PICARD WAS PACING the bridge of the Stargazer like a caged cat when at last he heard what he had been waiting for.

“Sir,” said Gerda, “sensors have identified a vessel. It appears to be the Antares.”

Finally, the captain thought. “On screen.”

A moment later, he saw the ship they had been sent to find. But she wasn’t as Picard had seen her last. Then, the Antares had fairly bristled with power and grace. Now she was hanging in space, her hull dented and charred by what was clearly weapons fire, looking for all the world as if she had been abandoned. Even her observation ports were unlit.

“Life signs?” he asked, less than eager to hear the answer.

“Quite a few,” said Gerda, much to Picard’s relief. “Maybe as many as a hundred.”

It was good news. The Antares had set out with a crew of a hundred and eight.

“Do they have power?” the captain asked.

Gerda called up another sensor report. “Barely. Enough to run life-support in a few parts of the ship.”

That explained how Vayishra’s crew had survived. But if the Stargazer hadn’t arrived when she did, they might not have survived much longer.

“Try hailing them,” said Picard.

There was no answer.

But then, communications might have been one of the systems damaged in the attack. And if the crew was restricted to certain areas, it would have been difficult to effect repairs.

“Commander Wu,” he said, accessing the ship’s intercom system, “this is the captain. We have located the Antares.”

“What kind of shape is she in?” asked Wu.

“Not as bad as she might have been. I want you to take a team over. Identify the injured and have them beamed back to sickbay. Then assist the others in effecting repairs.”

“Right away, sir,” said the second officer, probably already on her way to the nearest turbolift.

Picard frowned. He was eager to hear what had happened in Captain Vayishra’s own words—assuming the fellow was still alive.

Ulelo had been thinking for a long time about the period he had spent with his masters—thinking hard—when he realized there was someone standing in front of his cell.

And it wasn’t Commander Wu, for a change. Much to Ulelo’s surprise, it was his friend, Emily Bender.

Ulelo looked into her eyes and wondered how she would respond to what he had done. He wondered what she would say.

It was a moment he had attempted to picture long before his treachery was discovered. The prospect of his friend looking down on him as he sat there in the brig had almost kept him from transmitting the Stargazer’s specs.

Almost.

But Ulelo had gone ahead with his transmissions anyway. And now, much to his discomfort, he would have an opportunity to see if the reality of his present situation had anything in common with his expectations.

After a moment, Emily Bender was joined by Lieutenant Pfeffer, who tapped in the code that deactivated the electromagnetic barrier, and let Ulelo’s friend into his cell. Then Pfeffer raised the barrier again and withdrew.

It left the prisoner alone with Emily Bender. Unlike the second officer, Ulelo’s friend sat beside him on his bed. Her expression—one of sadness and uncertainty—almost made Ulelo wish that his visitor had been Wu after all.

But Emily Bender didn’t say the sort of things he had dreaded to hear from her. When she finally spoke, her tone was unexpectedly kind and understanding.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m…fine,” Ulelo told her.

She looked at him a moment longer. Then she said, “Whatever happened, Dikembe, I know it’s not your fault. You would never willingly do what they say you’ve done.”

He didn’t know what she meant. He said so.

“If you sent those messages,” Emily Bender explained, “you must have been under the influence of someone else. You must have been their puppet.”

“Their puppet?” he repeated.

“Uh-huh. Is that what happened, Dikembe? Were you under somebody else’s control?”

He didn’t know what to say.

Emily Bender put her hand on Ulelo’s. “It’s all right, Dikembe. Just remember, I’m still behind you. All your friends are behind you. You’re not alone in this.”

She said other things as well, comforting things. But all the com officer could think about was the possibility that Emily Bender had suggested to him….

“Is that what happened, Dikembe? Were you under somebody else’s control?”

After a while, Emily Bender left, assuring Ulelo that she would be back. Pfeffer restored the electromagnetic barrier and the com officer found himself alone again.

And he had even more to think about than before—because he was no longer just trying to remember the time he had spent with his masters. Now he was also trying to recall why he had agreed to work for them.

But he couldn’t.

He wasn’t drawn to anyone else’s way of life. He didn’t believe he owed anybody anything. And yet, he had felt compelled to do what had been asked of him, to the detriment of his comrades. He had felt it was a necessary endeavor—worth the price of his freedom, not to mention the trust of his friends.

He had been sure of that, if little else. Absolutely sure.

But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine why he had been so sure. And for that reason, he had to entertain the possibility that Emily Bender was right—that he had been manipulated against his will.

That he was, in her words, a puppet.

Avul Vayishra was a tall, darkly complected man with a black goatee. He had been one of Admiral McAteer’s favorite captains from the day the admiral took over administration of the sector. McAteer had described Vayishra as a natural leader, a paragon of Starfleet efficiency.

But Vayishra didn’t look like a paragon of efficiency at the moment. As he sat warming his hands around a steaming cup of coffee, he just looked stunned.

“They cut through our shields as if they weren’t even there,” he said, his voice thinned by cold and fatigue. “And when we fired back, our weapons barely slowed them down. There wasn’t much we could do except try to hold on.”

Picard, who was sitting opposite his colleague in an otherwise empty set of crewman’s quarters, considered Vayishra’s tale. It was very much in keeping with the distress calls transmitted by the Cochise and the Gibraltar.

“Unfortunately,” said Picard, “I may have an explanation for the aliens’ superiority.” And uncomfortable as it was for him, he went on to describe Ulelo’s activities.

Vayishra’s eyes opened wide. “Do you know what you’re saying? The magnitude of it? This could be disastrous.”

“I am aware of that,” said Picard.

The other man looked vaguely accusatory. “I assume you’ve passed this on to Starfleet Command?”

“I have,” Picard confirmed. “I alerted them as soon as I learned of the aliens’ attacks.”

Vayishra looked up at him. “There were others?”

“The Cochise and the Gibraltar seem to have encountered the same aliens you did. They managed to send out distress calls, but that was the last we heard from them.”

“What about your shuttle? And the admiral?”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

Vayishra scowled into the depths of his cup. “I hope they got off easier than the Antares.”

So did Picard. He had hoped for good news, but at least he hadn’t gotten any bad.

“It seems a miracle,” he said, “that none of your crewpeople was killed.”

Vayishra shook his head, a look of disgust taking over. “No. Not a miracle at all. If those aliens had wished to destroy us, they would have done it.”

Picard empathized with Vayishra’s pain. “Then what do you suppose they were after? Your cargo, perhaps?”

“We weren’t carrying anything out of the ordinary,” Vayishra told him. “And what we were carrying is still intact. The bastards didn’t so much as pry open a canister.”

“Your weapons, then?” Picard suggested. There was a large, thriving black market for Starfleet ordnance. “Or some component of your propulsion system?”

“They left all of that untouched. Not that there was much left of value when they got through with us.”

It was maddening. “So they crippled your ship, boarded it, and then left? There must be more to it.”

“I’m sure there is,” said Vayishra, with a hint of resentment in his voice.

Picard hadn’t meant to offend anyone. “My apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to imply that you were taking this lightly.”

“Believe me,” Vayishra continued, “it’s not as if I haven’t thought about this over and over again. It’s been on my mind every waking minute.”

“I believe you,” said Picard.

Vayishra looked at him with dark, haunted eyes, and went on as if his colleague hadn’t spoken. “But if there is a rational reason for what they did, I have yet to find it.”

Picard just nodded.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Greyhorse whispered.

Gerda’s expression, as she filled the entrance to his office, indicated that she disagreed. “You’re a physician,” she said, keeping her voice low enough so that no one elsewhere in sickbay could hear her. “You examined Ulelo. And you came to the conclusion that he was acting out a fantasy—which we now know was very real.”

“But I’m not a counselor,” Greyhorse complained. “I don’t have any training in psychodynamics—I told the captain that. He just refused to listen.”

“You were asked to rise to the occasion,” Gerda snapped, “and you failed. Miserably.”

Miserable was how the doctor felt—and not just because Gerda was reviling him. He had given the captain, and in a sense the entire fleet, a false sense of security—one that might eventually end up costing them the Federation.

No one could be sure that a warning would have saved the Antares or any of the other ships that were attacked, or that it would have put the fleet in a better position. But by the same token, no one could say otherwise.

It was a terrible feeling—like a knife in his gut, always twisting. But as deep as it cut, Gerda’s disapproval cut even deeper. She was a Klingon, after all, in every way but blood. She didn’t look kindly on failure, or those guilty of it.

“A warrior doesn’t make excuses,” said Gerda. “It only makes things worse.”

Greyhorse’s mouth clamped shut. But if he couldn’t explain what had happened, how could he regain her trust—her confidence? How could he restore himself in her eyes?

The answer was as clear to him as the rank of biobeds behind Gerda, which were full of sedated crewmen from the Antares: He couldn’t. He could only hope for a chance to prove his courage.

“Will I see you later?” he asked, dreading the answer.

She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, her eyes narrowed in high contempt. And after a moment or two, she left.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Greyhorse whispered, though there was no one left to hear it.

But of course, it was.

Having returned from the Antares, Wu was on her way to the brig to speak with Ulelo again when she heard someone call her name. Looking back, she saw that Lieutenant Bender was trying to catch up with her.

“Can I speak with you a moment?” Bender asked.

“Of course,” said the second officer. She gave some thought to the most convenient place. “My quarters?”

“Sure,” said Bender.

A turbolift ride later, they were sitting in Wu’s anteroom, looking at each other across a bamboo coffee table. “What did you want to speak about?” asked the second officer.

“Ulelo,” said Bender, “what else?”

What else indeed.

“I just spent some time with him,” said Bender, “and something occurred to me. If he sent out those transmissions, which I still can’t believe, he couldn’t have done it of his own volition. Someone had to have programmed him.”

Wu weighed the possibility. It made as much sense—or as little—as any other theory she had considered. “I don’t suppose you have any proof of this?”

“Not a shred. But if you know Ulelo, it’s the only explanation for what he’s done.”

“Well,” said Wu, “I am interested in why Mister Ulelo did what he did. However, I’m more interested in the people those transmissions were meant for.”

“The captain asked me about them too,” Bender noted, “but I still don’t have a clue. Ulelo doesn’t seem to be able to keep them straight in his mind.”

Unforunately, Wu knew that from experience. But maybe that would change this time. Maybe Ulelo would shed some light on the Federation’s mysterious assailants.

And help to undo some of the damage he had done.