BEN ZOMA HAD ADVISED that the D’prayl’s patience wouldn’t last long. So when Picard heard from Greyhorse, he left the bridge and the alien vessels amassed against him, and hurried down to sickbay.

The doctor met him at the door. “Have you found something?” the captain asked.

“Take a look,” said Greyhorse, showing him a padd with a still image on its tiny screen—a picture of a white line on a flesh-colored field.

Picard studied it. “What is it?”

“A scar,” said Greyhorse, “less than a millimeter in length—so small that I would never have found it unless I was looking for it. And it appears it’s surgical in origin.”

“Which,” said the captain, “would seem to support the story Commander Ben Zoma brought back with him.”

“It would,” Greyhorse agreed.

Ulelo’s internal organs had appeared human on scans. Likewise, his biochemistry. But the aliens hadn’t bothered to hide the scars, tiny as they were.

Picard nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Greyhorse.

“Take the next step,” said the captain, “and see what happens.”

Ulelo was sitting upright on a biobed. He looked tired, despite the sedatives that had been administered.

“Lieutenant,” said Picard.

Ulelo regarded him with what seemed like trepidation. But then, he had been through a great deal of pain, and he had no reason to believe it was over.

“Captain,” he said, inviting Picard to add yet another wrinkle to his uncertainty.

Picard frowned. “This is difficult to explain, so I hope you will listen closely.”

Ulelo seemed to understand what was being asked of him. “All right.”

Here we go, Picard thought. “As you know, we have run some medical tests on you. Through those tests, we have determined with a high degree of confidence that—despite appearances to the contrary—you are not one of us.”

The patient’s eyes screwed up as if he were in pain. “What do you mean not one of you?”

“You are not even human,” said the captain, as gently as possible. “You are a member of a species that calls itself D’prayl.”

Ulelo shook his head from side to side. “No…”

“It is true,” Picard insisted. “And your people have given us what they say is proof—in the form of a code word, which is supposed to enable you to remember who you are.”

“No!” the patient snapped, scrambling backward on his bed like a crab. “I don’t want to remember anything. I’m Dikembe Ulelo. I’m a com officer.”

“Then in all likelihood, their code word will not affect you,” the captain said. “And it will not matter if you are exposed to it.”

Ulelo’s gaze was uncertain, fearful. “It won’t hurt me?”

“No,” said Picard. “I do not believe so.”

The com officer still seemed uncertain. “I want to talk to Emily Bender,” he said.

It was too reasonable a request to deny. The captain nodded. “All right, if that is what you want. I will ask her to join us.”

Bender entered sickbay a little tentatively, joining Captain Picard. But then, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with what he was asking her to do.

Picard didn’t know for certain that the word he uttered would break down Ulelo’s mental block. He had made that clear. He was depending on the sincerity of the aliens—the same people who had been crippling Starfleet ships.

Doctor Greyhorse had found some scars behind Ulelo’s ears. But they didn’t prove anything, really—only that the aliens had operated on Ulelo, back when they were preparing him for his mission.

For all Bender knew, the aliens’ word would destroy what was left of her friend’s mind—and keep Starfleet from knowing what the invaders were really after. Or maybe it would trigger some other response, which would render Ulelo even more dangerous to his colleagues.

But there was also that other possibility, the one in which the captain seemed to believe—that if Ulelo was an alien, they would be doing him a disservice by not saying the word.

What should I do? Bender asked herself as she approached her friend, Captain Picard, and Doctor Greyhorse. What would I want Ulelo to do if it were me sitting on that biobed?

“Emily Bender,” said her friend as she stopped in front of him.

She smiled. “It’s me, all right. How are you?”

Ulelo glanced at Picard. “A little disturbed by what the captain has told me.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bender said. “I’d be disturbed too.”

Her friend looked into her eyes, seeking wisdom there. “What should I do?”

She smiled. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Ulelo looked disappointed. But the captain’s expression didn’t change. Possibily, he knew she wasn’t done speaking.

“But,” said Bender, “I can tell you what I would do, if I’d been having the problems you’ve been having. I’d take a chance that the aliens are telling the truth.”

Her friend winced. “But what if they’re right? What if I really am one of them?”

That’s what he was afraid of! Not the possibility that the aliens were going to trash his mind, or turn him into a weapon of some kind, but the chance that he would be exposed as an alien himself.

And the more Bender thought about it, the more she understood. To lose one’s identity was to die, in a sense. And like anyone else, Ulelo didn’t want to die.

“Then you need this,” she said, “or you’ll never be free.”

Her friend looked at her for a moment, weighing what she had said. Then he turned to Picard and said, in a voice quivering with trepidation, “All right.”

Picard had been instructed by Ben Zoma to administer the aural trigger in a controlled setting. The aliens had recommended low light, quiet, and that no one else be present except Ulelo and the person uttering the word.

And if the word did what Bender had feared, and attacked Ulelo’s mind somehow? There would be nothing Picard could do about it. But as he had told Ulelo, he didn’t believe the procedure would place him in any danger.

“Ready?” he asked Ulelo.

The fellow nodded. “I think so.”

Picard spoke the word slowly and carefully, exactly as Ben Zoma had trained him to say it. Then he waited.

The com officer blinked. Hard. Obviously, the D’prayl word had had an effect on him. But was it the effect that Ben Zoma had predicted?

“Are you all right?” the captain asked.

Ulelo didn’t answer. He just stared at Picard, his head tilted slightly to the side.

“Lieutenant?” said the captain.

Ulelo frowned at him. “I’m not a lieutenant. I’m a D’prayl. And I want to go home.”

It was eerie to hear him say such a thing. And yet, it was the result Picard had both expected and hoped for. Suddenly, Ulelo wasn’t out of his mind—he was just an alien in an unfamiliar place. And just as suddenly, the captain had the key he needed to save both sides a great deal of bloodshed.

“I will do everything in my power,” he said, “to help you accomplish that.”

“Captain?” It was Wu’s voice, coming through the intercom.

It had to be an urgent matter if she was interrupting him. He had left strict orders to the contrary.

Looking up at the grid embedded in the ceiling, he said, “Yes, Commander?”

“Sir,” said his second officer, “some of the D’prayl vessels are repositioning themselves. It appears that they’re moving into an attack formation.”

Damn, thought Picard.

“Your orders?” asked Wu.

“Stand by,” said the captain. “I am on my way.”

En route to the turbolift, he contacted sickbay, Pug Joseph, and the transporter room—in that order. If he and his people moved quickly, they might yet make it in time.