in danger of using too much of it, too fast.

 

 

Besides, it was doubtful that anybody could hea her muffled kicks--here in the back of the second largest room on the ship, after the cargo hold. Nobody had any reason to come in here, except for her captor.

 

 

She wasn't going to kick her way out either. On her right was the outer hull of the ship, which meant that the nearby bulkheads, hatches, and doors were fortified. Having spent considerable effort and pain to get into a position to kick, she didn't want to stop; but Ro knew she had better save her strength and air until she had a real opportunity.

 

 

She tried to relax and tell herself to be patient-- that she had been kept alive for a reason. She would have a chance to escape if she bided her time. Until then, she would have to stay alert and ready.

 

 

In her desperate squirming, she had found that her metal tomb was empty except for the residue of cleaning solvents and detergents, which she could still smell. In fact, the solvents were all over her clothes, adding to the itching and discomfort.

 

 

Solvents, she thought suddenly; they wouldn't do anything for the bindings on her hands and feet, but they might loosen the glue on her gag. Ro didn't want to think about the contortions she would have to go through to get her mouth on the floor of the narrow box, but she resolved to do it.

 

 

Captain Picard sat down at an auxiliary console on the bridge, ignoring the quizzical looks from Horik and Maserelli. He tried not to stare at them or wonder: Are they really human and Deltan?

 

 

He went back to his console, but after a few moments, he frowned in disappointment. The comm system would not allow him to track the whereabouts of every crew member, as he could aboard the Enterprise. He could only tell if their combadges were functional. There weren't even video logs of the various decks and stations of the Orb of Peace that he could use to trace the crew's movements.

 

 

Picard stood and stretched, feeling as if he should do something--make the rounds--question everyone again. But their mission was progressing, under an imposing deadline, and he couldn't afford to throw the ship into turmoil. As much as he disliked it, Picard was forced into a defensive position, waiting for his nemesis to make the next move.

 

 

But if time was running out for them, it was also running out for it. Their foe had to act soon to stop the mission.

 

 

His cornbadge chirped, and the captain answered it, "Bridge." "Captain, this is Lavelle. I think I've found the atmospheric treatment center on Grof's drawings. We ought to be able to access the conduits there and flood the collider with hydrogen." "Fine," answered Picard. "As soon as possible, I'll come down to engineering." He started for the door and turned to Horik. "You have the bridge--maintain position." "Yes, sir," answered the attractive Deltan.

 

 

After leaving the bridge, the captain paused at the top of the spiral staircase, wondering if he had left any loose ends. Everyone was busy working, except for Taurik, and it was time to roust the Vulcan and get him back to work. Picard wanted to make sure that everyone was occupied and no one was alone.

 

 

He descended the stairs and made his way along the deserted corridor. A sudden shadow on the bulkhead made him whirl around, but he saw nothing--except for a bulb flickering in one of the overhead fixtures.

 

 

Picard took a sharp breath, thinking that he had better control his jumpy nerves if he was going to finish this job.

 

 

He walked slowly down the corridor until he reached the door of the dormitory. It slid open at his approach. Inside the large room, it was dark, except for a few dim lights on the ceiling. Ever since they had discovered so many bodies in the dorm, it had engendered uneasy feelings among everyone, Picard included. He put them aside in order to enter the cavernous room, but he kept his hand on the butt of his phaser pistol.

 

 

The room appeared to be empty, except for the pile of cushions in the center where Jozarnay Woil had been sleeping. No one lay there now--it looked deserted.

 

 

Picard paused to tug on his earring, wondering where Taurik had gone. He tapped his combadge.

 

 

"Picard to Taurik." "Taurik here," came the Vulcan's calm voice.

 

 

"Where exactly are you?" asked Picard.

 

 

"In the mess hall with Ro. She woke me up and insisted I get something to eat before going on duty." Picard heard a thud that sounded far away, within the bulkhead. It was probably noise from Geordi's labors, he told himself, even though it sounded as if it came from behind him. Ambient noises could be confusing on an old ship like this, Picard knew.

 

 

"Captain," said the Vulcan, "we thought we could relieve the bridge crew for a few minutes, give them a chance to eat." "Very well," answered Picard, "but I don't want anyone to be alone on this ship." "Understood, sir. I am sorry that I was unavailable after the mind-meld. I am out of practice." "That's all right." The captain walked through the dormitory, his footsteps clapping dully on the deck.

 

 

"Picard out." Back in the corridor, he felt more at ease, although he was convinced that this moment of relative calm wouldn't last long. Somewhere on the ship, someone was plotting their demise, and he had to find them before they took action. But how?

 

 

The only way was to be vigilant--to watch for them to make a move or a mistake. With grim determination, Picard resolved to keep making his rounds. He wanted to observe his crew of misfits, until he found the ultimate misfit.

 

 

Cursing with frustration and biting her gag, Ro Laren rolled over in her dark tomb and stopped kicking on the wall. She had been in an awkward position, with her face to the floor, when she first heard the voice. She hadn't reacted quickly enough, and now it was too late.

 

 

Her throat was burning from the solvents she had digested, but she had managed to coat her gag with the greasy substances. Now she bit with her teeth and probed with her tongue to try to loosen the gag over her mouth. It was working, slowly but surely, and her anguished grunts and cries were getting louder as they escaped from a gap between the gag and her upper lip.

 

 

Her lips raw, she worked her face muscles until they were as sore as the rest of her body. Gradually she freed her mouth and spit out as much of the rank taste as she could.

 

 

Ro slumped back against the wall, unable to really lie down in the narrow confines. She was exhausted, gasping for breath, but now she would be able to make more noise the next time she heard voices out there.

 

 

There was little point in gnawing on her bindings, but she lifted her wrists to her mouth and tried anyway.

 

 

One way or another, I'm going to get out of here.

 

 

Picard stepped around the master display table to get a better look at Lavelle's large graphics. Normally emblazoned with schematics of the Orb of Peace, the screen now displayed schematics of the ten- kilometerlong magneton collider. Seen in three-dimensional, wire-frame vectors, the gleaming skeleton of the artificial wormhole was even more impressive. Picard felt a slight pang that they had to destroy this noble achievement, but that was the nature of war--destroy or be destroyed.

 

 

Several important areas were highlighted, including the accelerator room and the atmospheric controls for the air lines that snaked through the structure. Lavelie demonstrated how he could zoom in on the highlighted areas, showing greater detail.

 

 

"Very impressive," said the captain. "You and Professor Grof work well together." Sam scowled. "As long as we don't have to be in the same room. But I will admit, he knows his stuff. I just took what I know and what he knows--and fancied it up." Picard pointed to the atmospheric controls in the large junction of eight spidery spokes. "You're sure about the atmospheric controls being in here?" "I've never actually been inside," admitted Sam, "but I worked on that module from the outside, when I first got to the prison. We had to carry all of our own air before we finished that junction; but afterwards, we had centralized air on every tether line. Grof could probably tell you more about it." "I'm sure he could," agreed Picard. "But he's been working so cheerfully--for him--that I hate to do anything to spoil his mood." Sam leaned over his table and smiled. "His diagrams filled in a lot of blanks for me. Now I feel I have the big picture of how that place works. Before it was all disjointed. I still don't want to go back there, but it's no longer a metal monster--just a machine." "We're going to put it out of business," vowed Picard.

 

 

"I'm all for that." The captain smiled. "I hate to keep volunteering you, so this is your choice--I'd like you to go with me and Grof on the demolition team." Sam blinked at him, and the captain could see the fear fighting with his sense of duty. "Over to the collider?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

 

 

"Yes. I always believe in having the most knowledgeable people along, and that means you and Grof." "Taurik knows it as well as I do," Sam suggested hopefully.

 

 

"If he volunteers, he'll be in the meteoroid drifting along beside us. I need somebody good in that post, because he'll have to run the transporter and coordinate the mission. He'll also have to decide if it becomes impractical to retrieve one or more of us." "Has Grof volunteered for this yet?" Picard tugged on his earring. "No, I haven't really had a good time to present it to him. But it will have to be soon--less than ten hours to go." "Can we really trust him?" whispered Sam.

 

 

The captain scowled. "I wish I knew who we could trust. Have any of the crew been acting oddly?" Picard could see a moment of indecision flash across Sam's face, as if he would have to answer yes.

 

 

Instead he shook his head. "Not that I've seen." "Well, think about it," ordered the captain. "Our lives depend upon it. If you see anyone acting strangely, report it to me." "No offense, sir, but we're all acting strangely.

 

 

Some of us have been to hell, and now we're going back again." "Does that mean you're going on the demolition team?" asked Picard.

 

 

Sam rubbed his eyes wearily, then smiled. "With you, Captain, it's always business first, dying later." "Dying, only after you've exhausted every other possibility. I'd better check on the bridge." As the captain strode through engineering, he pointed to Hasmek. "Don't think I have forgotten you. I want to get you home, so that you can make a full report." "Only Grofs report is going to get through," grumbled the Romulan, "but at least history will always know who was the Federation's greatest traitor.

 

 

Believe me, Captain, if I were making a report, I would laud your determination in the face of adversity. I know from serving with you that the Federation's defeat will not come easily, even for the Dominion. I only wish you had more time." "We'll make do." The captain headed out the door and strode briskly along the corridor to the spiral staircase. Things seemed to be going too well, as Ro occasionally pointed out. He hoped he ran into the Bajoran at his next stop, because he had a job for her to do.

 

 

Picard climbed the stairs and made the short walk to the bridge. As he entred, Maserelli stiflened at the tactical station. "Hello, Captain." "What's the status of the target?" "Quiet. They seem to be waiting, or down for the night. There is quite a bit of encrypted message traffic.

 

 

If we had a full crew and lots of computer power--" "Keep recording it; maybe we can decode it later." The captain looked around the bridge. Tamla Horik sat at the conn, her back to him, and the viewscreen showed the split image of the collider on one side and the drifting debris of Juno's rings on the other.

 

 

Everything seemed to be in order.

 

 

"Were Ro and Taurik here?" asked the captain.

 

 

"Yes," answered Maserelli, "they relieved us for a meal break, then went back to the escape pod, I believe." "Carry on." Picard left the bridge and briefly patroled the first-deck corridor, which was truncated by the upper level of the cargo hold. There was little in this part of the ship except for a few cubicles, classrooms, and life-support systems. The more time he spent on the Orb of Peace, the more he realized that it was supposed to function as a space-faring monastery. Maybe someday it would again, thought Picard.

 

 

A few cubicles were being used as makeshift sleeping quarters, but they were deserted now.

 

 

Picard went back to the staircase and descended to the second level, where most of his crew was busy working. The traitor on board was still keeping a low profile, still trying to hide his identity for as long as possible, which made Picard's job all the more difficult. If their nemesis waited to make an attack until they were close to launching the decoy, he could cause irreparable harm. They had to flush him out... soon.

 

 

Picard strode down the corridor, noting how deceptively quiet it was in this part of the ship, too. Finally he heard voices coming from the far end of the corridor, and he hurried his step. The hatch to the escape pod was open, and he peered inside to see Geordi, Grof, and Woil hard at work, wiring separate parts of the transporter pad.

 

 

Geordi saw him and rose to his feet. "We're on schedule, Captain. In another half hour, we should be able to start tests. Then we can work on the outside of the decoy." "Good," said the captain, glancing around. "Where are Ro and Taurik?" "Aren't they on the bridge?" asked Geordi. "Ro checked in from there and said she was on relief." "I wish she'd come back," muttered Grof. "We're waiting for those handles she went to get."

 

 

"I can get them," said Geordi, moving toward the hatchway.

 

 

"No," insisted Picard, gently pushing the engineer back into the sphere. 'Tll find her. I don't want anyone to leave their posts." "What's wrong?" asked Grof suspiciously.

 

 

"Professor, I'tl tell you as soon as I know." The captain stepped away from the hatch and tapped his cornbadge. "Picard to Ro." There was no response.

 

 

"Picard to Ro. Come in." Still there was no answer, and the captain frowned and tried again. "Picard to Taurik. Come in." There was no answer, even after he tried repeatedly to raise both of them. In exasperation, Picard slapped his combadge and said, "Picard to bridge." No response came to that summons either. Now all three men in the hatch stopped working, rose uncertainly to their feet, and stared at Picard. "What's going on?" demanded Grof.

 

 

"The combadges appear to be malfunctioning," answered Picard.

 

 

"That's not it," barked Grof. "You suspect Ro of being behind the food replicators, and whatever else you're not telling me about. I'm no fool, Picard-- something has gone seriously wrong, hasn't it?" "There have been irregularities," admitted the captain, "but I don't suspect Ro or anyone else. As long as the work continues in here, our mission is on course." "I don't believe you, Captain," declared Grof, folding his arms obstinately.

 

 

"Then come with me, Grof, and we'll get to the bottom of it." The captain's dour expression made it very clear that he expected the Trill to either help investigate or shut up.

 

 

"I'm coming," said Grof, handing his tools to Geordi. He lumbered through the hatchway and stood beside the captain.

 

 

"La Forge, continue your work, but keep this hatch closed and locked," ordered Picard in no uncertain terms. "Don't open it for anyone but me." He scowled. "On second thought, don't even open it for me, unless I supply the password." Picard stepped into the escape pod and whispered one word into Geordi's ear: "Deflector." La Forge nodded gravely. "Yes, sir." Now the fear was out in the open, thought Picard, and it registered on the faces of all three men. The captain stepped into the corridor and shut the hatch.

 

 

He heard La Forge bolt it from the inside with a clank.

 

 

Grof looked amused. "Captain, do you really think there's a Founder on board?" "I don't know, but it would explain why someone we trust is trying to sabotage our mission." Picard took out his phaser and checked the setting, not even knowing if heavy stun would have an effect on a changeling.

 

 

"That's preposterous," said Grof. "Where could he have come from?" "On the antimatter tanker with you and Lavelie." The Trill chuckled. "Captain, I can assure you, a Founder has better things to do than stow away on a tanker with a bunch of prisoners." "Does he?" asked Picard. "Didn't you say they were always observing us? Testing us. And what's more important to the Dominion than the artificial wormhole and its security?"

 

 

The Trill scratched his beard. "Well, I still say it's either the Romulan or that Maquis." "Right now," replied the captain grimly, "I would very much like to speak to that Maquis. Come on." With phaser drawn, Captain Picard led the way down the corridor. He checked a weapons locker and was dismayed to find it empty--looted of the Ferengi phaser rifles they had stored there. Also, two tricorders were missing. Fortunately, he remembered where he had hidden the Klingon disruptors they had taken off the dead Romulans. No one but he and Ro knew that he had placed them behind a wall panel in the transporter room.

 

 

If the disruptors are still there, then Ro isn't a traitor.

 

 

Grof continued to shake his head doubtfully as he strolled along behind Picard. "So how bad is it? What haven't you told me?" "Someone disabled the subspace beacon and destroyed our explosives and fuses." "What? What/" sputtered the Trill. "And you didn't think I would find that news of interest?" "I also spared you from being interrogated," said Picard, "and for that you can thank me. What you were doing was vital, and I wasn't about to distract you. We can jerry-rig up explosives to use, and we'll fix the beacon later." "I hope there's going to be a 'later.'" Grof shivered as he walked, suddenly looking much more fearful of their plight.

 

 

Picard stopped outside the door to the transporter room, which remained closed with lights blinking, warning that it was inoperative. He cautiously touched the panel near the door and stepped back as it slid open. The transporter room looked empty, as expected, and Picard slowly walked in. He noted the gaping hole in the transporter platform where a pad had been removed for transplant in the decoy. The control console was also open, and loose wires dangled from its disassembled components.

 

 

"Look at that," muttered Grof, "we destroyed our own transporter room. Didn't need any help." Picard hoped that decision wouldn't come back to haunt them, but the deed was done--the transporter room was inoperative. He hurried behind the rear screen of the transporter platform.

 

 

"Captain, where are you going?" called Grof nervously.