CAPTAIN SESBALLA STOOD beside his bed in his sleeping clothes, and listened to his com officer over the Exeter’s intercom system.

“It didn’t come from any Starfleet vessel,” said Ottamanelli. “In fact, it wasn’t transmitted by any communication system I’ve ever heard of.”

“Can you read it?” the captain asked.

“I already have,” said Ottamanelli. “Not all of it, of course, but enough to know how important it could be.”

She had piqued his interest. “What does it say?”

There was a pause. “You won’t believe it.”

“Do you know Dikembe Ulelo?” asked Otholannin.

Ben Zoma felt that he was building trust. He decided to give a little to get a little. “I do. He’s an officer on my vessel. Why do you ask?”

“Because he is one of us,” said the alien.

Ben Zoma looked at him, finding it hard to digest the answer. “I beg your pardon?”

“Several months ago, my people snared the true Dikembe Ulelo at what you would call a ‘shore leave’ site, identified through our trading contacts in this sector. Since it catered to a wide variety of species, our operatives had been able to remain there for an extended period of time until an appropriate subject appeared.”

“And Ulelo was an appropriate subject?” Ben Zoma asked, trying to understand.

“Yes, because he was of your species. After our operatives abducted him, they again called on our trading partners to transport Ulelo to our forwardmost facility. That was where he was interrogated. But he refused to give my people the information they required of him.”

Ben Zoma was starting to get it. “So you sent Starfleet one of your people instead—someone surgically altered to look like Ulelo, who could get the information for you.”

“That is correct. And he did. He collected information on your vessel’s various systems—in particular, the tactical ones—and periodically transmitted it back to those who dispatched him. And to make it easier for him to deceive you, he was programmed to forget his true identity—to believe that he was, in fact, a human named Dikembe Ulelo.”

Ben Zoma’s mind raced with the implications. If Ulelo was a D’prayl, an alien had been in their midst for months without their knowing it.

This was getting harder and harder to believe. Then it dawned on Ben Zoma…the ease with which the aliens had handled the Federation’s ships, hardly taking any damage in the process…

It could have come from an intimate knowledge of Starfleet technology. And that knowledge could have come from Dikembe Ulelo, a man the first officer had seen a hundred times and never suspected of anything underhanded.

No, he corrected himself, not a man. An alien disguised as one, as strange as that seemed.

“This espionage,” the alien continued, “was part of a plan to conquer your Federation and take over its territories.”

Tell me something I don’t know, thought Ben Zoma. “I hope you don’t think we’ll be as easy to take apart as those first few ships you encountered.”

“We encountered no ships, nor did we take any apart,” Otholannin explained. “Those who did are members of a different D’prayl subspecies. Its leaders, who have long been known for their aggressive ways, were in power at the time.” He thrust his chin out. “But they are in power no longer.

“My own subspecies has chosen not to continue the others’ plans. We have no desire to conquer your territories. However, we need to retrieve the one you call Ulelo, whom we know as Rethuin, as he is a kinsman of our highest leader, our First of Firsts.”

It sounded like a strange choice for such a risky mission. The human said so.

“My subspecies,” said Otholannin, “the one of which Rethuin is a member, is the one that resembles your own. So it had to be one of us who was planted among you. As for why Rethuin was conscripted…we still do not know. Maybe because the other subspecies wished to give offense to our First of Firsts.”

“So your attacks on our ships…have been attempts to find and retrieve this Rethuin?”

The First One confirmed it.

“But why,” asked Ben Zoma, “didn’t you just ask?”

Otholannin grunted. “Had we parlayed with you, we would have risked the possibility that you would have used Rethuin as a pawn against us.”

“Is that what you would have done?”

“Were our situations reversed,” said the D’prayl, “we would certainly have considered it.”

Well, thought Ben Zoma, that’s honest.

“You can call off the attacks,” he said. “If Ulelo is who and what you say he is, we can work out a peaceful way to restore him to you.”

“It may be too late for that,” said Otholannin. “At this very moment, we are preparing to attack a large cluster of your ships. Until now, we have attempted to avoid fatalities. But in a battle of this magnitude, there is certain to be blood shed.”

It wasn’t a boast, as far as Ben Zoma could tell. It was just the way Otholannin saw the situation.

“There must be a way to prevent it,” he said.

“We need to retrieve Rethuin,” the D’prayl replied.

“I can take care of that,” Ben Zoma told him. At least, he added silently, I think I can. “But if I do, I need you to stop your people from proceeding with their attack.”

The D’prayl frowned. “It is not my decision. It is for the First of Firsts to decide. But I warn you—he will only relent if he is absolutely certain that his kinsman will be placed in his hands.”

“He will be,” said Ben Zoma. “I’ll see to it myself. But I’ll need a vessel of some kind, and some instructions on how to pilot it. And a few…supplies.”

As Picard eyed the image on the viewscreen, he felt strangely compelled to sit back and laugh.

With more than thirty ships at Sesballa’s disposal, the Starfleet defense formation had hoped to enjoy at least a numbers advantage when the enemy appeared. But Picard could see now that even that would be denied them.

The invaders depicted on the screen were every bit as numerous as those lined up to oppose them. And of course, they hadn’t lost a single engagement yet.

Hence, the compulsion to laugh—which, of course, the captain resisted. He didn’t want to spoil what little chance he had of bringing his crew through the battle alive.

“Captain,” said Paxton, “Captain Sesballa would like to speak with you in your ready room.”

No doubt, thought Picard, to prepare me for what is ahead. He wondered if Sesballa was contacting all his colleagues, or just the youngest one.

“Inform him that I will be there in a moment,” he said, and made his way to his ready room.