NIGHTSHADE

LAURELL K. HAMILTON

dChapter One

s

DEANNA TRoi stood at a viewport gazing at the stars. They were

utterly still-cold, harsh light without a planet's atmosphere to

make them twinkle. Troi had sought out this empty corridor and its

fine view of the stars. She wanted a few minutes to compose herself

before going to the bridge.

The ship was orbiting the planet, 0riana. Generations of civil

war had nearly destroyed the planet and its people. Troi wanted to

take the unperturbed peace of the stars with her Onto the bridge.

The ship's counselor had to be calm, relaxed, ready to serve.

"What are you looking at, Counselor?"

She jumped and whirled. "Wor?, you frightened me."

The Klingon officer frowned, which was a fearsome sight all on

its own. "I did not intend to."

Troi smiled. "I know."

The frown deepened, causing the ridges on his forehead to

wrinkle. He nodded.

His emotions, as always, were close to the surface of his

thoughts. The klingon made very little pretense in his own

mind. Unlike humans who oflen lied even to

themselves, the lLIingon thought what he

thought, and did not care that she knew it. It didn't make Worf

uncomfortable to be around an empath the way it did Some of the

crew, Worf had no secrets to keep because Secrets implied

shame.

Trol appreciated his openness, She smiled. "You asked what I

was looking at." She motioned him to the window.

Worf stood beside her, hands clasped behind his back, broad

shoulders filling the window. Troi knew she was not tall, but

beside the ILlingon she felt tiny. "Aren't the Stars

beautiful?" she asked.

He shifted, slightly, Troi could feel his puzzlement. "I do not

understand."

A human might have lied, but at least this IClingon said what

he felt. "I was gazing at the Stars and thinking how lovely they

are."

Worf stared out into the cold blackness, the stars like chips

of ice caught in velvet. "I see Stars," he said at last.

"But don't you think they're beautiful?" She glanced up at him

in time to see the same fearsome Scowl.

"They are Stars. I Suppose Some might think they are. pretty."

Troi smiled. "I think they are.'

He nodded.

Troi could feel laughter at the back of her throat.

2

NIGHTSHADE

But she swallowed it. You did not laugh at friends, especially

when they were trying to be polite.

Captain Picard's voice came out of empty air, "Counselor Troi,

please report to the bridge."

Troi hit her communicator. "I'm on my way, Captain."

"Worf here, Captain. Is my presence required?"

"It would be most appreciated, Lieutenant."

Troi felt the smile in the captain's voice.

"We are on our way, Captain," Worf said.

Worf strode toward the nearest turbolift. Troi had to quick

step to keep up with him. "We weren't scheduled to speak with the

Orianians for another hour," she said, "What could it be?"

"I do not know." Inside the smooth whiteness of the turbolift

Worf said, "Bridge." The lift vibrated, then began to move.

Troi could feel Captain Picard's agitation. He was worried.

She did not share her findings with Worf. She could read the

emotions of everyone on board. It was simple courtesy not to

reveal what she felt to others. It would have been like telling

secrets you had learned eavesdropping.

The turbolift door whooshed open. The bridge of the Enterprise

spread out before them, all graceful curves, neutral carpeting. It

looked like an executive boardroom more than the bridge of a

starship. A place for conferences not confrontations.

On the main viewscreen was the picture of a man. The skin was pale

gold. The facial bones were high and delicate, almost birdlike. The

face was dominated by huge liquid brown eyes. The large eyes and the

delicate face made the man seem childlike. The effect was Spoiled by

his deep voice and the injuries to that lovely face.

The right side of his face was battered and bleeding. He held stiff

one arm at his side. His pain hit Troi like a physical shove, She

staggered. Worf caught her arm.

"Are you all right, Counselor?" he asked.

She nodded. Troi realized that it wasn't just the general's

physical pain but his anger. He was full of a great roaring outrage

at what had been done to him.

Worf's hand was a steady, solid presence. She took a deep breath

and stepped away from him. "I'm fine." Now that she was prepared,

Troi could ride the pain and the rage. Everyone'5 attention was

fixed on the viewscreen, no one but Worf had seen her momentary

weakness. Troi was grateful for that. It was inexcusable to allow

other peopleS' emotions to throw her so badly. Composing herself,

she moved to take her seat on Captain Picard's left.

The battered man on the screen said, "I have honored you beyond our

customs by allowing you to see my face. I hoped it would convince you.

Our enemies, the Venturies are determined to stop these peace talks.

Captain Picard, please reconsider. It is far, far too dangerous to

risk a Federation ambassa. dor. You see what they have done to me." He

raised his good hand to emphasize the cuts on his face. "If it had not

been for my bodyguards, I would not be speaking to you now."

"I assure you, General Basha, that I will take all precautions for

my safety. But I do not intend to allow terrorists to derail these

negotiation5 before they even begin," Captain Picard said in his

careful accent.

4

NIGHTSHADE

"Captain, please, I want these talks to go on as scheduled. Our

scientists say we have only a decade at most before our planet can no

longer sustain life. This civil war has devastated our lands and our

people. B,,ut I cannot ask you to give your life in our war.

"That is commendable, General, but. .

"At least promise you will bring bodyguards," the general said.

Captain Picard sighed. "If you believe it to be necessary."

General Basha stared at Picard, his brown eyes looking suddenly

tired. "My second in command was assassinated yesterday evening,

Captain Picard. If you insist on coming down here, then yes, by all

means, bring bodyguards."

Captain Picard nodded. "I am sorry for your loss." Basha made a

small push-away gesture with his good hand. "It happens, Captain.

Our war has lasted two hundred years, it happens. I will meet you as

soon as I have been attended to."

"Do you need any medical assistance?" Picard asked.

"Thank you, but no, our medical facilities are quite good. I pray

that you do not find out how good." With that the screen went blank.

"Well," Picard said, "what do you make of that, Number One?"

Commander William Riker's round, bearded face frowned. "I

request permission to act as ambassador to Oriana."

"Why, Number One, trying to steal some of my thunder?" Picard

smiled slightly as he said it.

"Captain, two assassination attempts in twenty-

four hours, one death. It's too dangerous to risk your life."

"I disagree. This planet is dying, Will. If this war is not

stopped, the Orianians are facing genocide, I have been

requested as ambassador, and that is what I am going to be."

"With all,

dangerous,' respect, Captain," Riker said, "it is too

"I agree with Commander Riker," Worf said, leaning over his

console to loom above the captain's chair.

"I appreciate the concern, but I will not be fright. ened

off."

Riker frowned. "Then at least take a full security complement."

"I have every intention of taking security with me, Will. I am not

eager to fall prey to an assassin's attack."

"It is still very dangerous, Captain," Worf said.

Picard scooted his chair so he could see his Security Olficer. "Are

you saying, Lieutenant Worf, that your security Personnel could not

see to my safety?"

Worf Stiffened. "I did not say that."

Picard smiled. "Good. Pick three people and meet me in the

transporter room in an hour."

"Very good, Captain," Worf said. He didn't salute, of course,

but Troi could hear it in his voice, a growl of respect. He left

the bridge to gather his security team.

"Only two guards, Captain?" Riker asked.

"I am not going to take another army down on the planet, There

are quite enough armed camps down there already." He turned to

Troi. "What did you think of General Basha, Counselor?"

6

NIGHTSHADE

"He was in a great deal of pain, but hid it well. He is very

strong, both physically and emotionally. He feels sorrow over the

death of his second-in-command. He is full of great rage, and he

was lying about wanting the talks to go on as scheduled."

"In what way?"

Troi tried to put into words something that would have been so

much easier to just share. If the captain had been a Betazoid,

Troi could have simply let him feel it. She always struggled to

explain what was to her very simple. "Much of his anger was about

the attacks, but there was also anger about the treaty

negotiations."

Picard steepled his fingers, tips touching his chin. "He is a

military general, Counselor. Without a war, he is out of work."

"True, but I felt . . .-' she spread her hands in a helpless

gesture. "He was hiding something. Some deception. Something to

do with the negotiations."

"Perhaps the general's faction plans to retaliate for the

death of his second-in-command," Riker suggested.

Picard glanced at him. "More assassination?"

Riker nodded.

"Could that be it, Counselor?" Picard asked. Troi tried to

recall the feelings. It was like trying to remember dreams

Some things were clear others faded the harder you tried to

catch them. "It's possible."

Picard nodded. "The sooner we get these talks underway the

sooner we can put an end to this nonsense. Counselor Troi,

please accompany me to the surface. I think your insight may be

invaluable on this mission."

Troi smiled at that. She followed Picard's Jean figure into

the turbolift. The last thing she felt as the doors closed was

Riker's worry over her safety. Duty and friendship made him worry

Over the captain, but there was more to his worry over Troi. They

were no longer a couple, but the thought of her in danger

troubled him a great deal, she knew.

Troi sighed. The past was past. The future was Oriana and its

two waiting armies. if Captain Picard failed, it meant not just

the death of an entire race of people, but of a planet as well.

Everything would die. Every animal, every plant. it was only a

matter of years. Deanna Troi wondered what the minds of a dying

race would feel like. if she were an Orianian, she would be

afraid, very afraid. Afraid and full of hate. Yes, if General

Basha was typical, there would be hate.

8

Chapter Two

THE PLANET ORlANA filled the viewscreen. It was a great shining,

silverish ball. Occasional bands of sickly green swirled through

the cloud cover, like gangrenous fingers. Picard and Troi stared

at the small viewscreen in the transporter room. The captain

touched his communicator. "Data, what is the atmosphere of Oriana

like?"

"It is outside the acceptable range of breathable atmosphere

without some sort of filter or breathing apparatus. The

atmosphere does not protect the surface from the sun's radiation.

Blindness is possible within hours of surface exposure. Skin

cancer would be almost a given in such a radiation field, after

an exceptionally short exposure."

Picard sighed. "What about animal life?"

"Surface life is restricted to a few species of anthropoids, two

species of reptilianlike predators, and one

larger omriaamnitna;.,, predator. And two hundred

thousand ian

"OnlY two hundred thouSand, Mr. Data, are you

sure?

"Yes, Captain."

o'

"Thank you, Data," Picard said. He turned to Troi.

-"Well, Counselor, now I know why General Basha's coordinates

are indoors. It seems this planet is on the verge of death."

She nodded. "Now that we are orbiting the planet I can feel

many minds. They are very afraid, Captain."

He gazed down at the Poisonous gray-silver ball that had

once been a class-M planet. "They have a right to be afraid."

The doors whooshed Open, and Lieutenant Worf stepped

through. Three security guards were at his back. "Captain, we

are ready.

The three security guards fanned out and stood at attention on

either side of Worf. Ensign kelly was a woman nearly as tall as

the klingon himself. Beside her stood Ensign Conner, a slightly

shorter man with skin the color of ebony, almost Purple in its

darkness. His broad shoulders led into a thick neck, signs of

weight-lifting. The last guard, Lieutenant Vincient, was tall and

thin, with Shoflcrnppe hair.

Picard pulled a breathing mask from the small Plastic box in

front of the transporter pad. It would cover the face completely.

Goggles were sewn into the breathing mask to form one Protective

unit. It didn't look Particularly cOmfortable. He had wondered

why they needed breathing masks if they would be beam ing

indoors. The answer had been, in case of accidents. They could

survive for a time without

protective clothing, but no time at all without the masks.

Picard slipped the mask on. It fit tightly, and there was a

faint medicinal smell to it, but Dr. Crusher had assured them all

that it was not only safe but necessary. Picard agreed with the

doctor especially after hearing Data's previous description of

the planet's atmosphere.

The others pulled their own masks into place. Troi stood to

Picard's left, much as she always did on the bridge. Worf had

moved just behind the captain, again unconsciously taking his

position on the bridge. Finally, the three security people took

up stations to either side.

Glancing at the white-masked face, Picard noted that the masks

made his people look... impersonal. He suddenly realized how

very much humans relied on facial expressions.

He nodded to the technician at the control panel. "Engage."

There was the same high-pitched sound as always, then a

sensation as if a hand were tickling the inside of his body,

where no hand could ever reach. Then Picard's eyes refocused to

see a stone courtyard covered by a multicolored dome. Bits of

colored glass and ceramic tile formed a pattern under their

feet like a rainbow gone mad. Just looking down at it was

dizzying.

A dozen armed figures stood around the courtyard. They wore

swirling black-and-gold robes, their faces hidden behind

breathing masks and goggles. Riflelike weapons were held at

attention but not pointed at them.

Worf and his Security people had moved to stand

around Picard and Troi like a cage. Phasers were out, but not

Pointed yet.

"'Who is in charge here? We did not intend to beam down into an

armed camP," Picard said.

A robed figure stePPed from the dark.

Worf stePPed in front of the caPtain.

The robed figure slung the rifle over one Shoulder. A black gloved

hand Sketched a salute. "Welcome, CaPtain Picard of the

StarshipEnterprise, Ambassador of the United Federation of Planets. I

am Colonel Talanne, wife of General Basha. As for the weaPons, they

are for your protection as much as my Own. My husband feared you would

not take enough precautions. But I see he was wrong."Picard Stared

at the woman. Her face was comPletely hidden. If the voice had not

been so distinctly female, he would not even have known that. "At

ease, Lieutenant."

Worf stepped back grudgingly. His People followed his lead but did

not holster their Phasers. The robed guards did not holster their

rifles, either.

"I am honored, Colonel Talanne. We share your Sorrow for recent

events."

"Thank you, Captain, you are most kind." She waved her hand, and the

armed figures fell into two lines, one on either Side of the group.

The fbur security guards formed a phalanx around the captain and Troi,

facing slightly Outward. "Put up your weapons, Lieutenant Worf"

"Captain, I do not think that is wise. If assassina tions are so

Simple then how can anyone be trusted?"

Picard stepped Close to Worf, coming barely to the Klingon's chest.

"You will not insult Our hostess by insinuating she is a traitor."

"It is not her I am worried about, Captain," Worf whispered, his deep

voice made more so by the effort not to be overheard.

"We cannot begin a peace mission with weapons drawn, Lieutenant."

Troi said, "I sense no treachery in these people, Worf."

Worf frowned at her.

"Put up your weapons, Lieutenant Worf. That is a direct order."

"Aye, Captain." He holstered his phaser, as did his people.

"His caution is commendable, Captain Picard," Talanne said. "I

would trust the people here in this circle with his own life. But

finding a dozen people

is getting to a

She turned and walked toward a low doorway. The door was painted

to resemble a dark red flower complete with yellow stamen and a

tiny insect on one petal. The image clashed with the bright

courtyard. Individual tastes did vary.

Picard started to follow her, but Worf moved in front of him. Picard

sighed as he followed his security officer's brna'd back. The three

remaining guards took up their posts to either side of Picard and

Counselor Troi. This mission was going to be hard enough without Worf

taking his safety so terribly seriously. It was not that Picard did

not appreciate his own possible danger, but how was he to negotiate

peace when his own people were so obviously ready to fight? He

wondered if Commander Riker had had a parting word with Worf. Riker

took his duty to protect his captain very seriously.

Of course, if Picard insisted on lesser safety measures and was

killed for it. . Well, he would never hear the end of it, so to

sPeak.

Troi followed the captain. The security guards to either Side

obstructed most of her View. The filter mask was Uncomfortable,

cutting into her face.

The robed guards were a mixed bag of emotions resentment, anger,

fear, anticiPation, worry, hoPe. General Basha's wife, Talanne was

worried, fright ened. Her husband had almost been killed. it was a

normal reaction. but Troi felt the fear was more than that. Colonel

Talanne feared them. They were the newcomers, an unknown. It was

normal to fear the unknown, and yet... Troi shook her head. She had no

words for it, or even a specific feeling. Talanne meant them no harm,

in fact was worried for Picard's safety, yet. . , Something was wrong,

but what?

They were led into a lOwceilinged hallway. The walls were a brilliant

buttercup yellow. It was at least one solid color, which was a relief

after the cOuflyard. Worf and the three security guards had to stooP to

enter the door. It was only then that Troi realized that all the

Orianians were Small. None of them were as tall as the CaPtain. While

Worf; Kelly, Conner, and Vincient towered over them.

They towered over Troi as well, but she was used to it. Once in the

small enclosed space of the hallway, the size difference made the robed

guards nervous. Troi could feel the guards judging them, anticipating

treachery.

Worf's eager attention was like a Pressure on Troi's mind, She often

felt the emotions Of people she knew stronger than Strangers, Worf was,

to an extent, in his

element. A warrior among warriors, with violence threatening to erupt.

But Troi trusted Worf not to act irresponsibly.

Captain Picard's irritation at Worf's solicitousness made Troi smile.

It would be a battle of w ills between them.

There was only one door at the end of the hall. The pale walls

stretched back toward the outside door smooth and perfect. Talanne stood

to one side of the door. Two robed guards moved in front of her. The

door opened. The guards went in weapons at the ready. They didn't

hesitate, or doubt. They just went in ready to kill or be killed. They

did not fear death. No, Troi thought, that wasn't it.

She could feel their minds as they searched the room. They were not

afraid, that was true, but they thought of nothing but their task.

Their concentration was purely on the situation at hand. if they

concentrated hard enough on just their duty, Troi guessed, there was

no time for fear.

All the guards waited, their emotions going into hold, their senses

alert for . . . duty. Troi suppressed a shudder. She had been among

warrior races before but nothing like these people. They didn't know

any other life. The war had consumed them as surely as it had consumed

the other resources of the planet.

The guards came back to the door. "All clear."

"Good," Talanne said. "Captain, welcome to my home." She entered the

room.

Picard tried to follow her, but Worf was still in front of him.

"Lieutenant. I trust our hostess and her people. I do not think these

extra precautions are necessary."

A Variety of emotions played over Worf's mind. Troi felt them like

waVes Over her body; anger, loyalty, resPect. "As you like, Captain."

Picard took a deep breath and Straightened his uniform,

Lieutenant. ,, a bare Pull on his jacket. "Thank you, Troi

followed him inside the room. Worf and his

People followed behind. Three of the robed guards entered the room

as well.

it was a small room. Ten people filled it nearly to capacity.

Tapestries covered every wall. Woven images of tall gracefuj trees,

red flowers like the Outer door. Grass as bright yellow as the

hallway flowed through the wall hangings. A vine exploded around

the edges of the scene, heavy with thick Purplish green leaves and

oblong orange fruit. Every color looked fresh, as if when touched

it would still be wet. it wasn't just lifelike, it was brighter,

bigger, richer; more than the real thing. Or so Troi thought.

She couldn't imagine nature giving such colors in One Place at

one time. One thing about naturally Occurring plants, they always

seemed to match. The colors melting together, cOmpleting each

Other. Mother Nature did not clash.

Picard Pulled off his mask, and the rest of the Federation

party followed Suit. Troi was relieved to feel the air on her

face again. The straps cut into the sides of her face.

"You honor us with bare faces. I can only return the honor."

Talanne pushed back the hood of her robe. CloSed cropped

brown hair curled around her face

protection. She lifted the mask off in One Smooth, Practiced

motion. Her skin was a slightly darker shade of gold than Basha's

had been, a deep amber,

but her face was nearly identical in bone structure.

There was none of the smaller jaw, or narrower face that differentiated

human males and females. "It has been a long time since I have been in a

room full of this many bare faces."

"Is it your custom to cover the face even indoors, where the air is

breathable?" Picard asked.

"Yes, Captain. In times of war you must expect the unexpected, like a

bomb blowing out the wall and exposing you to poison."

Worf stared round the room. "Is this common?" "It hasn't happened in

over fifty years, but too many children were injured. It is one of our

few rules."

"Then we can safely go without the masks indoors," Picard said, with

only the hint of a question to his words.

"Yes, Captain. Our people will stare, and think it strange, but with

their faces covered you will not be able to see them stare, and they

are all too well trained to question your customs."

Picard wasn't sure how to take that. "If we are breaking a sacred

custom, we can wear the masks."

"No, Captain, please, let it remind my people of what we have given

up. Enough of this," Talanne said, "I noticed you admiring our wall

hangings."

"Yes," Picard said. "They are extraordinary."

"It is an art form at which we excel. One of the few nondestructive

things we do well on this planet." The bitterness in her voice was

thick enough to cut. To Troi, the emotion was like a twisted thing,

almost painful.

"The wall hangings are what we have instead of windows. None of us

wish to be reminded of what we

have done to our world. Looking out Upon this desolation, this

death. ." Talanne shook her head. "Allow me to offer you Some

refreshment.

She moved to a small table that held a crystal decanter and five

glasses. The liquid inside was a deep purPle. "I will send for more

glasses. My husband was Unsure how many of you there would be."

They had to Practically huddle around the table to have room to

lift their glasses. "I mean no disrespect, Colonel Talanne, wife of

Basha, but is it really necessary to have so many People in the

room?" Picard said.

The three robed guards were instantly ajert. Hands tightening on

weapons. Worf noticed it, and was reaching for his phaser.

Talanne raised a hand. "At ease. I am sorry, Captain. You have my

bodyguards worried. It is customary that if one leader has

bodyguards, the other has an equal number. It is only wise."

Picard nodded. "Ah, because I have three guards you must have

three guards."

"Exactly."

"I too am a guard," Worf said.

"But you are a Commander, an Officer, are you not?"

"I am."

"We cannot have equal numbers of officers. The crowd would grow

too large." She smiled and raised a glass. "Besides, if you have

too many officers in one Place, it is too great a temptation."

"For assassinations you mean?" Picard asked.

"Yes, Captain. We lost five Officers in One bomb attack Some

three months back."

"And do the Venturies also have to watch how many officers they

have in any one place?"

With a brilliant smile, she answered. "Yes, Captain, they do."

"Assassination is not an honorable way to take your enemy,"

Worf said.

"Lieutenant Worf," Picard said, voice sharp. "No, that is all

right, Captain. Even we have heard of Klingon honor." She turned

to speak directly to Worf. "We would do anything to bring this

war to a close. Anything, even treachery, if the fighting would

just end."

"Do you not wish victory over your enemies?" Worf asked.

"Some still do, but most just want an end. Our planet is dying.

Our children are dying. Neither side seems able to win even by

treachery, so we must talk peace before we all die."

"Seeing the necessity for peace is the first step to achieving

it," Picard said.

Talanne smiled. "I hope so, Captain Picard, I very much hope so."

The door opened, and every weapon in the room whirled toward it.

A small, blond boy, perhaps three years old, raced into the room.

The features that were lovely on his parents were nearly unreal on

the child. He looked carved from aged-goldened alabaster with eyes

a startling shade of jewellike blue. He came to a skittering halt,

eyes wide, staring at the guns.

"Put up your weapons," Talanne said. She moved toward the small boy.

Two guards moved with her. "Jeric, where is your sentinel?"

"Don't know, Merme," he said. His eyes were still wide, his pulse

hammering in his thin neck.

His fear had been Pure and total when he had seen the weaPons. Troi

had felt his desperate sure knowledge that he was about to die. Only a

little older than three, but he knew what dying meant. He knew what

weaPons could do. The memory of such things stained his mind, colored

his emotions. Troi had never met anyone so young with such an old

mind.

The boy stared openly at Worf.

Talanne knelt in front of the boy. "Jeric, listen to me." She

touched the boy's cheek gently forcing him to look at her face. "When

did your Sentinel go missing?"

He frowned. "Missing?"

Troi felt the woman's impatience. Talanne swal lowed it back and kept

her voice normal, calm. "Where were you just before you ran in here?"

"Is something wrong, Colonel Talanne?" Picard asked.

"I don't know yet, Captain. Jeric's Sentinel should be with him at

all times."

"What exactly is a sentinel?" Picard asked.

"A Personal bodyguard." She stared at her son's frightened

eyes. "Where were you just before you came to here?"

"In the playroom"

"Good. Was the sentinel with you then?"

The boy frowned again.

Talanne gripped his arms gently. "Jeric, were you alone in the

Playroom?"

He nodded solemnly. His mother's seriousness finally sinking

into him, or Perhaps it had been the guns.

"Where were you before you went inside the play room?"

"Outside."

"Outside," she whispered it, as if it were some obscenity. Her

hands must have tightened because the boy wriggled in her grip.

"You are not allowed outside ever. Who took you?"

"Bori took me. You're squeezing my arms, Merme."

She hugged him to her chest. "I'm sorry, Jeric. Merme didn't

mean to hurt you. Where did the sentinel take you?"

"Outside."

"Where outside?"

"Outside." He struggled away from her arms. "Just outside,

Merme."

"Did you see anyone else outside?"

The boy nodded. "A man, Merme."

"Did you know the man, Jeric?"

He shook his head.

"Did your sentinel or the man come back inside with you?"

"No, Merme.."

Talanne hugged her son to her. "Check the corridors. Spread

the word that we may have a security breach."

Two guards moved to the door. One hesitated. "What of the

newcomers?" It was a man's voice. Without some clue every

figure was neuter, a soldier neither male nor female.

"I trust them. Go, find out what has happe ned. See to my

husband's safety."

The guard still hesitated.

"Go, now!" She swung the rifle into play in one practiced motion,

the boy shoved behind her back with the other hand. "Do not refuse a

direct order."

He bowed from the neck. "I hear and I obey.' He was gone with the

other guard. The door closed behind them.

"I appreciate the trust you have placed in us, Colonel Talanne,"

Picard said.

She stood, rifle still loosely grasped in her hand. Jeric clutched

her other hand. "Do not be, Captain. I know what your starship is

capable of. If you wished to do us harrn, you could, and nothing on

this planet could stop you. That is one of the reasons we called upon

the Federation. One thing we Orianians respect is strength."

"Your honesty is refreshing, Colonel Talanne, but I'm afraid I am a

little lost. Why is your son's missing security guard so very

important?"

"It is not just the guard. Jeric is never allowed onto the surface of

the planet. His safety is too important for that. No one would take

him outside, no one, least of all his own security guard."

"You think it was a kidnapping attempt?" Worf asked.

"No, Lieutenant, I fear worse things."

Worf frowned. "You do not mean that..." He stopped in mid-sentence,

glancing at the boy.

"You make war on children," Worf said in a low voice.

"Worf," Picard said, his voice soft with warning.

"It's all right, Captain Picard. No, Lieutenant, we don't

normally make war on children. But there are factions that are

desperate to win this war rather than have peace. They would do

anything to stop the peace talks."

"The Venturi would use your son as a negotiation tool?" Picard

asked.

"Not the Venturi," she said. "They are as eager as most of us

to end this conflict, but there are factions on both sides that

consider Peace without victory worthless."

The child looked from one adult to the other, trying to follow

the conversation. He knew it involved him, Troi sensed, but not

how.

Talanne led her son toward the center of the room. "You see how

desperately we need your intervention, Captain." She gentled her

son against her leg. "Do you know that no one can even actually

agree on what began this war? Two hundred years 0f fighting, and

we don't even know why we're doing it."

Tears glimmered in her eyes. Her sorrow was full of anger,

outrage at what had almost happened to her son. Without any solid

facts Talanne was doing what any mother would do, thinking of the

direst possibilities.

"We are here to see the fighting stop, Colonel Talanne. To

allow your children to grow up to be more than soldiers,"

Picard said

"The children," she said sorry." "the children." She hugged

Jeric tight against her. "You will find Jeric is the exception,

Captain."

Before Picard could ask what that meant, the door opened. The

two remaining guards took their posts, weapons on the door.

Worf went forward with Conner. He left the others in a triangle

around the captain.

Talanne shoved Jeric into Troi's arms and took her place with the

guards.

A black and gold robed guard stepped through. "It is I, Colonel."

"Take off your mask, slowly."

The man did, pushing hood back to reveal shori brown hair. With the

same hand he Scooped off his mask to reveal a plain, pale face with

brown eyes. He had the same delicate features as General Basha and

his son, but not quite. He seemed a little less perfect, almost

ordinary, though still delicately pretty.

"What have you to report?" Talanne asked.

"We found Jeric's sentinel dead in the garden.

There was a second man in our colors, also dead. W'e believe Bori

Planned treachery, then could not go through with it."

"Why do you think that?"

"Why else take the boy outside? We all know your

orders on that. Under no circumstance is the boy to go outside."

Talanne nodded. "Very well. Is the building secure?"

"Yes.

"Triple the guards.

"They have already been doubled, Colonel."

"Did I ask your opinion? No, I gave you an order."

"Aye, Colonel Talanne." He turned on his heel and left the room.

Guards could be glimpsed on either side of the door. They were

three deep on either side.

The boy pressed in against Troi's legs. She placed her hands on

his shoulders. He was trembling, and Troi's skin felt cold with

his fear.

From Talanne there was no fear for herself. Worry over the boy

and her husband; for herself, nothing.

Troi tried to feel something from the guards around her. Some

hint of fear, but there was nothing. It was as if they had hit a

switch inside themselves on, fear; off, soldier. Colonel Talanne

was full of emotions, all

crowding near the surface, but the guards seemed motionless.

Troi knew she could have concentrated, searched below the

surface thoughts, but that was an intrusion. Without good reason

she did not peel away the layers of someone's carefully built

protection.

There was also the possibility that there was nothing inside

the guards, nothing to find. No, surely not. Surely the

emotionally dead guards were the exception. Could a race of

people destroy their inner-selves along with their environment?

Did the barren, polluted world reflect the barrenness of the

people themselves? If that were true, then the peace talks were

going to be very difficult. Troi needed to know if there were

deeper emotions in the guards. If Colonel Talanne was the

exception, Picard would need to know. It was those deeper

emotions that Picard would appeal to for peace. If most of the

Orianians were closer to Vulcans in their emotional makeup, it

would change how Picard approached them. Troi needed to know.

She chose a guard near her and began to concentrate gently.

She didn't want to startle him. There were races that could

sense an empathic intrusion.

Picard's communicator burst into life. The sound made Troi

jump. Her concentration shattered.

"Riker to Picard."

"Yes, Number One, what is it?"

"We've received a distress signal from an alien vessel. They call

themselves the Milgians. The Federation has no record of a first

contact. Their engines are in danger of exploding. Lives have

already been

lost. Even at maximum warp we are two days from them, but we

are the nearest ship." Riker's voice hesitated, "There are over

four hundred lives at stake."

"I understand," Picard said. He glanced at his hostess and her

guards. "You have to answer the distress call, Number One."

"Will you and the away team be all right?"

Troi felt Picard's doubt. "We will be fine, Number One. In fact

beam up the three security personnel."

"Would you repeat that, Sir?" Riker said.

"Captain, you can't," Worf said.

Picard stared at his security chief. "Colonel Talanne has done

us the great honor of trusting us. We will return that honor."

"Permission to speak freely, Captain," Worf asked. "Denied,

Lieutenant. Beam up the security personnel, Number One.

"Captain, I

"That was an order, Commander Riker." Picard said.

"Aye, sir."

The three security personnel shimmered, then vanished. The room

suddenly seemed much less crowded.

Talanne shook her head. "I do not know if you are very brave or

very foolish, Captain."

"We must negotiate peace, and that only comes through trust."

"You are hoping to lead by example," Talanne said. "You give up

some of your bodyguards, and others will follow."

Picard smiled. "It might be a start."

I"It may well work. If the Federation ambassador

trusts his safety without a phalanx of guards, then it seems

cowardly for the rest of us to hide behind our own."

"Riker, here, Captain. We have the security team on board. If

we are going to answer the distress call, we have to go now."

"We'll be here when you return, Number One."

"I don't like this, Captain."

"Nor I," Worf said.

"I appreciate your concern, both of you, but trust must begin

somewhere. I think it has to begin with us."

"I was going to suggest we increase security after what has

just happened, Captain."

"I cannot negotiate a peace treaty behind a wall of armed

guards." Picard shook his head. "No, we will be fine as we are."

"What's happened down there, Captain?" Riker asked.

Picard hesitated, then said, "There have been two more deaths,

and some talk of bribery."

"Captain, I request that you beam back to the ship immediately.

When we have aided the alien vessel you can return and continue

the talks."

"No, Commander, if these talks only work because I have the

Enterprise to back me, then what happens to the peace when we

leave?" Picard smoothed his hands down his jacket. "Perhaps this

is all for the best. Return as soon as you can, Picard out."

"Captain. . ." Riker said.

"That was an order, Commander."

"Aye, Captain. Riker out." Will's voice was well controlled,

but his anger was like a small slap to Troi. How was Will ever to

guard the captain if the captain

would not listen to reason? A question without an answer.

"I see that I am not the only one to have their orders questioned,"

Talanne said.

Picard smiled. "No."

"I do not think that your chief of security approves of your refusing

reinforcements," she said, nodding at Worf.

Worf shifted his stance, jaw clenched tight. His dark eyes glanced at

Talanne, then back to empty air. He was careful not to look at the

captain.

"I am sure that Lieutenant Worf does not approve," Picard said.

Worf made an abrupt sound, almost a snort.

Picard ignored it. "But if every official we meet has to have an

equal number of bodyguards... it could get rather crowded."

"Very true, Captain," Talanne said.

Picard smiled. "You trusted me first, Talanne, by giving up two of

your own guards."

"Perhaps, or perhaps I think you are outsiders and would have no

reason to harm me. It would be very different if you were a member of

the Venturi faction."

"Peace must be based on trust. Armed camps cannot trust one another,"

Picard said.

"I will give you one of my guards, Captain. No matter how good your

Lieutenant Worf may be, I do not wish to explain to the Federation how

their ambassador met his end."

"I am sure that Lieutenant Worf will be glad of the help."

Worf gave a curt nod. "As of now, yes, I would." His voice held an

angry thread of growling.

Talanne smiled, then laughed, a sharp, abrupt sound. "I like you,

Picard. And that is good. You are right about the mistrust. It is thick

in the air like the poison we have to breath outside."

She held Out one hand, and Jeric ran to her. His warmth lingered

against Troi's legs, the feel of the boy's thin shoulders on her hands.

"I will go see to my husband now, Captain. I hope you and your people

find this room comfortable. We will move your quarters every few days,

as a matter of caution."

"Where will the rest of my people be staying?" Talanne frowned. "I

assumed you would want everyone in the same room. I am sorry. It is our

custom to share rooms with our most trusted guards. If you wish other

rooms, I can provide them given some time."

"Please. . ." Picard began.

"Captain," Worf said, "perhaps it would be best to share rooms."

Picard took a deep breath, to protest, then thought better of it.

"Very well. We accept your hospitality and your customs. Thank you."

"Sleeping mats are rolled against the wall underneath the wall

hangings," she said. "I will leave you to settle in. I will bring your

evening meal personally."

"That is most gradous."

She gave a small smile. "Not at all, Captain. I just don't want to

come back tomorrow morning and find you've all been poisoned."

"Poison," Worf said, "is a coward's weapon."

"Lieutenant Worf," Picard said evenly.

"No, that is all right, Captain. As it turns out, I

agree, but not all my enemies have such fine distinctions. I will send

Breck to you as a guard. He is the one whose face you saw." With that

she turned and left. Jeric glanced back once before the door cut off

his view.

"Well," Picard said. "What do you make of that? Counselor?"

"Colonel Talanne wants the peace talks to work. But the guards I

don't know what the guards want."

"Explain."

"On the surface their minds are almost clean of emotion like

machines." Troi hesitated.

"Go on, Counselor."

"They seem to be able to hide their emotions almost completely, as if

they can function independently of their. . . feelings."

"Theories on that?"

"I don't know, Captain. I've never felt anything like it. It is as if

they are as desolate as their planet."

"A race of people is not tied to their planet, Counselor. The fate of

one is not necessarily the fate of the other."

"I know that, but..

"But?"

"I have no other explanation for what I sensed in them, Captain."

"Lieutenant Worf?"

"These are warriors without honor, Captain. I have never seen a race

where treachery is so commonplace."

"We will be on our guard, Lieutenant. Believe me, I

do not wish to end my days here.

"With all due respect, Captain, it is not a matter of being on guard."

"Explain."

"These are assassins without a code of honor. They seem to have no

rules. If this is true and they are determined to kill you, they will

succeed."

"You cannot stop them?" Picard asked.

"I will give my life to stop them, Captain, but if they are truly

determined and do not care how many of them die in the attempt, we will

be overrun. There are simply more of them than there are of us."

The captain nodded. "I see. Well, we will just have to make the best

of it. As far as we know, there have been no attacks on us personally."

"We have been here less than an hour, Captain. Even assassins need

time to plan," Worf said.

Picard smiled. "Of course, Worf."

Troi felt the captain's humor-humor in the face of danger. It was a

very human trait. But she also felt Worf's utter seriousness. He

believed that it was only a matter of time and planning before a direct

attack was made on the captain.

Chapter Three

DEANNA TRoi WOKE TO DARKNESS. She sat upright, clutching covers to her

chest, her breathing loud and ragged in her ears. Troi waited for the

nightmare's fear to recede, but it didn't. She whispered, "Light," but

nothing happened. Had the computer not heard her? She reached out and

her hand brushed heavy cloth and under that a hard flat surface. A wall

and a wall hanging. She was on Oriana, on a peace mission.

The fear was like a hand squeezing her heart. Her pulse thudded in

her throat until she could barely breathe. It wasn't the lingering

taste of nightmare. Rather, it was someone else's Ongoing terror. It

screamed along Troi's nerves, roared through her brain, until she had

to press her hands to her mouth to keep the screams inside.

She had to make it stop. Crawling out of the bedroll, she saw a dim

light coming from somewhere. Without windows it would have been too

dark to even move around, but the glow showed the sleeping form of the

captain.

Worf was sitting quietly in a corner, and Troi could just make out

the shape of the Klingon's face. She felt rather than saw his eyes upon

her. Soundlessly, Worf moved toward the counselor.

They met just beside the door. Worf leaned next to her. His breath

was warm on her cheek as he whispered. "Counselor, what is it?"

The terror beat through her like a second heartbeat. Troi wasn't sure

she could talk without the fear spilling out into screams. She shook

her head slightly, trying to think of how she could communicate the

terror.

"Are you ill?" he whispered.

Yes, Troi thought, yes, I'm ill. All she could manage was a nod.

"I will wake the captain."

Troi started to say no, but then nodded. She did not wish to involve

the captain in her own problems. There was a price to be paid for being

an empath, and yet it might be something important. Until she knew

where the terror originated, Troi had no way of knowing if the others

needed to know or not.

Worf knelt by the captain. Picard woke instantly, one hand gripping

Worf's arm. "What is it?"

"Something is wrong with Counselor Troi."

The captain rolled over. "What is it, Worf?"

"She is ill."

Troi was beginning to shake as if cold. The terror was mind-bending,

horrible. Captain Picard was suddenly beside her. "Counselor, what's

wrong?"

"I. . . I don't know. Fear. . . horrible fear." She shook her head. "I

can't. .. Must stop it. Must stop it!"

"Could this be some kind of attack?" Worf asked. Troi shook her head.

"No. Must find. .. Captain!"

Troi pressed her hands over her face. If something wasn't done

soon, she would begin screaming. Once she started, she wasn't

sure she could stop.

Picard gripped her upper arms, his strong hands digging into

her flesh. "Counselor Troi." He shook her gently. "Counselor,

what can we do to help?"

She did her best to swallow the fear, to breathe past the

screams in her head. "Must find ... and stop it. Fear, must stop

it. Find it. Please!"

Picard nodded. "Worf, tell the Orianian guards that something

is wrong. Explain as little as possible to them. Tell them the

Counselor needs medical attention, and we will accompany her."

Worf nodded, "Yes, Captain." He moved to the door and opened

it. Two guards were outside the door. One was Breck, the guard

Talanne had sent to them.

Troi could not hear what was said. There was a far-off murmuring

sound in her head. Not the screams, but a babble of voices, echoes.

The fear was fading, changing. Sorrow, such unending sadness.

Her throat tightened with unshed tears. Was it the same person or

was it someone else?

Her mind felt raw from the terror, abused. Her empathic abilities

were dulled by the emotional assault, but the sorrow. . . the sorrow

remained.

Picard took her elbow gently and led her through the door. One of

the Orianian guards led the way.

Worf led their own party, Troi and Picard in the center with Worf

and Breck, bringing up the rear.

"Are you better?" Picard asked softly.

She nodded. "The fear has receded, but it isn't over. Whatever

caused the fear is still very real. I. . . I can't explain it, but

something is very wrong."

"Can you lead us to the disturbance?"

"Yes."

The guard that led them hesitated outside a narrow corridor. This

close, Troi should have been able to feel what caused him to pause,

but the emotional battering she had received, was still receiving,

had dulled her senses. It was as if all her powers were concentrated

on this one person's sorrow.

"We must be very quiet. There was a birth scheduled tonight," the

guard said. His voice was bland, ordinary, but something in the way

he stood at the head of the corridor, as if afraid to go down, made

Troi wonder.

They hurried down the corridor, past several doors all painted to

resemble exotic flowers in livid, Day colors. Troi stopped, almost

stumbling. Only the captain's hand kept her from falling. She placed

her hand against a door on the right-hand side of the hallway. "In

here, Captain." The tears finally crept down her face. "In here."

Breck said, "That is the nursery. We are not allowed in there."

"Something is wrong, Captain, very wrong," Troi said.

"My ship's counselor is skilled at healing emotional wounds. She

wishes to help whoever is behind this door.

"He shook his head. "That is not allowed."

"You can't just ignore it," Troi said. "She's hurting. They've given

her something to make her sleep, but it isn't enough." She pulled

away from Picard's hand and went to the guard. "Please, I must help

her. I must try."

The guard stared at Troi. His masked face gave no hint of what he

felt. "Can you truly help?"

"I want to try, pleas e."

He glanced across at the other guard. "What were our orders on

restricted areas?"

"No restricted areas. Colonel Talanne said the ambassador was to

have full access."

Breck took a deep breath. "Very well, if you truly believe you can

help." He hit a code into the door keypad, and the door whooshed

open.

There were voices in her mind, whispers, echoes. She shook her head

trying to clear it, to follow the sorrow, the tears. But it was like

the voices of ghosts.

Picard touched her arm. "What is happening to you, Counselor?"

"Voices in my head, but not voices. I don't know." She looked at the

captain. "It's like I'm hearing ghosts."

The guard made an odd sign with his left hand- two fingers pointing

out towards Troi. "You can hear the voices of the lifeless, can't

you?" His voice was hushed, choked.

Troi could only nod. It made sense of a sort.

"What do you mean, the voices of the lifeless?" Picard asked.

Breck shook his head. "We have gifted ones in our people, too,

Captain. I do not envy them. This place is haunted enough without

mind-voices."

The room was huge, cavernous like a warehouse. But it was empty. The

floor stretched smooth and unbroken toward the distant back wall.

Their footsteps echoed in the emptiness. The walls were divided into

small rectangles. Wires and clear plastic tubing ran in and out of

each individual rectangle. Liquid slurped through the tubes. The

wires hummed with electricity. "What is this place?" Picard asked.

"It is the room of lifeless children," the guard said. This time

there was no mistaking the catch in his voice. Troi did not need to

feel it to hear the sadness.

Troi moved toward the right hand wall. Picard let her go, staying

close by in case he was needed. Worf and the Orianian security team

were being alert, searching for enemies.

The Orianian said, "No one will attack us here. It is a place of

neutrality."

Worf nodded, but his hand stayed near his phaser just the same.

Troi touched the cool metal of the walls. Liquid ran through two

tubes, a rainbow of wires fed into the small rectangle. The

whispering in her head was louder. It was like the sound of water

running, or wind in leaves, continuous, monotonous, but..

There was meaning here, intelligence. It wasn't just wind or water.

There were thoughts captured behind these walls. Thoughts, like

ragged bits of dream.

She laid her hands flat on one rectangle. The thoughts were stronger

when she concentrated, but still made no sense. "I don't understand.

What are they saying?"

"Who, lady?" one of the guards asked.

"I don't know. I..." Then suddenly, Troi knew what was behind all

those rectangles. There were

hundreds of them like boxes in a warehouse. Liquid slurped in and

out of the tubes. The wires hummed, and there was the faintest smell

of electricity, a sharp ozone smell.

Troi backed away from the wall, clutching her hands to her stomach.

"Oh, my god," she whispered.

"Counselor, what is it?" Picard asked.

"Babies. . ." she whirled to look at all the holding tanks,

"babies."

"These are the lifeless children," Breck said. "I told you that."

"But they're not dead," Troi said. She walked up to him, staring up

into his face. "They're alive inside there."

He shook his head. "They are lifeless."

"No, I can feel them thinking, dreaming. I know they're alive."

"You are mistaken, lady," the guard said.

Troi shook her head, backing away from the guard. "Captain."

"I'm here, Troi," Picard said, coming to stand beside her.

"They are alive."

"I believe you, Counselor, but why would the guards lie?"

"I don't know." She stared at the warehouse of dead children. It was

impossible. They were keeping them alive. The tubes and wires were

feeding them- why did they say the children were dead? It made no

sense.

"Is this what woke you, Counselor?"

"No." She started walking through the huge room toward a small door

at te end. "Behind there." Troi

NIGHTSHADE

knew now that it was a woman whose terror she had shared. The woman

was sleeping now, but whatever had started her terror and then her

grief was still there. They could drug the woman, but when she woke,

the emotions would still be there, raw and waiting to suck her down.

Would they swallow Troi up again, as well? The counselor didn't

know. She could not remember when a stranger's pain had so affected

her.

The door at the far end of the room opened. An Orianian stepped

through. She was bare-faced, with the typical high-boned cheeks and

huge luminous eyes. She was dressed in orange surgical dress. A

doctor perhaps?

The woman did not see them at first. Her eyes were downcast, staring

at something she carried. The orange wrapped bundle was the color of

the surgical gown and so small that it would not have filled Troi's

two hands. The Orianian woman looked up at them, almost in slow

motion. Her eyes were pale brown, large in her face, but filled with

unutterable sorrow.

Troi looked away from that haggard face, but the emotion did not

leave. It was not a matter of eye contact, but of the woman's need.

Her despair reached out for Troi like a blanket, wet and gray and

suffocating. Troi pushed the emotion away. She could not accept this

woman's pain. In any case, it wasn't this one who had woken her.

"Guards, who are these people, and how dare you bring them here?"

There should have been anger in her voice, but there was none left.

It was as if the despair had eaten everything else.

The first guard went to one knee before the woman.

"Dr. Zhir, this is the Federation ambassador and his party. This

one," he pointed at Troi, "is a healer of some kind. They said they

could help."

"You know no one is to enter this place on the night of a birth.

You know that."

The second guard, Breck, went down on one knee beside the first.

"Dr. Zhir, Colonel Talanne gave orders that the ambassador is to be

denied nothing. He is to have full access."

"I am sure she did not mean for you to bring strangers into our

holy places."

Picard stepped forward. "Dr. Zhir, we meant no harm. My counselor

was awakened by the pain of one of your patients. We want only to

help."

Doctor Zhir laughed, an abrupt, bitter sound. "Help? You cannot

help us. No one can help us, Federation Ambassador. Our sins are too

great." She hugged the tiny orange bundle to her chest. it made a

small protesting sound, almost a cry.

"We are here to stop the war, Doctor. Surely that will help."

"Stop the war if you can, but it is too late for our race."

"I do not understand, Doctor," Picard said.

"What sort of healer are you?"

"I would be called a mind-healer," Troi said.

Zhir nodded, slowly. "Then you know what is in this room. You know

what our greed and hatred have done to the children."

Troi shook her head. "The guards say the babies in the tanks are

dead." She glanced at Picard. "We don't understand."

"I think it is too late, Ambassador. I think that even

if peace happens tomorrow that race is doomed, but you don't believe

that, do you?"

"No, Doctor, I don't. You will find most humans believe a great

deal in hope," Picard said.

Zhir stood a little straighter. Her thin face became smooth and

calm. She had made some sort of decision, and with it came a moment

of peace. "Come, Ambassador, let me show you why I have given up on

hope. Look upon the sins of Oriana."

"Doctor, it is forbidden," the first guard said.

"I am a doctor, I am allowed, and they are strangers. Our laws do

not hold them."

"Are you sure, Doctor?"

"Colonel Talanne said to show them everything. Well, by the

withered leaf, I shall."

The two guards still kneeling on the floor laid their foreheads on

their bent knees. They covered their faces with their gloved hands.

Zhir stepped around the kneeling guards to stand next to Picard.

Worf started to move between them, but Picard waved him back. "It's

all right, Lieutenant, I trust her."

Doctor Zhir stared at him for a moment, a puzzled expression on her

face. "You are either a fool or a wise man to be able to decide who

to trust."

"We come to make peace for your people, Doctor. Trust must begin

somewhere."

She nodded. "Yes." She stared at Troi. "The guard said you were a

healer. Is that true?"

"I am a healer of the mind, yes."

The doctor laughed, that same abrupt and almost ugly sound. "Oh, we

need such healers as yourself. There is so much I cannot heal.

Perhaps you could

alter their minds so they do not care if they are healed or not."

"I would be glad to help in any way I can."

"Do not promise until you see the task I set you, Healer," Zhir

said. "Come closer, you and the Federation ambassador, come and see

what I hold in my arms."

Troi moved forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with the captain.

She felt Zhir's fear, disgust, anticipation.

Doctor Zhir balanced the orange bundle in the crook of her right

arm. With the left hand she began pushing back the cloth. A tiny fist

thrust into the air. Tiny feet kicked free of the bundling. Troi

leaned forward to touch the smooth reddish skin. Soft, almost furlike

in its texture, like that of all newborns.

The cloth fell away from the face. A tiny mouth opened wide with a

high-pitched and keening scream. The rest of the face was smooth

skin, blank as if all the parts hadn't been put together yet. No

eyes, no nose, only a thin red slit of a mouth.

Picard took a sharp breath. He steadied himself; Troi felt the

effort it cost him. "Is this typical?"

"Typical?" the doctor repeated, "yes and no. We have many

deformities. The pollution has contaminated our water, air, the

ground. All our food, our world, is poisonous to us. And it does

this." She began to rewrap the crying baby.

Troi stroked a tiny fist. It reacted, grabbing her finger,

squeezing. "What will happen to him?"

"He will go in one of the vats," the doctor said, "and we will

reconstruct eye s and a face. We will build him into a whole person."

"Do you have to do this with many of your children?" Picard asked.

"Reconstruct them, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Most of our children in the last ten years have been beyond

saving. The deformities were too serious. Few women even carry a baby

to term. Their bodies are too full of poisons to support life."

"But we saw Colonel Talanne's son, Jeric," Troi said.

"Yes, Jeric." The doctor shook her head. "I do not explain

miracles. I am merely thankful for them. This," she held the tiny

baby closer, "is what we usually find if we are lucky."

"The guards called this the place of lifeless children," Troi said,

"but they aren't dead."

"We can keep them alive, but we cannot bring them to life," Doctor

Zhir said.

Troi frowned. "I don't understand."

"We have the technology to keep them from dying, but we cannot cure

what is wrong. We cannot help them become real children. Children

that can walk and run, laugh and think. They are alive but they are

not. Do you understand?"

Troi stared round the room, at the hundreds of boxes. "You can't

cure them?" she made it a question.

"No, we cannot cure them, but we can repair some of what is

wrong," the doctor said.

Picard stared at the boxes and at the kneeling guards. The

enormity of the room, the slurping of liquid going through tubes, the

faint hum of electricity, all washed over him in a cool horror. Troi

could feel his instant sympathy with this beleaguered doctor, his

instant repulsion at the contents of the room. "As soon as possible I

would ask your permission to have my ship's doctor beam down and look

at your children. There may be medical techniques that could aid

you."

"If you could truly aid us here, then it would be a powerful thing

to bring to the peace table."

Picard nodded. "I understand."

"I am a doctor in a world of perpetual war and disease and

deformity. There are not many doctors left, most of us became other

things." She rocked the crying baby until it stopped. "The pain, you

understand."

"It was your pain I felt, part of it, anyway," Troi said.

"You felt my pain?" Zhir said. "And it woke you, brought you

here?"

"Yours, and the woman who gave birth tonight," Troi said.

Zhir smiled, ever so slightly. "You have given me hope, and I curse

you for it. I thought I had given up such useless thoughts, but there

it is, hope, the last refuge of madmen and dreamers."

"Would you like me to see the mother tonight?" Troi asked.

"She is sleeping. Better that she sleeps as long as she can. It

will be a long time before her son cOmes out of this room. Breck

there," she indicated one of the kneeling guards, "was one of mine,

not so different from this one. Though he did heal better than most.

Almost all of the people below twenty spent some time in this room."

She shook her head. "Go, go, I must put this little one to bed."

NIGHTSHADE

"I have your permission to send my ship's doctor as soon as she

becomes available?" Picard asked.

Doctpr Zhir nodded. "There is always room for another doctor on

Oriana, Federation Ambassador. Now please go." She spoke directly to

the two kneeling guards. "Rise, the sin is covered."

The guards uncovered their faces then looked up, blinking into the

light.

"Escort the ambassador and his people out of here."

"Yes, Dr. Zhir. We meant no intrusion," the first guard said.

"Hope is never an intrusion but often a lie." She smiled again to

herself and spoke softly to the carefully wrapped baby. Troi could

not hear what she said.

The guards stood and began herding Picard and the others toward the

far door. "You heard the doctor, we must go now." There was fear in

his voice, as well as respect.

Doctor Zhir pressed a panel on the wall and a silver drawer popped

open. Zhir was speaking softly to the baby.

The guards almost physically pushed them toward the door. Only

Worf's warning glare kept them from it.

Dr. Zhir began to sing clear and soft, but it carried. A song Troi

did not know. The whispering echoes of the babies, hundreds of

babies, thoughts, ragged bits of dream responded to the singing. Troi

felt a brush of pleasure, like a whisper of happiness from the

babies.

Doctor Zhir was singing to the lifeless children, and they heard

her. Her voice, her.. . love for them.

The corridor outside seemed somehow wider,

fresher. Everyone was relieved to be Out of that room. Everyone. Troi

was no exception, but she could still feel Dr. Zhir singing. Not the

words but the feelings -grief, horror, pain, but under it all like

something new... hope. The last refuge for madmen and dreamers.

Chapter Four

PIckard, TRoi AND Worf were just outside their room when a guard

hurried toward them. The Orianians pointed rifles at a nearly running

figure. He or she, displayed empty hands. "Please," the voice was

male, "I am Breck and Colonel Talanne has sent me to find the

Federation healer. A mind-healer."

"What has happened?" Picard asked.

"The general's son, Jeric, he is . . . not well," the guard said.

"What is wrong with him?" Troi asked.

"I know not. Colonel Talanne ordered me to fetch the mind-healer

from the starship. She said only that her son is ill and in need of

help."

"Counselor?" Picard said.

"He is telling the truth, Captain. He is worried about the boy."

Troi stepped out from between the still cautious guards. "I am the .

. . mind-healer. I will come with you."

"No," Worf said. "It could be a trap."

"He believes what he's saying," Troi said.

"He could have been lied to as well."

"No," Troi said.

"Captain, this could be a ploy to separate us. The counselor could

be used as a hostage."

"If I understand the word properly," Breck said, "we do not take

hostages. To hide behind a nonwarrior is an act of cowardice."

"You use assassins and poison," Worf said.

"Yes, but not hostages," Breck said. He seemed to find nothing

wrong with his code of honor. Poison, but not hostages. Interesting.

"Lieutenant, we must trust our hosts," Picard said.

The look on Worf's face said plainly how far he trusted their

hosts. Picard chose to ignore it. "Counselor, do you feel safe going

to the aid of this child?"

"Yes, Captain."

He nodded. "If you could help the general's child, it might help

negotiations."

"Understood, Captain."

"But that is not worth sending you alone. Lieutenant Worf, you may

accompany Counselor Troi."

"I agree someone should accompany her, Captain, but what of your

own safety while I am away?"

"I managed to stay alive long before I met you or Commander Riker.

I think I can manage a short time alone. Besides, the Orianian guards

should be able to stave off the attackers until your return."

Worf frowned. "Your safety is not a laughing matter, Captain."

"I am not laughing, Lieutenant Worf."

The guard who had come to fetch Troi was shifting

from foot to foot. "Please, Colonel Talanne was most insistent. Will

you come now?"

"Yes," Troi said, "I'm coming." She followed the guard down the

hallway, the opposite way from the nurseries. Worf trailed behind her

like a frowning shadow.

The boy's room was nearly identical to the one where Troi had

awakened-was it only an hour ago-only the wall hangings were

different. Scenes of nearly life-sized children playing games.

Beautiful Orianian children. Children like Jeric, not like the babies

in the nurseries. There were no wounds or deformities here. The

running, laughing children were as perfect as the flowers they

picked.

Had Oriana been like this once? The vibrant green trees, the

flowers like melted rainbows covering soft, rolling hills. The golden

skinned children with their liquid, bright eyes. Laughter, play,

life.

Troi stared at the two bodyguards in their ever-present face masks

and goggles, their rifles. What had happened to this planet, these

people, to make them destroy everything? Surely, nothing was worth

such total destruction.

Talanne sat on the edge of a sleeping mat holding her child. Jeric

cried softly, his small hands clutching her loose blouse. She was

stroking his silky hair, whispering, "It's going to be all right,

Jeric. The healer is here now. She'll help you." Talanne met Troi's

eyes as she said the last. She wanted her words to be true, but she

feared they were lies.

In that moment Troi wanted to help the boy, not just for his own

sake, or for the peace talks, but to

take that haunted look from Talanne's eyes. The look that had seen

too much that was bright and wondrous wither and die. Troi knelt

beside the mother and child. She spoke softly, "Jeric, can you look

at me?"

The little boy peered at her through his mother's arms. His large,

brown-gold eyes shimmered with tears.

Troi smiled at him. "Did you have a bad dream?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Can you tell me about it?"

He just blinked at her.

"It's all right, Jeric," Talanne murmured. "Tell the healer what

you dreamed."

The boy's fear was fading, replaced by puzzlement. He didn't

understand the question.

"Jeric," Troi said, "did you see scary pictures in your head?"

He nodded.

"Can you tell me what the pictures looked like?"

He nodded. Talanne held him tight, as if her arms could keep him

safe.

"I saw Bori."

Troi looked a question at Talanne. "It is. . . was his sentinel,"

Talanne said.

Troi nodded. "What was Bori doing?"

"He was talkin' to a man."

"Could you hear what they said?" Troi asked.

Jeric shook his head.

"They juSt stood and talked?"

He nodded.

"Nothing else?"

Jeric shook his head solemnly, eyes too large for his tear-stained

face. He was telling the truth as far as he knew it. But it wasn't

the whole truth, just the truth as

his conscious mind understood it. Underneath, in the subconscious,

was another truth. Down where his nightmare had come from, Jeric knew

why seeing two men talk was terrifying. But he was not ready to face

what he had seen. Troi thought it likely that Jeric had seen his

sentinel die in defense of his life. It was a terrible burden for one

so young.

Troi patted the boy's hair. He just stared at her with large blue

eyes. His skin was still fear pale, but he didn't remember why two

men talking should fill him with such dread. "May I speak with you in

private, Colonel Talanne?" Troi asked.

"Of course." Talanne's concern for her boy was like a sharp push in

Troi's gut. Talanne might be the perfect warrior as most of the

Orianians were, but she felt real fear, normal mother's fear for her

child. Troi thought that was a good sign all on its own. If the

Orianians loved their children, then peace was possible.

Talanne settled Jeric on his sleeping mat. She smoothed his fair

hair onto the silkiness of the pillow. She handed him a stuffed

animal that looked vaguely like a horse, except it was bright red

with delicate embroidery covering most of its body. The embroidery

was images of leaves, flowers, trees. The stuffed animal, like the

wall hangings, spoke of artistry, grace, softer things than war.

Jeric clutched the toy in his small arms. "Rest, my little love. I

have to speak with the healer. I'll be right back," Talanne said.

The boy didn't cling to her. Rather, he lay, tightly clutching his

toy, and said, "Right back, Merme?"

Talanne smiled. "Right back, I promise." She kissed him gently on

the forehead and stood.

Troi walked to the other side of the room with the woman trailing

behind her. Worf stood near the door with the other guards. He looked

at Troi, his eyes flickering back to the boy. She could not read his

mind exactly but would have bet that Worf was thinking about his own

son. Alexander, more than anything else, had softened the Klingon,

made him able to sympathize with a parent whose child cried out in

the night.

When Troi was sure the boy would not overhear, she asked, "Was

Jeric close to his sentinel?"

"Yes. Bori had been his personal guard since he was born," Talanne

said.

Troi was surprised. The changing of the guard had seemed so random.

"Is it usual to have a personal guard?"

"Every leader and each member of that leader's family has at least

one personal guard. Someone who is loyal to that one person above any

other loyalty."

Troi thought of something. "Is that why Breck is almost always with

our party? Always with Captain Picard?"

Talanne smiled. "Ye"

She would have to remember to tell the captain that they had their

own trained Orianian sentinel, a personal guard loyal to them. "If a

guard is loyal to one person, does that mean he, or she, would put

that single person's safety above the good of others?"

Talanne nodded. "Exactly."

Troi wondered if that made discipline a problem, but she wanted to

know about the boy for now. "So, Bori would be intensely loyal to

Jeric?"

"Have you discovered what happened? Why he took Jeric outside?"

Talanne shook her head. "Not yet." She sighed. "And truthfully,

Healer, we may never know, unless Jeric himself remembers. The

warriors that could tell us what happened are both dead."

"Do you believe that the guard betrayed your son?"

"I can't think what other purpose would be served by going outside.

Everything is dangerous outside; the air, the water, the ground

itself is so contaminated that what little food does grow is deadly.

But we eat it anyway." Her face seemed suddenly older, lines around

the mouth deepening with bitterness. "We eat and drink the poison

that slaughters our children. I lost three children before Jeric.

They never even drew one breath of life. The last baby was the worst,

so badly mangled that the doctors could not save him. I prayed for

him to die."

She stared at Troi, her dark eyes searching the counselor's face.

"Do you have children?"

"I did once," Troi said.

"A death?"

Troi nodded. The pain of her own son's death could still come back

to bite at odd moments.

"If you have lost a child, then you understand," Talanne said.

"Yes," Troi agreed. "I understand."

Talanne reached out impulsively and took the counselor's hand.

"What is wrong with my son?"

"I believe he witnessed the death of his sentinel. From what you've

told me, I have to agree with you. Bori was going to betray Jeric, I

think that at the last minute he couldn't do it. In fact, hedied defending Jeric's life. I'm certain Jeric witnessed his death.

He doesn't remember right now, but subconsciously, he does." She held

Talanne's hand in both of hers. "The dreams will get worse, I'm

afraid. But he needs to remember. It will help him to heal the wound.

But do not rush him, let him remember in his own time."

"We have told him that Bori is dead. Was that wrong?"

"No, but do not speak of it anymore than you must in front of him.

This dream is the first step for him to remember on his own."

"Do you think Jeric will be able to tell us why they were outside?"

Talanne asked.

"I honestly don't know."

Talanne nodded. She gave Troi's hand a last squeeze and withdrew

her own hand. "Is there nothing you can do to help him?"

"Not really. I would like to talk to him during the day. I might be

able to help him remember more gently through therapy, but the mind

is a delicate thing, Colonel Talanne. It heals best in its own time."

"But he will heal. He won't always wake screaming?" The woman

stared at Troi, her need to hear a positive answer tripped over

Troi's skin like a vibrating string. And as so often happened in her

work, Troi couldn't give a definite answer. "I believe he will heal.

He is very young. Children often recover more quickly than adults."

"But you can't promise, can you?"

Troi wanted to say yes, she wanted to fill that frightened core

inside Talanne. That little pocket of fear and protection that

wrapped around Jeric in his

mother's mind. But Troi could not, would not lie. "No, I can't

promise."

Talanne nodded. She put her hands over her eyes and took a long

shuddering breath. "This blasted war touches everything, everything."

When she took her hands down her face was still constricted with

grief. Her body was calm but her face still betrayed her inner chaos.

Troi stared at her, waiting for the woman to spend as much effort

to control her facial features as she had her body and voice, but it

did not happen. Talanne was convinced that no one could tell she was

in pain, even though the grief was plain on her face. Troi realized

then that the Orianians always wore masks, always. They didn't

understand facial expressions. That meant that if they were bare-

faced, their emotions could easily be read by a certain Federation

ambassador.

Colonel Talanne thought she was showing a mask of indifference. Her

vibrating fear was tucked behind a wall of lies. Lies that sounded

hollow even to herself.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Healer. I am most grateful." Her

voice was utterly calm, but grief flickered behind her lovely eyes.

"I was glad to come. If you need me again, I will be here."

Her face constricted with an effort not to cry, but her voice did

not betray her. "Thank you again. I will see him to sleep. You will

be meeting with my husband tomorrow morning. I will be there. Good

night, Healer."

"Good night, Colonel Talanne," Troi said. She had

Been dismissed abruptly. But Troi understood. Talanne was holding

Onto her dignity with both hands. It was only a matter of moments

before the second highest ranking Torlick officer broke down and

cried. Talanne wanted them gone before she did.

A guard opened the door, and Troi started to walk out, but Worf

stopped her. "I will go first and check the hallway."

Stepping outside, Worf was relieved to be able to do something

tangible. This talk of children and emotional scars had made him

uneasy. Ever since they had beamed down to Oriana, he had felt out of

his element. Diplomacy was not his strong suit. He half-wanted a

confrontation, something real and physical to take the taste of grief

from his mind. Colonel Talanne's worry for her son made him think of

Alexander.

Worf pushed thoughts of children from his mind. He had work to do.

Searching the hallway, he found it empty except for the constant

colors. He had grown weary of the bright, screaming paintings.

"It is clear," he said. Troi walked out beside him, and the door

closed behind them. They were left alone in the night-silent hallway.

Worf could hear the blood rush in his own veins as he strained for

any sound of trouble.

"We'd better report back to the captain," Troi said.

"Did you learn something?"

"Every important government leader has a personal sentinel that has

loyalty first to the person they guard."

"It would make discipline difficult," Worf said.

"I suppose it would. Breck, the guard that always

seems to be with us, is our personal sentinel or perhaps the

captain's."

"Does this mean that this guard is loyal to the captain before his

own people?" Worf asked.

"I believe so. I also learned that the Orianians love their

children."

"Does that surprise you?"

"They value their children, Worf. I think that what's happening to

the children is one of the major reasons this peace negotiation has

been called."

"Does the captain know this?"

"Not yet."

Worf nodded. "You have learned much.

"I hope so," Troi said. She looked back at the closed door. A look

passed over her face as if she were listening to music that he could

not hear. He would have bet she was sensing some emotion. Was she

feeling the child's fear? The mother's sorrow? Not for the first

time, Worf was glad that he did not share Troi's gift.

They had not gone far when a man stepped around the corner. He was

short, thin, almost childlike. He w as dressed in full mask and a

plain brown cloak.

Worf stepped in front of Troi, using his body to shield her. "Who

are you?" he demanded.

The Orianian held his hands palm upward to show them empty. Then he

spread the cloak out for Troi and Worf to see that he had no weapon.

He was the first adult besides Dr. Zhir that they had met who was not

armed. "I am called Audun."

"Are you Torlick or Venturi?" Worf asked.

"Neither." He was still walking toward them.

"Stand where you are," Worf said. Worf drew his phaser and pointed

it at the man's chest. He appeared

to be unarmed, but Worf knew appearances could deceive.

"I mean you no harm.

"Worf," Troi said, "I don't feel any hostility from him. If

anything, he's afraid for his own safety."

"As he should be," Worf said. But he listened to Troi's words. If

she said the man wasn't hostile, she was probably right. But Worf did

not lower his phaser.

"He isn't afraid of you, Worf, but of. . . Troi moved out from

behind the klingon and took two steps toward the man. "You're afraid

of being discovered. Why?"

Worf tensed, fighting the urge to grab Troi and make her stay back

behind him, where it was safe. But you could only protect crew

members so far, they had to be free to do their duties. So he kept

the phaser trained on the stranger and let Troi risk her life.

Audun smiled. "We heard there was a mind-healer with the

ambassador. I did not believe it. It has been a long time since we

had such a one among us." He took a step toward Troi, hand

outstretched.

Worf gripped Troi's shoulder and drew her back toward him, the

other hand still pointing the phaser at the man. "What do you want,

Audun, if that is your name?"

The man laughed. "So suspicious. You must love our leaders." He let

his hand drop back to his side, slowly. "I am a Green. Has no one

mentioned us?"

"No," Worf said.

"They thought they could hide us away like they hide our dying

children." The bitterness in his voice

was plain, no empathy needed.

"Please, I must speak with you but

not here. If I am discovered . . . they will kill me."

"You would lead us to some secluded place," Worf said.

"Some place more private, yes.

"An ambush." If it wasn't a trap, it was at least suspicious. The

man was obviously hiding something.

"No, I swear to you, we mean no harm to anyone, not even our

enemies. You bring the possibility of peace. Do you know how long we

have prayed for such a thing?" Audun held out his hands as if

begging. "Please, you must hear what I have to say.

"We hear you," Worf said.

"But

"He means us no harm," Troi said.

Worf shook his head. "No, Counselor, it is too dangerous. He talks

here and now, or not at all."

Troi, as always, was too trusting. They had nothing but this man's

words, and his emotions to guide them. Worf did not trust either.

"Please, Audun, speak to us," Troi said.

He lowered his voice, darting a look behind him down the hallway.

"You do not understand. I will be killed on sight if they discover

what I am."

"And what is that?" Worf asked.

"I am a bioengineer. If a person is even suspected of genetic

manipulation, they will be killed. No trial is needed."

"Why?" Troi asked.

He darted another look around the empty halls. "I was a scientist.

My specialty was biotechnology. They wanted me to use my knowledge to

kill. I refused.

There are many of us, mostly scientists, doctors, others, who believe

that our technology should be used to heal this planet not to destroy

it."

"Commendable," said WorI, a growl creeping into his voice. He made

no effort to hide his suspicion.

"Some members of our group were the first to tell our leaders that

the planet was dying. Nearly three decades ago, our people predicted

what has happened. Many of the people blame us for what is happening

to the planet, because we predicted it. They are frightened and they

need someone to hate. So they hate their enemies, and they hate us."

"That is a fine story, but what does it have to do with us," Worf

said.

"Worf!" Troi said.

He ignored the counselor and kept his eyes on the man. She was

worried he would insult the man. Worf was not.

"We have a way to clean the water of this world. We want to offer

that to the two warring sides. The Greens want to be part of the new

peace."

"The water on Oriana is lifeless. How can you clean it?" Troi

asked.

"We have developed a bacteria that eats the pollutants but leaves

the naturally occurring impurities alone."

"I do not trust him," Worf said.

"I do," Troi said. "Can you explain this process in more detail?"

"Yes, but..." he looked up and down the corridor, afraid, "Yes, if

it means my death, I will tell you all."

"No," Troi said. "We will take you to a place of safety."

NIGHTSHADE

"What are you saying, Counselor?"

"He must speak with the captain."

"No! It could still be a trap." The thought of taking a stranger

into the captain, the Federation ambassador, when assassins were

everywhere, was out of the question.

"I would know if it were a trap," she said, firmly.

He trusted the counselor, if she said it was safe, it likely was,

yet . . . "Even if I allowed you to endanger the captain," Worf said,

"how would we keep the Orianian guard from taking this man prisoner?"

"The guards are loyal first and foremost to the people they guard.

Loyal beyond any other allegiance."

"They will just allow us to consort with their enemies?" Worf said.

"Yes," she said.

He glanced down at Troi, then at the Orianian. He did look

helpless, so tiny. Worf was certain he could break the man's spine

over his knee like a stick. But you did not have to be muscular to be

a good assassin, in fact looking helpless could be an asset. "I do

not think this is a good idea."

"We have to hurry before any other Orianians see us," Troi said.

She walked up to Audun before Worf could stop her. He watched her

stand within easy reach of the man, and block his line of fire in one

smooth motion. Worf ground his teeth just a bit. She was probably

right, but she was making it difficult to guard her.

"You must explain all this in more detail to the Federation

ambassador," Troi said.

"Truly?" Audun asked.

"Yes.-'

Audun gripped her hand tightly. "I am grateful to you for believing

me."

"If you can purify the water of Oriana, it is I who am grateful."

"If we are to do this foolishness, we must get out of sight," Worf

said. Leading the way, Worf hoped they would not run into any other

Orianians. It would not help the peace process to have a pitched

battle between the Federation party and the local bodyguards.

Worf gave a small, bitter smile. No, that would not do at all. He

ushered Troi and the Orianian down the corridor. His phaser was still

in his hand, on stun. Did Troi know the position she had put them in?

He doubted it. She let her heart lead her head at times. Perhaps all

empaths were like that.

Worf could not afford to let his feelings color his caution. He

watched the empty corridors, tension riding up his spine. Troi and

the man spoke quietly, smiling. If this Audun were telling the truth

he could be a great help to the negotiations. If he were an assassin

Troi would know. Troi had learned much this night that could be

helpful. Worf watched the hallways for signs of trouble, and felt

juSt a little useless. In a world at war he had thought to be

comfortable, but their system of honor was too strange. War without

honor was not a fit occupation for any warrior.

Chapter Five

GENERAL BAsHA sat in a high-backed chair, made of black plastic. The

back of the chair was far taller than the general and had looping

black curls that formed fantastic shapes. It looked like a throne

that had been partially melted and allowed to cool.

A desk of the same black plastic spilled away from him. The top was

utterly clear as if no work were ever done on it.

The general's gold-ivory skin was mottled by bruises along the

right side of his face. The delicate skin, the long, almost birdlike

bone structure was covered in deep purple-black bruises. The color

was startling against the paleness.

A long gash had been stitched over his forehead. Surely this wasn't

the best the Orianian's medical technology could do? If a doctor

could rebuild a baby's deformed face, Troi thought, surely they could

heal bruises and wounds better than this.

Talanne stood to one side of the chair. Bodyguards stood to attention

on either side. The two guards that had escorted the Federation party

inside the room moved to stand just in front of the general. A last

guard stood near one wall, closer to Talanne than to anyone else.

Breck and another Orianian guard that had been assigned to the

Federation party took up posts on either side of Picard. Worf

protected his back, but

"Captain," Worf said, he leaned into Picard as if to whisper, but

the KJingon's deep voice was not meant for whispering. "They have one

more guard than you do. It is a deliberate insult."

Picard nodded. "I am aware of that particular Orianian custom,

Lieutenant Worf."

General Basha waved a hand. "Cratin, go." He spoke carefully out of

the left side of his mouth, trying very hard not to disturb his

bruises.

"General Basha, I assure you," Picard said, "it is not necessary."

The general did not repeat his order. He merely glared at the

guard. The look on that once beautiful face was frightening.

Troi could feel the weight of Basha's personality. It was a strange

phenomenon that she had felt around some races, humans included. The

truly great leaders had an almost psychic force to them.

The guard did not hesitate. He bowed very low and left the room

without a word of protest.

"There, Captain, is that . . . satisfactory?" Basha said. He had to

swallow between words. His pain was evident, but it was nothing like

yesterday.

"Very," Picard said.

Troi realized it wasn't General Basha's physical

pain that had hit her so hard the day before, but the general's rage.

Today he was calm. The anger was still there bubbling and hidden, but

Basha was in control today. How unusual was it to catch General Basha

so totally out of control? Very, if what Troi was sensing was

correct. So why would such a steady man show himself to the

Federation ambassador bloody and panicked? The panic and rage had

been real, but there had been no effort to control them. The man

sitting before them now was a man of iron will and nerves of ice. Why

had he lost control yesterday? Troi would bring her findings to the

captain later in private. For now, she watched and tried to learn

more.

Talanne touched Basha's shoulder. There was quiet tenderness in

that touch. It was like being allowed a glimpse into something very

private. He started to nod but stopped in mid-motion. It hurt. "As

you can see, Captain Picard, my husband is in some pain. If it is

acceptable, I will do much of the talking for now."

"Of course," Picard said.

"There is a reception planned for this afternoon. The Venturi

faction will be represented there."

"What of the Green party?" Picard asked.

General Basha's anger flared through him like a hot wind, but his

face never betrayed it. He spoke carefully, each word an effort. "The

Greens have no part in our government."

"They are a part of your people, General Basha. Can any peace last

if all the people are not represented?" Picard said.

"The Greens will not be a part of this peace," Basha said.

"They wish to bring biotechnology to the bargaining table, General.

They have a way to clean this

planet's water. Surely that is a valuable bargaining chip."

"NO!" The anger in that one word was enough to scald.

"Basha," Talanne said, "if they can truly make the water pure again

"No."

"General Basha, you came to the Federation for peace. You and the

other leaders realized that war was killing not just the warriors,

but the planet." Picard stepped forward, Worf moved with him to flank

him. Basha's guards moved forward as well.

"I will be all right, Lieutenant. Thank you for your concern."

Worf started to protest, but Picard shot him a hard look. The

captain had the ability to say much with a glance Troi noted. Worf

stepped back in place.

"General Basha, Colonel Talanne, we have seen the nurseries. We

have seen the lifeless children that are not lifeless at all."

Talanne stiffened, clutching her husband's shoulder. He winced at

the strength of her grip, His own face remained impassive, guarded.

"That is a forbidden area, Captain. You had no right to be there,"

Basha said. He stared at the remaining guard that had accompanied

them inside. "Tell me."

The guard went down on one knee, much as he had to the doctor.

"General Basha, Colonel Talanne gave orders that the Federation

ambassador was to have access to all areas."

"Is this true, Talanne?"

"Yes." Her voice was very soft as she said it.

"Very well, you have seen our greatest shame. It makes no

difference."

"If the Greens' biotechnology can clean your water of the poisons,

then perhaps they can clean the air. It is your planet that is

killing your children. Even if the war stops today, the planet will

not recover overnight. It will take decades. Would you turn down

anything that would speed that process?"

"I will not deal with the Greens," Basha said.

"Why not?" Picard asked.

"They deal with demons," Basha said.

Picard just blinked at him, his uncertainty wriggling along Troi's

skin. She herself didn't know what to make of this new information.

"They deal with demons?" Picard asked. His voice was careful to

make no insult of the question.

"Everyone knows that they do unholy things. They twist the very

stuff of life, deforming our babies, while theirs grow healthy!"

His hatred was like some ugly black thing inside Troi's head. It

crawled over Troi's skin and filled her with revulsion. It was rare,

but sometimes a person's hate was so strong that it was almost

physically repulsive.

"I found the Green's representative to be intelligent and

thoughtful. A man of science, not superstition."

"Then how do you explain their children being healthy while ours

die?" Basha asked.

"I have no answer for that, General, but I have spoken with the

Greens, and I believe they can help this planet."

"I have given my answer, Captain Picard. His

voice was low and rage-filled, each word carefully bitten oW

"You would turn to off-world strangers for help, but refuse aid

from your own people?" Picard asked.

"The Greens are not my people. I am Torlick. They are my people."

Picard shook his head. "If that is what you truly believe, General,

then there will be no peace."

Basha frowned, winced. "What are you talking about?"

"As long as you see yourselves as separate people, you cannot work

together. You must put aside old hatreds and work as one people, not

fractured groups."

"I do not understand," Basha said.

Again, Troi knew he was lying, but it was a lie of politeness. His

rage was like a great hovering warmth in the room, ready to swoop

down on the captain.

"We are Torlick, they are Venturi. We are not the same people."

"Except for the colors of your cloaks you are the same people. Your

language, most of your customs, your physical appearance is the same.

What is it that makes you two separate factions?"

The general struggled to stand, pushing himself upward with his one

good arm. "How dare you pass such judgments on us. We are two

separate people. We want peace. We do not want to embrace our

enemies." Basha's anger had found a focus, and it broke against the

captain like heat-lightning. Picard seemed not to notice. Troi felt

scorched just standing nearby.

"I do not ask that you embrace your enemies,

General Basha, but you must know that you cannot have peace in the

midst of hate."

"Our hatred of each other has been built over centuries of

fighting, Captain. Everyone in this room has lost parents, children,

brothers, sisters, to the enemy. How can we forgive that, or they

forgive us?"

"It is not a matter of forgiveness," Picard said. "It is a matter

of practicality. Your world is dying because all your technology has

gone into causing death instead of preserving life. If you do not

stop now, it will be too late. I ask you, General, is winning the war

worth killing all the people on this planet?"

Picard took a step forward. The guards moved in on either side to

eye each other suspiciously. "Is winning a war worth the death of not

just the children in the nurseries, but all the children? We have met

your son, Jeric. He is a bright, strong child. Would you trade his

life for your hatred?"

"He is right." Talanne's voice was soft, but clear.

Basha turned to look at her, but the movement was too quick and he

nearly groaned aloud with pain. Talanne moved toward him, as if to

help him. He stared her into immobility. "So you speak against me."

"No, husband, I speak for our child and for myself. The fighting

must end or all will be lost. Everything. Jeric looks at the wall

hangings and asks what a tree is, or a flower. He doesn't believe me

when I tell him the pictures of dozens of children playing together

is true, not a made-up story. Our son doesn't believe that that many

healthy children could exist."

Talanne stepped toward her husband, fingers touching his bruised

cheek ever so gently. "Husband, we must make peace, and it must

last."

Basha's face softened. His love for his wife flared like a comforting

flame inside of Troi's head. Something inside of him let go, released

some old hatred. The anger faded, replaced by an emotion Troi was

beginning to closely associate with the Orianians- sorrow. "What

would you have me do, wife of mine?"

Talanne smiled and stepped back. "Listen to the Federation

ambassador, and invite the Greens to the peace talks."

"NO."

"Basha, remember the stories your grandmother told us about

swimming in water outside under the skies. Water so pure you could

swim in it, and catch animals out of it, and eat them. Jeric, or his

children could go swimming under the sky."

"You do not know that their technology will work," Basha said.

"And you do not know that it won't," she said.

He stared at her for a moment or two, then turned back to Picard.

"It seems you have an advocate among my own people. An advocate I

happen to trust. Very well, the Greens may send three representatives

to the banquet this afternoon."

"Thank you, General Basha," Picard said.

He almost smiled. "Do not thank me." He half-fell into his chair.

Talanne rushed forward to help steady him.

"My husband is tired," Talanne said.

"When our ship returns to orbit, we will be happy to give medical

assistance," Picard said.

"It won't be necessary, Captain," Talanne said. "It is our custom

to save serious healing for the children and life-threatening

injuries. Pain is to be endured by a warrior without complaint, but

we need our general

strong and well for the peace talks. He will be healed in time for

the afternoon banquet."

Picard nodded. "I am relieved to hear it, Colonel Talanne."

"Now please go and let us tend him."

"Of course." Picard turned to leave. All the guards pivoted on him,

taking up their posts. His flash of irritation was very clear to

Troi. "I hope these peace talks go quickly," he whispered to Troi, "I

don't know how much longer I can stand to be the center of so much

attention."

Troi smiled. "They are only doing their duty, Captain."

"I suppose so," he said, but he frowned at Worf's broad back.

Picard was having to take smaller steps than normal to keep from

treading on the KIing on's heels. Worf was being very cautious.

Troi hoped Captain Picard was right and that the precautions were

excessive. The image of General Basha's battered face flashed across

her mind. Troi suppressed a shiver. Perhaps Worf was being too

cautious, but then again, perhaps not.

Chapter Six

Picard LOOKED AROUND the nearly packed room. Lieutenant Worf and

Breck were practically glued to his sides. The two other Orianian

guards were nearly as attentive. It was . . . embarrassing. Worse,

even, than having Riker fuss over him. Only Counselor Troi seemed at

ease, but it wasn't often that Picard could detect anything but peace

in her delicate features.

The banquet room wasn't much bigger than their sleeping quarters

had been. Breck had explained, "Smaller rooms are easier to defend."

All the Orianians wore simple jump-suits in the respective colors

of their groups. The Torlick in black with sparkling gold braid. The

Venturi in crimson with white blocks of color in sleeves and leg. The

Greens wore unadorned blue. There was no insignia to mark rank. This

was to minimize the chance of assassination. An assassin simply had

to know his

NIGHTSHADE

victims on sight. Unless of course, he just waited and watched the

bodyguards. Their concern and watchfulness was obvious. It made

hiding rank insignia worthless. Perhaps it was an old custom that

predated the bodyguards?

Audun made up one of the three Green representatives. He had been

eloquent last night. Picard had not needed Troi's empathy to see the

emotions skate across the man's face. Audun was a man dedicated, not

just to the salvation of the Greens, but of all the Orianians. He was

the first leader that Picard had met who didn't consider this an "us

or them" problem. Audun wanted a united people, because only then

could the planet be healed. It was the attitude that Picard was

determined to foster in the Torlicks and Venturies. He hoped that the

Greens' forgiving attitude would be an example to the rest.

Audun smiled and moved as close to the captain as the guards would

allow.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Picard said. "Give me room to breath,

Lieutenant."

"Captain, I

"That is an order."

Worf gave a very curt nod, then stepped back. The other guards did

as well, having been convinced earlier that the Klingon was in

charge.

Picard smiled at Audun. "I enjoyed our talk last night."

"As did I, Captain. May I introduce my fellow Greens? Marit and

Liv." Marit was a short woman with nearly solid brown hair. Liv was

tall and slender and almost white-blond. The women smiled and nodded.

"We are very grateful to you, Captain, for allowing us an opportunity

to participate in these peace talks," Liv said.

"It is I who am honored. Your work in biotechnology rivals the

Federation's."

Liv blushed, bowing her head.

"She is nOt accustomed to strangers," Audun said. "We have learned

to keep to ourselves. It is safer."

"Was there trouble?" Picard asked.

"None, but until today we were members of a dangerous subversive

organization. Traitors. In time of war, traitors may be shot on

sight." He smiled as he said it, to take the sting out of the words

but

"You were hunted like animals?" Troi asked.

"Sometimes, Healer, sometimes," Audun said.

A gong sounded in clear, ringing tones. Everyone in the room turned

to see General Basha standing in front of a long table. It was laden

with food.

General Alick, head of the Venturi faction, stood just out of

reach, behind the table, as well. He was wider through the shoulders

and waist than Basha- the closest Picard had seen any of the

Orianians come to being fat. But it was hard fat, muscle disguised

under bulk. Picard would have guessed that many enemies had judged by

outward appearances and been outwitted and out maneuvered by the

slow, bulky-looking general.

"Welcome all," General Basha said.

"To this place of peace," General Alick said.

"Eat and drink without fear," Basha said.

"We stand on neutral ground," Alick said.

"And it is against our most sacred laws to defile neutral ground,"

Basha finished.

It had taken Picard nearly three hours to arrive at

the compromise they had just heard. Both Alick and Basha had been

determined to have the "honor" of opening the peace talks.

All the food on the table was bite-sized or slightly bigger. There

were no plates. Napkins were to be used strictly for dabbing at hands

and mouth. They were not to be used as plates. Plates allowed the

sprinkling of poison. If you picked up one item of food at a time and

ate it right away, no one could tamper with it.

As the food was laid out indiscriminately and no one had any idea

who would be eating what, it was safe, except from random tampering.

And the Orianians did not believe in random assassination. That was

considered rude.

Lieutenant Worf had said, "I am glad to see the Orianian assassins

have some honor."

Picard hadn't been sure if the Klingon was serious or being

sarcastic. He couldn't recall ever hearing Worf use sarcasm before.

There was a pile of Styrofoamlike cups. Each guest was to use one

cup, then throw it away, again to lessen the chances of poison.

Picard stared at the pile of cups and wondered how much energy and

failing natural resources had gone into making them. All to be thrown

away.

He sighed. One problem at a time. Peace, then the planet's

salvation could begin.

'We have a special honor for the Federation ambassador," General

Basha said.

"The Torlick and the Venturi have worked together on a surprise for

the ambassador," General Alick said.

Picard looked from one to the other, unsure what was about to

happen. But that the two warring

factions had worked together on anything was a miracle.

Two guards wheeled in a tray with what looked like an old-fashioned

urn on it. Basha and Alick took places on either side of the small

wheeled cart. The two men spoke in unison like an a capella choir.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard, the Venturi and the Torlick wish you to

know we are not entirely uncivilized."

"We have worked together to secure something that your dossier said

you preferred," Basha said.

"Working together on this small matter," Alick said, "is perhaps

preferable to fighting about it."

Both men smiled. Picard wondered how much fighting had gone into

even that short speech. He came forward, motioning his own guards

back with an impatient hand.

"If you will be so kind as to get a cup, Ambassador," Basha said.

Picard did, vowing not to throw the cup away after he had used it

only once. He held the cup under the spigot. Alick turned a small

handle, and steaming liquid poured into the cup.

Picard raised the cup near his face. One whiff and he felt better

instantly. The warm, rich smell alone was comforting. He smiled

broadly, "Earl Grey tea. I am impressed, gentleman, at your knowledge

of my habits and your willingness to cooperate with one another."

Basha and Alick exchanged glances. Alick motioned Basha to speak

first. Basha bowed to acknowledge it. "Ambassador Picard, we are

learning that perhaps there are worse things than working together."

Alick smiled. "Well said."

Picard breathed in the sweet steam of tea and hid his amazement.

They were being civil to each other. This dinner was only the

preliminaries. The real peace talks began after dinner, when darkness

fell. It was an Orianian custom to negotiate at night when conditions

for fighting were not ideal.

"I am most gratified," Picard said. "And please join me in a cup of

tea. Let it symbolize the beginnings of working through our

difficulties together without violence."

Basha whispered, "You were not there when we had to decide who

spoke first. There was almost violence."

Alick grinned almost sheepishly.

"Almost is a beginning," Picard said.

They helped themselves to cups, and when all three had a steaming,

brownish-green cup of tea, Picard held his cup aloft. "My people have

a custom called a toast. It is to celebrate any great and happy

occasion. I propose a toast to the bravery of General Basha and

General Alick, the bravery of all the Torlick and Venturi. It often

takes more bravery to talk peace than to fight. To peace and

prosperity for this planet." Picard bowed to the two leaders and took

a drink. After a moment's hesitation, many in the room with cups

followed his example.

"You will have to explain to me this thing called a toast more

fully later, Ambassador," Alick said. He was standing beside the

captain. He was smiling.

Picard smiled back, and for the first time since he had set foot on

Oriana, he felt optimistic about his mission. "I would be happy,, to

tell you more of our customs, General Alick. .

The smile left Alick's face. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as

if to clear his vision. One hand grabbed for his chest. "Ambassador.

. I don't feel

Aahh!" He groped as if blind. The cup with its tea fell to the

carpet. Picard reached out to the man. Alick's hand convulsed on

Picard's arm.

General Alick fell to his knees, dragging Picard with him. "Get a

doctor," Picard yelled. Picard had a sense of people running, frantic

movement. He had eyes only for Alick. The man's heart was beating so

loudly that Picard could hear it, pounding like it was trying to come

out of his chest.

Troi was beside him trying to help hold Alick's convulsing body.

Picard stared at her in horror over Alick's twisting body. The man's

hands clawed at Picard as if begging him to do something. Picard

wanted to ask Troi if she heard his heartbeat. It was so loud, louder

than his own heartbeat.

Guards in Venturi red and white pushed Picard and Troi back. They

tried to hold Alick's body still, but his muscles and limbs jumped as

if they had separate lives of their own.

Even pushed back several feet, Pi card could still hear the

monstrously furious thumping of Alick's heart. Troi was beside him,

one hand on his shoulder. Her black eyes were wide and horror-filled.

Picard wondered wildly, could she feel the man dying? Could she

feel it?

A woman dressed in orange surgical garb rushed into the room. The

convulsions had already quieted. He lay very still.

"I can't hear his heart any longer," Picard said, he didn't know

he'd spoken aloud, until Troi answered,

NIGHTSHADE

"He's dead, Captain. He's dead." Her voice held such soft horror.

Picard placed his hand atop hers, giving comfort to the counselor.

He was still too numb by the quickness of it all to believe it. Alick

had been talking to him, had been fine. What in blazes had happened?

The doctor chased the Torlick guards back and bent over the still

form of General Alick. She checked pulse, respiration, then ran a

small scanner over the still form. She looked up at the waiting

people, and very clearly in the utter silence of the room her voice

carried. "His heart has burst."

"What do you mean, his heart has burst?" Basha asked.

"I am scanning for vital functions. His heart has blown apart.

There is no repairing it, or reviving him. He is gone."

"He was as healthy as I am," Basha said.

"Yes," another voice said, "but now he's dead and you're alive." It

was a Venturi in red and white.

"What treachery is this?" another voice called.

Ficard pushed himself to his feet. He was so numb his hands

tingled. It had all been so sudden. The peace mission was in shambles

before it had begun. War was going to break out while he stood

helpless. No, there had to be a way. "General Alick wanted peace,

believed in it. He gave his life because someone here was more afraid

of peace than of war. Would you dishonor General Alick's memory while

he lies barely dead at your feet?"

The Venturi averted his eyes and could not look directly at Picard.

"I want no dishonor on our general."

"Good. Then we must continue with the talks as your general would

have wished." Even as Picard said it, he wasn't sure he believed it

was possible. It was only the initial shock and the fact that he

seemed to be the only calm person in the room, that was saving

everyone from pointing fingers.

"The ambassador is right," Basha said, "but, by the dead world, I

cannot understand what has happened."

The doctor said, "I need to speak with the leaders, please, in

private."

General Basha looked surprised, then nodded.

A slender woman in crimson and white stepped forward. "I am the

next in command. I will speak for the Venturi now."

"Fine. If the ambassador will join us out in the hallway for a

moment."

Audun stepped forward in his unadorned blue. "This affects us all.

As speaker for the Greens, may I be included?"

"By all means," Picard said.

Basha closed his mouth on the words he was about to utter, frowning

at Picard. "Of course," he said finally.

The leaders and their sentinels followed the doctor out into the

hall. For the first time Picard didn't think all this guarding

nonsense was funny. It was almost comforting.

"Gentle people," the doctor began, "General Alick was poisoned."

"But that's impossible," Basha began.

"I know all precautions were taken, but nevertheless it was

poison."

"How long ago was it administered," Picard asked.

"Minutes, no more. Death was nearly instantaneous."

"But we were all standing right there," Basha protested. "How?"

"What was the last thing he drank or ate?"

"Tea," Troi said.

"Did any one else drink it?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," Basha said, "I did and the ambassador."

"Then find General Alick's cup. It must be that."

They trooped back inside and found a nearly silent room. All eyes

were on them as they knelt by the two spilled cups of tea. One was

Picard's, one was the dead general's.

The doctor pulled a bulky object from one pocket. It had a slender

handle and a hand-sized square mounted on the top. Multicolored

buttons decorated the square. She touched a button and a faint bluish

light pulsed over the cups. The doctor waved the scanner over the

cups five times before she sighed and stood up.

She gathered the four leaders around her. "It was poison in the

cup."

'What sort of poison?" Basha asked.

"It was a plant alkaloid. There are minute bits of plant fiber in

the cup. It is not tea leaves." She shook her head. "The plant

fragments contain a thousand times more alkaloid than any naturally

occurring plant."

"Are you saying," Basha said, "that it was no natural plant?"

"I am saying I cannot explain the toxicity of the plant alkaloid in

these plant fragments."

General Basha turned to Audun. "Does your biotechnology include a

process to grow such a poison?"

Audun pulled himself up to his full height, still not reaching to the

general's shoulder. "There are enough poisons on this planet without

growing more."

"Answer the question," Basha said.

The new Venturi leader was standing very close to Audun. "Yes,

Green, answer the question."

Audun looked to Picard. He could only nod. "You must answer the

question," Picard said.

"I do not know the true nature of the doctor's findings but, yes,

we could grow such a plant. But we would not do it. We do not believe

in violence."

Basha stepped very close to the smaller man. "You did it. You and

your peaceful technology." His words were very quiet, a whispered

hiss.

The new Torlick leader said, "They must pay for what they have

done."

"Agreed," Basha said.

"Nothing has been proved against them, yet," Picard said.

"It was a bioengineered plant alkaloid," Basha said. "Who else

would have access to such a thing? No one else has tampered with

genetics for over a century."

"I do not know. But why would the Greens kill General Alick? What

would it gain them?"

"People who twist the very babes in their mother's wombs do not

have to have a reason," the Venturi leader said.

This is absurd, Picard thought, but aloud he said, "You need proof

before you can accuse them of murder."

Basha was staring at Picard, a look on his face that the captain

did not understand. It was like an idea

was growing behind his eyes.

Troi came up beside Picard and put a hand on his arm. "Captain, I

must speak with you."

"It was you who insisted on the Greens attending this party,

Captain Picard. And you were the last person to speak with the

Torlick leader."

Picard didn't understand for a moment, then the awful implications

hit him. He was too outraged to be frightened. "What are you saying?"

"He was standing right beside you when he drank poison. The poison

was not in the tea, or you and I would be dead. It had to have been

administered."

"I am a Federation ambassador. What possible motive could I have

for poisoning General Alick?" He let the anger at the ridiculousness

of the accusations flow into his voice.

"I do not know," Basha said, "but we will find out. If it is

acceptable with the Venturi leader, we will put Picard and the Greens

in one of our cells."

The woman nodded. Her face was very grim. "That would be most

acceptable. General Alick was so pleased that our two sides were

working together on this. Perhaps the general can bring us together

to do one more thing."

Basha bowed. "I would be honored."

"What are they talking about, Captain?" Worf asked.

"I'm not sure," Picard said.

Troi tightened her grip on Picard's arm. "Captain..

"Guards!" Basha yelled.

The new Venturi leader called, "Guards." The room was suddenly

flooded with uniforms. "I arrest the Green delegation and Ambassador

Picard for the murder of General Alick."

Worf and the three other guards formed up around Picard and Troi. The

Orianians that had been assigned to Picard did not hesitate to draw

rifles on their fellow Orianians.

"Wait," Picard cried. "Wait!" He stepped out from behind Worf's

broad back. "General Basha, Venturi Leader, I had nothing to do with

this. I do not believe the Greens did either."

"You would say that," the Venturi leader said.

Picard looked down at the floor, then quickly up, trying

desperately to think of some way out of this. The situation would

have been ridiculous except for the corpse lying on the floor. It was

absurd that they thought a Federation ambassador could have

participated in an assassination, but the faces of the Orianians were

grim. They believed it. "Don't you need proof before arresting a

Federation ambassador?"

"If your guards do not stand down," Basha said, "we will need no

proof whatsoever to kill you all where you stand. This is war,

Captain, and this," he motioned to Alick's body, "is treason."

"We will not resist," Picard said.

"Captain, I cannot let them take you," Worf said.

"Yes, you can, Lieutenant, and you will."

"I am responsible for your safety."

"I am still your captain, and you will obey a direct order. Holster

your arms, Lieutenant, now!"

The Klingon frowned down at him, hands clinching and unclinching on

his phaser. "Captain, please. . . "The last was said through gritted

teeth.

"No, Worf, we cannot fight our way out of this. We are here on a

peace mission. We are trying to show them that violence is not the

answer. Fighting now would not help us prove our point. Put up your

weapon.

Worf gave a long sigh, but put up his phaser. The other guards

followed his lead.

Picard turned back to the waiting leaders. His pulse was a little

rapid. Everything was going wrong at a breakneck pace. He could

barely keep up with it. "I am ready to go, General. We will not fight

this injustice at this time."

"Wise of you, Captain, I would hate to explain the deaths of the

entire Federation party. As it stands, only you will be executed."

Picard said, "Worf, don't!"

The KIingon took his hand away fro m his phaser, but the glare he

gave the waiting Orianian guards made them step back, just a bit. "I

cannot allow you to be turned over for execution, Captain. Surely,

that is a failure of my duty as your bodyguard."

Picard fought an urge to smile, but it wasn't hard to fight. "When

will this execution take place?" His voice sounded very calm, normal.

Years of practice.

"In three days, unless proof of your innocence can be found."

"I am a mind-healer," Troi said, "and I can read emotions. The

Greens and Captain Picard were as surprised as everyone else when the

general fell ill."

"I understand loyalty to your leader. There is no shame in that,"

Basha said.

"I am not lying to save the captain. Don't you want the real

murderer found?"

"You have three days to find proof of another murderer. Unless that

proof can be found, your captain and the three Greens will be

executed on the evening of the third day."

Picard's eyes widened just a bit, but otherwise he took the news

stoically. What else could he do? He turned to Troi. "Counselor, do

not worry. You and Lieutenant Worf must simply find the culprit. When

there is proof, the executions will be stopped."

"Captain..."

"No, I will be fine. We will solve this mystery without violence.

Intelligence and peaceful investigation will win out." He looked at

Worf as he said the last. "You are now in charge of this peace

mission, Lieutenant Worf. You are the acting Federation ambassador."

"But Captain "Worf said.

"Remember your duties, Ambassador Worf, and remember you represent

the entire Federation."

Worf drew himself to his full height. "Yes, Captain."

Picard looked into Troi's large dark eyes, and said, "Remind him

occasionally, Counselor, that this is a peace mission." He managed to

smile softly at her.

She smiled back, but her eyes gave her away. "We'll find the truth,

Captain."

"I have the utmost confidence in you both." He turned to the

waiting guards. "I am ready to go.

The three Greens were already surrounded by people in both Torlick

and Venturi uniforms, working together to punish the murderers.

Perhaps peace was still possible, if they could find the real

murderer. Of course, chances were very good that it was one of the

warring factions, which would start the war all over again. Would it

be better for the peace mission if Picard and the Greens took the

blame?

No. The Greens could save this planet, rebuild it. Even if the

fighting stopped, the planet was still

dying. There had been too much damage for easy solutions. The Greens

had to be included in this peace. That meant they had to be cleared

of these charges.

Picard stood beside Audun, behind a wall of guards. He could see

Worf's head towering above the others in the room. The Klingon was

watching him with fierce, dark eyes. Picard wondered what the

lieutenant would do if he and the counselor could not find proof. He

doubted the Klingon would allow his captain to be executed without a

fight. If the Enterprise would hurry back, perhaps there would be

other options, but for now they were on their own. Unless the ship

returned, it was up to Worf and Troi to find the real murderer and

proof enough to convince the two sides.

He had absolute confidence in Worf and Troi, but all the same he

hoped the Enterprise would be returning very soon.

Chapter Seven

THE ALIEN VESSEL hung in the blackness of space. It was roughly oval,

with one end bulbous, the other ending in a soft point. It was twice

the size of the Enterprise, a huge, silver ball, with opaque silver

windows decorating much of the ship.

Commander William Riker sat on the bridge of the Enterprise,

staring at the Milgian vessel. Their distress message had stopped

abruptly about an hour before. Now, they weren't moving. "Data, are

there life readings on that ship?"

The android sat at his post, spine rigid. His pale fingers danced

over his console. He blinked, then swiveled his chair to glance at

Riker. "Yes, Commander."

A tightness in Riker's stomach that he hadn't known was there,

eased. To have come all this way to find a dead ship would have been

beyond words. A

failed rescue was always one of the worst failures. "How many people

left alive?"

"Over a hundred, sir," Data said, his voice rising at the end with

that small lilt, that was nearly the only inflection the android ever

showed.

They had arrived in time. Very good. He glanced back at the ensign

who was filling Worf's station on the bridge. "Ensign Chi, hail the

alien vessel. Tell them we have arrived to give whatever assistance

is needed."

"Aye, sir, hailing the alien vessel now," Chi said. His dark

up4ilted eyes scanned his control board.

Almost immediately, Chi said, "They are answering our hail,

Commander."

"On main viewscreen," Riker said.

The screen flickered to life. The distress call had been without

visual. The alien's skin was pale blue. His head was made up of soft

squares, while his mouth was a deep slit in the center. The eyes were

scarlet, like fresh blood-startling against the blue of the skin.

His torso seemed to have no neck at all. He looked like a body

builder gone mad, huge square shoulders meeting just under the chin.

"I am Commander William Riker of the Starship Enterprise. We heard

your distress signal. What is the nature of your emergency?"

The voice was almost painfully deep, as if dragged out of the wide

throat. The words seemed slow, as if the alien were speaking at half-

speed. "I am Captain Diric of the Milgian vessel Zar. Our engines

have malfunctioned and are a day away from imploding."

"Is there a way to repair?"

"No, we would ask you to take off the families and civilians, so they

will be safe."

"Gladly. How many people would that be, Captain Diric?"

"Fifty, though some are injured. There have been explosions in

sections of the ship. Internal fires. Three of my people have died."

"Then you will want to evacuate your entire crew?" Riker asked.

"No, we do not believe in abandoning a ship. When our ship dies, it

will not die alone. It is our way."

Riker blinked, not sure what to say. There wasn't time to argue

philosophies about the sanctity of life. He would try later to

convince the captain to beam aboard. Right now, he had people to

save.

"With your permission I will send an away team over to you. Do you

need medical help, or extra engineering officers?"

"Medical aid would be most appreciated. I have every confidence in

my own chief engineer but again, any aid is most appreciated."

"We will contact you as soon as we are ready to receive your

people," Riker said.

"Most kind. I will meet your away team." The screen went blank.

"Communication has been cut off, Commander," Ensign Chi said.

Riker wanted badly to lead the away team himself; but he was acting

captain, and he had no right to endanger himself. He watched over

Picard's safety too tenderly to risk himself now. It would set a bad

example for the captain when he returned.

"Data, take an away team and beam over to the Zar."

NIGHTSHADE

"Aye, Commander, with permission, until we ascertain the stability

of the Zar's engines, I suggest a minimal away team. I would include

Dr. Crusher and -Geordi."

"Agreed." Riker smiled, "Make it so."

Data raised one pale eyebrow. "Dr. Crusher and Commander La Forge,

this is Commander Data. Please meet me in Transporter Room Three. We

will be looking at injuries and malfunctioning engines. Please pack

accordingly."

Geordi's voice came out of empty air. "On my way, Data."

"I'll need ten minutes to gather materials," Dr. Beverly Crusher

said, her voice spilling out of nowhere.

"That will be acceptable, Doctor. Data out." He turned without

another word and left the bridge.

Riker began giving orders to prepare for fifty rescuees. He trusted

Crusher to have left the medical preparations for the injured in good

hands. A good leader was often only as good as his crew. Riker

trusted everyone to do their job.

Watching the viewscreen, he wondered what the alien vessel looked

like inside. He hoped there would be time later to view the ship

personally, if they could keep it from blowing up. A big if. -

Data, Geordi, and Dr. Crusher appeared in a large smooth hallway.

The walls were the same gray-silver of the outside of the ship and

perfectly smooth, rising perhaps five meters to a peaked ceiling. The

shape echoed the outline of the ship.

Captain Diric was waiting for them. His squarish bulk nearly filled

the broad corridor. The Milgian

looked like he was formed from a child's building blocks and moved

forward in slow, ponderous movements, reminiscent of his slow,

crawling speech.

Geordi wondered what they sounded like to the Milgian. Were their

voices incredibly fast and high-pitched? How alien were they to the

aliens?

Data stepped forward. "I am Lieutenant Commander Data of the

Starship Enterprise. We have come to give aid."

"Most welcome," Diric said, each word said as if in slow motion.

Geordi fought an urge to shake his head, as if he could speed up the

words by giving his ears a good kick.

"Our medical facilities are this way." As he turned, the robes over

his squarish body showed burn marks.

Dr. Crusher went forward, nearly touching the alien captain. "Are

you injured, Captain?"

"A little," he said. He turned his head toward Crusher. It was

unsettling to see his head turn when it looked like he had no neck at

all.

"May I help you?"

"No, a small injury is nothing when my ship is dying."

"Please, you are in pain.

"No, if I have allowed my ship to die, then I must suffer with it."

"But I may be able to heal you?" Crusher said.

"No, thank you."

"Surely you would be better able to guide your ship and help your

crew if you were completely healed," Crusher said, softly.

Geordi resisted an urge to applaud, good thinking on the doctor's

part.

Diric seemed to think about this for a minute, then made a small

movement with his spadelike hands. "No, thank you." He moved off down

the passageway.

Data followed him.

Crusher didn't move for a moment. The look on her face was one of

exasperation. "I never. . ." She seemed at a loss for words.

Geordi patted her shoulder. "You tried."

"I just hope that all Milgians aren't so stubborn. It could make

being a doctor obsolete."

He smiled. "You know the old Earth custom. The captain goes down

with the ship."

She nodded. "I'm not going to stand by while lives are lost

needlessly. I don't care if it is their way." There was a set to her

face, a grim determination in her green eyes, that made Geordi very

glad she wasn't after him.

They hurried to catch up with the slow moving Captain Diric and

Data. The two were walking in absolute silence. Perhaps Milgians

didn't feel anymore need for small talk than the android did.

Diric paused beside a piece of corridor that seemed to bulge

outward just a bit. He passed a hand in front of it, and the wall

opened, peeling back like a curtain. He lumbered inside, and they

followed.

The room was uniformly dark. After the silverbrightness of the

hallway, it seemed dingy. Milgians of all sizes lay on the floor with

sheets over them. Geordi had assumed that all the Milgian would be

the same blue shade as the captain, but some were pale yellow, and a

few various shades of red. The Milgians looked like a box of crayons

spilled onto the floor.

A slightly smaller, yellow version of their captain walked among the

wounded. The yellow alien still dwarfed any of the humans. "Which of

you is the doctor?" The voice had the same slow measure, but there

was lilt to the end of words. Female? Geordi honestly couldn't tell.

For that matter, why had he assumed that Captain Diric was male?

"I am the doctor," Beverly Crusher said. She came forward, the

emergency medical kit slung over her shoulder.

"Good, I am the only doctor for the whole ship. I am pleased for

any assistance." The yellow alien started to kneel beside one of the

patients, but instead of bending knees, she seemed to melt. Geordi

couldn't see under the long robes, but the movement looked like the

lower half of her body had quickly melted, then solidified when she

was low enough to touch the patient.

Crusher exchanged a glance with him. Even Data had his head cocked

to one side, as if something interesting had happened. Beverly

overcame her surprise and knelt by the alien doctor.

Geordi searched the room and found all the Milgians had odd heat

patterns. What he could only assume were injury sites were a bright

screaming red-orange. The cooler the pattern, the healthier the

Milgian. What was their normal body temperature? It had to be lower

than a human's.

Crusher ran a scanner back and forth over the first patient. The

alien doctor flowed back to her solid looking feet and moved on.

Geordi moved forward to stand by Dr. Crusher. "How is... she?"

"Burns over seventy percent of the body, but they

have some sort of cell structure I've never seen before. It's almost

as if the structure isn't solid."

"Like when the doctor knelt down. It looked like she melted."

Crusher nodded. "It's as good a word as any, I guess. The

temperature readings are all over the place, depending on which part

of the body I'm registering, as if different parts of the body are

compartmentalized."

"Compartmentalized?" Data said, standing just behind them.

"Separate?"

"I think so." She stood and motioned the two men back from the

patient. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "If this patient were

any humanoid I'd ever met, he would be dead. Parts of the body are

nearly burned away, but those sections seem to have been shut down,

and the rest of the body seems fine. In fact, there's shock that I

can read."

"Can you help the Milgians?" Data asked.

"I think so, but their internal structure is like nothing I've ever

seen before. It will be difficult to know what to do."

"But you can help them?"

She nodded. "I'll beam over to the Enterprise with the worst of the

injured. And prepare my med team for some very unusual patients."

"Very good, Doctor," Data said. "If you have everything under

control here, I believe Geordi and I would be of more use in the

engineering section."

"I don't know about under control, but yes, we will do everything

we can."

"Good. I leave you to see to medical matters. Come, Geordi. We will

ask Captain Diric to take us to engineering."

Geordi fought an urge to give a mock salute, but he knew Data

wouldn't appreciate the joke. Though it wouldn't be for lack of

trying. No one tried harder than Data to have a sense of humor.

"Captain Diric, with your permission, we would like to see your

engines. Perhaps there is something we can do to help you."

"My Chief Engineer Veleck is most competent, but a captain's duty

is to his ship, and if anything can be done to save it, then of

course, you may see the engines." His voice sounded tired or perhaps

sad.

Geordi glanced around the room at the more than twenty injured,

some of them very small, children perhaps. Against one wall were

three large covered forms, no heat, no anything. Geordi knew death

when he saw it. He never needed to take a pulse, once the corpse was

old enough to cool. Suddenly, he understood the sorrow in Diric's

voice.

The engine room was huge, full of flowing silvergray tubes and open

structures. It was like being inside a huge architectural display.

Everywhere were flowing lines, arches, metal formed into shapes

delicate as lace. Geordi saw them through a colored prism of

structural details. But he had a sense of the wide open beauty of it.

It was one of those times when he wished he could simply see.

And just as Dr. Crusher had never seen cell structures like those

of the Milgians, La Forge had never seen any metal like this. He

wasn't even sure it was metal. But it couldn't be anything else.

Geordi searched the vast space for the engines, but there were no

heat patterns that he could detect. The room was cold, empty. All

right, if there wasn't any infrared radiation, there would be some

sort of wave particles. Engines had to run on something.

Geordi turned in a slow circle, concentrating. His VISOR responded

to his efforts. Bands of color, cell structure, stress points flared

along the metal. He could see the metal flowing in upon itself,

forming strong melded joints that were flawless. But there were

always stress fractures, blemishes where metal was joined. Even metal

that had been forged into a single piece showed signs of imperfection

to his VISOR. Geordi lived in a world where he could see all the

flaws, and there were no flaws in this metal.

Geordi ran his hand down one curved beam. The surface was like

cool, metallic silk. It had almost a furlike quality, a texture that

wasn't visible to his VISOR, but his hand picked it up. The metal

wasn't metal at all. Exactly what it was, Geordi didn't have a clue.

A small Milgian moved out from behind a particularly thick band of

"metal." To Geordi's eyes he was simply a hodge-podge of temperature

variants and strange shifting auras. All races had shifting patterns,

but the Milgians were scintillating, a constant wave of colors that

nearly made La Forge dizzy.

He turned away from the Milgian, to look once more at the metal

structures. There were no moving parts, no heat, no fusion, no

anything that he could understand. For all Geordi knew, the Milgians

were lying, and this whole place was a recreation area. Maybe that

was it. Maybe this wasn't engineering at all, and they hadn't been

prepared for his VISOR seeing through the ruse.

He shook his head. No, he just had to accept that he was in the

presence of technology so different from

his own that he didn't even know where the engines were. Suddenly, he

was beginning to wonder if he would be any help at all.

The Milgian that walked toward them was much smaller than the

captain. He was a dark rich blue, like a sky before night fall. Black

streaks decorated the tough outer skin of his body.

"This is Chief Engineer Veleck," Captain Diric said. "These are two

Federation officers, Chief Engineer La Forge and Lt. Commander Data.

They have come to help our ship."

It was only with the Milgian nearly standing in front of La Forge

that he was able to see the scarlet lines on his wounded body.

"You're injured. Dr. Crusher would be happy to help you."

Veleck made a small motion with his hands, Geordi assumed it was

his version of a shrug. "I am chief engineer. If I cannot heal my

engines, then I cannot allow myself to be healed. Is this not your

way, as well?" There was the faintest edge of question to the low

voice.

"Well, no," Geordi said. "Don't you think you could perform your

duties better if you were completely well?"

"My engines are dying, I will die with them." There was no hint of

reproach, or doubt, or even fear. Fatalism at its best crept through

the Milgian's voice.

"If you could show us your engines, perhaps we could help heal you

both," Data said.

"Quite right, Lt. Commander," Captain Diric said. "Veleck, show

them what they request. I will refuse no help."

The captain's voice said plainly that he didn't believe the two men

could help. Geordi stared up at the supposed engines and wasn't sure

either. However, Data moved forward smoothly, with no doubts. He

wasn't programmed for them.

Geordi took a deep breath. He knew Data couldn't feel uncertainty,

but somehow just following his friend's confident walk made him feel

better. If there was a way to help, they would find it.

The closest thing to a solid object in the room was a curved mess

of "metal." It s wirled in upon itself. Geordi stared at it, but

couldn't find a beginning or an end. It was like a Mobius strip, a

snake eating its own tail.

Data leaned forward, running a pale hand down the structure. "What

method of propulsion do you use?"

Veleck stared at them, blinking tiny eyes. "The ship wishes to

move, and it moves."

Geordi and Data exchanged glances. They waited for more explanation,

but the alien engineer remained silent. He seemed to think that his

explanation was complete.

"Explain further please," Data said.

"I do not understand," Veleck said.

"You have not given us sufficient explanation of your propulsion

systems."

"The ship wishes to move, and it does. There is no more explanation."

"Let me try, Data. Um, Veleck," Geordi began. "What makes the ship

want to move?"

"We do."

If Geordi could have, he would have rolled his eyes. "Okay, how do you

make the ship want to move?"

Veleck glanced over their heads at his captain. "I do not believe I

understand the question."

"Nor do I," Captain Diric said.

"Allow me, Geordi. Captain Diric, you say that your engines are in

danger of imploding. Could you explain this damage to us?"

"The center of our engines is not functioning properly."

"Could you be more specific?" Geordi asked.

Veleck seemed to think about that for a moment. "If I knew

specifically what was wrong, I could fix it. But the damage is too

extensive. It is irreversible."

"If you do not know specifically what is wrong, then how do you know

it is a problem with the engine core?" Data asked.

"We are not sure," Veleck said, "but unless the damage can be

repaired, the engine will consume itself in a matter of hours. The

engines are the heart of the ship, and the ship will die."

Geordi ran his hands over the cool metal. It had a texture almost like

. . . skin. "Is your engine alive?"

"Please to explain the question?"

"Are their biological components to your engine?"

"There is cell structure similar to living tissue in our engine, yes."

The strange readings he'd been getting suddenly made sense. It was

like looking at a giant puzzle and suddenly having all the pieces fall

into place. "It isn't a communications problem. Your engine really is

eating itself alive."

"This is what we told you," Veleck said.

Geordi stared up at the complex structure and asked the only question

he could think of. "How does a living engine make a ship move?"

"We have told you. It wishes to move, and it does.

La Forge was beginning to feel like he was caught in a logic loop. "But.

"What Commander La Forge is asking is for a detailed explanation of

how your engine functions. Alive or inanimate, the question remains the

same."

"How are they to help us, Diric, if they do not even understand the

simplest basics of our science?" Veleck asked.

For once, Geordi could only agree. The ship was in danger of

imploding, and everyone on board would die. And he didn't have the

faintest idea what made the ship run, let alone what was wrong with it.

He took Data to one side, while the Milgians argued about the wisdom

of having aliens in the ship's engine room. "Data, how can we fix

something when we don't even understand how it works?"

"That is a problem, but we must do all we can or lives will be lost."

"Do you understand how these engines work?"

"No, but perhaps a doctor would be in order?"

"What do you mean, Data?"

"If the engines are indeed alive, then perhaps Dr. Crusher could heal

them as she heals the Milgians."

Geordi patted Data on the shoulder. "That is a brilliant idea."

Data cocked his head to one side, "Really." Geordi shook his head, and

pressed his comm. La Forge to Dr. Crusher. We may have another patient

for you."

Chapter Eight

Worf STOOD IN FRONT OF the far wall of their sleeping quarters. His

hands were clasped behind his back so tightly that the muscles in his

arms quivered. Rage threatened to choke him. He was Klingon and his

heritage threatened to eat through his brain and come pouring out of his

fists. Muscles tight, he wanted to strike out in a mindless rage.

Everything had been going well one moment, and then the next moment

chaos. The entire situation had slipped through Worf's fingers. The

captain was imprisoned for murder, under a death sentence. What kind of

security officer allowed such things?

The Orianian guard assigned to the captain had trailed after them, at

a distinct distance. Breck seemed in no hurry to approach the new

ambassador. Ambassador? Ambassador Worf. It would have been funny under

other circumstances. A good warrior

knows his own strengths and weakness. Worf knew without doubt that he

was not made for diplomacy.

But they could not afford enraged pouting now. There was no time, Worf

knew, but what he wanted more than anything right now was to drown his

helpless feeling in a good solid fight. Though he heard Troi's light

footsteps come up behind him, he did not turn around. He was still not

under control. She sighed, softly, and stood to one side.

He could see her out of the corner of his eye, but he pretended not

to. Worf did not trust his voice yet. He stared as hard as he could at

the wall hanging in front of him. It was a lovely scene, the graceful

branches of a tree heavy with some pink fruit. Large fluttering insects

danced on a breeze that must have been sweet-scented. It was very lovely

and something Worf normally wouldn't even have glanced at. Now he tried

to memorize it. He treated it as something he would have to report in

detail to the captain.

He closed his eyes and tested his memory. Yes, he could report it in

detail, as if it were a room, or the scene of a crime. Worf opened his

eyes. His rage was contained. It bubbled under the surface, warm and

somehow reassuring, but he controlled it. He was Klingon and that, for

Worf, meant the greatest challenge was always within, not without.

With the anger contained, the self-doubt flared stronger. Worf knew

his weak points, diplomacy was one. And this was not the situation he

would have chosen for his first diplomatic effort.

"Worf," Troi said quietly.

He stiffened and glanced at her out of the side of his eyes. "Yes."

The word was almost a growl, yet he had not meant it to be.

"Worf, I know you are angry and worried about the captain. We all are,

but we have only three days to find the real murderer."

He whirled on her, nearly yelling. "Do you not think I know that?" He

stopped himself taking a deep breath. Troi's concerns had to be as great

as his own, and she was his friend. She did not deserve the brunt of his

anger. He stepped back from her. "The captain should not have ordered me

to let him go. I should have died trying to keep him safe. Instead, I

allowed him to be led off to slaughter. It is unthinkable."

"What would you have done? Fought them all?"

"Yes!"

"You would have been killed and perhaps taken us all with you. Is it

honorable to cause the deaths of your friends?"

He turned away from her. "I cannot allow the captain to be executed

while I stand by and do nothing."

"What could you have done?"

"I could have fought." He said evenly.

"Fighting would have gotten you killed. It would not have helped

Captain Picard. The captain was right, Worf. We have to solve this by

peaceful means. We cannot let the Orianians provoke us. A peace

conference is no place for violence."

"General Alick would not agree," Worf said, turning back to stare at

her. "His death was very violent."

"I was there," Troi said. An emotion Worf rarely saw flitted across

Troi's expressive face-anger. She swallowed hard, and Worf watched the

ship's counselor fight for control.

NIGHTSHADE

Seeing Troi so affected helped steady Worf more than anything else.

"I felt him die, Worf. His terror, the pain . . . ' She stopped in

mid-sentence. Pain showed in her eyes, her tears gleaming like glass.

"Counselor," Worf said. He stared down at her, wondering how to show

he understood, without acknowledging he had seen her lack of control.

One thing both of them valued was control. "I did not realize you felt

his death. I am being foolish to think my honor is the only thing being

compromised. Are you all right?"

She smiled at him, and nodded. "I'm fine. You are the acting

ambassador now, Lieutenant Worf. What are your orders?" She stared up at

him as she said it.

His anger was still there, and she would feel it, but Troi would also

know he was in control of it. He was a Klingon among humans, he was a

master of eating his own rage.

"Thank you, Counselor, for reminding me of my duties. We must find the

real killer of General Alick. It is the only way to save the captain.

And we must find a way to continue the peace negotiations."

"Agreed," Troi said.

"Who gains from this death, that is the proper question," Worf said.

He had absolutely no suggestions for how to begin the negotiations

again. The first Federation ambassador was under arrest for the murder

of an Orianian leader. Why would the Venturies and Torlicks listen to

the second ambassador?

"I would say the Torlicks, but this war is killing them, as well.

Would they really sabotage the future of their entire race to win a

war?"

"Races have done so many times, Counselor. After we have rescued the

captain, forged a lasting peace, and returned to the ship, I will loan

you some books of military history. I believe you will find them.

enlightening." His doubts about the peace did not show in his voice.

Worf was pleased with that. If Counselor Troi could sense his self-doubt

that was one thing, but he wanted no one else to know.

....... thank you, Woif. I'm sure I will find it unique reading."

"Did you feel deception from any of the Torlick faction?"

"I don't know.

"You don't know?"

"The d eath was so overwhelming that it blocked out everything else.

The murderer could have been standing right over the body while it was

happening, and I could not have told you."

"But you told the Orianians that you felt the Greens knew nothing."

"I did sense only confusion from them, but it was faint."

"So you are saying that your empathic powers were not at their best?"

Troi smiled, then nodded. "I suppose so, yes.

"Then the Greens could be guilty, Counselor. They could have done

exactly what they were accused of, and Captain Picard's involvement was

accidental."

"But why would the Greens kill the leader of the Venturi faction? For

the first time in over twenty years the Greens were being given a chance

to rejoin their people. To help build a lasting peace. It is what they

have striven and sacrificed for. Why would they sabotage it?"

"You heard Audun, Counselor. His people have been hunted like animals,

killed on sight as traitors. Hatred is a good motive."

Troi had to agree with the last statement. "If hatred is the motive,

Worf, the Venturi hate the Torlicks too."

"Yes, but theirs is a hatred among warriors. I do not understand why

they would turn to poison when they could kill each other on a field of

battle."

"May I add something, Lieutenant?" Breck asked.

"You may," Worf said.

"It is not the method of your enemy's death that matters but that he

is dead. We are a more practical brand of warriors than the Klingons."

"Do you believe it was your own people?" Worf asked, surprised that he

would voluntarily point the finger of blame in that direction. The

Orianians seemed to have no sense of racial loyalty.

"I do not have an opinion. I am a sentinel, nothing more. I do as I am

told."

"Why are you helping us against your own people?" Worf asked.

"I am a sentinel, Lieutenant. If a person under my care is killed then

I will die as well."

"I don't understand," Troi said.

"If Ambassador Picard is executed I will be dead soon after. If I do

not do the decent thing and kill myself, someone will probably kill me.

A sentinel that fails so completely is never trusted again, Healer, I

would be an outcast at the very least. Most sentinels who face this

option, choose death."

"So it is not out of loyalty to our captain, but fear for your own

life, that you help us?" Worf said. Somehow that made Worf trust Breck

just a little bit

more. Self-preservation he understood. This strange shifting loyalty was

a total mystery.

Breck made that familiar palms out gesture that passed for a shrug. "I

will agree with all you say."

Worf frowned at the phrasing of it. "If you betray us I will kill you

myself."

Breck stared up at the imposing figure, and a slow smile spread across

his face. "I would expect nothing less, Ambassador."

Worf gave one curt nod in acknowledgement of the new title. Captain

Picard had made him ambassador, Worf was determined to live up to

Picard's expectations. "The woman who is now in command of the

Venturies, do you know her?"

"By reputation," Breck said.

"Would she have murdered Alick to gain control?"

Breck thought about that for a handful of minutes, then nodded. "She

might. But not for ambition's sake alone."

"What do you mean?"

"Some of our people felt that the peace was a betrayal of everyone

that had given their lives for the war. There was much argument on our

side. I think it would be similar in the Venturi camp."

"You mean she killed him out of honor?"

"Something like that, yes," Breck said.

"But Worf," Troi said, "if honor dictated the peace conference be

stopped, anyone in the room could have wanted to poison the leaders."

"The healer is right," Breck said. "Honor is motive for everyone."

"Then if everyone had a motive, we must find out who had the

opportunity," Worf said.

"You mean, who could have poisoned the general's drink?" Troi asked.

Worf nodded, once down, once up. "Could anyone here see General Alick

constantly?"

"I was watching for dangers to Ambassador Picard," Breck said.

"Alick's safety was someone else's duty. I saw nothing."

"Counselor?"

"I don't know, Worf. I was standing right there. But I can't think of

anything out of the ordinary."

"This is not possible," he said. "We were all right there, and you

tell me none of us saw anything."

Troi and Breck exchanged glances. The sentinel had the grace to look

embarrassed.

Troi spoke first. "Perhaps one of the other Orianians did," Troi

suggested.

"Yes," Worf said. Here was something he understood. Interrogation was

part of security training, and as a Klingon he had special talents in

the area. "We will question those who were near at hand."

He turned to Breck. "We will need a list of all the people that were

at the banquet."

"But Worf, there must have been over thirty people. We only have three

days. The questioning alone could take that long," Troi said.

Worf turned to the counselor and stared down at her. He was on secure

ground once more. It was the way Worf preferred things to be.

Uncertainty was too close a cousin to fear for any Klingon's honor. He

knew how intimidating he could be to most people who did not know him.

He would use that on the Orianians. "I will question them personally. It

will not take that long."

"Worf, what are you planning to do?"

"To find the real murderer and save the captain."

"You're a Federation ambassador now, Worf. You also have a duty to

this peace mission. You can't bully these people."

He stiffened a little. "I am aware of my duties, Counselor. I have not

forgotten my role as ambassador, but for the moment I think we should

plan how to save the captain." He glared at her. "And I never bully

anyone."

Troi gave a small nod from the neck. "Good, then I won't have to keep

reminding you."

The glare deepened into a scowl. Troi smiled sweetly at him, and he

turned away with a snort. He knew his duties, he just wasn't sure of his

priorities. His instinct was to concentrate on freeing Picard, but Worf

suspected the captain would want the mission to be first. But as of this

moment Worf had no solid idea how to win back the trust of the

Orianians, so he would deal with what he did understand.

"Can you get me a list of all banquet attendees?" Worf asked of Breck.

"Easily."

"Then go and do it," Worf said.

Breck started to make a Torlick salute, but stopped himself in mid-

motion. He finished awkwardly with a bow and left. When he was gone Worf

turned back to Troi. "Do you trust him?"

"I think so."

"You think?" He couldn't quite keep the surprise out of his voice. He

had rarely heard Troi be so uncertain.

"The Orianians seem to be able to either block my

powers or

"Or what, Counselor?"

"They are unemotional."

"Like Vulcans."

"No, Vulcans have emotions but have learned to control them. They are

often unreadable, but there are flickerings of emotion. I can feel the

strain, the strength of their control. With these people it's sometimes

as if they have no emotions at all. Breck seems to find nothing wrong in

working with us against his own people."

"Do you not find that strange?"

"Yes, but it isn't strange to Breck. He truly believes that his

loyalties still lie with the captain."

"But can we trust him, Counselor?"

"With most things, yes, but . . ." She shrugged. "I can't read his

deeper thoughts. I don't know why."

"And that makes you suspicious?"

"The Orianians talk of a variety of empathic powers as if they were

once common among the people. I believe the Orianians have a great

reservoir of untapped empathic and possibly telepathic abilities."

"Why untapped?"

"I don't know. I've never met a race with so much potential that

doesn't use it. It's almost as if there is something tangible keeping

them from using their abilities."

Worf shook his head. "I do not trust any warrior that works against

his own people so easily. You cannot read him. I do not trust him."

"But you sent him to get the list?"

"That is something that is easily checked, Counselor. And if he

deliberately leaves a name off, then we have somewhere to start."

"Worf, you really are a detective."

"I may not have Data's or the captain's love of mystery fiction, but we

Klingons have our versions of such things."

Troi smiled at him. "When we are all safely back on board the

Enterprise, you must tell me of the luingon version of Sherlock Holmes."

Worf nodded. He understood that her statement was a vote of

confidence-not if, but when they returned safely to the Enterprise.

Though it changed nothing he felt better knowing Troi had faith in him.

"Earth's Sherlock Holmes is too cold for me. BetanKa on the other hand,

is a detective with spirit and emotion."

"What would Betan-Ka say about our mystery?"

"We have too many suspects and too little time."

Solving the murder was going to be difficult but at least he had a

place to begin. With the peace mission ... Worf would call a meeting

with the Orianians and hope for inspiration. Perhaps Troi would have

some suggestions. Worf knew he would have to act quickly on both fronts.

"More direct methods may be called for, Counselor, if we are to cut

the suspect list down in the time we are allowed."

"We may find clues," she said.

"Klingons do not look for clues first, we secure confessions. It is a

much more effective system.

Chapter Nine

THE CONFERENCE ROOM was set up with two long tables on either side, and

a shorter table in the middle. The tables formed three sides of a

rectangle, with Venturies sitting on one side, Torlicks on the other.

Ambassador Worf sat in the center of the small table, while Troi sat to

his right, and Dr. Zhir to his left. Breck stood at their backs like a

good sentinel. In fact, Worf noted that bodyguards were so thick in the

room there was almost no standing room left.

Surveying the meeting he had called, Worf felt a little like he had

opened the bottle and let out a genie he wasn't at all sure he could

control. It had been Troi's powers of persuasion that had gotten Dr.

Zhir to aid them. He had not had the words. Captain Picard should have

made Troi the ambassador-she was more suited to it.

No, he could do this. The captain had faith in him. Troi had faith in

him. It was cowardice to be so

apprehensive. He was a Klingon warrior and could face death with a glad

heart. He would face speaking to this hostile crowd with the same

bravery.

He leaned over to speak softly to Troi. "What are they feeling,

Counselor?"

"Basha is agalnst this conference. I believe only Talanne's

intervention got the Torlicks to this meeting. The new Venturi leader,

General Hanne, doesn't believe in peace, but she is here out of respect

for Alick's memory. She thought a great deal of Alick."

"So both sides wish the war to continue."

"Both leaders do," Troi said, softly.

Worf sat back in his chair, nodding. He had formed this plan to help

persuade the Orianians that even with the assassination, peace was

possible. No, not possible, imperative. Worf had to make them understand

that an honorable peace was their only chance for survival. He took a

deep breath and stood.

The bodyguards rustled like a field of corn in a sudden wind. Hands

moved for weapons, but none were drawn. Worf knew that Picard would have

led by example and left his phaser in the room, but Worf also had to

ensure Troi's safety. He was still head of security, no matter what

other title he bore. Besides, the Orianians respected strength.

"I have called you to this meeting to discuss peace."

"We saw how the Federation discusses peace," General Hanne said. Her

voice held contempt and anger.

Worf turned to the Venturi leader. "Captain Picard's guilt has not

been proven. Nor has the Greens."

"You are grasping at daydreams, Ambassador

Worf, if you believe the Greens innocent," Basha said.

Worf looked at the Torlick leader. "I see you do not believe Captain

Picard guilty anymore than I do."

"He is guilty. Without his intervention none of the Greens would have

gotten near General Alick," Basha said.

"Yes," Hanne said, "Picard arranged it all very neatly."

Worf fought the urge to raise his voice, and spoke very slowly and

calmly, and hoped the effort did not show. "Ambassador Picard arranged

nothing. He is not guilty. I do not know the Greens well enough to

assure you of their innocence, but of Captain Picard's innocence, I have

no doubt."

"You would say that," Basha said, "He is your leader."

Worf took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They were arguing in

circles. "Regardless of what you believe of Picard, or the Greens, their

guilt or innocence does not change why you called in a Federation

ambassador."

"We did not call the Federation in to assassinate our leaders," Hanne

said. "We can do that on our own."

Worf ignored her with an effort. He clasped his hands in front of him

and tried again. "Your planet is still dying. Neither the Venturies or

the Torlicks will survive if your world dies. You are facing genocide,

or has that changed since the arrest of Captain Picard?" Worf stared

around the room, making eye contact with as many of the leaders as he

could. Some were masked and he could not read their expressions, but it

did not matter. He looked at them anyway.

birth to hideous things that I pray will die, because I cannot save

them. There have been things born into my arms that haunt my dreams. We

are killing our children. Without our children we will die as a race,

both sides. It will not matter who is right, or wrong, or who won, or

who lost. There will be no one to care, because we will have poisoned

Oriana. This planet will die and the few struggling remnants of our race

will die with it."

Dr. Zhir hesitated for a moment, then said, "I did not think I could

still care so very much." She set down to a room that had grown utterly

still.

Worf waited a moment, then stood. "Your planet will die, your children

are dead and dying, let peace save them both."

Hanne cleared her throat sharply. "The Venturies are willing to talk

peace, but not yet. If Picard was acting alone with the Greens, then his

death will cleanse the honor of the Federation. If he is innocent, then

again, we can talk peace with the Federation. But if Picard names the

rest of you as accomplices, or that this was a Federation plot, then

there will be no talks, no peace."

"I agree with General Hanne," Basha said. "Prove Picard innocent and

we will talk peace, or let him die as the single Federation traitor, and

we still talk. We understand that you are not responsible for every

member of your party. We have all had ambitious traitors in our midst."

Worf wanted badly to defend the captain, but he held his tongue. The

captain was innocent-they would prove that, shouting would not help.

"So," Worf said, "if we prove Captain Picard's innocence,

you will talk peace."

"Yes, or let him die guilty without naming you as accessaries, and we

will talk peace," Basha said.

Worf did not say it would be a hot day on Rura Penthe before he let

Picard die to save this world. Perhaps, as a Federation ambassador, he

should have been willing to sacrifice his captain, his friend, to save

an entire race. But Worf did not lie to himself about his motives or his

priorities-humans tended to do that, but not Klingons. He knew where his

loyalty lay, and it was not with the Orianians. It was with Captain

Jean-Luc Picard.

Chapter Ten

Worf STOOD TO ONE SIDE of Troi's delicate figure, watching the face of

Dr. Stasha, the doctor who had first examined the murder scene. Worf

normally didn't feel so imposing, but there was something about the

doctor that made him think of a dog that had been kicked once too often.

She had small features eyes, mouth, nose, all in the middle of her

face. There was nothing wrong with her face, everything was perfectly

symmetrical, but still the effect was crowded. Her face looked like a

piece of dough that someone had pinched in the middle. Everything had

been scooped to the center. Her large, shining eyes, so typical of the

Orianians, were almost bulging as if the eye sockets did not quite hold

them.

Now that he had seen two of the "lifeless children" brought back to

life, Worf recognized the signs. Dr. Stasha had floated in a metal

coffin for how long? Worf could not conceive of spending childhood

floating, hooked to machines, then coming out close to normal. How could

you recover from something like that? Or did you? Could that be why the

Orianians had so little respect for life and honor? Did something happen

to them while they floated in the vats? Was something unnamed lost in

that horrible waiting?

"We need to know what you have found, Doctor." Worf said. He meant it

as a request. It sounded like an order.

Dr. Stasha did not seem to be offended. Perhaps she was accustomed to

taking orders. "We have done a genetic scan of General Alick's cup. We

have four separate genetic types already matched with their donors."

"But I was standing right there, Doctor," Worf said. "No one passed

the general's cup around the room. Four people could not have touched

it."

"I did not say that they touched it, Lieutenant Worf. Do you know what

dust is, Ambassador?"

Worf frowned down at the slender woman. "That is an odd question. I do

not understand its importance."

"I am not explaining myself well, please forgive me." The doctor took

a deep breath, clasping her small hands in front of her. Worf did not

need Troi's empathic gifts to see the woman's nervousness. Was the

doctor merely nervous about what had happened, frightened of him, or was

she hiding something? Worf would try to be less threatening and then

they would see.

"Dust is formed out of the minute particles of living tissue as it

sloughs offi dry skin cells, hair follicles, bits and pieces of living

matter. Just by standing close to an object, almost all of us leave

little particles behind. If allowed to accumulate, the particles become

dust. Thus, there were tiny genetic bits from four different people in,

or on, the cup in question."

"Whose?"

"General Alick's, of course; Liv's, one of the Greens; General

Basha's; and Ambassador Picard's."

Worf shook his head. "How did you match these samples?"

She blinked, then nodded. "Of course, you would want to know." She

turned to a spotless white counter top that held only a bulky object,

which was nearly a perfect rectangle. Small knobs protruded along the

sides. Stasha removed the top of the rectangle to reveal eyepieces.

"This is our genetic matchmaker. We find it very useful in tracing

bombs and assassins. We do try and kill the people that are directly

responsible for any terrorist activity. We are not indiscriminate

butchers." She said the last without looking at Worf, but there was the

tiniest bit of protest in her voice.

Stasha pressed her face to the eyepieces and adjusted the knobs to

either side. "The sample on the left was taken from the murder scene.

The right is a sample extracted from the people after the event, so we

could try and match it."

She looked up from the matchmaker. "Please, see for yourself. The

matches are perfect."

Worf crossed his arms across his chest. He fought an urge to glare

down at her. Perfect matches, indeed. "How are we to know which samples

came from the poisoned cup and which were collected afterwards?"

"Worfi" Troi said.

"What?"

"Please excuse the ambassador and myself for just a moment, Dr.

Stasha?"

Stasha bowed her acknowledgment.

Troi grabbed Worf's arm and pulled him to the far side of the room.

"Worf, you practically accused that woman of lying."

"She is obviously nervous about someth ing. If she did tamper with the

evidence, then hinting that we suspect her may make her admit it.

Besides, it is important to assume that everyone is lying."

"For heaven's sake why?"

"Everyone lies. It is the fifth rule of Betan-Ka's principles of

investigation."

"Well, you can't let her know you think she is lying."

Worf frowned down at her. "I did it deliberately, Counselor. I want

her to know I suspect her."

"Why?"

"It will make her nervous without threatening her. You did warn me not

to bully people."

Troi pursed her lips into a thin disapproving line. "Accusing people

of crimes without some proof is a form of bullying. Dr. Stasha has been

nothing but gracious to us. We do not need to alienate her without good

cause."

Worf thought about that for a moment. He had not yelled, or so much as

raised a hand, and still Troi said he was too harsh. "Very well. We will

do this your way-for now." He walked back towards the waiting doctor.

Troi followed him, like an apprehensive shadow. The counselor seemed

determined to keep him reined in. He was beginning to feel like Picard

when Riker urged him once too often to be careful.

"You may show us how your machine works," he said. He stood very close

to the Orianian. She seemed frail beside him and aware of that

frailness. Good.

"Perhaps you would care to look first, Healer," Stasha asked. She

carefully avoided looking at Worf. Her slightly bulging eyes held a

visible anxiety.

"I am the Federation ambassador, I will look first, Doctor." He wanted

to add, "or do you have something to hide," but he resisted.

"Of course, of course, I meant no insult." Her anxiety was almost

painful to watch. Real fear chased through her eyes. Worf did not

understand. He had not even raised his voice to her. He glanced at Troi

to see if she was picking up anything more, but the counselor's

attention was focused on Dr. Stasha. Troi never even met his eyes.

"These controls help adjust the view through the eye pieces." Stasha

pointed to two knobs on either side of the box. "The upper will adjust

the fit of your face to the machine. The lower is for focusing."

Worf pressed his eyes just over the viewer. Two indistinct blurs met

his eyes. As he brought the vision into focus, lines formed. Gray,

black, white stripes solidified before his eyes. There were too many

bands to count, all squished together. The pieces looked identical, but

still .

"Whose sample is this?"

"The Green woman, Liv."

"Is there a way to bring the samples together, to let them touch?"

"Of course, so sorry that I did not think to explain it." Stasha moved

forward. She hesitated as if unwilling to brush against Worf but she

reached out a tentative hand, pointing. "There is a small lever here to

shift the platform."

Worf bent back over the scanner, and carefully shifted the pieces

closer and closer together. They met nearly perfectly. The small defects

were an accident of having to cut and paste the genetic material. The

samples themselves were as close to a perfect match as Worf had ever

seen. There was no mistake. If he could trust Stasha, then Liv had left

traces in the poisoned cup.

If they could trust Stasha? Worf frowned. He did not trust her. Her

anxiety, even fear of him with so little cause, had to have a reason.

How could they trust the Orianians not to tamper with the clues? How

could they trust Captain Picard's life to strangers? Especially

strangers that were so easily frightened and Worf suspected, easily

manipulated.

"It is a match, Counselor."

"If you would like, I can show you Ambassador Picard's samples next?"

Stasha's voice was tight with anxiety, almost a squeak.

He glanced at Troi, but she was staring at Stasha as if the woman had

done something unique. Troi's concentration was nearly pure. What was

the counselor sensing from the doctor?

"Show us Ambassador Picard's samples," Worf said. He tried to keep his

doubts off his face. He did not trust Dr. Stasha's clues. No one was

this afraid without reason. Picard was innocent, there could be no proof

otherwise, unless it had been manufactured.

Stasha placed more slides into the scanner. "It is ready for you,

Ambassador." There was a hopeful lilt to her voice, as if she had

decided to be nice to him.

Be nice, and perhaps the storm that she feared would not come.

"Thank you, Stasha." Worf tried to respond to this new attempt at

bravery. Let the woman think he was fooled. If she were trying to frame

Picard, nothing would save her.

Troi glanced at him, she was trying to convey something with her eyes.

What? She was trying very hard to tell him something, it was almost a

warning glance. But Worf was being a perfect gentleman. He could not

help it if the doctor had something to hide and was afraid.

Even bent over the scanner, Worf could feel Stasha standing almost

next to him, almost vibrating with anxiety. Instead of fear, she was

trying to please now. Worf did not understand the change in the doctor.

He adjusted one of the levers and accidently bumped the woman. She

gasped. Worf looked up from the scanner and as gently as he could, said,

"Please, Dr. Stasha, if you could stand over there. I need a little

room."

"Oh, of course." Stasha moved past him. The woman stood on the far

side of the room, near a door that led out the other side. It wasn't the

freedom of the hallway, but she wasn't trapped either. Was she thinking

of escape?

Worf bent back to the scanner. He would trust Troi to see that the

doctor did not leave the room prematurely. The two samples were a mass

of lines. lt took only moments for the lines to become clear,

symmetrical. "Where was Captain Picard's sample found?"

"On the outside of the cup," Stasha said, her voice sounded strained.

Troi glanced at Worf. He fought an urge to shrug. He had done nothing

new. Why the woman's fear level was rising so rapidly, Worf couldn't

understand. Unless, of course, she had tampered with the evidence. That

would explain it easily.

"Are you sure this was Ambassador Picard?"

"It is the only non-Orianian genetic sample we found on the cup."

Worf had to nod at that, of course. It would make it easy to

discriminate. Human tissue would be rare on a planet of nonhumans.

"Would you like to see for yourself Counselor?" Worf asked it, and moved

away from the scanner, closer to Stasha. The woman seemed to shrink in

upon herself. Worf was very careful to merely stand, hands clasped loosely

in front of him. He tried to look nonthreatening, which was harder than it

sounded, but he did try. Stasha did not seem reassured.

Troi glanced up once from the scanner as if expecting to find Worf

beating the woman with a rubber hose. What was Troi sensing from Stasha?

Worf very much wanted to ask, but knew better. Such revelations had to

wait for privacy, or the right occasion.

"it does appear to be a match," Troi said.

"All that this proves is that Captain Picard was standing near General

Alick," Worf said. He looked directly at Stasha, it was only polite to

make eye contact.

Stasha swallowed hard enough for it to be visible. "That is true. Even

our own general left trace evidence on the poison cup."

"So this really proves nothing," Worf said.

Stasha nodded too vigorously, like a puppet whose strings had broken.

"Of course, it is just one piece of information."

"All information is welcome," Worf said. He

moved toward the woman, not so much a step, as a subtle motion.

Though he had meant nothing by it, she backed away from him, before

he was even close, her back striking the wall.

"WorI, please!"

Worf glanced back to see Troi's face wild, a mirror of fear. He

had done nothing to the doctor, nothing. She had tampered with the

evidence and her guilt was ruining her. That had to be the answer,

nothing else made sense.

Worf decided to show Dr. Stasha what true intimidation could be.

He strode towards the frightened woman and never said a word. He

simply walked toward her, like he would walk down a hallway. He

kept his face utterly blank, except for his eyes. He let all the

frustration and anger over the captain's arrest spill into his

eyes.

Worf stood in front of the woman. His hands were loose at his

sides. He lied to her with his eyes, only his eyes. The lie was, I

will hurt you, I will break you, if you do not help me.

Dr. Stasha was so small, Worf towered over her. He stepped even

closer using his bulk to threaten. There were so many things you

could do short of striking someone. Fear crawled over Stasha's

face. Her bulging eyes darted back and fourth, looking for some

escape.

"WorI, don't!"

Worf ignored Troi's plea. "What do you know of General Alick's

death?" he asked.

"N-n-nothing. I swear it.,' Her voice was high-pitched, nearly

squeaky with fear. She sounded like a little girl.

"She doesn't know anything. She doesn't know

anything!" Troi ran forward and grabbed Worf's arm, whirling him

around. "You're frightening her for nothing, do you hear me, for

nothing!"

Troi was screaming at him, ranting. He had never seen her like

this. "Counselor Troi, are you well?"

Troi stopped, a look of puzzlement crossing her features. She

just stood there hesitant, a little pale. She touched her

fingertips to her forehead. "I don't know."

He took her arm, gently but firmly. "You do not look well."

Troi glanced up at the Orianian. Worf followed her gaze. Stasha

was still cowering against the wall, but some expression moved over

her face that wasn't frightened at all. "She's doing it," Troi

said, at last.

"What are you saying, Counselor?"

"Dr. Stasha is an empath who can project her emotions. She was

filling me with fear for herself. It made me want to protect her

from you."

"I have done nothing," Stasha protested. Her face was all

innocence and fright, but no one was buying it anymore.

"I did not harm her," Worf said.

"But she thought you would." Troi shook her head gently,

clutching at Worf's supporting arm. "I feel dizzy."

He turned to glare at Stasha. "Is she harming you now?"

Troi thought about that for a minute, trying to sort out her own

feelings from the lingering traces of the woman's. "No, it's just

an aftereffect of such a powerful intrusion into my mind."

"Didn't you know what she was doing?"

"I have done nothing wrong," Stasha said.

"Silence!" Worf snarled. She shrank, if possible, even closer to

the wall. Her eyes shifted from one to the other, frantic to find

an ally between the two of them.

"Stop it, Doctor" Troi said.

"Stop what?"

"Your nervousness grates on my mind. Get out of my thoughts."

"I don't know what you are talking about. I have done nothing to

you."

Troi stepped away from Worf. She stared at the doctor's pinched

face. "Are you an emotion reader?"

"Emotion readers are only legends," Stasha said. "They aren't

real."

Troi walked very carefully toward the woman, as if approaching a

nervous wild animal. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Doctor.

Just answer our questions. We won't hurt you."

"You lie." She whispered it.

"Ambassador Worf has not harmed you."

"Yet," Worf said. He knew it only made Stasha's fear worse, but

he couldn't let the woman off free if she knew something. Terrified

or not, empath or not, that did not change things.

Troi glared back at him. "Worf, you aren't helping."

"She would not be this afraid of us unless she knew something

about the captain's innocence."

Troi spoke in a quiet voice, the voice reserved for children, and

patients. "You are what my people call an empath, an emotion reader

and a broadcaster," Troi said.

"No, there are no such things. Legends, old soldier stories."

"Stop it!" Troi nearly yelled it.

"I am doing nothing," Stasha said.

"Troi, is she harming you?" Worf asked.

"Stasha is one of the most powerful projecting empaths I have

ever been around, and the woman has no idea of her power. Earlier

she was doing it on purpose, trying to gain me as an ally, but now

it is accidental. She leaks her fear into my mind without meaning

to."

Troi took a deep breath and stepped away from the woman. "I don't

understand why I can't shield my mind from her."

"Are you all right, Counselor?"

"No, but it is not her fault. She doesn't mean to burt me."

"I am not harming you," Stasha was almost in tears. "I have

harmed no one."

"We are not going to hurt you," Troi said. She glanced at Worf as

she said it. Worf nodded his assent. Troi rewarded him with one of

her warm smiles.

Worf would not harm the doctor. There had to be another way to

find out the truth. Yet, he did not have the stomach to abuse

someone who was such a victim.

Breck came in from the hallway. "Colonel Talanne and her guards

are here." His eyes widened, and a look of surprise crossed his

face. Something in the room had caught him off guard, but what?

"Yes," Worf said. He glanced at Troi for some confirmation. If he

had seen it on Breck's face, then Troi must have felt something.

The look on her face said she had.

Breck saluted, then walked back to the door. "They are free to

enter."

"What is wrong with Breck?" Worf spoke low for Troi's ears only.

"I'm not sure. Something he found in this room just now surprised him

greatly."

"What?"

"I don't know."

"Not a satisfactory answer, Counselor," Worf said.

"I don't have a better one, Worf."

Talanne swept into the room with four guards at her back. Breck

followed behind them. The long, narrow laboratory was suddenly crowded.

"What is going on here?" Talanne asked. Her voice echoed in the room,

demanding more than asking.

Worf stepped forward. "We are looking at the evidence collected from

General Alick's cup."

"Dr. Stasha, are you all right?" Talanne didn't even look at Worf.

Her attention was all for the delicate woman behind him.

Stasha glanced at Worf and Troi, then scooted around them,

practically running to Talanne. She hid behind the wall of body guards,

her relief plain on her face, almost smug. Had her cringing been an

act?

Talanne cupped the doctor's face in her hands, raising the small face

upward. She stared into her eyes, seeking something. "Have you been

harmed?"

Worf wondered for just a moment if Stasha would lie. He did not trust

the woman, but what fell from her lips was the truth. "Not yet."

Talanne nodded. "Good, I was hoping I would arrive in time. My guards

told me you were questioning the good doctor."

"In time for what?" Troi asked. She walked forward toward Talanne's

bodyguards. Breck moved in

her way.

"Not too close, mind-healer. Everyone is nervous. Caution is best."

Troi stared at the sentinel. "We have had a murder. If we are to find

the truth, we must stop these elaborate precautions. We must trust each

other."

One of Talanne's bodyguards laughed rudely behind his, or her, mask.

Talanne silenced it with a glance. "As you say, mind-healer, we have

had a murder. It makes trust very difficult for us."

"You said you came in time. In time for what?" Troi repeated.

"Breck, did you inform them of our laws on gathering evidence?"

"No, Colonel, I did not."

She nodded. "It is allowed that you act in your own best interest.

But, Breck, Dr. Stasha did not deserve such treatment."

"She has not been harmed," Breck said.

"No," Talanne said softly, "I see that."

Worf stepped into the middle of the room. "I am tired of being talked

around, as if I were not here. What did Breck fail to tell us?"

"You are allowed to see all the evidence against your captain. You

are allowed to use any means available to ascertain that the evidence

gathered is legitimate."

"We were doing that," Worf said.

"But even in cases involving important leaders, no one is allowed to

seriously harm, or kill, nonsuspects."

"You mean, Dr. Stasha thought we were going to kill her?" Troi asked.

"Hurt her, at the very least," Talanne said.

Troi turned to Breck. "That's what you were so

surprised about when you came in. You were shocked that we hadn't

harmed her, yet?"

"That is why I waited out in the hall with your other guards. We

were to keep anyone from interfering," Breck said.

Worf just stared at Breck for a moment. He could hear the blood

pounding in his head, a loud sound that echoed the anger he could

feel rising up from his gut. "You thought I would harm a civilian,

a noncombatant?"

"Forgive me, Ambassador, but yes, that is what I thought."

Worf turned to Talanne. "And you came to stop us from killing the

doctor?"

"Yes."

Worf drew a great breath of air through his nose, then let it out

very, very slowly. "I am a Klingon warrior and an acting ambassador

of the Federation of Planets. I am not an assassin, or a murderer

of innocent bystanders!" He let the anger grow in his voice,

fanning his rage with words. He wanted to scream at them all. What

did they think Klingon honor meant? What did they think of the

Federation? They were barbarians and thought he was.

He glanced at Troi and saw horror on her face. She was as

sickened by this ludicrous situation as he was, perhaps more. it

was not the thought of beating a confession out of Stasha that

angered Worf but the assumption that the big bad Klingon would not

be able to resist it.

"Colonel Talanne, are you saying that we are allowed to harm

people just because we think they might know something about this

crime?" Troi asked.

"How else can you be sure that they are not lying?"

Troi glanced at Worf, his eyes widened. Betan-Ka's fifth rule

Everyone lies. "If everyone is as frightened of us as Dr. Stasha

was, how will we ever question them?"

"You make sure they are telling the truth," Talanne said.

"How?" Worf demanded.

"By hurting them until you are sure they are not lying. The law

says only that you cannot permanently maim or kill those you

question. That is the only law in a case where one of our leaders

has been killed."

"You are talking about torture," Worf said. The rage was fading

away to be replaced by a sort of wonderment too great for mere

surprise.

"That is the word you would use," Talanne said. She was utterly

calm about it, as if there was nothing wrong with it. "You seem

shocked, Ambassador. I was under the impression that the Klingons

were experts at the art of pain and extracting information."

"Klingons do torture when it is necessary," Worf said, quietly,

"but torturing civilians is not honorable."

Talanne just stared at him. "You are a strange people. Or perhaps

it is living among humans that has changed your attitude."

Worf swallowed hard. These people were not listening to his

words. He spoke very carefully, each word clipped and offended. "I

assure you, Colonel Talanne, that all Klingons view civilian

torture as distasteful. Torture is only acceptable when the person

is strongly suspected of some crime, then only if they are a

warrior. We do not torture nonwarriors, or innocent people."

"You will not torture the civilians whom you question then?" she

asked.

"No." Anger tightened the muscles in his shoulders. But he would

do nothing to prove that Klingons were the monsters the Orianians

thought. It was they who were monsters.

"Then I do not see how you will ever help Picard. Our people know

no other way, Ambassador Worf. They will not help you prove the

murderer of one of our leaders innocent. Think upon this,

Ambassador if you prove Picard innocent, then one of us must be

guilty. None of my people will willingly help you do that."

"Breck is aiding us."

"His life is as much at stake as Picard's." She stepped through

her bodyguards until she was nearly touching body to body with the

tall Klingon. "Remember this the next time you become sq ueamish.

None of them will help you without the incentive of pain. None of

them."

Worf glared down at her, breathing too quickly, his hands balled

into fists. "I am not squeamish."

Talanne smiled. "You are, but because you are new to our planet,

and Picard came to help us, I will help you, this once." She stared

into Worf's face as she said, "Hold her."

Two of Talanne's bodyguards grabbed the doctor. Stasha made a

small cry of protest. "I have not lied. I have not lied!"

Her small, pinched face crumbled into terror. Worf wanted to look

away. Such fear should not be seen by a crowd. It was personal and

not meant to be shared.

Troi staggered. If Breck hadn't caught her, she would have

fallen.

"The healer is not well, Ambassador Worf. May I take her to your

room?"

"Troi, are you all right?" Worf cursed himself for not realizing

that Stasha's fear would be projected onto Troi again. If it had been

strong before, it had to be worse now.

"You can't let them hurt her. You can't let them . . Can't breathe."

The sharp crack of a slap behind him brought; Worf's attention from

the nearly fainting Troi to Stasha. She was crying, a heartbroken

sobbing. Tears trailed down Troi's cheeks. Worf had to stop this, now.

"We do not want her harmed," Worf said. He started forward,

intending to wade through the Orianians if necessary to free the

doctor.

The bodyguards drew weapons. Breck drew one as well, and suddenly

the room was full of potential death. The faint line from pain to

disaster was about

to be crossed, unless someone did something. Troi raised her

voice to be heard, and it cracked

like a child's. "Is there anything we can do to convince you not to

hurt her?"

"She will only lie to you, if I stop," Talanne said.

"Then stop," Troi said.

"We cannot stand by while you torture her," Worf said.

"Then you will do it yourself?" Talanne asked.

"Damn you, woman, don't you understand. She will not be tortured

while we can stop it!" Worf growled.

Talanne glanced at the drawn guns. "You would risk your lives to

save a stranger pain? A stranger that might clear your Picard?"

Worf glanced down, then up. He wanted to wade into the guards and

start throwing people. But he just stared at Talanne, letting the

anger and frustration show in his eyes. If she feared him, she hid it

well. "There has to be an honorable way to clear Captain Picard," he

said.

Talanne gave the smallest of smiles. "You Federation people are a

strange lot. Let her go."

The bodyguards released the weeping doctor. She stood uncertainly in

the midst of so many potential enemies. She was like a rabbit in the

midst of a dog pack. There was no truly safe haven. She finally turned

tear-stained eyes to Troi. "I swear to you by the fruit of the last

tree that the evidence I showed you was exactly what I found. I have

not lied to you, and if you come back to question me, I will not lie

to you then either."

"Thank you, Dr. Stasha," Worf said. "I believe we have all we came

for, Colonel. I think we had all better leave the doctor to her work."

Talanne laughed out loud. "You offer honor and truth, Ambassador.

And you expect the same in return." She shook her head. "I wish you

luck with your honor and truth, because your Picard will need all the

luck he can get."

"I am not honorable because of what it will gain me, Colonel

Talanne. I am not honorable because it will impress my enemies. Honor

is an end in itself. It exists even if everyone around me is

dishonorable. The only honor I must worry over is my own."

"A pretty speech, Ambassador Worf. Let us hope that Captain Picard

does not pay the ultimate price for your. . . high ideals."

Chapter Eleven

DR. CRUsHER STOOD IN the engine room of the Zar, staring up at the

swirling framework that Geordi assured her was the ship's engine. The

smooth metal seemed inert, no moving parts, nothing that Crusher

recognized as mechanical. She turned back to Geordi and the alien

engineer. "And you say that this.

engine is alive?" Her voice held all the scepticism that she managed

to keep off her face.

Geordi smiled almost apologetically. "I know it sounds strange, but

if what my VISOR is showing is real, then the engine has more

similarities to living tissue than metal."

Crusher shook her head. "I believe you, but I. .

she glanced at Veleck. "Could we have a few moments in private?"

The engineer glanced at Geordi but turned and lumbered away without

a word.

When he was far enough away, Crusher turned back to Geordi. "I am

having enough trouble under-standing the cell structure of the

Milgians themselves without moonlighting as an engineer."

"Are you able to heal the Milgians?"

"Yes, now that I've figured out how to modify some of our equipment,

but all I can do is surface healing. Any surgery or internal

rearranging . . . I'm afraid to operate on them. Their bodies seem to

compartmentalize all injuries. If they suffer blood loss, the body

shuts off that part of the body, sacrifices it for the survival of the

whole. If I start operating on them, I don't know what their natural

defenses will do."

"You think that the engines will have the same problems?"

"I just don't know," she said.

"Well, if I'm right, I think that working together, we might be able

to fix the engine."

"What makes you think that if they can't do it, we can?"

"I'm sure we can try."

Crusher nodded. "Agreed. How long do we have?" Geordi turned around

to find Veleck just standing across the room. He seemed to be doing

nothing. If it had been the Enterprise in danger, Geordi knew he would

work until the engine blew up underneath him. Every member of the

alien crew seemed to have given up already. That was taking fatalism

one step too far.

"Veleck," he called.

The alien turned his head without turning his body. It was an odd

sensation watching the head turn around independently of the body,

like an owl. Again there was that bright band of heat just under the

head, as if the turning of the head gave off some sort of energy.

"Veleck, how much time until the engines go critical?"

"Perhaps six hours.

"Six hours," Geordi said. He turned back to the doctor. "If it

gets close, you can beam out any time you want. Fixing engines

isn't in your job description.

"I've been trying to convince the main crew of the

Zar to evacuate. They won't leave. They're going to go down with

their ship." She shook her head. "Data is still trying to convince

Captain Diric of the waste

of it all. I was getting too angry to talk to him anymore."

Geordi smiled. "I've been having the same trouble with Veleck

here. They all seem convinced it's useless."

"Fatalism is one thing, Geordi, but this is just giving up,"

she said.

"Well, we'll show them that one thing the Federation doesn't

do is give up."

Crusher nodded. "All right, let's do it." She lifted a S

canner from a small kit at her side. Crusher raised the scanner

over the metallike structure.

Veleck came up behind them. "What are you doing?" His slow as

molasses voice was just a bit

rushed. It was the quickest speech Geordi had heard him make.

"The doctor is scanning the engine structure." "But why? Why

use a doctor for an engineer's

job?"

"Your engine is alive. Our engines on the Enterprise

are just metal and power. I don't understand how to heal living

tissue, the doctor does."

"If your engines are not one with you, then what makes them

want to run for you?" Veleck asked.

"Well, they don't want to run. We make them run."

"You enslave your ship?"

Geordi stared at him for a moment, not sure what to say. "Our

ship is just a ship, Veleck. it has no feelings, no emotions. It's a

machine."

"But isn't your Lt. Commander Data a machine?

Do you enslave him, too?"

That was a good question, and Geordi still didn't know how to

explain it. "Lt. Commander Data is alive. He thinks and acts

independently. Our ship is just metal and power. It ddesn't have a life

of its own."

Veleck's face wrinkled and was covered in a wash of red heat.

Geordi wished he could have seen what was happening to the face, but he

thought that the engineer was frowning at him.

Crusher came over to them and Geordi was grateful for the

interruption. "You are right, Geordi. The engine is alive. The entire

ship is alive. The cell structure is very close to the Milgian's own."

She turned to Veleck. "Do you mix biological cells in with your

construction materials?"

He frowned again. "I do not understand the question."

"The engines are not merely metal. They have living structures

inside them, correct?"

"Correct," his voice sounded uncertain as if he weren't quite

sure that it was correct.

"I don't understand how they do it or exactly what it means,

but the entire ship is alive."

NIGHTSHADE

"Can you find the. . . injury?" Geordi asked.

"Not yet. All the scanner can tell me is that the ship contains

living tissue. I haven't even figured out how it works, yet.

How can I tell you how it's

broken?"

"But will it be an injury?"

"I believe that it will need a combination of medical and

engineering skills to heal it, yes."

"Veleck," Geordi said, "do you have healing as well as

engineering knowledge?"

"I talk to the engines, and they respond to me." He said it

as if that answered the question.

"Then what is the injury? What's wrong with the engines?"

"They are going to explode in a matter of hours," Veleck

said.

"We know that, but why are they going to explode?"

"I do not understand the question."

This was not a good time for Veleck to suddenly become coy.

"Why did you decide the engines could not be fixed?"

"The injury was too severe to be fixed.

Geordi shook his head. It was like talking to a wall. "Can

you show us the injury to the engines?"

Veleck seemed to think upon that for a moment. "I can.

They waited for a moment staring at each other. Finally

Geordi said, "Could you show us now?"

Veleck turned and lumbered down a narrow walkway that was

barely wide enough for his squarish bulk. The shining silver filigree

that rose on either side of the walkway seemed daintier with Veleck

passing between them.

He stopped in front of one smooth silver wall. He passed a

hand over a spot about chest level to him. There was a flash of heat

that seemed to jump from Veleck's hand to the wall. Geordi watched the

wall grow hotter and hotter, until it seemed to melt.

"Beverly," he whispered, "what does the wall look like now?"

She leaned into him. "The wall looks like glass. There are

lights and controls underneath."

Geordi nodded. "It was almost like Veleck's body became part

of the wall for an instant. The heat patterns were identical."

"I didn't see anything like that. His hand just passed over

the wall, and it became transparent."

"Come," Veleck said. "This is our control panel."

Geordi stared at the head-high screen. It was cooling even as

he looked at it. Swirls, patterns, lights-but none of it made any

sense to him.

"What do you think, Beverly?"

"I don't know. It does look more like a medical readout than

an engineering screen." She pointed to a pulsing light. "Is that a

heart rate?"

"I do not understand the question."

"Could you, please, explain what this panel says?" she asked.

"It says that the engine will implode in less than three

hours."

Geordi sighed and closed his eyes, and counted softly under

his breath. "How does the panel tell you that, Veleck?"

Geordi fought the urge to mouth the words with him, "I do not

understand the question."

"Well, at least now I know I wasn't the only one talking to

myself for the last hour," Beverly said.

"I've never had this much trouble communicating before,"

Geordi said.

"The captain understands exactly what I mean and what I want

him to do. He just refuses to do it. Veleck here on the other hand . .

." Beverly let the thought trail off, then said, "Veleck, are there

any other engineers to speak with?"

"Most of them were injured. When we all agreed it was

hopeless, I sent them up to help with the injured crew members. I

stayed behind to see how long I could delay the inevitable."

"I can't believe that it is inevitable. There's got to be

something that we can do," Geordi said.

"I do not understand this strange persistence you have with

fighting against the truth. The engine will die in less than three

hours. Why can you not accept that?"

The wall panel pulsed a very bright red. Veleck didn't see,

his back was to it. Geordi stared at the control panel. There was a

pattern to the lights and swirls. There had to be. It was only a

matter of finding it.

"I don't believe in no-win scenarios, Veleck. It's sort of a

human trait."

"It is puzzling, this trait."

"Could we look at more panels?"

"This is the main panel. It will show you what you need to

see."

"We need more input before we can understand your engines,"

Geordi said.

"Very well." He moved along the wall that held the first

panel, and a host of panels appeared behind his hand. Every time there

was a burst of heat, an exchange of body cells, perhaps. To Geordi it

seemed

that for a moment the... hand had become part of the wall. Dr. Crusher

said that to her eyes, it didn't happen that way. But the heat sharing

was so intense that it blinded Geordi's VISOR, and the illusion of

mixing hand and wall was a good one.

Geordi approached the second wall panel. It was just barely

at eye level for him. Veleck stood beside him, staring down at the

much smaller man. Geordi couldn't read the Milgian's face, but he

seemed to be looming over him. Geordi had an urge to tell him to back

up, give him a little room, but it was his ship, his engines. If

things had been reversed Geordi probably wouldn't have let some

stranger run around his engine room unsupervised.

Geordi touched the clear panel. It still felt more like metal

than anything else, but there was a warmth to it, as if blood flowed

behind it. Was that the fuel of the Milgian ship-blood, life? Did the

ship truly move because it wanted to? Veleck explained it that way,

but Geordi wasn't sure if he was asking the right questions. But try

as he would Geordi couldn't think of better questions.

There was no rush of heat when he touched the panels. He

pressed his fingers to the flashing lights as he had seen the Milgian

do, but the cool, smooth surface just sat there. No heat, no spark,

not even a change in the swirling, indecipherable patterns. The

control panels were ignoring him.

"How do I get them to work?" La Forge asked.

"You pass your hands over them, and they recognize you."

"You mean they recognize fingerprints, cell structure, what?"

"Cell structure," Veleck said.

"So, you're saying that I can't get the engines to do

anything because they don't know me?"

"Your hand is strange to them. There are no pieces of you in

the engine. But I will do all that you require. You have only to ask."

Geordi sighed and glanced at the doctor. Doctor Crusher

shrugged. She didn't have any brilliant suggestions.

"All right, Veleck, show me the fuel monitoring system."

"Fuel?"

"How you know how much energy the engines have?"

"Ah, here." He led them to the fourth panel. It was a mix of

mostly red with some orange. It was indeed a very hot screen.

"Is the amount of red an indication of a full reserve of

energy?"

"Yes."

"What color would be low energy?"

"Blue."

Three questions, three straightforward answers. They were on

a roll. "What panel tells you the health of the engines?"

"Overall health is here." The last panel on the wall was a

lurid smear of violet-purple. Geordi could feel his body react to the

shade and the intensity of it.

"What color should this panel be? What color is good?"

"Green."

Either he was finally connecting with the alien, or Veleck

had suddenly decided to be helpful. Geordi

didn't care which. He had an entirely unknown engine system to figure

out, diagnose, and fix. All in a little over two hours. Geordi smiled

slightly. It was like asking for a miracle and expecting to get it.

But Chief Engineer La Forge had made his own share of miracles in the

past. What was one more?

Chapter Twelve

ACrING AMBAssADOR Worf stood staring down at the sentinel of the now

very dead General Alick. It had been Breck's suggestion to question

the sentinel. He was the walking dead according to Orianian law. If

they were going to ask him questions it had to be soon, before he

chose a way to end his life.

After the scene with Dr. Stasha, Worf was determined that

this questioning would go more smoothly. He did not need Troi's

urgings to behave in a civilized manner. He was Klingon and deeply

offended at Talanne's assumption that he would not mind a little

torture. He would show them what Klingon honor meant, even if it meant

holding his temper.

Troi sat quietly in a corner, watching the guard. The

Orianian was slender even for an Orianian. His gaunt face was

dominated by shining nearly doelike eyes that seemed out of place in

his starved looking

face. A white lightning bolt of a scar marred his face from forehead

to chin.

But it wasn't merely the scar that stole the beauty from the

Orianian's face. There was something wrong with the way the nose lined

up under the eyes. A twist to the thin lips that didn't match the

face. Kel looked pinched and somehow uncared for, as if life had been

hard, and it wasn't getting any easier.

Worf stared at the deformed face and wondered if there were

worse things hiding behind their breathing masks and goggles. Perhaps

there was a reason, beyond necessity, for faces to remain hidden.

Perhaps many of them looked like Kel underneath. Healed by medical

technology but somehow twisted.

Worf stared down at the sentinel, arms crossed over his

chest. This man was a warrior, not a civilian, and that made things

easier. Worf did not feel the same constraints he had felt when

questioning Dr. Stasha. Kel was a warrior, he would not be instantly

afraid. Worf hoped that here, at least, was a worthy opponent.

Kel kept glancing up at Worf with brief flicks of his eyes.

Kel's thin hands twisted in his lap. The darting glances that he gave

Worf betrayed an obvious nervousness. He was very uncomfortable. Worf

was puzzled. Were all the Orianians victims at heart?

Breck sat in the far corner of the room nearest the door.

There was a Venturi officer in the other corner. She was there to see

that no illegal harm was done to the sentinel. True he had failed his

duty in the worst possible way, but still he was Venturi and there was

still the law.

Breck and the Venturi ignored each other. Their

face masks and goggles lay in their laps. The new Venturi was as

beautiful as Alick had been, with white-blond hair and eyes that were

the molten gold of a snake's. It was a rule of the interrogation room

on this planet that all must bare their faces.

After one brief glance, neither Breck nor the V enturi officer

had looked directly at Kel. They looked at anything to avoid Kel's

face walls, Worf's tall form, Troi, anything but their unmasked

fellow.

Kel's eyes, too, avoided them. He did not glance into their

perfect features. He did not look at Troi, but he had to look at Worf.

The Klingon had made that unavoidable.

Kel sat in his small chair, and Worf towered over him. He had

found that his height made the Orianian guards nervous, and he used

that now to intimidate one guard. Worf stood alinost close enough for

their legs to touch. He stared into Kel's face without even blinking,

as if he were trying to memorize each flaw.

Sweat beaded along Kel's forehead, and still Worf only stood

and stared. If just standing and staring would make Kel sweat, then

that was what Worf would do. There was no need to do more, when

staring seemed to be enough. The sentinel licked his thin lips, darted

a glance upward, then down. His hands twisted the mask in his lap as

if clutching it would keep him safe.

"Do you expect me to believe that you know nothing about

General Alick's death?" Worf's deep voice seemed loud in the

stillness.

Kel jumped. "I ... I know nothing. I have told you everything

I know."

Worf leaned over, placing a hand on either side the chair

back. He glared into Kel's face from a few centimeters. "You're lying

to us," he growled. "Lying to me."

Kel pushed to his feet, sending his chair to clatter along

the floor. He stood to his full height, but still only came to Worf's

lower chest. He stood trembling, hands clenched into fists at his

sides. His breath came in gasps. "How dare you stare at me like that!"

He shouted. "I am hideous, but it is no fault of my own. I would

rather you beat me than humiliate me like this!"

Worf just stood there for a moment, staring down at the

smaller man. He fought to keep the surprise off his face. Staring was

worse than a beating, so be it. He stepped into Kel, forcing the man

to step back.

"I will stare at you if I please. You have allowed your

leader to be murdered. You have no rights to anything."

Kel's anger collapsed, and his face twisted in the first

signs of tears. Was he going to cry? Would a warrior break down in

such a manner so quickly? Worf found it hard to believe, but the man's

torment was real. He fought an urge to glance at Troi, to see if she

felt Kel's pain. But Worf did not need empathy to see the pain tear at

the man's twisted features.

Breck stood and spoke softly. "Kel is one of our lifeless

children that was saved. Sometimes, it is not possible to heal

everything. It is our custom not to look upon them when they are

barefaced."

"Why?" Worf asked. "They are only scars, healed injuries.

There is no shame in that if the injuries are incurred honorably."

Breck gave a faint smile. "The Klingons have a

different opinion of such things, Ambassador Worf. We. . . we see them

as a mark of our shame."

Kel was indeed crying, softly. His tormented face was made

worse by the effort not to cry, not to break down.

"Is it against your laws for me to stare at him?" Worf asked.

Breck could not keep the surprise from his face. He glanced

at the Venturi officer. Her face was just as puzzled. "No, it is not

against our laws to stare at him. But it is. . ." Breck paused as if

searching for the right word. "It is rude."

"But not illegal?" Worf asked.

"No," Breck said, "not illegal."

"Then face me, Kel, and tell me what you saw. If you did not

poison Alick, you know who did. An innocent man does not break so

easily."

"This is too much," the Venturi officer stood. "You are

tormenting him."

"I have not touched him," Worf said.

"You are allowed to touch him," she said. "We are warriors

accustomed to physical hardship, but you are not allowed to humiliate

him."

"I can beat him, but I cannot stare at his face?" Worf

responded.

"Of course," the officer said. "It is expected to torture

prisoners to wrest confessions, but not this cruelty."

Worf just stared at her for a moment, an idea too horrible

for words forming. It was Troi who voiced it. "Do you mean that while

we've been questioning witnesses, someone else has been questioning

our captain?"

The officer spread her hands. She did not know. "It is possible. I am

not privy to the ambassador's questioning."

"You mean they are torturing Captain Picard?" Worf asked. He

glared at Breck. "Why did you not say something?"

"I thought you knew, Lieutenant.

"Take us to the captain, now!" His voice rolled like thunder

in the room.

Breck gave a bowing salute. "I will see if it will be

allowed."

"It will be allowed," Worf said, "If we have to go through

the entire Orianian army, we will see the captain-now!"

Rage spilled up inside Worf in a warm tide, but underneath

the rage was fear. Fear of what they might find. Fear of having

allowed harm to come to the captain. A cold, empty, space had opened

up inside him. The anger kept him warm, and felt good, but the fear

was there. What had been happening to Picard while they questioned

witnesses? And why hadn't they asked what treatment prisoners could

expect on Oriana? That question haunted Worf.

Worf strode out into the hallway, physically shoving Breck

out the door ahead of him. Troi followed without protest. The Venturi

officer and the weeping sentinel stayed behind.

This delay would allow Kel to recover himself, to regain

control. But it wasn't knowledge of Alick's death that had made Kel

nervous, even frantic. It had been showing his deformity, and being

stared at. Worf was almost a hundred percent certain that Kel was

simply self-conscious. He didn't really know

anything helpful. But if Worf were wrong, this might have been Kel's

only moment of weakness.

Would they be able to wrest the truth from him later, if

there was truth to find? No answers for that, but as Worf strode down

the corridor, he didn't care. Suddenly, the murder investigation, the

peace treaty, none of it mattered half so much as finding Captain

Picard safe and unharmed. And if he was hurt, Worf was not at all sure

he wanted to remember that he was Ambassador Worf.

Chapter Thirteen

THE TWO ORIANIANS outside the cell block doors were fully masked and

armed. They saluted Breck as he walked up. He returned the salute.

"Ambassador Worf to see Ambassador Picard."

"Murderers do not receive visitors. You know that," one guard

said.

"This is not a request," Worf said. He moved forward to loom

threateningly over Breck and the guards. They gripped their rifles

just a little tighter but otherwise didn't flinch.

Breck actually placed a hand on Worf's chest, pushing him

back, gently but firmly. "The acting ambassador wishes to discover the

health of Picard. It is not an unreasonable request."

The guards exchanged glances. "Murderers are not allowed

visitors. That is the law."

"I will see Ambassador Picard," Worf growled. He

pushed past Breck, looming over the two guards like a storm about to

break. "I will see him now!" Each word was a low growl, chopped and

very certain. It was an order. The guards understood that. They

shifted nervously.

Troi felt their uncertainty. They evidently had no orders to

cover a rampage by the acting ambassador. Did they dare shoot him?

Defend themselves? Or not?

Worf had tried to get word to Talanne or Basha, to get

permission to see the captain. Neither leader had been available. As

Federation representatives they should have gone through channels, but

Troi agreed with Worf. They had to see Picard, now. The captain was

the first human the Orianians had ever seen up close. Torture might

not work the same on the captain. They might kill him without meaning

to.

Troi hoped the guards' uncertainty would work for Worf, and

not against him.

"We were not told that the ambassador was an exception to the

law," the guard said.

"Do you wish to tell General Basha that you never received

his orders," Breck lied as smoothly as he breathed. Troi knew there

were no orders, but the anxiety level of both guards jumped. They

weren't sure if they had missed orders or not. This was, after all, an

unusual situation.

"We have had no orders," the second guard said. There was a

stubborn set to his voice. "If your General Basha wishes the new

ambassador to have access to the cells, then let him tell us himself."

"Do you really think that with the Venturi leader

assassinated, the general has nothing better to do

than come down to the cells and see that his orders are being carried

out?"

"We have no orders to cover this.

"Enough of this!" Worf said. His fist lashed out to connect

very solidly with the first guard's face. He slid down the wall and

collapsed in a silent heap. The second guard started to bring his

rifle up, but Breck smashed him in the gut, then followed with a knee

to the face. The second guard slumped to the ground, as well.

Worf had disarmed the fallen guard and had no doubts at all

about his actions. "Breck, open the door."

"I obey orders," Breck said. He punched a series of buttons

near the door. They flashed once, and the door opened. "It only opens

one way. It is a safety precaution against people breaking in."

"Once inside we are trapped?" Troi asked.

"Yes."

"It does not matter. We are not here to rescue the captain,

only to make sure he is safe. Once that is done, we will wait to be

released," Worf said.

Breck made a sound very like a laugh. "I only hope it is th at

simple, Ambassador."

Worf wasn't listening. He led the way through the door, rifle

half raised. Would he shoot guards that got in his way? Troi tried to

feel what his intentions were, but the rage, the near panic to find

the captain, was masking everything else. Would Worf commit murder to

save the captain? Perhaps. But even knowing that, Troi followed them

inside. The door shut behind them with a sigh, and they were alone in

a maze of small doors and dim lights.

The walls were a crisp, pure white. It was nearly soothing after the

conflicting colors of the rest of the Orianian complex. Troi would

almost have asked to be jailed if she could rest her eyes on the

soothing blankness. It didn't look much like a prison. If it had not

been for the many small doors, it wouldn't have looked like a cell

block at all.

But the corridors were very narrow, forming a white maze that

spread out in every direction. It was dizzying. The white walls seemed

to squeeze around them like a fist.

"Which way?" Worf asked.

"I have not been to see Picard, either," Breck said.

"I was not asking you. Counselor?" Worf turned dark eyes to

her. His certainty that she would lead them through the puzzle-box of

this place was clear and unwavering.

Troi only wished she felt as confident as he did. As soon as

she knew they were coming to a place of torture, she began building

the mind-shielding she would need to survive. The Orianians emotions

were so overwhelming at times that she didn't know if she could go

into the bowels of real despair and still be able to function.

"If I drop my mental protection to search for the captain

then I may not be able to filter out the feelings of all the other

prisoners."

"We don't have much time," Breck said. He cradled his rifle

more securely in the crook of his arm, waiting. Waiting for her to

decide whether all this effort had been for nothing.

A shrill scream cut the silence. It was impossible to know if

it were male or female. A level of pain had

been reached where it made no difference in the voice. The scream came

from up ahead in the heart of this white maze, and it decided Troi.

They had to find the captain.

The mind-shield was like a layer of buzzing, made up of her

own emotions, like bricks in a wall. She had entombed her mind behind

pieces of her own thoughts. She could have shattered the shield with

one gentle touch, but Troi knew better. In this place the influx of

emotions could drive her mad. It had happened to Betazoids before.

There were reasons why empaths avoided torture chambers. Other than

the obvious ones.

The buzzing quieted it. Each sound, each emotion faded back

into her mind, until there was nothing but that last great shield. A

solid blankness, a blessed quietness that all empaths needed as a last

retreat. On the other side of that quietness Troi could feel the press

of emotions. It was almost physical, like hands shoving against her

mind.

She cast that quietness away, like discarding a piece of

clothing. Now, her mind was naked to everything. Troi remembered

nothing for a moment. Then, there was a voice calling to her, but the

sound was very far away. The only thing she could 'hear' was the roar

of terror. A screaming, crimson sound that clawed across her mind.

Pain had color and shape and texture. Other people's terror rode her,

and she could not remember who she was, or why she had come.

Hands were digging into her arms, tight, hurting. It hurt.

Her body. Her pain.

"Troi, can you hear me? Deanna!"

That was right. She was Deanna Troi, and all this pain

belonged to strangers. Someone was shaking her,

hard and harder. She looked up into Worf's grim face. Somehow she had

fallen to the floor. It was Worf's hands that had brought her back,

his small violence that had chased away the pain. He was still shaking

her.

"Worf, I'm all right."

"Deanna," the relief in his voice washed over her,

soothingly. "What happened to you?"

"There is no time to explain. Please, help me up."

Worf stood and lifted her as he moved, one motion that made

her feel like a child in his hands. She clutched his arm as she tested

whether she could stand alone.

The pain, terror, despair were still there, but as a distant

buzzing. She could concentrate again, feel her own thoughts again.

Could she sort the captain's thoughts from all the noise? If the

people in the cells had been any other race, she would have been

confident, but the Orianians for better or worse were an overwhelming

empathic mess.

But Troi knew the feel of Picard's mind, the ordered strength

of his thoughts, the cool control of his emotions. Troi knew Picard

was a very private man, and as much as he valued Troi, she made him

just a little nervous.

It was that nervousness that Troi reached for, that reserve,

the solid, familiar core that was Jean-Luc Picard. She knew some

Betazoids said people were like tastes in their mind, or smells, but

to Troi it was always more abstract than that, perhaps because she was

half-human. Whatever the reason, the thing she searched for was

nothing so concrete. In fact, in many languages, there were no words

for what she sought. It was like walking through the buzzing noise,

pushing

it aside with your body, like swimming, but that wasn't it either.

Words were not enough for the rush of other people's thoughts rippling

inside your head.

There-there. Troi stopped and stood very still, though to

Worf and Breck she had not moved and so could not be still. Troi

forced herself very still inside. There, like a familiar thread, or a

piece of music heard from a great distance. Picard; she knew that

slightly disapproving calm anywhere.

Troi didn't so much open her eyes as begin to see where her

body stood again. "I've found him." Her voice was very quiet and

seemed to echo from deep inside her body. It was not easy to make

contact with someone who could not reciprocate the mental touch, and

to maintain that contact and follow it back to its source while moving

through a place drenched in terror.

Troi moved very carefully down the hallway. It was like

carrying a glass of water up a flight of stairs. Each movement had to

be thought about, not just by her mind, but her body. Concentration

had to be total.

"Are there other guards?" Troi asked. Her words seemed slow.

"Two more in the torture area, plus the questioner," Breck

said.

"The torturer?" Troi made it a question.

"Yes."

"If the guards come, I can't help you. I can't let go of the

captain."

"Understood," Worf said. "Take us to the captain. Breck and I

will do the rest."

Troi moved down the corridor, past all the doors. Someone was

behind almost every door. The buzzing flowed and faded, parts growing

louder as she passed in front of the physical cause of the fear, or

sorrow. She saw Picard's thread as a faint white line like the things

you see out of the corners of your eyes. She did not look directly at

it but around it, and it pulled her forward.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. She stumbled and nearly lost

that shining thread. She didn't dare look around to find out why

someone had stopped her. If she panicked now, there might not be time

to reestablish contact with the captain. Troi closed her eyes. Her job

was to maintain concentration. She had to let Worf and Breck do their

jobs. If they failed. . . Troi didn't even let herself finish the

thought. Nothing mattered but that faint line. Nothing.

Breck's voice came softly, a whisper. "The main torture area

lies just ahead. If we must pass through it, then we may be forced to

kill."

"Counselor, are we close to the captain?"

She spoke with her eyes still closed, concentrating on that

faint line. "Yes." Her voice was thick and slow with the effort not to

lose that line.

Worf leaned into her, his breath whispering along her face,

"We have only three more doors to either side before we will be forced

to confront guards. Is Captain Picard on this side?"

"I don't know. Close, he's very close." Worf's irritation was

the faintest of thoughts. She had no time or energy left over for

Worf.

"Lead us, Counselor," he said.

Troi moved forward, eyes still closed. She didn't need to

see. It was only a handful of steps, and the line merged into a door.

She reached a tentative hand

in front of her. Fingertips brushed something hard and cool. She

blinked rapidly, trying to see what she touched. It was a cell door.

"Behind here, he's behind here." Her voice still held that

lazy quality. She felt like she was waking from a dream, sluggish and

heavy-headed. The effects would pass in minutes, but while they

lasted, Troi felt a step away from reality. Distant and cool as a

dream.

"Can you unlock this door?" Worf asked.

Breck didn't answer but gently pushed Troi to one side. He

pressed his palm flat to a slightly raised panel of the door. There

was a faint pulse of amber light, then the door cracked open with a

sigh.

Breck pushed the door inward, rifle at the ready. Worf

hissed, "Captain?" The door opened wide.

Picard sat on a narrow bench against the far wall. A look of

complete surprise crossed his face. "Lieutenant Worf, what are you

doing here? This had better not be what it looks like." His face

crumbled to a frown. Anger would not be far behind.

Troi stepped into the room, eyes still not quite focused on

any one thing. "We were worried about you."

"We discovered that the Orianians torture their prisoners.

They refused to let us see you."

"So you assumed I was being tortured."

"Yes."

"I am glad to hear you didn't come to rescue me." Picard

smiled. "When I saw the three of you slink in here, I was sure you had

done something foolish. Forgive my doubts."

Worf glanced at Troi. She was more herself, and could

appreciate Worf's sudden pang of conscience.

NIGHTSHADE

"Well, Captain, there was some trouble in getting into the cell

block."

"What kind of trouble?"

The door slammed open, ringing against the wall. Armed guards

poured intO the room, rifle barrels searching out individual targets.

"No one moves," a familiar voice called out.

"That kind of trouble," Worf said.

"What is going on here?" Picard asked of everyone and no one.

Colonel Talanne stepped into the room, a rifle pointing very

steadily at the middle of Worf's chest. "That is what I would like

very much to understand, Ambassadors."

Chapter Fourteen

Picard HAD NEvER SEEN a real torture chamber. Staring around the room

now, he still felt like he had not seen one. The walls were smooth and

white, and everything was spotlessly clean. There were tables with

bright silver straps and chairlike devices whose function was unclear.

But the room was open, airy. You could almost picture a gentle breeze

wafting through the room. Wasn't there a rule somewhere that to

terrify you had to look terrifying? It seemed somehow obscene that

this sparkling room should be a place of pain.

"Please, Ambassadors, Healer, be seated. Be comfortable."

Talanne herself slid behind a neat desk that took up most of the west

wall. "I am sorry that there are no other chairs, but lean against

anything. I promise it will not harm you." Picard couldn't even figure

out what the various instruments did, let alone how they could hurt.

NIGHTSHADE

Picard glanced around the room. Breck had taken up his

station at the captain's side. For once Picard did not protest. His

recent incarceration had made him appreciate the paranoia of the

planet. Or perhaps it was watching General Alick die?

Talanne propped her feet upon the desk in an attitude of

carelessness that was at odds to anything Picard had seen of her. He

glanced at Troi. She widened her eyes a bit. Picard wanted badly to

confer with Troi, not just for Talanne's oddly relaxed behavior, but

about Alick's death. Picard wanted to know what they had found out and

what Troi had sensed. "May I confer with my people in private?" Picard

asked.

"I think not," Talanne said. "After Ambassador Worf's display

of bravado, I believe we should keep our eyes upon you."

Picard turned to Worf. He tried to think how to phrase his

question in front of strangers without embarrassing Worf. He didn't

like to question his people in front of others. "What was so

important, Lieutenant, that you would risk our hosts' displeasure?"

"We had reason to believe you were being tortured, Captain."

"Tortured," Picard said. He felt his face collapse into

surprise before he could stop it. "Lieutenant, are you telling me that

you thought the Orianians would torture a Federation ambassador?"

Picard stared at Worf, waiting for an answer. Worf did not

look uncomfortable in the least when he said, "Yes, I did."

"Troi, did you believe this, as well?"

Troi was staring at Talanne very steadily, the

concentration almost touchable. She was sensing something. "The

Orianians' customs do allow torture of suspects and witnesses,

Captain."

"What are the two of you talking about?" Picard asked. He had

missed something, sitting in his cell.

"Captain." Worf stood to attention. "We have learned that the

Orianians consider torture as part of their," he looked down as if

seeking the answer on the floor, eyes widened, "culture."

"In what respect?"

"When we went to question people to discover the real

murderer, Talanne herself offered us the opportunity to torture

civilians. Innocent doctors who had done nothing but gather evidence

from the crime scene."

Picard stared at Talanne. The look on her face was one of

arrogance, unreadable, almost amused, but there was a tightness around

the eyes that made it all a lie. It was still a masterful effort at

keeping a blank face. The Orianians had no talent for it. That Talanne

could do it at all meant she was a very quick study. "Is this true,

Colonel Talanne?"

"That we consider torture as a normal part of a criminal

investigation, yes." The false amusement slipped away, leaving her

face bleak. "In fact, if Ambassador Worf had waited but an hour, he

would have been right." She stared at Picard, her face calm.

"Excuse me, Colonel Talanne," Picard said, "Are you saying

that you do intend to torture me?" It was too absurd to say out loud.

There had to be a misunderstanding somewhere.

"You will be interrogated like any other murder suspect,

Ambassador Picard. It is our custom."

"But surely, Colonel Talanne, there are exceptions for diplomatic

missions," Picard said.

Talanne frowned. "Why should there be?"

Picard made an exasperated sound. He looked at Worf, who

said, "I told you, Captain. They are barbarians."

Picard didn't even correct Worf, he was too taken off guard.

"Colonel Talanne, I agreed to be arrested but I did not understand

your customs. I did not realize that torture was part of. . . your

routine."

"Are you saying that you would have fought rather than

submitted, if you had known?"

"I honestly don't know."

"You are all very surprised by this," Talanne said. "Why?"

"The Federation does not condone torture under any

circumstances."

"Why not?"

"I ask again, may I be allowed to speak with my people in

private?"

"I don't think so." Talanne stood in one sweeping motion, her

cloak swirling like a solid wind around her. "We have no secrets from

each other, surely. Speak the truth in front of us without fear."

Picard gave a small nod. "As you like. Counselor, what do you

sense from Colonel Talanne?" He did not look at Troi but watched

Talanne. He depended on Troi, but his own observations were always

valuable to him.

"She is truly puzzled, Captain. She doesn't understand why we

are shocked that they use torture. She feels no remorse or guilt. It

all seems very ordinary, every-day, to Colonel Talanne. They have

every in

tention of torturing you, Captain." Troi's voice was soft on the last

word.

Talanne was wearing her face bare as a compliment to the

ambassador. Picard now saw that it was a mistake. The limited control

she had of her expression crumbled. Every emotiOn crawled across her

delicate features, plain even to Picard. Surprise, embarrassment. The

Orianians had worn masks too long and had lost the knack of keeping

blank-faced. But Picard asked aloud anyway, a perverse form of

politeness, perhaps. "Is that accurate, Colonel Talanne?"

"Yes," the word was unsure, hesitant.

"You intend to torture me in an hour?" Picard was still

having trouble believing it. His diplomatic training didn't cover

this.

"Your interrogation is scheduled in an hour, yes."

"We cannot allow this, Captain," Worf said.

Picard's first instinct was to agree, but what would that

mean for the mission? What would it mean for them getting out of here

alive? The torture chamber was full of Talanne's guards. They were

outnumbered two to one, and the Enterprise was gone. Even if they

fought their way out, where would they go?

"What does the torture consist of," he asked.

"Captain!" Worf nearly shouted it.

"Lieutenant, I need more information before I can make a

decision."

"What are you saying, Captain," Troi's voice was breathy with

fear.

"Colonel Talanne, what does the torture consist of?"

Talanne watched them all, openly curious. "You mean what will

be done to you?"

"Yes.

"I cannot allow you to be harmed, Captain," Worf said.

"Nothing has been done to me, yet, Lieutenant. We are

gathering information, that is all."

"Our laws state that a prisoner cannot be maimed or

permanently damaged. Our devices are designed for maximum pain but

minimum harm."

Worf made a sound very much like a growl. It curved through

the room like the beginnings of a storm, and the bodyguards shifted

uneasily.

"Lieutenant Worf, at ease."

Worf scowled at the guards but gave a curt nod. "Aye,

Captain."

"I give you my word that you will not be damaged. It is only

pain, Ambassador. We are not complete barbarians." She made the last

word bitter.

"Captain, may I speak?" Troi asked.

"By all means, Counselor."

"Is Captain Picard the first human you will have tortured?"

"Yes."

"Then there could be more extensive damage done than you

realize. Human physiological responses may be very different from

Orianian."

Talanne nodded. "Yes, that is a very good point. We will be

extremely careful. I will supervise the interrogation personally, if

that will ease your fears."

"I think I would feel better if you explained the mechanics

of your torture devices. Perhaps that way we could understand the

process better."

"Well, I don't know, one of the principles of torture is

surprise. If a prisoner knows exactly what to expect you have lost

some of your power."

"Unless the torture is so frightening, that the anticipation is

frightening," Picard said.

"There is that. Very well, I will explain our concepts of

pain to you. If it will help."

"It might," Picard said. Frankly if Talanne's ex planation was

not satisfactory, he wondered if he could in good conscience fight his

way out. It would be the death of the peace mission, and perhaps their

own deaths as well. Picard did not wish to sacrifice his people for

his own self-preservation.

"All our interrogation techniques rely on stimulating the

nerves of a particular section of the body." She stepped to a small

white object that was about chest high to her. There was a small cage

like arrangement on top. "The prisoner kneels and the head is strapped

into place. The nerves of the face and skull are stimulated. The worst

aftereffect is dizziness, and some temporary memory loss."

She moved to a white frame from which cords dangled at

regular intervals. The cords were obviously to bind ankles and wrists.

"This reacts on the nerve endings in the skin. The pain is

excruciating but once the machine is turned off, the pain stops

instantly. There is no lasting damage."

"We cannot trust her, Captain," Worf said.

Picard tended to agree but he had to know. "Counselor?"

"Colonel Talanne believes what she's saying, Captain."

"I would not lie about it, Healer." Talanne sounded offended.

"We will do your captain no permanent damage until the execution."

The phrasing was strange, so Picard asked, "What do you

mean?"

"Assassins are tortured to death."

"You said these devices only cause pain, not permanent

injury."

"There are levels of pain that the body cannot tolerate,

Ambassador. It is not the injury that kills but the shock. The body's

own reaction is the method of death."

"Captain," Worf said, "we must get you out of this place."

"No, Worf, I believe the colonel. I will submit to the . . .

interrogation."

"No!" Worf's voice filled the room. The guards drew weapons.

"Worf, no!" Picard motioned his officer to be still. Worf

froze with his hand on his phaser.

"Captain, please . .

"No, Worf, I will not endanger all of us because I am afraid

of a little pain." Picard was glad his voice sounded steadier than he

felt. "You are not to try and rescue me, Lieutenant."

"Captain."

"That is a direct order, Worf."

Worf wouldn't meet his eyes. He stared at the bodyguards then

back to Picard. "Aye, sir." The words were a growl of anger.

"One more question, sir," Worf said.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"Counselor, is anyone in this room planning to harm Captain

Picard. Do they see him as an enemy?"

Troi's face grew blank, her concentration touchable. She

shook her head. "They are doing their jobs. There is some worry over

whether torturing him is wise, but no one is angry. It is all very

practical."

"Must we discuss all this in front of your guards?" Picard asked.

Doubt flashed across Talanne's face. Did she realize how

transparent her face was? She couldn't possibly know, or she would

never have shown herself maskless.

"Colonel Talanne?" Picard made it a question.

Her eyes flickered to his face then down. "I don't know. It

has been a very long time since this planet has seen a mind-healer of

such power. I had heard stories of powers that could look into the

very soul, but," she looked away from them, her voice growing soft, "I

did not believe."

Picard was tempted to tell her that her face alone gave most

of it away. But Orianians were so uncomfortable without their masks

that he would not compound their discomfort.

Talanne turned to them, her face guarded, eyes uncertain. "I

will allow you to speak in private to your people. The guards outside

the cell block should have allowed Ambassador Worf to see you. You are

still a Federation ambassador, and you will be accorded the

accompanying privileges."

"We would also need to speak with the Greens," Worf said.

Talanne opened her mouth as if to protest, then smiled. "I

suppose if we are to execute a Federation ambassador, you must be

given full access to everyone involved." She looked suddenly tired. "I

will leave orders that everyone is to cooperate with you fully. There

will be no other incidents." She stared at Worf as she said the last.

"If you have any urgent demands, Lieutenant Worf, simply come to me. I

will expedite them without your having to go through all these

heroics."

She smiled but it was not pleasant. "You have learned much

about our ways this day, and I have learned that not all I hear of

Klingons is true." A look of genuine puzzlement crossed her face. "Who

would have thought that a Klingon would have any qualms about

torture?"

"Honor does not allow harming innocent people."

"Yes, yes, I understand that now. Perhaps if we ever get this

mess sorted out, you can tell our warriors something of the Klingon

code of honor. It seems all we have heard about is the pain and

barbaric behavior. Perhaps," she said softly, "there is more to it

than that."

"I would be honored to share the Klingon way with your

people, Colonel Talanne." Worf stood very straight, and the pleasure

and pride at the prospect of sharing his honor code with an entire

race was obvious even to Picard. The captain had never before realized

that Klingon honor was almost akin to a religious system. Would he

convert the Orianians? The thought of a dual culture based on Orianian

and Klingon customs was not comforting.

"You may go back to the ambassador's cell and talk among

yourselves," Talanne said. "And then you may question the Greens.

Though I will supervise that questioning."

"You are most gracious, Colonel Talanne," Picard said.

"It is not graciousness, Picard, as well you know." She

glanced at Troi. "It seems I cannot lie to you, so I will not try. If

we do execute you in two days, the

Federation will not be pleased. We are dying from our own war. We

cannot possibly win a war against the Federation. My husband does not

see it that way, more is the pity."

Picard found Talanne's reaction to Troi's powers refreshingly

direct, as was her honesty. Honesty deserved honesty. "The Federation

is not in the habit of making war upon,' he groped for a phrase, "less

advanced societies."

"We are not even great enough to be worthy enemies, is that

it?" There was anger in her voice.

Picard sighed. "No insult was intended."

"We may be uncivilized, Ambassador Picard, but unless your

people can prove your innocence, two days from now you will die. This

puny, backwards planet will have at least one Federation death to its

credit." She took the mask from her belt and slipped it over her face.

Then she turned a blank, unreadable face to them. "Do not

underestimate us, Ambassador Picard. You do so at your very real

peril.

"The guards will escort you back to your cell. When you are

finished talking in private, then you have only to tell the guards.

They will fetch me, and I will go with you to talk to the Greens."

"Thank you, Colonel Talanne," Picard said.

"Do not thank me, Picard, please, do not thank me." With

those cryptic words she swept past them, two guards falling into step

behind her. Her sharp footsteps echoed into the distance.

It was Breck who broke the silence. "You heard Colonel

Talanne. Take us back to the ambassador's cell." His voice held the

certainty of an order.

The faceless guards did not argue. They turned almost as one

and formed a phalanx around the

NIGHTSHADE

Federation group. Breck was very clearly grouped with the outsiders.

If he minded, he made no show of it.

Picard found himself almost relieved to be back in -the cell.

He had not thought that was possible. He had spent all day waiting for

news, or anything else. The guards fed him but would not talk to him.

It was like some awful anxious dream. Not only was the peace

mission in ruins but he, a Federation ambassador, was thought a

murderer. His own possible death was secondary. The total failure of

their mission would doom thousands.

The white cell seemed even smaller with Worf's bulk. His head

brushed the ceiling. The Orianians hadn't planned for a prisoner of

such height. Of course, Worf wasn't the prisoner, Picard was.

"How is the peace mission progressing, Ambassador Worf?"

"I am no ambassador, Captain," Worf growled. "The Venturies

and Torlicks are still willing to talk peace but only after the stain

upon the Federation's honor is removed."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"Proof of your innocence, or your death," Worf said.

"I see," Picard said quietly. "Then we must find the real

murderer."

"We have been trying, Captain."

"What have you discovered, Lieutenant, Counselor?" Picard sat

on the pallet that he had slept on. There were no chairs to offer so

he waved them to the floor.

Breck slid easily to sit against the far wall, nearest the

door. Counselor Troi sat near the captain on a

corner of the pallet. Worf remained standing at attention.

Worf gave the report, what little there was of it. "We believe

that Dr. Stasha was telling the truth about finding your genetic

print on the cup."

"Counselor?" Picard made the one word a question.

"I wish I had more to add, Captain. I don't think anyone has

deliberately lied to us, except perhaps General Alick's sentinel.

He was extremely nervous and fearful when we questioned him. But

it makes no sense for him to have anything to do with Alick's

death."

"Why not?"

"If a sentinel's charge is killed while he, or she, is on duty,

then the sentinel is expected to commit ritual suicide," Troi

said.

Picard glanced at Breck still sitting easily across the room.

"If I die, will they expect it of you?"

"Yes, Picard. Our laws are very strict on sentinels who fail

their task."

"Though it seems harsh in this case, there is nothing you could

have done to prevent this," Picard said.

"It does not matter, Ambassador Picard. Sentinels are one of

the cornerstones of our government. There can be no excuses or

exceptions. If one failure is allowed, then more will follow."

"You aren't angry about that system?" Picard asked.

"Why should I be?"

To that Picard had no answer. "Have you sensed anything at all,

Counselor?"

Troi glanced at Breck. "Yes, Captain, but

"If you think I am a security risk, I will wait outside the

door," Breck said. His voice was even, no offense taken.

"Counselor?" Picard asked.

Troi shook her head. "His life is forfeit along with yours,

Captain. It seems. . . unfair to exclude him. Besides, he might

be able to answer some of the questions I have about the

Orianians."

"Lieutenant Worf, do you concur?"

Worf nodded, one small movement. "Yes, Captain."

"Very well," Picard said. "Proceed, Counselor."

"The Orianians have very strong empathic abilities. I have

never been around any race that could so easily breach my

empathic barriers."

"Is that what happened the first night, when we saw the room of

lifeless children?"

"Yes and no. When I'm asleep, sometimes my barriers are not as

strong, and intense emotions do seep through, but never to that

degree. It was like the fear, the pain, was my own. One of the

greatest fears for a Betazoid is losing self-identity. To be

swallowed up by someone else's thoughts and feelings until you

forget that they are not your own."

Her lovely face was... haunted. Picard had no better word for

it. It was not often that the counselor allowed her own worries

to show so clearly. "Are you all right?"

"It passes, Captain. I have experienced a few individuals in

the past who could intrude upon me in this fashion, but never so

many people in one place. And the strangest part is that they

don't know they have the ability."

"Explain," Picard said.

"I don't know if I can. It is like they all have these wondrous

empathic talents, but somehow it is stunted or hidden, even from

themselves." Troi looked at Breck. He sat motionless against the

wall, but he was watching her. She had a vague sense of his

intense concentration but could not read him.

"Breck, what are the legends of mind powers? What were they

suppose to be able to do?"

He shifted, settling more comfortably against the wall. His

body language was much more casual than the intensity Troi could

feel.

"There have been no true mind powers among our people for over

a hundred years. Until I met you, Healer, I thought they were

wishful stories for children. Now I am not so sure. I feel

strange when I am near you and you use your powers. It prickles

along my mind. Why?"

Picard watched doubts pass over Troi's face. Was she debating

whether to tell the truth? If so, Picard knew which she would

choose. Troi was more comfortable with the truth.

"Many of the Orianians are blank to me, Breck. That means I

can't read their emotions, which is highly unusual. It implies an

ability to block empathic senses. You are a blank to me most of

the time."

"So, you are saying I am an empath or a mind-healer?"

"In some sense, yes."

He smiled at that. "A mind-healer, but why are so many of us

blanks, as you call us?"

"Did you feel General Alick die?"

"I don't understand the question," Breck said.

"I felt him die, Breck. I felt his death inside my head. It was

horrible, bitter." Troi stopped then spread her hands wide. "I

don't have words for how it feels, but it is hideous. It is one

reason Betazoids don't go into security work."

"You feel all deaths?"

"Not all, but many."

"You think that the Orianians were originally empaths, but

killing forced the talent underground?" Picard asked.

"Yes, Captain."

"Wait," Breck said. He was leaning forward now, making no

pretense of disinterest. "You mean this war has killed not only

our people but our mind-powers?"

"What were the powers suppose to be able to do?" Troi asked

again.

"They could heal the body as well as the mind, though that was

rare, only the greatest could do that. No leader ruled without a

healer by his, or her, side. They were supposed to be able to

talk to the ground, the plants, even the water and trees."

"Talk, how?" Picard asked.

"The legends say they could conjure fruit from bare rock, but I

don't know what is myth and what is reality. The stories grew as

the healers died."

"But their empathic sense was often tied to the ground, to the

planet?" Troi asked.

"Yes. If the stories are even partly true, the most common

power was to be a friend of the trees and growing things."

"Does that help you, Counselor?" Picard asked.

"There is something called a sense of place, Captain. Land can

have a sense of itself. There are theories it is the imprint of

people, but it is often strongest in areas where there are no

people."

"Are you saying that the planet itself could be empathic?"

"It is alive, Captain," Troi said. "Every living thing gives

off something that death steals from it."

"But a planet, an entire planet?"

"A dying planet," Troi said softly. "Dying like the people and

their empathic abilities."

"I do not understand this," Worf said. His voice was a questioning

growl.

"I do," Breck said softly. He laughed and it was the first truly

free sound Troi had ever heard from him. "We are tied to our planet.

As we poison it, we poison ourselves, not by being forced to eat

corrupt food, or drink foul water, but directly. We are tied to our

world, and as it dies, so do we. And the first thing to die was our

tie to the planet we were killing. Our mind-healing."

Troi nodded. "I think so."

"Could you teach me how to use my powers?"

"I believe so," Troi said.

He laughed then, delighted as a child. "We must save you, Picard.

Your Federation has too much to teach us for it to end here. If we can

prove to my people that killing and destroying this planet has robbed

us of our healing... all of them, even the ones who want to continue

this war, might listen."

"Then we must talk to the Greens," Worf said.

"Agreed, Lieutenant." Picard smiled, slightly. "But I doubt that

they will allow me to accompany you."

"Captain, I cannot leave you to be tortured. I cannot..."

"You can and you will. Believe me, Worf, if I saw another solution I

would take it. But we don't have

the firepower to fight our way out. Even if I was willing to allow the

peace mission to die in my place."

"Captain .

"Find the real murderer, Lieutenant, clear my name. Perhaps this

afternoon's unpleasantness will be the only interrogation needed."

Worf stood in one smooth motion, using only his legs. "We will not

fail you, Captain."

"I have no doubt of that, Worf." He carefully did not look in Troi's

direction. He did not want to see her compassionate glance. She would

know, if no one else did, that he was worried. Two days, and he would

die. The worst of it was, the peace mission seemed likely to die with

him. And now he had less than an hour before he was going to be led

away to voluntary torture. It was ridiculous, but he saw no way out of

it.

Picard had always known that death was a likelihood as a career

Federation officer, but ending his days executed for murder... It was

too absurd.

The others went out the door. They would do the questioning. The

sorting out of all the horrible implications. Picard would have felt

better if he could have gone with them. It was not that he thought he

would see something or hear something Worf and Troi did not. It was

that once that door closed behind them, all Picard had to do was wait.

To wait for the guards to come and take him back to the clean white

room, and its devices. But after the pain he would be returned here to

wait some more. To wait and wonder. It rankled that he should spend

his last hours helpless, and dependent on others, even trusted

friends.

"Enough of this," he said to the empty room. "I am Jean-Luc Picard,

Captain of the Federation Starship

Enterprise. I am not so easily defeated." Out there was the best

security chief he had ever worked with, and the only counselor he had

ever trusted with his own thoughts. They were good people. They were

part of the Enterprise crew, and that meant the best. He was in good

hands, the best hands. Picard knew that, and yet.. . he worried.

Chapter Fifteen

THE GreENs' CELL DOOR was near the center of the maze of white

corridors. The stark white walls stretched as far as they could see, a

tide of prisoners behind identical clean, white doors.

Worf leaned close to Troi and whispered, a rumbling growl that

vibrated in her ear, "Are there prisoners behind all these doors?"

She whispered back, "I'm trying very hard not to sense anything,

Worf."

He nodded and straighted back to attention. They were all waiting

until Talanne could be brought. She had left very clear orders that

they were not to question the Greens without her presence. So, they

waited.

Troi stood very still in the center of the corridor. She had rebuilt

her barriers after the captain was found. She had no choice. The

emotions behind the doors were like vibrating static playing along her

nerves. Troi felt exposed, or worse yet, diffused. She felt

stretched thin, tugged at by every emotion they passed. A planet of

unbelievably strong empaths with absolutely no training. It was too

frightening.

If the captain hadn't been jailed, awaiting execution, Troi knew

that she would have been the one in the greatest danger. So she

stood in the midst of the buffeting wind of the Orianian minds and

tried to feel nothing.

Worf and Breck stood to either side of her. If someone had simply

glan ced at them, they might have assumed that it was Troi who was

the new ambassador. Breck had tried guarding Worf, but the ,Klingon

had made it clear what he thought of the Orianian's help. So they

both guarded Troi.

The problem was that the real danger to Troi was something that

neither warrior could protect her from. Only one person could help

her walk safely through the pain and despair that was the jails of

Oriana, and that was Troi herself.

Sounds came from down the corridor. The guards all turned at full

attention to face the noise. A group of three masked and cloaked

Orianians came into view. Their black and gold cloaks almost glowed

against the whiteness. Troi found her eyes drawn to the color. This

unrelieved whiteness was exhausting to the eye. Perhaps that was

the point. Even the walls themselves reminded you that this was a

prison, as bleak in its own way as the outer planet.

"Greetings, Ambassador Wori, I am sorry to keep you waiting. The

guard that came to tell me you were here had some trouble locating

me." It was Talanne's voice, but she made no offer to remove her

mask and show her face. "Open the door for us." Her voice was

quiet, but it was definitely an order.

A guard moved to obey. He, or she, pushed the door wide, holding

it with an arm. He stood aside to let the ambassador's party enter.

"Please, enter," Talanne said. "All guards will remain outside

the door."

"But Colonel Talanne. . . ' a guard protested.

"I have spoken," she said.

"Ambassador Worf," Breck said, "shall I remain outside, as well?"

"Yes." Whether Worf wished it or not, custom dictated that if

Talanne had no bodyguards, then he would have none. In fact... "We

are honored that Colonel Talanne shows such trust in us."

"I am trying to behave like a civilized leader." The bitterness

in her voice could have cut glass.

Troi was relieved that even standing next to Talanne, she felt

nothing. She was blocking out Talanne's empathic broadcast. There

was only a faint buzz like the humming of insects, ignorable if she

worked at it. Troi was relieved more than she would admit. But how

could she help Worf and the captain if she refused to use her

powers?

Worf ducked through the low doorway into the cell. Troi followed

him because that was her job, but fear was growing in her, her own

fear. Fear of failing her duty out of cowardice.

The harsh, bright light bounced off the glaring whiteness of the

walls. The room swam in brightness like burning water in a glass

globe. Audun sat against the far wall, his large brown eyes staring

dully at the door, as if he did not really see it at all. Liv was

huddled on one side, her back to the door. Her shining white-blond

hair spilled onto the floor, a line of darkness staining it. Marit

lay on her back, one arm slung carelessly outward as if in sleep.

But her face was too pale for sleep.

Worf moved swiftly to kneel by Audun. Troi just stood for a

moment staring at Marit. The buzzing in her head was growing louder

like someone had turned up the volume. No, she thought, no, I can't

feel this. Not again. Please.

Talanne stepped in behind them. Perhaps she couldn't see around

them, perhaps it took a moment to realize what had happened. Or

perhaps, the full horror of it slid slowly into her mind, because

she simply didn't want to believe it.

"Audun, what has happened here?" Worf asked. He was feeling for

a pulse on Liv. He did not bother with Marit. The Klingon knew

death when he saw it. "Audun, can you speak?" Worf asked.

Troi stepped toward them, slowly. It was like a nightmare where

no matter what you did, it was too late, always too late. If only

they had discovered the Orianian attitude toward torture sooner. If

only... two of the most painful words. Words that Troi told her

clients not to use. If only words to torture yourself with.

The buzzing in Troi's head exploded into a scream. It shattered

her barriers like brittle glass. A shriek was ripped from Troi's

throat. She whirled and found Talanne just behind her. Another

scream tore through Troi and spilled out her mouth. Talanne wasn't

screaming. Troi was doing the screaming for her.

Talanne's emotions washed through Troi and swept her away. Horror

at Marit's lifeless face. Terror at

what had been done, then anger. Anger that grew and fed on itself

until it was rage. It burned through Troi and filled her with a

desire to hurt someone. For the first time she understood exactly

what Worf felt when just destroying something, anything, would make

him feel better.

The burning hatred curled in upon itself- self-hatred. Guilt.

Guilt like a gleaming sword to cut and leave Talanne to bleed. The

anger turned inward and fed on the guilt, like a beast gnawing its

own foot to escape a trap. Troi choked on the tears, the rage, the

hatred. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

The room was suddenly full of guards with drawn weapons. Talanne

had not moved. With her face covered, she seemed utterly calm. Only

Troi knew what was happening inside, and only now did Troi realize

Talanne's empathic gift. The Orianian leader could project all her

strong emotions onto other sensitives. She could rid herself of the

worst of them, like throwing out garbage. And all of that emotional

trash was filling Troi until she wasn't sure where Talanne left off

and this person called Troi began.

"Troi!" Someone was holding her, cradling her in their arms.

"Troi, can you hear me?"

Talanne's voice came low and calm. "Who was in charge of the

Greens' questioning?"

Troi's lips moved soundlessly, mocking the words, repeating them.

"Counselor!" Worf shook her, forcing her to look up at him

instead of at Talanne. "Deanna, can you hear me?"

"Who did this?" Talanne's words hissed this time,

rage burning through them. Troi repeated the words like an echo.

She did not seem to see Worf's face.

One of the guards dropped to one knee in front of her. "Colonel

Talanne, we did not know that the Green was so delicate."

"Do you give me excuses!" She slapped him, and he pressed his

face to the floor.

"Mercy!"

"You will get mercy," she said softly, Troi repeated it with her.

"The mercy you gave that woman." Talanne turned her back on the

crouching guard. "Take him to the place of pain."

Worf slapped Troi as gently as he could. She did not react, but

her eyes tried to follow Talanne. Worf cradled the counselor in his

arms and stood. "I must get the counselor away from here. Stay with

the Greens, Breck. See that no harm comes to them."

"As you ask, so shall it be done," Breck said. He backed toward

the prisoners, his rifle now pointing out at his fellow guards.

Worf pushed through the guards with Troi's limp body in his arms.

He stopped in front of Talanne. "I must take her out of here. She

is ill. I charge you with the safety of these people. I left Breck

to see that no more harm is done them. You will treat him as a

member of the Federation. He is not to be tortured."

"I will see that no more harm is done. You have my word of

honor." Troi repeated the words, it was ghostly, as if Troi were

not there anymore. Worf held her tighter as if that would help.

"Your word of honor means nothing to me, Talanne," Worf growled

the words next to her masked face. Troi winced, spine bowing as if

in pain. Worf pushed through the guards into the hallway. Troi

whispered, "Go with them, show them the quickest way out of these

cells." A second later a guard came out to stand beside them.

"Colonel Talanne bids me lead you out of the prison."

Worf swallowed hard enough for it to hurt. How had Troi known

that? How? "Then lead us," Worf growled.

The guard made a half salute, then strode down the corridor,

black and gold cloak swinging Out behind him. Worf followed,

glancing down into Troi's face. Her eyes were wide open, but they

looked blind. She didn't even blink. He whispered, "Troi."

He had ordered her to find the captain. He had taken her farther

into this place, knowing how it might effect her. Worf had given

the orders, but it might be Troi who paid the price.

Every commander knows that when he orders his people into battle

there is a chance not all will come back, but Troi was different.

Worf could not think of her as a warrior. That should have been an

insult coming from a Klingon, but it was not. Worf could not

explain it, but Troi was the only friend he had that was not a form

of warrior and still he respected her. He had never seen her so

much as carry a phaser. She went into battles unarmed, and though

she would not kill, she never flinched or considered personal

safety first.

She was a warrior at heart, but she had the soul of something

gentler. Worf did not understand her completely, but he valued her.

To Klingons it was an honor to die performing their duty. Why did

it bother him so much that Deanna Troi might die here and now?

Chapter Sixteen

Worf KNELT BY TRoi's SIDE, back at their sleeping quarters. She lay

on her sleeping mat, pale and very, very still. With her eyes

closed, Worf would have thought she was asleep, but when he lifted

her hand, it was totally limp and her skin was cool to the touch.

Worf had piled blankets on top of her, forming them into a cocoon

around her cold body. 'Troi, Deanna, can you hear me?"

He felt again for the pulse in her neck. The beat of her heart

was steady, comforting. Should he take her to one of the Orianian

doctors? Would they be able to help her? Or would they only make it

worse? No. He couldn't give her over to those butchers.

Worf squeezed his hands into fists and ground his teeth. A low

growl of frustration trickled from his mouth. He did not know what

to do. This was not a problem for phasers or anger. He stared down

at her

pale face and felt some of the helplessness that he often felt with

his son, Alexander. Why co uldn't the world be as simple as battle?

If only the Enterprise would return. Turning Troi over to Dr.

Crusher would have been comforting. Turning her over to these

honorless warriors-Worf didn't like it. How could anyone trust such

people?

The image of Marit's dead face was still vivid. They had tortured

her to death by accident. Accident! Worf tried to swallow the

anger, but he couldn't. Troi was hurt. Picard was in jail. A

possibly innocent woman was dead. The planet was dying. The peace

mission was in shambles.

Worf stood, walking toward the nearest wall. He stared at the

bright, pretty pictures, and all he could see was the woman's dead

face. He smashed his fists into the wall, first one then the other,

as if he were using a punching bag. Over and over, smashing,

hurting. The rage bubbled up from his gut and flowed out his

shoulders, down his arms, into his fists, in a red wave. The rage

poured out of him, and it felt good.

"No need to destroy the room, Worf."

He whirled. Troi was propped up on one elbow, smiling at him.

Worf rushed to her, grabbing her in a huge bearhug. "Deanna, thank

Hakkierk!"

Her voice came muffled against his chest. "Worf?"

He pulled away from her, pulling at his chest sash. His control

slid into place like a well-worn glove. "I am very glad to see you

are better," he said.

Troi smiled up at him. He knew she was sensing his happiness at

her recovery but he also knew he did not have to make embarrassing

displays for the counselor

to know how he felt. It was... calming. She was the only "human" he

had ever been around whom he was sure would not misunderstand his

Klingon ways.

"Are you unharmed?"

"A little weak but it will pass," she said. She scooted around on

the mat to put her back to the wall and cozy the blankets around

her.

"You know what happened to you, then?"

"Yes," Troi said softly. "Colonel Talanne is one of the most

powerful projecting empaths I have been around."

"Projecting empath, what does that mean?" "All full Betazoids are

able to project their thoughts upon others. They are broadcast

telepaths, but projecting emotions is much more rare. Instead of

being able to sense other people's emotions, they send their own

emotions onto other people. In Talanne's case it is only

sensitives, other empaths. If a Betazoid with such a talent could

not learn to control it, they would be too dangerous for words."

"How so?"

"Say the empath is angry in the midst of a peace negotiation. She

could infect all the other delegates with her rage."

"Should Colonel Talanne be barred from the peace talk?"

"I don't know yet. It depends on whether or not she can learn to

control her power. She's like all the other Orianians and has no

idea she has this awesome ability."

"Are you suggesting the colonel could use her power as an

influence for peace?"

"Yes," Troi said.

"Isn't that. . . cheating, Counselor?"

"Worf, all the Orianians are constantly affecting each other.

Their talents are almost totally wild. They play off each other

now. All I'm suggesting is that we could harness the power and use

it, like a tool. Like I use my own talents when the captain is

negotiating a treaty. You don't think that's cheating, do you?"

"I had never thought about it," Worf said. "But knowing what the

other side is feeling is not the same as making them believe

something they do not believe. The peace would only last as long as

Talanne could influence them." He shook his head. "No, the peace

must be uncompromised."

"You're right. But we have to find some way to control these

abilities. I can't keep doing this."

"What happened, Troi?"

"Talanne possessed me. I felt her anger, her outrage at Marit's

death. And underneath that was guilt." Troi stared up at him.

"Guilt, Worf, like a great darkness eating at her soul."

"She feels responsible as any good commander would," Worf said.

Troi shook her head. "No, it was personal. Whatever she felt

guilty over was something specific that she had done."

"What?"

"I don't know, exactly, but she knows something. She knows

something about the Greens. We have to question her."

"Do you think Colonel Talanne had something to do with the

murder?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But whatever she did, it's something

important enough for her to feel an obligation to the Greens. It

was as if she had failed personally." Troi hugged her knees to her

chest. "I

was Talanne for a few minutes, but her feelings were so intrusive

that I couldn't catch her thoughts. Guilt, horror, and very

specifically directed toward the Greens. Not Marit, but the

Greens."

"I will question her, Deanna," Worf said. He stood. "You rest."

"No, I have to be there."

Worf scowled down at her. "You nearly died. I will not risk you

again."

"I was not close to death.

"You were badly hurt," Worf said stubbornly. He had no words for

injuries of the mind. Troi could be badly and permanently damaged

with invisible wounds.

"The greatest fear for a Betazoid is to lose oneself. To be

swallowed up until we become the other entity. I became Talanne for

a time." She stared down and would not meet his eyes.

"Then you cannot go near her again. It is too dangerous."

Troi looked up at him. Her solid black eyes sparkled with

something between determination and anger. She looked so small

huddled in a nest of blankets, hugging her knees to her chest, and

yet.. . There was nothing small about the look of utter

stubbornness in her face. But if she thought she could out-stubborn

him, well, Klingons had many talents.

"It is almost nightfall of the second day, Worf. At nightfall

tomorrow the captain will be executed for murder. I have to be

there when you question Talanne. Now that I know what she is, I can

protect myself more actively."

"No, Counselor." Worf said it like it was a reality.

Troi stood, letting the blankets spill to the floor.

"Worf, Talanne knows something important. She's the first person

that I've been near that I am sure knows something about this

murder. We have less than forty hours to prove Captain Picard's

innocence. Without me in the room, Talanne will be the best liar

you have ever seen."

"What do you mean by that, Counselor?"

Troi took two steps closer to him, forcing herself to crane her

neck upward, but she wanted eye contact for this. "Talanne is a

projection empath. She can project her emotions onto others. I and

the other Orianians are more in danger, but you are not immune."

"I still do not understand," Worf said.

"I believe that Talanne is a wild talent and doesn't realize what

she's doing, but many untamed talents have an unconscious ability

to lie in their emotions as well as their words." Troi crossed her

arms over her stomach. "In other words, Worf, without me there to

tell you if she's doing it, Talanne could lie completely to you,

and you'd believe it, because she made you believe it."

"Klingons are not sensitive to empathic messages, he said.

"True," Troi said, "But then Klingons have never come up against

a race of empaths with such horribly powerful talents."

"We have dealt with Betazoids before."

"You have dealt with me, Worf. I'm only half Betazoid. There are

people on my home planet that could read your mind, your emotions,

or plant their thoughts in your mind."

"Truly?" he asked.

"It is all illegal, of course. We have very strict rules

governing what empaths and telepaths are allowed to do. But without

those laws and the ability to enforce them. . ." Troi shrugged. "It

would be a very dangerous world. A world where a few powerful

individuals could control most of the population. The Orianians

have the potential to do just that, Worf."

"I understand that I need your input, but what is to keep her

from possessing you again?"

"I can fight it, now that I know what it is."

"Will there still be danger to you?"

"Yes, but minimal."

He frowned. "I do not like it.

"I am a Federation officer whose captain is imprisoned. You

wouldn't deny me the chance to help save him, would you?"

Put that way, what could Worf say? She was speaking of her duty

and her honor. "You may accompany me to question Colonel Talanne,

but if you begin to feel ill, you must leave."

"I will, Worf, believe me. I have no wish to repeat what just

happened. It's horrible for a Betazoid to lose themselves."

"To die with honor in defense of duty is a proud way to die. To

lose one's self, as you put it, seems less honorable and more.

horrible."

Troi flashed him a quick smile. "I agree, Worf. Believe me, I

agree."

"I did not mean that your sacrifice would not be as great. I

meant that by not dying, your sacrifice would be greater."

"I understand you perfectly."

He honored her with one of his rare smiles. With so many of the

crew, even his friends, Worf often felt Out

of step. But here with this gentle woman, he was understood,

perfectly. No explanations were needed. In the midst of chaos Troi

was like a center of peace. In many ways Worf valued Troi for the

same reasons Picard did. Though neither captain nor lieutenant

would ever have guessed it.

Chapter Seventeen

CoLONEL TalANNE satin a small square interrogation room. She was

almost completely lost in her cloak and mask. Nothing showed of

her, even her small hands were gloved. Was it some subconscious

hint that she meant to hide things?

Troi sat in the far corner of the room, as far away from Talanne

as she could physically get and still be in the room. Talanne had

asked after Troi's health, hoped the mind-healer was better today.

Yes, Troi was better today. But fear trickled low in her stomach.

She had to force herself not to clench her hands into fists. But

she had the training for it. It was part of her job that no matter

what was said or done in a session that she, the counselor, could

re main outwardly calm. Troi hoped fervently that she would be able

to maintain that calm.

Troi had barricaded her mind. When Betazoids first got their

powers at adolescence, many were

too untamed talents. If you worked with them, to help them train,

you had to be able to block your mind beyond anything required for

daily interaction. But she had never worked with children. Since

she was half human, her mind-shielding was not up to the challenge.

Of course, Troi had not mentioned that fact to Worf, fearing he'd

refuse her access to Talanne.

The woman knew something. Troi was sure of it and they would find

out, now, tonight. Captain Picard was running out of time.

Worf stood near the door, arms crossed over his chest. He stared,

unblinking, at Talanne. He watched her as if she were some new form

of life that he had dedicated himself to studying. The mask was

useless before his concentration. She could hide nothing. That was

the arrogant confidence that Worf projected into the room.

Troi had seen him do it before. It was wonderfully intimidating.

The thing that truly made it work was that Worf believed it. His

utter confidence was not a mask. Failure was not a possibility

until it was brought abruptly to his attention. He had prepared for

this questioning as he would a battle. There was no room for doubt

when doing armed combat. Doubt could kill you much quicker than

your opponent's blade. Troi, in her own way, had prepared for

battle, too.

"Do you know why you are here?" Worf said, his voice was a low

rumble. Even when his voice was flat and unemotional, there was a

hint of growling anger.

"I know you requested to interrogate me," she said. "I gave you

the great courtesy of not bringing any bodyguards to this meeting.

I am placing tremendous trust in you." Her voice sounded certain.

But underneath the confidence was a thread of fear. She had left

the bodyguards out because there was something she did not want

anyone else to know. Troi had the flavor of Talanne's mind, and it

was easier to read, almost too easy.

Troi was walking a dangerous line between blocking Talanne's

errant emotions and sensing what she was truly feeling. Troi had

formed a solid Smooth shield inside her head, but in the center was

a tunnel. There was a door at the end of the tunnel that Troi

planned to slam in place, to seal herself behind, if it became

necessary. But the Shield was a compromise, flawed because it had

to be. So far, so good.

"We understand the honor You do us by coming alone, COlonel

Talanne," Worf said. The word honor had a bitter twist on it.

Talanne shifted in her chair as if it were suddenly not as

comfortable. Shame flared down Troi's mind. Shame and anger.

"She did not mean to honor us, Worf," Troi said. They both

turned to look at her. "The colonel didn't want anyone else to hear

her secret. That's why she came alone." Troi let her voice hold all

the certainty that she felt.

"Why would you not want your bodyguards to hear?" Worf said. "Why

is it safe for us to hear? Do you plan to kill us the way you

killed Marit?"

Talanne sat up Suddenly, very straight. "I did not kill the Green

woman." Her voice shook a little, and SorrOw dripped into Troi's

mind.

"You ordered her torture. The torture killed her. You killed

her," Worf said.

"No!"

"You know it is true," he said.

Talanne hung her head, gloved hands coming up to touch her masked

face. "Yes, yes, it is true." She looked up suddenly. "But don't

you see, everyone connected with the crime had to be tortured." She

looked from Troi to Worf, her hidden face still managing to convey

anxiety. "Don't you see? I had to do it."

"Who are you trying to convince, Talanne? Us, or yourself?" Troi

made the words soft, without reproach, but she dropped the woman's

title. Troi could feel Talanne's agony over what had happened. The

woman was genuinely grief-stricken about it. Why? She had not known

Marit. Or had she?

Troi took a chance. "When did you first meet Marit?"

Worf glanced at Troi, fighting to keep the surprise off his own

face. Talanne stared at Troi as if she had sprouted wings. "I do

not know what you mean."

Fear boiled through Talanne and poured down the tunnel in Troi's

mind. Troi's heart began to beat faster with someone else's panic.

No, not again. Troi closed her shielding, solid and smooth and

unbreakable. It was like cutting off a hand, so abrupt. The tie

with Talanne gone, Troi felt like she'd lost something. A piece of

herself. She had almost been part of Talanne again, that easily.

A calm, cold horror swept over Troi. Would her mind barriers

hold?

Her voice was still calm, as cold as the fear in her chest.

"When did you first meet Marit?"

"At the reception dinner, of course," Talanne said. Her voice had

the smallest of quavers to it.

"You're lying," Troi said softly. It was a gamble because with

barriers in place, she could not sense a

lie. But she had sensed it before. The truth didn't change that

quickly

"Tell US the truth, Colonel Talanne," Worf said. He took two steps

away from the wall, anns uncrossing, hands flexing at his sides. His

breathing had quick ened.

Talanne glanced up at him, then back to Troi. "I am Sorry, sorrier

than you can know, about the Green's death. I have given orders that no

more torture is to be done. It was not really I who gave permission for

the torture to begin." She looked up at Worf. "Genem al Basha f(?rged my

name."

Troi noticed she had not called him her husband.

"Why would the general do that?" Worf asked.

"I am in charge of all prisoners. It is part of my duty as

Second in command. But Basha and I have an UnderStanding He often

metes out queStioning in my name. Though he never gives death

orders. Only I can do that."

"How convenient," Troi said.

"I do not enjoy ordering my own people to death.

Unlike Basha, I see them all as my people." She stood and paced

Closer to Troi. "Even the Greens."

Did she mean it? Troi had no way to tell. "You met with the

Greens without Basha knowing about it." Troi made it a statement,

though she was far from Sure it was true. There was no time to be

cautious.

Worf had managed to keep his face neutral. Why shouldn't he be

calm? He thought Troi was sensing all this, not guessing.

"I did not betray my husband," she said.

"I did not say you betrayed him, Talanne. I said you had met with

the Greens without his knowledge I am a mind healer Talanne. You

know what that means.

Your legends tell of people like me. You cannot lie to a mind-healer."

This wasn't strictly true, but most Orianians seemed to believe it.

"No! I did not betray my husband. I would not betray my own people. I

obey the laws." She turned to Worf, hands out as if pleading. "I helped

make those laws. Why would I break them?"

"Because you believe that the Greens are your people, too," Worf said.

She stepped back from him as if he had struck her. "You use my own words

against me."

"You have broken your own laws, betrayed your own people. You are

without honor," Worf said.

"And now you have helped kill one of the people you met with secretly,"

Troi said. "You have betrayed everyone, Talanne. Your own people and now

the Greens."

She ripped off the mask and threw it against the wall. It hit with a

smack and slid to the floor. Tears were trickling from her lovely eyes.

"What was worth all that betrayal, Talanne, what?" Troi asked.

"Jeric, Jeric!" She screamed the name of her son and burst into tears.

Troi and Worf looked at each other. Worf's puzzled expression matched

Troi's feelings. "What do you mean, Talanne? What about your son?" Troi

asked.

"I thought you knew everything." Her voice was bitter. "I had lost

three children, so deformed at birth that they could not survive.

Three dead babies." She stared at Troi. Her large, nearly golden

eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Do you understand what that felt

like, mind-healer? Three babies that I carried in my body. Three

times I felt life moving inside of

me. And three times I gave birth to monsters that could not survive

outside of my body."

A visible shudder ran through Talanne's body. Troi was glad she

couldn't feel it.

"It was as if I were their lifeline." She stared at Troi, tears

sliding slowly down her face. "I was their mother as long as they

were inside me." Her arms folded across her abdomen. "But once they

were born I couldn't be their mother anymore. I couldn't save them.

I had to watch them die." She bent forward, cradling her stomach.

Her voice when it came was low, almost a whisper. Troi was forced

to step close to hear it at all. "I could not go through it again.

I could not."

"You went to the Greens for help," Troi said.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Tell us," Worf said. His deep, growling voice held none of the

threat it had before. In fact Worf's hand was halfway out toward

the woman, as if to comfort her. He stared at that offered hand and

clenched it to his side. The pain that blazed behind his eyes for

a moment was enough to show Troi he felt the woman's pain. Worf

understood loss. Even if death was something to celebrate, some

losses still hurt.

"Tell us," Worf repeated gently.

Talanne blinked up at Worf, as if realizing that he was feeling

some of her pain. Troi wondered for the first time, if that were

literally true. Was Talanne projecting her emotions Onto Worf?

Troi stared up at Worf. She would have to drop her barriers, and

she did not dare. Talanne was in the middle of an emotional storm.

"Most of us cannot even become pregnant," Talanne said, her voice

shaky with tears. "You know what happens with the babies that

survive." She would not look at either of them as she said, "The

dead children. Most can be saved eventually, but th ey,, are never

the same. Nothing could save my children.

She turned in one smooth motion, drawing the cloak tight around

her body. "The Greens become with child much more easily. And their

children are healthy, strong." She shook her head. "Much of the

hatred of the Greens comes from seeing their smiling children. It

is too painful a reminder."

"Why not share technology with them?" Troi asked. "Surely it's

clear that they are using some form of biotechnology to help their

children."

"To admit that would be to admit that, perhaps, the Greens had

been right all along. That we have been killing our own children.

No one wanted to believe that. They wanted to go on hating each

other and then they began to hate the Greens as well. We were

accustomed to hating. It was easier than changing."

"You went to them to help you have a healthy baby," Troi said.

"I did," she said. "And now I have Jeric. I don't regret it, not

in the least."

"Marit helped you?"

Talanne nodded. "And now I have let her die."

What could Troi say to that? It was true, in a way. "Does Basha

know?"

"No, he is a true Green-hater.

"Audun was our only contact with the Greens. Can you take us to

them?" Troi asked.

Suspicion was plain on her face. "Why?"

"We have only one more day before Captain Picard is killed," Worf

said.

Talanne nodded. "Of course, you hope the Greens

can tell you something of the biologically altered plant."

"Yes," Worf said.

She stared from Worf to Troi as if trying to memorize their

faces. "I have betrayed the woman who gave me my son. I would not

betray the Greens again. If you play me false or play them false,

I will kill you both, Federation ambassadors or not." Her voice and

face were very steady, utterly serious.

Worf gave a small nod. "Understood."

"Good," she said. "It is good that you understand me. I wish I

did." She gave a soft smile. She got her mask from the floor and

slid it into place, then lifted the cloak hood. She was hidden

again, bland and safe. "I will take you to a Green encampment.

Perhaps there you will find your answers, as I found mine."

"Thank you, Colonel Talanne," Troi said.

"Do not thank me yet, mind-healer. Your captain is still going to

be executed unless you can prove his innocence. You saw how much

power I had to save Marit. I will be no help to you unless you find

proof."

"We will find proof," Worf said.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Captain Picard is innocent," he said.

"I knew that luingons were violent and obsessed with a strange

honor code, but I did not know that they were politically naive."

There was the faintest trace of a smile in her voice.

Chapter Eighteen

GEORDI STARED AT the smooth blinking panels. They were pretty. The

soaring silver wall flowed upward to curve into the ceiling. It

looked more like a graceful sculpture than a control panel. Geordi

admired the beauty of it, but the more he studied it, the less he

understood it. He felt like he was growing stupider the longer he

stared at the thing.

He wanted to open a panel and look inside. Veleck had been

horrified. You would have thought that Geordi had suggested cutting

the chief engineer's own body open. Barbaric had been the most

polite term Veleck had used.

Geordi had never realized how much of his engineering skill

relied on either a good diagnostic computer program, or a hands-on

approach-take it apart and put it back together again. The

computers here were tied into the engines, they wouldn't talk to

him either. He felt useless.

Dr. Crusher stood a few meters to his left. She was running medical

tests on the control panel, as if it were indeed an injured

patient. She had had more luck than Geordi. Because her regular

patients frowned on having their skin cut open just for a casual

look around, she had tools to peer inside without damaging the

outer shell. She turned off the medical tricorder and stared at

Geordi. There were tired lines around her green eyes. "I think I

may have found the injury."

"What?" Geordi walked towards her eagerly. Maybe this was the

break they needed.

"If it were a patient, I would say there is some sort of problem

with the immune system. I don't know exactly what it is, but it

would be like something entering our bodies and eating all the

white blood cells. As the immune system is destroyed, internal

organs would shut down. The body would begin closing ranks, trying

to stay alive. The one thing I don't understand is why the shutdown

of the immune system would destroy the engines. A patient I could

keep alive, in stasis if I had to."

"I think I know," Geordi said. "You can't shut this engine off,

or even take much of it off-line. The major systems are

interconnected-damage one beyond repair and it would be like a

house of cards. It's the main reason Veleck won't let me cut into

any one system. Damage one part and the entire engine is hurt."

"So if a vital system is destroyed, then it all goes," Crusher

asked.

"Yeah."

"I think I can slow down this immune damage, but

the real problem is repairing the systems already injured."

Geordi ran a hand along the blinking panel. It ignored him as it

had for hours. "Before the engines are stressed to the point of no

return."

"And they explode," Crusher finished for him.

"Can you get started on the immune problem?" he asked.

"I've diagnosed the problem, Geordi, but I don't know how to get

at it."

"What do you mean?"

"If this was a patient, I would have to operate, invasive

surgery. Some of the engine's vital organs are shutting down.

Repair or replacement is needed. Can you open the engines to me?

Peel back the proverbial skin and let me get at it?"

He shook his head. "The engines ignore me. It's like I'm not

here. Veleck touches the panels, and they pulse to life, but they

don't know I'm here."

"What can we do, Geordi?"

Veleck must have heard his name for he lumbered out from behind

the silver lattice work. "I told you that you could not help us,"

he said. Even his slow-motion voice sounded tired.

"Couldn't you open the engines up and let the doctor work on

them?"

"Our engines would not understand your instruments, or your

instructions. You would only confuse them."

Veleck always spoke of the engines as if they were alive,

separate beings. Geordi didn't question it anymore. "Then you could

talk to the engines for us, explain what the doctor was doing."

"It will not work," Veleck said.

Geordi wondered if there was a Milgian word for pessimist, but he

doubted Veleck would get the insult. And besides, Geordi was a

Federation officer. He wasn't supposed to insult officers from

alien races. Every crew member was in some way a diplomat. He took

a deep breath.

"Veleck, we don't have much time left. Can't you just humor us

and tell the engines to do what we ask?"

"Humor you? I see nothing funny about this situation."

Frustration burst into anger. Geordi opened his mouth to yell at

the stubborn being, then stopped himself. He turned away,

swallowing all the words he wanted to say. What he did instead was

laugh. A low pleasant laugh.

"I do not understand your humor," Veleck said.

"I think we're all tired," Crusher said.

Geordi nodded. "Yeah, we're all tired." He looked at the large

brightly colored alien, the odd unreadable eyes. "Sometimes when

humans are upset, they laugh. It relieves tension."

Veleck seemed to think about that for a moment. "Ah, I believe I

understand. We do bortak for tension jelease."

"Bortak?" Geordi asked. Crusher and he exchanged glances.

Veleck's body suddenly glowed to Geordi's eyes. The heat flowed

and pulsed from one part of his body to another. His body seemed to

ripple like semisolid

sand. The heat source faded, and Veleck's body trembled, then if

what Geordi was seeing was accurate, solidified again.

"Doc, did you see that?"

She nodded, slowly. "I think so."

"I feel better," Veleck said. "More relaxed."

"I'm glad, Veleck," Geordi said slowly.

A smaller, paler blue version of Veleck lumbered into the engine

room. "Chief Engineer, the captain wishes to speak with you."

"Thank you, Engineer Bebit. Stay with our guests until my

return."

"Yes, Chief Engineer." The younger Milgian's voice had almost a

lilt to it compared to any Geordi had heard before. It sounded

almost eager.

Bebit turned to them once Veleck was gone and said, "How may I

serve you?"

What did they have to lose? Geordi explained what the doctor had

discovered and what they wanted to do with the engine.

"Veleck is correct. The engines would not understand you. Neither

he nor I could speak with the engines for you."

Geordi sighed. The tension at base of his neck knotted tighter.

Were they going to lose this one? Was the first contact with the

Milgians going to be the destruction of one of their ships and the

loss of dozens of lives?

"But you might attempt to speak with the engines directly," Bebit

said.

Geordi stared at him. "You mean I can talk to the engines,

personally?"

"I do not see why not," Bebit said. "It is true that no non-Milgian has

ever tried but the principle should cross such boundaries."

"How do I do it?"

"Wait a minute, Geordi," Dr. Crusher said. She

stepped closer to Bebit. "Is there any danger to Lieutenant La Forge?"

"Danger?" Bebit questioned. "I do not think so."

"Geordi, these engines are alive. I don't think it will be like pushing

a button."

"Whatever it is, Doctor, I'm willing to do it." Geordi turned back to

the smaller alien. Smaller was relative though. He still towered over the

two humans. "Show me how to talk to the engines, Bebit."

Bebit walked toward a corner of the smooth wall, if this flowing place

had corners. He passed his hand over the wall and a small panel pulsed

red and hot. "You must let the engine taste you. Then it will recognize

you, and you may talk to it."

"Taste me?" Geordi said. "I don't understand, Bebit."

"Place your. . . hand on this place and the engine will . . . sample

you. It will recognize your," he seemed to be trying to think of a better

phrase, "your cell structure."

"Doctor?"

"The engines are made up of bits and pieces of the cell structure of

the Milgians. I've even found what amounts to DNA that would match

Veleck."

"Is your cell structure in the engines, too, Bebit?" Geordi asked.

Bebit's face grew very hot and shifted. It took Geordi a moment to

realize he might be smiling. "Yes, all engineers are pieces of the

engines. Exactly." He was like a proud parent whose slow child had

finally grasped some elementary topic.

Geordi didn't care if the Milgians thought he was slow. He just wanted

this to work. "Show me how to let the engines taste me."

"Geordi.

"No, Doc, we're Out of time."

She nodded, reluctantly. "All right, but I'll monitor you."

"Glad of it." Geordi smiled to show he was okay, but frankly the

thought of something as alien as these engines "tasting" him was

frightening and exciting at the same time.

"Just place your hand on this panel, like so," Bebit said. He pressed

his own blue hand flat on the panel. It pulsed once almost too bright for

Geordi to look at.

"Geordi, my instruments say that Bebit's hand became a part of that

panel for an instant. They merged." Crusher looked at him. "Your cell

structure won't merge painlessly with that panel."

Geordi flexed his shoulders trying to loosen the tension between them.

"I'm going to try, Doctor."

Crusher put her head to one side, her mouth making that lopsided motion

that always meant she was not happy. "All right, you have to try, but

I'll scan you while you do it. If it starts to damage you, I'm breaking

the connection."

"You're the doctor."

"It'd be nice if you remembered that more often," she said.

Geordi smiled, then turned to the panel. "I just put my hand against

it?"

"Yes," Bebit said.

Geordi took a deep breath and pressed his hand flat against the glowing

panel. It was as smooth as all the others, and at first juSt as cool. The

panel began to grow hotter where his skin touched it, but it wasn't

uncomfortable at first. It didn't grow bright like it had

with Bebit. The heat seemed almost hesitant, as if it didn't know quite

what to do with this new taste.

Geordi waited patiently, hand pressed against the warm panel. The

surface grew softly warmer, pulsing brighter and brighter. The heat grew

slowly until Geordi felt like his hand was being slow roasted. Now, it

was starting to hurt. Gritting his teeth, he kept his skin pressed to the

panel. If this was the only way to speak to the engines, he could do it.

He had to do it.

"Geordi, your hand is starting to burn.,

"I know," he said. His voice went just a little higher from the pain.

It felt like the machine was peeling back his skin, pouring molten metal

into his veins. A scream was pushing at the back of his throat.

The panel was growing brighter, brighter until the angry red glow was

almost blinding. Nausea burned up his throat. He had to scream or pass

out. Geordi screamed. Something tingled at his hand almost like a tiny

mouth. Something pushed against the burning flesh.

Geordi collapsed to his knees, cradling the hand to his chest. He was

covered in a sick sweat, his breath coming in quick pants.

"Geordi." Dr. Crusher was kneeling beside him. She took his hand in

hers, gently but firmly. "Let me see."

Huge watery blisters were rising on the palm of his hand and along his

fingers. The pain hadn't gone away. It was less, but it was like someone

had taken all the blood in his hand and replaced it with molten metal.

Now the boiling metal was working up his arm, crawling under his skin

toward his shoulder.

"You've got second degree burns, and you're lucky it's not worse." Her

voice scolded him.

When Geordi trusted himself to talk without gasping, he asked, "Bebit,

did it work? Can I talk to the engines?"

"I will ask them," Bebit said. He moved to one of the control panels

and waved his hand over it. Colors flowed and chased after his hand, as

if the lights could feel his fingers without needing to touch them.

Sharp, cutting pain forced a gasp from Geordi's lips, and his attention

was jerked back to his hand. Dr. Crusher was doing something painful to

the burned flesh.

"I know this hurts, Geordi, but if I give you painkillers now you'll be

drowsy." Her serious green eyes stared at him. "Let me know if the pain

is too much."

He bit down on the inside of his mouth to keep from yelling. He

swallowed hard, nausea burning at the back of his throat. Geordi had

never had a burn this bad before. The. pain was incredible for an injury

that wasn't close to life threatening.

His voice sounded shaky, but he found himself saying, "I'll be fine."

The expression on Dr. Crusher's face showed plainly that she didn't

believe him. Geordi didn't care. Lying about it was the best he could do.

He was the engineer. It was going to take both of them to fix this ship,

if it could be fixed.

Bebit turned to them, his face still fixed in what passed for a smile.

"The engines are eager to speak with you, Geordi."

It was the first time any of the Milgians had used

his first name. It sounded strange from someone he had just met,

but they were here to work together, to make friends if possible.

It was a start, and Bebit was certainly friendlier than Veleck.

"Thanks, Bebit," Geordi said, getting to his feet with Crusher's

help. He didn't feel dizzy, just hurt.

"I'm all right, Doc, thanks."

Crusher nodded, and stepped away from him. "I don't think you can

take another burn like that."

Privately, Geordi agreed, but they were running out of time. "Bebit,

will it hurt me to speak with the engines the way it did to be

tasted?"

Bebit's face flared in brilliant red-sad. "I am sorry that you are

hurt. It does not hurt me to be tasted. The engines would not

purposefully injure you, Geordi."

"I believe you, Bebit, but will it hurt me to speak with the

engines?"

"You do not have to touch the panels, only pass your hand above

them. Will that harm you?"

"I hope not," Geordi said. "What do I do?"

"Put your hand over this middle panel, here," Bebit said. He splayed

his thick fingers wide and the lights flickered, responding. "Do you

see?"

Geordi didn't really understand what the lights meant, but he could

duplicate the physical movement and hoped that was enough. "Does it

have to be the hand that was tasted?"

"That is not necessary."

Good, thought Geordi, lifting his good hand toward the softly

glowing panel.

"Do not touch it!" The low scream made Geordi drop his hand to his

side and turn around. Veleck

N!GHTSHADE

stood in the doorway walking forward as quickly as his bulk would

allow. "Do not touch it!"

"Chief Engineer," Bebit began.

"Silence! You have almost destroyed this ship."

"But Chief Engineer...

"Get out!"

Bebit didn't argue further. He just turned and lumbered off. His

body very cool, no hot spots to glow against Geordi's VISOR. To

Geordi, the smaller alien seemed dejected.

"What's wrong, Veleck?" Geordi asked.

"Your cell structure is alien to this ship. If you mingle your cells

with ours, it could force the implo sion to happen immediately."

Geordi glanced at Crusher, she shrugged. "The ship has already

tasted me. It didn't blow up."

"That idiot, Bebit, how could he risk us all like that?" There was

real anger and panic in Veleck's voice.

"If the danger was my alien cell structure, that's passed."

"But you were about to speak with the engines." As Veleck walked

toward them Geordi saw that the heat patterns on his body were like a

kaleidoscope. It was almost dizzying and Geordi had to turn away. He

could only assume that this was a pattern of agitation for the

Milgians.

"I have to speak with the engines to fix them," Geordi said.

"You do not understand our engines. They are greatly stressed.

Trying to speak with something as alien as you are could force them to

explode early. Do you understand?" Veleck had moved his considerable

bulk between the twO humans and the control panels. They were forced

to stand back whether or not they wished to.

"In a few hours the ship will destroy itself anyway."

"But not yet," Veleck said.

"All right, let's evacuate everyone to the Enterprise, and I'll try

to talk to the engines."

"You would risk your own life to save our ship?"

Geordi didn't know quite what to say to that. It sounded terribly

heroic and he didn't feel terribly

heroic. "I have to do everything I can to save your ship and people,

so yes, I'm willing to take the risk."

Veleck stared at Geordi for a moment. The heat patterns had cooled,

but Geordi would have given a

lot to be able to see the engineer's facial expression.

Though, as with most new alien races, the expression

might not have meant very much.

"I cannot let you, an alien, risk yourself for my ship. I am chief

engineer, I will die with my engines."

"Then stay with me. I'll need all the help I can get,"

Geordi said.

"We'll need to get the Enterprise to a safe distance before you

try," Crusher said.

"Yeah. Try to convince as many of the Milgians as you can to

evacuate."

Crusher nodded. "I'll try, but this ridiculous determination to go

down with their ship... I don't know how to get around it."

"It is not ridiculous," Veleck said. "It is our way."

"Any custom that wastes lives unnecessarily is repugnant to me,

Chief Engineer Veleck. I'm a doctor; I save lives. And that is more

important to me than any custom."

"I will not leave my ship when it is in danger," he said.

"I'll go up and try to convince some of the other officers to

leave," Crusher said. "I'll be back when I've gotten as many Milgians

to safety as I can."

"Wait a minute, Doc. You're going over, too."

"If the engines don't explode and you can speak with them, you'll

still need me. These engines are alive, Geordi. You need an engineer

and a doctor."

Geordi opened his mouth to argue, but she had that stubborn set to

her mouth, a hard glint in her green eyes. In her own way Crusher was

just as stubborn as the Milgians.

"All right, Doctor. You handle the evacuation, and I'll try to take

a crash course in Milgian engine mechanics."

Two hours later Geordi was back in front of the glowing panels. They

had been unable to convince any more of the Milgian crew to abandon

ship. Finally, the Enterprise, with the few refugees, had warped to a

safe distance. Veleck and Dr. Crusher were standing at either side.

Veleck had tried to explain what it would be like to "speak" with

the engines, but the idea hadn't translated well. Geordi guessed it

was one of those occasions that you just had to experience. Either

Geordi would understand once he'd made contact with the engines, or he

wouldn't. Either they would blow up, or they wouldn't. Nice to have

such simple choices.

"Everybody ready?" Geordi asked.

"A Milgian is always ready to give his life for his ship," Veleck

said.

"Sorry I asked. Dr. Crusher?"

"I'm with you, Geordi."

"Here goes everything." He spread his hand over the panel and moved

it slowly closer. When his hand was almost touching the panel, but not

quite, a tingling shock raced up his arm. Then his whole arm went

numb, as if he'd hit the nerve in his elbow, the funny bone.

The engine room receded, as if Geordi were being pulled down a

narrow tunnel. Colors flashed and glowed behind his eyes. He tried to

shut them, but the colors were inside his head. He couldn't make sense

of it and found himself drowning in a whirl of colors-red, blue,

yellow, pink, orange. Then suddenly it all made sense. The colors were

the engines talking to him.

They had no voice, nothing to hear, and the colors that were visible

to the eye were only the outward manifestations, like his own skin.

The "talking" went on underneath where you couldn't really see it. But

you could feel it.

The engine, for it was one being, was very curious about Geordi. It

had never met a non-Milgian. It could read his mind; there was no need

for words or even concrete thoughts. It just drank the information

directly from his mind.

The engine flowed and pulsed, and Geordi could feel it. His mind ran

through circuit boards and conduits. He was one with the engine. It

was overwhelming and wonderful, and he knew it would run forever just

working with his hands.

"Geordi, can you hear me?" It was Dr. Crusher's voice, floating

through the colored language. It was a shock to hear real speech.

"I can hear you, Doctor." His voice sounded very distant to him,

almost unattached.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You've been standing motionless for over twenty minutes. You

wouldn't respond to my voice. Veleck wanted to break the connection,

but I was afraid it would harm you. If my instruments are correct, the

engine is bound to your involuntary nervous system."

"Is that bad?"

"Not as long as it doesn't hurt you." Her voice's concern was a deep

violet color washing through the engine's language.

"I'm all right, Doctor. The engine likes me. It's eager to learn

from me. I need time to sort out what it's telling me, but I think

we're in business. Contact the Enterprise; tell them we're okay and

we're going to operate on our patient as soon as it tells me what's

wrong."

"It's going to tell you what's wrong?"

"Yeah, its name is two long yellow flashes followed by a quick blue

dot. Yellow-Dot-Blue." The colors swirled more intensely when Geordi

thought of the engine's name. The kaleidoscope of colors whirled

around him and dragged him in, and Geordi didn't fight it. He needed

to learn how the engine worked, and now it could show him.

Chapter Nineteen

Troi coffed Hard, And even though the breathing masks were suppose to

help you breathe, Troi found herself gasping. Her breathing was loud

and labored. Sweat trickled down her forehead. She raised a hand to

wipe it away and bumped the mask. Sighing, she forced herself to let

her hands drop loosely to her sides. She was supposed to be passing as

an Orianian, and they did not rub at their masks or tug at their

cloaks.

Worf stood beside her even more uncomfortable, if that were

possible. He didn't look like an Orianian. Even cloaked and completely

covered, he looked awkward. The hooded cloak was too short and barely

hit his knees. They had not been able to find gloves to fit him at

all. He hid his betraying hands inside the folds of the cloak. The

mask that he had been given on their arrival fit him, but unless he

kept the hood

tight round his face, well . . . He looked like a Klingon done up for

Halloween.

Talanne had led them through empty corridors. She was no more eager

to be caught than they were, perhaps less. Breck had been allowed on

this expedition only because Talanne now considered him a member of

the Federation party. It was still unsettling how easily Talanne and

Breck accepted his new alliance. A complete change of loyalties, and

as far as Troi could sense, neither Orianian thought it odd.

The corridors became rougher, mere blasted tunnels of rock. Worf had

been forced to bend almost double. The Klingon made no complaint, but

little grunts of effort came now and then.

Troi was a little tall for an Orianian but not much. And though all

the borrowed clothing fit, it was still stiflingly hot. The farther

into the narrowing tunnels they went, the hotter it became. The air,

she noticed, was flat and stale, a touchable blanket that they were

forced to wade through.

Talanne's light made huge circular patterns on the narrowing walls.

The floor was bare rock, rubbed nearly smooth by the passage of many

feet. "What were these tunnels originally for?" Troi asked. Her voice

echoed, seeming to come from a different direction entirely. Troi

swallowed and stared upward at the dark ceiling. If you became lost

down here without a light, not even sound would help you. The echoes

would trick you as surely as the darkness itself.

Talanne whispered, but the sound rushed and poured like water in the

rock. "No one knows."

Breck made a small sound, almost a laugh.

"You have something to add, Breck," Worf asked.

"Only old warrior's tales, Ambassador.' His voice was very close to

Troi, as if in the pressing dark he, too, felt the need of comfort.

"They say these were the tunnels of demons, destroyed before

remembered history by our ancestors."

"Tales to frighten children, Breck, not warriors," Talanne said.

Her voice held the scorn her face could not show.

Breck did not rise to the taunting. He seemed faintly amused by

the whole thing. Amused, and underneath that, nervous. Was he truly

afraid of demons? Troi didn't believe that, but for the first time

she could feel unease from the man.

"Breck," Troi half-turned to him. "Are you afraid of the dark?"

She meant to keep her voice soft, but the echoes betrayed her,

sending the whisper rushing through the narrow tunnel.

"I am a Torlick warrior. I fear nothing that walks the ground or

flies in the air."

"But do you fear demons?" Talanne called back, her voice soft and

taunting.

"I fear nothing." His voice was very firm.

Troi was sorry she had spoken aloud. He was afraid-afraid of the

dark and the narrow rock walls. Breck was claustophobic but only in

the dark. Troi had come across selective phobias before. People not

afraid of heights unless in high manmade structures. It wasn't that

uncommon, but somehow the phobia made Breck more understandable. He

seemed, for lack of a better word, more human.

"One more short piece of tunnel," Talanne said, then we go

outside. Ambassador, Healer, follow me, do not tarry on the

surface. The greatest danger is

stray pockets of poison air. If we hit one, there is not much that

will save us."

"Then why is there no easier way to the Greens?" Worf asked. His

voice held just a hint of strain.

"Few of our members would risk coming to a surface area that is

not frequently traveled. We tend traveled areas and see they are

clear of poison and other hazards. This stretch of deadly ground is

the best guardian the Greens could have."

The wall in front of Talanne seemed solid until she saw the light

at a certain area. The shadows seemed to peel away and expose a

small domed tunnel that was much smaller than the tunnel they were

in.

"What do you think, Lieutenant Worf? Will you fit through there?"

Worf had dropped to one knee, so his back could straighten. He

stared into the dark hole. "Does it narrow further?"

"No, this is as narrow as it gets."

He moved forward on all fours, tracing the edges of the rough

opening with his hands. "I will fit, but it will be . . . tight."

"I will lead the way, then." Talanne bent nearly double and

stepped into the tunnel. The light flickered and bounced off the

rock like something alive.

"You go next, Counselor," Worf said.

"I think I'll let you go next," Troi said.

"If I become... stuck you will be trapped behind me."

"If you become stuck, I can push from behind and Colonel Talanne

can pull."

"I hope that will not be necessary," Worf said. His discomfort at

the thought of such monumental embarrassment made Troi smile. She

was glad he could not see her face. Worf didn't like being laughed

at.

Worf crawled into the tunnel on all fours. His shoulders scraped

the walls with a rough sound that spoke of scraped skin under the

cloth.

Once Worf was inside the tunnel, it was like a cork in a bottle.

Talanne's l ight was gone, swallowed except for a thin glow that

haloed Worf's head. Troi and Breck were left in the velvet dark.

Breck's breathing was instantly louder, gaspy. "Why don't you go

next?" she said.

"No, I am the sentinel. I will guard your back." His voice was

uncertain, full of fear and the beating of his own heart. "Healer,

please, let me do my job."

Troi didn't offer again. Breck was afraid, but he would face his

fear like a stoic warrior.

Troi crawled into the tunnel, eyes on the thin line of light and

Worf's dark bulk. The motionless air was like a hand squeezing at

her throat, making it hard to breathe. The rock crushed inward, and

sweat broke out on her body. Under enough pressure, Breck, too, was

a broadcasting empath. She was on a planet where nearly every

person had some wild talent. It was no place for an empath. And the

tunnel was no place for a claustophobic.

Worf stopped. Troi tried to peer around him, but the light was

just a rim, like an eclipsed moon.

"Why have we stopped?" Breck asked. His voice held an edge of

panic that made Troi's throat tighten.

"I don't know."

There was a sound of wind. Troi thought at first she was

imagining it, but air was drifting down the tunnel, and a dim glow

of gentle yellow light filtered around Worf's body. He began to

crawl forward, then

disappeared into a blur of light. Troi blinked into the light. All

she could see was a glowing nimbus, as if her eyes had gotten so

accustomed to the dark they didn't know what to do with light.

"Healer, go forward into the light, please." Breck's voice forced

Troi to crawl forward into the near blinding glow.

Hands reached for her, pulling her to her feet. Worf stood beside

her, while Talanne was a short distance away, a shrouded figure.

Breck came out of the tunnel and leaned against the rock as if to

catch his breath. His joy at being out in the open again could not

be marred by the desolation around them.

Troi had seen scans of the planet. Raw data, numbers, percentages of

this, amounts of that, but the bland information had not really meant

anything to Troi. To be told that a planet is dying is awful, but it is

an enormity that is hard to believe. You can't hold it in your hand, or

feel it. Troi stood staring, and believed.

The sky was a suiphurous yellow, with thick clouds that rolled and

boiled as if some giant hand was stirring the sky. Wind streamed around

them, tugging at the heavy capes. The heat was breath-stealing but

utterly dry. There had been more moisture in the heat of the caves.

Here under the poisonous skies there was nothing but air and dirt.

The wind whipped the powdery dirt into miniature whirlwinds. They

danced in a ragged circle. Suddenly, Troi felt an unsettling sensation

of being watched prickling down her spine.

Worf reached for his phaser, staring at the whirling dustdevils. "Are

they real?" He had to yell above the howling of the wind.

"It is just dirt and wind," Talanne yelled back.

"They are watching us," he yelled.

So it wasn't just Troi. Worf felt it, too. It was then that Troi

realized the watching was all she could feel. An angry, despair-filled

watching. Troi whirled, searching the dry rock walls behind her. There

was no one there. She knew that, and yet she knew something was there.

The wind shifted, slinging the whirling dirt against them. Troi threw

her arms up to protect herself but it stung even through the protective

clothing. Silence made her ears pound. Then the wind was gone abruptly,

as if someone had turned a switch.

"Something is wrong," Worf said. His deep voice was loud in the

stillness.

"Yes, Klingon, our planet is blowing away before our eyes. The soil

that grew the plants, the life, vanishes with each breath of wind."

Troi stepped cautiously away from the hillside to the open stretch of

ground. She turned around in a slow circle. There were no other living

beings near, save for the two Orianians and Worf. Yet . -

"There's something here," she said. It sounded vague even to her own

ears, but she had no words for the feeling. Troi was often forced to

use words that did not clearly convey what she was experiencing.

"Come, Healer, we must not delay our stay upon the surface," Talanne

said walking across the dry, rustling ground toward another hill. This

one was covered with the skeletons of trees, like the dark bones of

some twisted creature.

Worf still had his phaser out, staring around the narrow open space.

Breck stepped close to Troi. His hands were playing nervously along his

rifle. It wasn't pointed at anything, but it was ready.

"This is an evil place, Healer," Breck said. "It is the eyes of the

world you feel."

Troi looked at him. "What are the eyes of the world?"

"Some say it is the world watching us kill it. You can feel that it

is angry."

"You feel the anger?" Troi did not try to keep the surprise out of

her voice. Breck either didn't hear it, or ignored it.

"Always," he said.

"Do you ever feel the anger of other people?"

"No, why?"

Breck could not feel the emotions of people, but he felt this weight,

this thing. Was it the eyes of the world? And if not, then what was it?

"Troi." Worf's voice jerked her attention back to the pale, hot land.

"We must hurry, Healer," Talanne said. "I see a poison storm coming

this way. The winds are unpredictable. It could hit any time." She and

Worf were waiting beside a door that Troi would have sworn had not been

there when last she looked.

Breck gripped her arm and began to lead her toward the others. Troi

didn't protest because she had seen the poison storm. A cloud bank was

rolling in on the horizon. It was black and a deep emerald green. A

shining golden curtain poured from the cloud. Even from a distance of

some miles Troi could see white clouds of steam rise from the ground.

"Why is it doing that?" she asked.

"The rain is almost pure acid," Breck said. The

ground boils where it touches." He pushed her into the doorway

behind Talanne and Worf. Talanne's light was a dim beacon down a

fairly roomy corridor. But the blackness was just as black as the

caves. Troi couldn't feel Breck's fear anymore. All she could feel

was the sensation of being watched.

Talanne and Worf waited for them in front of what appeared to be

a dead end. Talanne passed her hand over a spot on the solid rock.

A piece of it slid out of sight. A breath of air pushed into the

dry heat. The air was moist.

Talanne slipped into the dark entrance, taking the light with

her. Worf followed, forced to bend painfully low. "Go, Healer,

please," Breck said. He nearly pushed Troi through the door. His

voice betrayed a breathy fear of the dark, but Troi still felt none

of it.

Talanne was waiting to one side of the inner door. She motioned

with the light for them to walk farther into the pitch blackness.

Worf's form was caught in the light, then vanished. Only the sound

of his cloak rustling said that he hadn't simply vanished with the

light.

Breck stood at Troi's back. His hand touched her shoulder, and

the shock of it screamed along her nerves. His fear was there in

his skin.

Troi gasped. His grip tightened. "Are you all right, Healer?" His

voice whispered against her hood, thick with fear. The feeling of

being watched had vanished when Talanne shut the door, and Troi

welcomed the darkness.

"Breck, I'm all right." She moved a little away from him, closer

to Worf. The sentinel's fingers moved reluctantly from her

shoulder. Breck needed to touch someone, to know he wasn't alone.

But Troi needed

some emotional space, a breathing room for herself. Too much had

happened in the last day, too many emotions, an overload of her

empathic talents.

The mind was like the body; it had limits, and Troi was dangerously

close to reaching those limits. So much negativity, so much destruction.

Death, fear, hatred, anger. Only Talanne's love for her son had been

positive, and Dr. Zhir's love for the lifeless children.

Troi shook her head. She needed positive emotions to wash away the

negativity, like the body needed to be bathed in cool water to cleanse

sweat and dirt away. Troi needed to dress her mind in something that felt

good.

"We're at the first outpost," Talanne said. "We must go cautiously from

here."

"You said the Greens do not believe in violence," Worf said.

She glanced back at him. The light reflected in the goggles of her

mask, glinting like some giant insect. "They do not believe in violence,

but they do protect themselves. Just because something is not deadly does

not mean it is pleasant."

"You speak in riddles," Worf said.

"I don't mean to," she said. "They don't believe in taking life, but

they might hold you prisoner until they had time to move the encampment.

Your captain would be days dead."

With that she led the way farther into the tunnels. They had little

choice but to follow. The air grew steadily cooler. Even through the

protective clothing, Troi could feel the caress of moisture.

Worf's bare fingers traced the nearest tunnel wall. "The stone is

damp."

Troi touched it with her gloved hand, and through the tough cloth she

could barely sense the cool sensation. "It's not like the other caves at

all," she said. "The air feels fresher even through the breathing masks."

"Yes," Worf said.

Breck was pressed almost into Troi's back. But his fear had lessened.

His breathing had slowed, almost normal instead of that gasping fear. "Do

you smell that?"

"What?"

"I don't know," he said. "It smells like water. But it can't be."

"Why not?" Worf asked.

"Because it smells clean." His voice held a sort of wonder.

Light, the dimmest of illuminations crept into the tunnel. Troi's eyes

were starved for light, and even that faint grayness was welcome. She

could make out the outline of her companions. She st ared up ahead and

found a dim, misty glow. A shimmering fall of white light that looked

nearly magical against the darkness.

Talanne's caped figure was framed against the glowing light. She turned

to look back at them, shining the light onto each of them as if to make

sure they were still with her. "Stay there. I won't be long." She walked

into the light, becoming more visible as she moved. The colors of her

cloak, the stride of her boots, everything was suddenly very distinct.

Talanne looked so very real that for a moment, Troi expected her to fade

into the light and leave them to darkness.

Breck had moved in front of them, as if he wanted to follow. Or perhaps

it was his thought that Talanne

would leave them to the dark. Troi wasn't sure

anymore. The Orianians could enter her mind and thoughts without a

ripple. It was unsettling, but she was becoming accustomed to it. They

didn't do it on purpose, most of the time, and meant no harm.

The three of them stood alone in the welcome glow, the darkness

pressing at their backs. Troi wanted to walk forward into the light, but

again she feared it was Breck's phobia not her own. How could any empath

be trained on a planet where the mingling of minds was so seamless?

Talanne appeared in the light again. Two barefaced Orianians walked at

her back. They wore the plain blue overalls of the Greens. Pockets bulged

along the arms and outer legs of the suit. They wore what looked like

tool belts, which for all Troi knew could have been weapons.

Worf had drawn his phaser, using the voluminous cloak to hide the

movement. His fierce readiness beat along Troi's skin. He would not start

anything, nor did he actually wish the mission to fail, but his body was

keyed for action, violence. The Jlingon would be a little disappointed

not to put his preparations to use. It was physiologically harder for

luingons to cool their blood.

"They know you are friends," Talanne said. "The rest of the Greens know

you are coming. They may become nervous if we keep them waiting."

"Why?" Worf asked.

"If you were Orianians, Ambassador Worf, it would be logical to blame

the Greens for your captain's predicament."

"We are not Orianians," he said, softly.

"No," she said, "you are not." There was some-

thing in her voice that was almost regret. Regret that even a Jlingon

could be more reasonable than an Orianian, perhaps?

The two Greens tried to move behind them, to escort them, Troi

supposed. "We will follow you," Worf said.

The two Greens looked at each other. "It is our custom to check behind

to see that no one follows."

Worf stared down at them. "I mean no offense but I do not want warriors

at my back."

The Greens exchanged glances. Puzzled frowns crossed their faces. "We

are not warriors."

"Every Orianian is a warrior, so they tell me," Worf said.

One of the Greens smiled broadly. "You will find many things different

among us." He patted the Jlingon's shoulder, like he was some long lost

friend.

Troi didn't have to see Worf's face to know he was scowling. "I look

forward to meeting your leaders," he said. His voice growled with a hint

of anger, but the Orianian took it as the diplomatic speech it was meant

to be.

"Our leaders are most eager to meet the Federation ambassador."

"The leaders that are left," the second Green said. His smooth face was

angry. The emotion had thinned the skin along his cheeks and lips, making

his face look tight and pinched.

"It is not their fault that Audun and the others were arrested," the

first Green said.

"Someone killed Alick, and it wasn't us," his voice held a very final

note.

"That is something we have come to find out,"

Worf said. "Every second we waste in idle chatter is time lost for our

leaders."

The second Green stood a little straighter, a flush painting his face

with pink. "Very well then, Ambassador, let us go.

The first Green grinned at Worf and shrugged. "Morei is a little high

tempered."

"There is nothing wrong with feeling loyalty to your leaders," Worf

said.

"Well said." The Green slapped him on the shoulder again, smiling.

A low growl slipped past Worf's lips. The Green either didn't hear, or

didn't understand. He led the way into the tunnel, still smiling. The

suspicious Green slipped into the dark behind them. "I will make sure

they are alone." His words held a threat, but Troi couldn't feel any real

danger. He didn't mean to harm them. He just didn't trust them. After the

way the leading factions had hunted the Greens, Troi couldn't blame him.

Besides, Worf didn't trust the Greens, either.

Did Troi trust them? She trusted all the ones she'd met and she'd met

five of them-not many. Perhaps most of them felt like the suspicious

Green and blamed the Federation for Audun's arrest. Did the Greens know

about Marit's death? No. There was no sorrow, not even the initial rage

that often precedes grief. The Greens did not know.

Troi suddenly didn't feel nearly as confident about walking into the

camp. What would they do when they learned of the death? Death by

torture. Would the Greens prove to be as violent as the other natives, if

given a reason?

Talanne walked confidently beside the remaining Green. Troi could not

sense any fear from her. She, at least, expected no trap. Breck was

simply relieved to be in the dim, shining light.

The tunnel then opened into a huge round cavern. A platform of stone

wide enough to hold a shuttle-craft acted as the entrance to a broad set

of stairs. Everything was carved from the rock, smooth and rounded with

the passage of many feet.

Talanne removed her mask, and Troi heard her take a deep breath of air.

The counselor didn't need a second invitation to remove the sweating

mask. She slipped it over her face, her hair sticking to her face in damp

strands. The cool air caressed her skin with cool, moist fingers. It was

different from the dry heat of the surface and even the other tunnels.

The smell that Breck had noticed wasn't water but the rich, loamy smell

of healthy earth. Green growing things. Life. It was like being caught in

a thick cloud of perfume.

"What is that?" Breck asked. He was standing a few steps below the rest

of them. His breathing mask had slipped from his hands, and he didn't

react. He began to walk down the stone steps, slowly, eyes on something

that they could not see.

"It is what our world use to be," Talanne said.

Plants, green growing plants as far as the eye could see. The cavern

was thick with vegetation and rich, black soil. Water beaded and dripped

from huge leaves. The roof of the cavern was so high as to give the

illusion of being a stone sky. Light filtered from banks of shining,

white panels set in that distant roof to spread warmth and life on the

floor.

Talanne picked up Breck's dropped mask. She spoke softly to no one in

particular. "I was the same way the first time I saw it."

The tall trees with the crimson fruit that had played such a prominent

part in all the wall hangings grew straight and tall near the edge of the

greenery. The trunk was a silvery gray, paler than the paintings had made

it.

Troi stood on the stairs, drowning not in Breck's wonderment but in her

own. It wasn't the trees, the life, but that this land, this piece of

surface was alive. Its being pulsed in her head and played along her

skin, as if she had brushed against a person. It was alive. Alive in a

way that no tree or flower or piece of ground should ever have been

alive.

"The air smells very sweet here," Worf said.

His voice brought her attention back to them. "It's alive." Her voice

was a whisper.

"Of course it is," Worf said, "They are trees."

"No, Worf, it's alive, like you're alive, like I'm alive."

"The trees are intelligent?"

"Not intelligent exactly, but aware." She struggled to find the words

to help him feel what was pouring through her body. "A sense of well-

being, of happiness that plants do not have. It doesn't think like we do,

but it is alive. Aware."

Breck had fallen to his knees in the rich green world. He fell forward

on all fours, hands buried in a carpet of small, round leaves.

Troi moved down the steps toward him. "Breck?" He was crying. When her

feet touched the springy ground, it was like an electric shock. She

gasped.

"You feel it, too, don't you?" Breck asked. He stared up at her, tears

running silently down his face.

Troi could only nod. She didn't trust her voice. The warm heat of life

poured through her body until she felt as if she would burst with it. It

was so strong that she stared down at her hands, expecting some visible

sign to pour from her fingertips.

There was nothing but the sensation prickling over her skin. Nothing

visible, nothing to show to Worf. She stared into Breck's face and knew

he understood. One flash between them that went beyond words. It was the

sharing that she had with other Betazoids. An understanding that none of

her human or Jlingon friends could share, no matter how hard they tried.

In one moment Troi understood one other thing that she hadn't before.

Breck was an empath, but his talent was tied to this rich, living land.

Not this particular piece of land, but the surface of this planet. Breck

was an earth-healer, a legend. His talent hadn't been apparent because

the planet was dead, but Troi felt his mind peeling away. All the

protective shields that Breck had been forced to construct, all the

things that had allowed an empath to kill others without feeling

anything, were fading. His emotions, his mind, were being stripped bare

by this pulsing, overwhelming life-force.

"Once it was all like this," the remaining Green said. His voice held

a sadness that Troi could not understand. This land, this place, was full

of joy, the pure joy of existence. Life for its own sake. How could

anyone be sorrowful in the presence of all this?

He came down the steps to stand beside Troi. She was crying and hadn't

realized it. Joy was as often tears as laughter. The Green touched her

shoulder. "You feel our land?"

His sorrow flooded down her arm, sweeping through her. The loss, the

horrible loss. Suddenly, she understood that the entire surface of this

world had been like this once. Alive enough to whisper in your mind, to

soothe your soul. The Orianians had not simply killed plants and animals,

but the land itself. And the land had been their heart.

Breck staggered toward them. "The Greens tend this place. They made it.

The land knows them all. It cares for them." Even as he said it out loud,

Troi knew that that wasn't exactly the truth. Breck was being forced to

put words to things that words could not hold.

"They believe in life, Healer. They could not create this and create

the poison that killed Alick." There was a solid certainty to him. The

land had told him, and it could not lie.

"I would just as soon question the Green leaders, if you don't mind,"

Worf said.

Troi turned and stared back up the stairs at Worf His face was empty of

the wonderment, the exhausted joy that showed on their faces. Nor did the

sorrow that traced Talanne and the Green haunt the Jlingon. He stood

alone and apart on the stairs. It would have been the same ifWorfhad been

Picard or Riker. They would not have understood. Troi held out her hand,

and Breck took it.

Joy, well-being, happiness-all of it was doubled, amplified. Her skin

jumped with the need to feel! She stared into Breck's tear-stained face

and was very glad to have someone to share this with. And sorrow

for Worf that he could not begin to understand why they stood crying in

the middle of a bunch of plants. Some things Troi would not even attempt

to explain.

Worf stood on the steps and scowled suspiciously down at the thick

vegetation. Troi threw back her head and laughed. Breck's laughter joined

with hers, flying higher and higher like birds.

Chapter Twenty

GEoRDI PASSED HIS HANDS just above the panel, and the lights pulsed,

following his fingers. But it wasn't just the lights that followed his

hands. The intelligence that made up the engines followed Geordi's

movements. It flowed under his hands like a dog sniffing at him, or a cat

rubbing against his ankles. The engine was curious about him. It was

studying him as hard as he was studying it.

Geordi had never experienced anything like talking to the Milgian

engine. It was as if his hands could touch all the way through the outer

metal skin and go inside. His thoughts could travel down the conduits.

When he wanted to change direction he had only to wish to move. The

engine welcomed him, drew him inside. Geordi could feel its eager energy

flowing and pulling at his mind. Was this how Troi felt when she entered

the thoughts of another person?

It was wonderful. The engine explained what it

was, but the explanation was too amazing for Geordi to understand

completely. The technology of combining living tissue with mechanics was

not cybernetics or robotics. The melding of the parts was complete. It

was a single organism, not pieces stitched together.

It was a united system, a whole, like his own body. You could no more

isolate a single system than he could have taken out his own respiratory

system without affecting the rest of his body.

"What have you found out?" Dr. Crusher's words made him jump. His heart

was suddenly pounding in his throat.

"Beverly, I forgot you were there. I forgot anything was there but the

engine."

She gave a rueful smile. "I noticed."

He smiled back. "Sorry, it's just I'm an engineer and I've never felt

anything like this. It's like my mind is the tool and is all I need to do

anything. The engine even wants to help. It's incredible."

"I understand the enthusiasm, Geordi, but we don't have much time. Have

you found the problem?"

"Not yet. The engine isn't aware of any critical mistakes or

breakdowns, but it believes me when I tell it something is wrong. It's

helping me search."

"Very cooperative," Crusher said.

"It's not just helpful; it's curious. Don't tell Data, but it reminds

me of him. That abstract interest in anything different. The engine isn't

scared or worried; it's just curious."

Crusher cocked her head to one side. "It does sound like Data."

"Though it's not anywhere near as intelligent. In fact it seems limited

in its reasoning skills. It takes orders mostly, but it thinks about the

orders and can question them."

"Does it learn from the answers?" Crusher asked.

"I'm not sure."

"Is there any way for me to talk to it through you? Once you find the

problem, it may take both of us to fix it."

Geordi turned to Veleck who had been standing like a bright blue statue

for some time. He had made no comment, helpful or otherwise. But there

was a great deal of heat fluctuation coming from him. If he had been

human, Geordi might have said he was under stress.

"What do you think, Veleck? Could Dr. Crusher talk to the engines too?"

He shifted his square bulk slightly. "She would have to be tasted, and

that causes injuries to your outer skin. And there would be the danger,

again, of having the engines react badly. We would run the risk of

explosion happening now."

Geordi tried to think of a diplomatic way to say what he wanted to say.

"The engines don't have a problem with Dr. Crusher joining with them."

"They are not intelligent enough to realize the danger," Veleck

responded.

Geordi was beginning to think that Veleck was simply afraid of new

ideas. Or maybe he just didn't want to share his engines. Whichever it

was, Geordi was running out of time to be polite.

"Is there any way for the doctor to communicate through me then, rather

than the engines?"

Veleck was silent for a moment. "There is a link-up that we have used

in the past. It has only been used between Milgians, never aliens like

yourselves."

"Let's try it," Geordi said.

"Is the doctor willing to take the risk?"

"Risk?" Crusher asked.

"It may harm as the tasting harmed. Geordi and Crusher exchanged

glances. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm game if you are."

"Tell us how to link-up," Geordi said.

Nearly an hour later Geordi and Beverly were standing in front of the

lighted panel. Veleck had explained that the link-up was a microprocessor

combined with microorganisms. Both were necessary to allow them to speak

with the engine in combination. But the link-up itself looked like

nothing more than a thin wire. It had been rigged to hang on the side of

Geordi's skull. The biggest problem had been that the wire had to be

placed inside the skin, like a needle. But it was a needle meant to

pierce the much heavier skin of the Milgians. The challenge had been to

insert it with a minimum of discomfort and not to pierce Geordi's skull.

The needle lay just below the surface. He could feel it when he moved,

the wire tugging and rolling the thin needle. It was an eerie sensation

but not really painful. Dr. Crusher had given him a localized anesthetic

to remove any real pain.

The wire was very long and trailed from his head to Crusher's face,

disappearing under her thick red hair.

"Ready, Beverly?"

Her green eyes were a little wide, but she gave a slight nod.

"Okay." He passed his hands over the control panel. The sensation of

falling was doubled. It was as

NIGHTSHADE

if he were not only falling forward into the panel but backward through

the wire into Crusher's head.

She gasped, and the sound vibrated through the wire link. "Geordi,

what's happening?"

"The images are the engine's internal functions."

"No, its blood vessels. It's breathing," her voice was an awestruck

whisper.

Suddenly, Geordi bad the feeling of the entire engine as a giant

organism. He saw it not as an intelligent machine but as a living

creature with mechanical additions. He realized that he was seeing it as

Dr. Crusher was seeing it. It was as if all the systems of the machine

were suddenly clearly parts of a life-support system. What he'd thought

was a power source was a heart. Everything was the same and different, a

melding of machine and life that was truly both.

Geordi didn't need eyes to see this. It was behind his eyes, inside his

head where the visuals were coming through. He spoke very softly,

unwilling to disturb the link. "What do you think, Doctor?"

"It's amazing." Her voice was as soft as his own. The link felt

fragile. Whether it was or not, Geordi couldn't say.

"You are in link-up?" Veleck's voice was jarring. Geordi and Crusher

turned as a unit, startled.

"Yes," Geordi said. "We're both inside the engine."

"Good. I will stay with you to make sure there are no ill effects. if

you feel any discomfort, you must say so and I will break the link. It

was not designed for aliens."

"We know that, Veleck, but thanks for your concern," Geordi said.

The big alien gave a massive shrug, that poured a flush of heat

through his body. "I simply do not wish you to risk yourselves in a

futile effort."

"If we can save everyone on board this ship, we don't believe it

will be futile," Crusher said.

"As you like," Veleck said.

Crusher made a humph sound. Geordi had to agree. The Milgian'5

pessimism was getting on his nerves. It made him want to prove Veleck

wrong not exactly a diplomatic attitude.

Turning back to the control panel, he was aware of Veleck like

a frowning mountain to his left, but Geordi had no trouble

blocking him out. The link with Crusher and the computer was

Overwhelming. The world narrowed down to pulsing energy fields.

Liquid coolant shooting through artificial veins. The

multicolored lights brightening and dimming as the engine

"breathed."

"There, stop." Crusher's voice was soft, inside his head, or so

it seemed.

"What?" he asked.

"There." His eyes saw her hand move, but it was like seeing

something from the corner of your eyes. All his real attention

was inside the engine, only part of him was aware of Crusher's

physical form. She was pointing but her hand Seemed to move

through the pulsing tissue to a darker area. The bright pastel

colors were darker here, a livid purple with edges of black. The

artery was swollen. As they watched, liquid began to leak in

small droplets. They floated through the intenor as if there were

no gravity, solid beads of black liquid.

"What Is that?"

"It's a foreign body. It's been placed inside the

artery. It's the source of the immune system damage."

"Can you remove it?"

"I think so," she said.

Geordi was staring at the blighted area. "Engine, where did

this substance come from?"

It did not speak in words like the computer on board the

Enterprise, but images flashed through his mind. Veleck's face,

his desire for an experiment to test stress limits. The engine

was like an eager, cooperative child. Veleck assured it that he

would fix the damage before it reached critical.

"He tricked it," Geordi whispered. He pulled himself away from

the pulsing world of the engines and turned to stare at Veleck.

"You sabotaged the engine. You let your own people die."

"Yes." Veleck's deep voice was as soft as it could get, a distant

echo of thunder. He slammed his palm flat against the panel nearest him.

Pain lanced through the wire in Geordi's skin, tore burning holes

through his skull. He heard Crusher scream.

"You are having an unfortunate accident," Veleck said.

The pain was eating through Geordi's face. It felt like his skin was

burning away. He fell against the control panels, and the colors went

wild. The world was full of burning pain and a kaleidoscope of colors.

The engine was worried about him. Was he well? "No, get help, get the

captain!"

Veleck shoved Geordi to the floor. "No, no!" He had released his hold

on the panel. The pain vanished instantly, leaving Crusher and Geordi

gasping on the floor.

Bebit appeared in the engine room. "The engine

alerted me to an accident?" He stared at the two humans still

shaking on the floor. "Are you well, Geordi, Dr. Crusher?"

Geordi stared up at the young Milgian and glanced at Veleck. "I

am now."

Veleck whispered, "The engine rejects me." He passed his hand

over the control panel and nothing happened. "It will not

recognize me." There was soft horror in his voice.

Bebit moved farther into the room. He stared at the fallen

humans and the chief engineer. "What has been happening here?"

"He has betrayed us all, that is what has happened," Captain

Dinc spoke as he entered the room. There were two more Milgians

at his back. Geordi could only assume they were security.

"The engine has told of your treachery, Veleck. Take him into

custedy."

The two new Milgians moved up on either side of Veleck. He did

not protest. "I would not have let the ship die, Captain, you must

believe that," Veleck said.

"The engine says you tried to kill it.',

"No, I would never do that."

"You deny damaging it?" Diric asked.

"No, but I would have repaired it before time ran out, but they

interfered."

He pOinted at Geordi and Crusher. They had managed to stand,

grabbing onto the silver lattice work to steady themselves.

Geordi's head was still ringing. The pain lingered in his body like

a bad dream.

"Three of our crew died, Veleck, dozens are injured. Why, why?"

Diric asked.

"No, the engine should have trusted me. I wouldn't have let it die.

I wouldn't betray my duty as an engineer, not to that degree." He

didn't seem to be listening to his captain.

He turned to the younger Milgian engineer. "Bebit, tell the

engine I would not have let it die. Please, it must believe me."

"The engine has rejected you," Diric said, "it accuses you of

trying to kill it. I do not think it will believe anything you say

ever again."

"No," Veleck said, "no, I

It was slowly dawning on Geordi that Veleck wasn't bothered by

the fact that three crew members had died, or that he had betrayed

his people. He was only bothered by the fact that the engine had

kicked him out, and would no longer respond to him.

"You have betrayed your duty not just to this ship but as an

engineer to the engine you helped create. It holds the cells of

your body, flesh of your flesh, Veleck, and it rejects you." Diric

stepped very close to the chief engineer. "No other engine will

ever let you touch it. The mark of what you have done will be

passed from one ship to another. It will be encoded on the

programming to every engine from now until forever. You will never

again commune as an engineer.

The heat patterns were growing dimmer on Veleck, almost as if

he'd been injured, and was experiencing shock.

"Redeem yourself as much as you can, Veleck, tell us what was so

very important. Why, Veleck, why?"

"I never thought. . I would never have betrayed the engine. If

they had not interfered, I would have repaired."

"Tell me why, Velec,k,, as your last duty as my chief engineer. Tell

us why.

He spoke without looking at any of them, as if he was speaking to

the empty air. "If I lured the starship far away from their

destination, I was promised alien genetic material." Veleck's heat

patterns were turning an icy blue.

"You killed crew members so you could profit?" Diric's voice held

outrage.

"Yes, Captain," Veleck said. His slow voice, held a distant quality.

"May I ask him a question?" Geordi asked.

"He nearly killed you both, you are entitled," Diric said.

"Who wanted to lure the Enterprise away, and why?"

"A leader on the planet Oriana," Veleck said.

"Which one?"

"I do not know. We each went to great pains to keep our identities a

secret, so we could not betray each other."

"Why was it so important that the ship be here, instead of around the

planet?" Crusher asked.

"I did not ask. I did not want to know."

Geordi could believe that of Veleck. Had they sailed away and left

the away team in danger? He touched his communicator. "La Forge to

Commander Riker."

"Riker here, go ahead."

As briefly as possible Geordi explained what little Veleck would tell

them.

"Do you think the captain and the others are in danger?" Riker asked.

"I don't know, Commander, but I'm worried."

"Me too, beam up to the ship. We're going to head back to the planet."

"The Zar's engine is still damaged, Commander."

"No," Veleck said, "I can fix it."

"The engine does not trust you anymore, Bebit said. "It will not

listen to you ever again."

"I know. I have betrayed everything I held dear for greed's sake. I

was even going to give the Orianians one of our weapons to finish their

little war." Veleck stared at the control panels on the wall. "But I

never thought my engine would reject me. An engineer without an engine

is not whole." He stared at Geordi and Crusher. "I can tell Bebit how

to make the repair. I will not let it die. Go, help your people. I will

do this last honorable thing, then I will await what comes next."

Geordi looked at Captain Diric. "It's up to you, Captain, if you

still need us, then we'll stay. If worst comes to worst the Enterprise

can return to the planet without us."

"We will let Veleck make these small offerings of reparation. He

cannot bring back our dead, but he can do this one small thing. Then he

will be imprisoned for a very, very long time."

Geordi glanced at Veleck, but the Milgian didn't seem to react to

that last bit of news. Veleck had always given up too easily.

"All right, thank you, Captain. It's been a very unique experience."

"You can say that again," Crusher whispered under her breath.

"La Forge to transporter room, two to beam up." The last thing

Geordi felt was the warm pulse of the engine in his head, saying good-

bye.

Chapter Twenty-one

WoRF WAS SURROUNDED by golden-skinned children. Their large, shining

eyes stared up at him adoringly. Curious little hands traced the ridges

on his forehead. He had tried glaring at the children, but it had not

worked. A low growl had only made them giggle, a high, fluid sound.

Worf sat in a small hut that was like no dwelling he had ever seen

before. The walls and domed roof were made entirely of plants. Vines,

small trees, even what he would term flowers, were all woven together.

And all of it was still alive. Worf had seen trees trained to unusual

shapes-bonsai miniatures, standards trained against trellises-but the

Enterprise arboretum had nothing like this.

He wasn't a person who noticed plants much, but these were

impressive. Flowers grew and bloomed at the edges of the wall. A vine

with huge white flowers like stars climbed up the far wall. The hut had

been

invisible in the greenery they had first seen in the cave. It was

camouflage to make any warrior's heart-beat quicken.

There were twenty huts all hidden in the rich vegetation. But even

standing right beside some of the houses, Worf had almost missed them.

It was an ideal place for an ambush.

A little girl that couldn't have been more than four had quickly

climbed into Worf's lap. Now, he didn't know what to do with her,

accustomed to most of the children on the Enterprise being wary of him.

Perhaps not afraid, but not comfortable either. Certainly not

comfortable enough to climb into his lap, lean against his chest, and

nearly sleep. Two boys nearly Alexander's age were leaning against his

right side. Their eyes were intent, their attention touchable,

seemingly interested in the conversation.

The Greens overall leader, Portun, was sitting just in front of him.

He, too, was surrounded by children. A very small baby was asleep in

his arms. Portun, Worf had learned, was a child-rearer, who tended

children while their parents worked.

A small child of perhaps two toddled from Portun to Worf and

struggled to crawl into his lap next to the first little girl. Worf was

finally forced to help the child settle comfortably. All the children

were like this. They expected to be welcomed by any adult, alien or

otherwise.

Portun smiled at him. "You have a way with children, Ambassador

Worf."

"Thank you, Leader Portun," Worf said. He doubted if his own son,

Alexander, would have agreed with the compliment. He knew he did not,

but it was not polite to correct the man.

"You wish to discuss the unfortunate accident that befell Alick of the

Venturi, do you not?"

"It was no accident, Leader Portun. It was murder." Worf glanced down

into the curious eyes of the children. The two oldest boys were old

enough to understand this conversation. Most humanoids protected

children from such talk. "Do you wish us to discuss this in front of

the young?"

"Why not?"

Worf didn't have a good answer for that. As a Jlingon he saw nothing

wrong with it. "I was being

polite."

"And very good you are at it," Portun said.

Worf nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "I do wish to discuss the

murder of Colonel Alick."

Portun frowned, holding the baby a little closer to his chest. "I was

very disturbed to hear of the incident. We had hoped that the peace

talks would be the beginning of true peace. We Greens have no wish to

be the last remnants of our race."

"Are you not angry that your people are under arrest..." Worf glanced

down at the children and finished his sentence in a lower voice, "and

are to be executed?"

"Angry, no," Portun said. "Disappointed, yes."

Worf shook his head. "Why disappointed?"

"It was to be the beginning of our forging new ties with the above-

ground world. We were to be included in this peace, and we were going

to be able to use what we have learned, what we have created, to

repopulate our world. To heal it. That this will not happen now is very

sad."

"Your people are going to die. They have been

accused of assassinatiOn. Are you not worried about them?"

Portun's face sobered, the smile fading from his features. "They are

my people, Ambassador. I hurt for each of them. They will be gravely

missed."

"Are you not planning to defend them?" Worf asked.

"In what way?"

Worf stared around the living walls as if there was some clue as to

how to talk to this man. His unshakable contentment was infuriating.

"Leader Portun, do you believe your people are guilty? Is that why

you can be so calm?"

"No, Ambassador Worf, my people did not kill anyone. We do not

believe in violence. Taking life, any life, is abhorrent to us."

The two children in Worf's lap were almost a comforting weight. The

room was full of a warm, easy contentment, that somehow was soothing

even to him. "Even if it meant the lives of your children?"

Portun glanced at the children, then smiled wistfully. "If those were

my choices, we would be sorely tested. I could let them take my own

life without a fight, but. . ." He sighed. "I have thankfully never had

to make that choice."

Worf liked the answer. Most people that professed to nonviolence made

it a blanket statement, and very often had never even had to choose

life or violence. Portun had thought about it, and was wise enough to

know he could not truly know what he would do until he had to choose.

"An admirable answer, Leader," Worf said.

"Just an honest one, Ambassador Worf."

"Did you know that Alick was poisoned?"

"No," Portun said. He leaned a little forward. "We heard only that he

was assassinated, and our people and the first Federation ambassador

were blamed.

Worf stared intently at Portun's face, wanting to study his reaction

to his next words. He wished Troi were with him, but she had gone off

with Breck to learn to speak with the planet, whatever that meant. But

he was, after all, the acting ambassador. He would do the job alone if

he had to.

"The poison was derived from a plant alkaloid. A genetically altered

plant alkaloid."

Surprise blossomed to shock on Portun's face. "It cannot be."

"I have seen the test results personally."

"But, you don't understand. Genetic engineering was outlawed over a

hundred years ago. It was considered evil, punishable by death. No one

but the Greens practice it. Only we would be capable of such a thing."

"I believe you," Worf said.

"You have come here convinced that we made this poison."

"You yourself just said that it could be no one else."

"But . . ." his words trailed off to silence. His eyes were wide,

astonishment plain on his face. The baby in his arms whimpered and

struggled in its sleep. He patted it absently.

If Portun were pretending to be surprised, he was doing an excellent

job of it. Worf believed that he did not know, but that didn't mean no

Greens were involved. "Who are your best genetic engineers?"

"No, it could not be one of my people."

"I am not saying that your people killed Alick, but I believe they

supplied the poison."

"No."

"May I question your scientists?"

Portun looked directly at Worf for a moment. "I do not know what to

say. It seems you must be right and we did make a plant that was

intended only for death. But that, too, is against our basic beliefs.

Could it not be one of the upsiders?"

"I am trying to find that out, Leader Portun. Help me to clear your

people. If it is not one of them, then I can search elsewhere. We are

running out of time to save our respective people."

"You are right, Ambassador. If we are involved, the truth must be

discovered. You have my permission to question my people. I do not

believe in violence to save our friends, but if the truth can save them

. . .I believe in the truth."

"Honor cannot exist without truth."

Portun stared around at the children. Most were listening intently

now. "I know little of a warrior's honor, Ambassador, but know

something of dealing honorably with the land and its bounty. To have

made such a plant is to betray that honor."

"I will find the truth, Leader Portun. You can be sure of that."

He smiled suddenly, but his eyes still held sadness. "I have every

confidence in you, Ambassador. But suddenly, I do not have such

confidence in my own people." He stared straight at Worf. "Isn't that

odd?"

Worf didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. There was a saying

among Klingons Silence is one road to honor. And for now it was

certainly the kinder road.

Chapter Twenty-two

TALANNE LED ThEM OUT onto the surface, where the weak sunlight had

faded to twilight. The thick, sulphurous clouds were aflame with

crimson and violet. The sunset was among the prettiest Troi had ever

seen, and yet her stomach dropped into her feet, pulse pounding.

She grabbed Worf's arm. "The executions are scheduled at full dark."

"I know, Counselor, I know.

"We must hurry," Talanne said.

"We have discovered nothing except that the poison must have come

from the Greens," Worf said.

"And none of the Greens we've questioned so far were involved," Troi

said.

"I will speak with Basha," Talanne said. "I will do my best to

persuade him to postpone for a few hours."

Worf nodded. "And we will question the only remaining Greens that we

have not questioned."

"Do you think it was one of the ones under arrest?" Breck asked.

"It must be," Worf said.

Talanne strode off across the open stretch of ground, and the others

followed. That awful sensation of being watched was still there,

creeping down their spines, but now Troi knew what it was.

All planets were alive, but Oriana had been one step beyond just

being alive, animate. The planet had been truly alive, intelligent,

though in a way that most humanoids would not have recognized. Even the

Orianians had not realized how very alive their land had been, until it

was too late.

The Greens, through a melding of science and faith, had recreated

pockets of what the planet had once been. They had three earth-healers,

empaths who were connected with the ground and growing things rather

than people. Breck had been nearly overwhelmed when he discovered he,

too, was an earth-healer. He had thought himself giftless because there

was no surface for him to feel.

The horrible, angry watching was the remnants of the planet's

awareness. All that remained was a lingering rage at the violation.

If the Greens, any Green had been responsible for the murder, how

would they convince the Torlicks and Venturies that not all the Greens

were evil? It would just reinforce all the existing prejudices. And

without the Greens, Troi wasn't at all sure the planet and people could

be saved. The memory of what the life-force felt like inside her mind,

on her skin, was a rush of pleasure-dim but still very real.

Breck stumbled as he entered the tunnels, but it wasn't out of fear. He

simply wasn't terribly aware of his surroundings. Troi touched Worf's

shoulder, and whispered, "Breck is confused about what has happened to

him. I don't know if he will be able to fight."

Worf nodded. "I will watch him."

Troi dropped back and let Worf's bulk lead the way through the

tunnels. How long until full dark? How long did the captain have? She

was worried about Audun and Liv, but truthfully, they were strangers.

To think that they would fail the captain - - No, they would not fail.

They could not fail him, not like this.

Once in the main tunnels, with their wall murals and bright colors,

Worf broke into a jog, racing toward the prison. The others trailed

behind him, fighting to keep up with his longer stride.

Two different guards stood outside the door to the prison. Talanne

stopped their group in front of them.

"Colonel Talanne, wh at is the matter?" the first guard asked.

"Have the executions started yet?"

"Yes, Colonel, as scheduled."

Worf pushed forward. "We have new information that proves that

Ambassador Picard is innocent." It was a lie, outright. They had no new

proof. Worf wanted to fight his way to Picard, but guile was better,

quicker. If they had to fight from here to the center of the prison

maze, they might arrive too late.

Talanne backed him in the lie. "Yes, we have new proof. Would you

keep us outside while an innocent man is being killed?"

"No, Colonel, of course not.

"Escort Ambassador Worf and his party to the prisoners. Obey his orders

as you would my own. Is that clear?"

The guard saluted. "Yes, Colonel."

Talanne touched Worf's arm. "I will find my husband, since only he

has the ability to delay the executions. Keep them all alive until I

get back to you. Good luck."

He gave a curt nod. "And to you."

And she was gone, running back down the corridor. Worf turned to the

guard. He wanted to scream, but he forced calm into his voice. "Escort

us to the prisoners, now."

"Yes, Ambassador. But no one is allowed weapons during an execution.

There have been incidents in the past. Please leave your weapon with

the guard."

He glanced at Troi. "Worf, we're running out of time."

He handed his phaser to one of the guards. "Now I am unarmed, lead us

to the prisoners."

The guard saluted him and opened the door. They followed the guard

into the shining, white corridors, leaving the second guard at the

door.

"Worf, we must hurry. I feel something, I. .." Troi swayed and Worf

was forced to catch her arm. "It's the captain, Worf!"

"Lead us to the prisoners now, run!" He made it an order, and the

guard obeyed, as he'd been told, breaking into a ground-covering trot.

Worf was forced to stay at the man's heels, when he could have gone

faster. But the maze of the prison was too confusing. There was no time

to get lost in it. He cursed softly under his breath, a tightness in

the

center of his stomach that he could not breathe around.

A scream split the white silence. Masculine, familiar even then.

"Captain!" Worf broke into a full run, leaving the others behind. He

broke out into the center of the prison alone. Guards whirled, moving

in on either side to form a flesh wall to keep him from the captain.

Worf was forced to stand there, panting, frozen.

Picard was bound hand and foot to the ivory frame that they had seen

earlier. Shining wires ran down to encircle the ropes that held him in

place. Waves of electric blue energy poured down the wires. Blue flame

licked down the wires, crawled over his skin, oozed Out of his eyes,

dripped from his mouth. It looked like Picard was enveloped in cold

fire. It did not burn, but it obviously hurt.

The others stumbled in behind him. Troi cried out, "Stop it, stop

it!"

The blue flames died abruptly, and Picard slumped only partially

conscious. He breathed in short panting gasps as if he could not get

enough air.

A masked overseer was at the clean desk, observing, but the person

pressing the buttons was General Basha. He stood against a small open

panel that had split from the white wall. Inside were the buttons, the

levers. His attention was steady on the nearly unconscious Audun. He

didn't turn as they walked in. Perhaps he hadn't heard; perhaps the

horror on the frame was all he could hear.

Liv's wrists were caught in some shiny silver box that was bolted to

the floor. A cloth strip had been tied over her mouth. She turned to

Worf and Troi,

her large eyes even larger than usual, skin pale and sick with sweat.

Audun was kneeling, head caught in the vise like a cage on top. He

wasn't gagged. There was no need. Worf knew death when he saw it.

Worf started forward, but guards pressed in on him. He didn't know

how long it took for a man to die. Would one more flip of the switch

kill the captain? He could not take that chance. And he could not fight

his way to the captain, not with Basha hovering over the buttons. His

mind seemed to have slowed down, providing the illusion that he had

forever to think of a plan. He had to talk his way to the captain, to

delay until Talanne arrived. Because now Worf knew. He knew who the

murderer was, but he could not prove it.

The observer behind the desk stood to attention and said, "The

Federation ambassador graces our executions with his presence."

Basha turned to stare at them. The mask hid his face, but Worf didn't

need to see his face to know. "I did not think generals did their own

executions," Worf said. His voice sounded terribly calm. Troi moved up

beside him, fingers touching his arm.

"Speak freely, Counselor, we are among friends," Worf said. The irony

of that statement was not lost upon him.

She looked a question at him, then nodded. She understood, they were

buying time. They could not order the guards to lay down their weapons,

but Talanne could. If they could delay long enough.

Picard hung nearly motionless, skin wax pale; only his frantic

breathing said he was alive.

"I feel panic, fear, hurry, hurry to do something. Something

interrupted. Not the torture, not the executions-what? I'm not sure."

"What are you babbling about, Healer," Basha said. "I do not wish you

to see your captain die. That would be cruel, and we are not a cruel

people."

"What are you hiding, Basha?" Troi asked it softly, taking a step

toward him. She had used his name without the title deliberately. "What

are you afraid of?"

Worf didn't question what she was doing. He just came, walking at her

back, waiting. The guards parted before them. Perhaps it was Troi's

words, or their respect for her mind-powers. Or perhaps it was the fact

that they had done nothing hostile. Worf trusted Troi to do her job.

"I don't know what you mean, mind-healer. I fear nothing. I am a

warrior." But his attention wavered. He glanced at Liv, moving his

whole head to do it.

"This is your last opportunity to discover if they are the only

traitors. My understanding is that is one of the reasons you torture

prisoners, so they can give out names. So why is she gagged?" Troi

asked.

"To keep from shouting encouragement to the others, of course."

Liv made a desperate sound through her gag, struggling and pulling to

free her hands. A small line of blood trickled down her wrist from her

desperate pulling.

"I think she is ready to talk, General," Troi said. "Your strategy

has worked. You've frightened her." Troi turned her back on Basha and

went to the bound woman. She reached up slowly to undo the gag. "No!"

It was a shout.

"But she wants to tell the truth, Basha."

"No!" He ran forward, toward Troi. Worf smashed his fist into the

general's face. The man tumbled backward, hands going to his face.

Basha ripped his mask off. A thin trickle of blood traced the edge of

his nose. "Kill them, kill them all!"

The guards moved in like a fleshy tide. They did not question their

orders. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness, boiled up from

the center of Worf's gut. The rage built, flowed in a hot flash up his

chest, across his shoulders, his neck, down his arms. He screamed, an

echoing cry that froze the guards for a breathless moment. Then Worf

waded into them.

He picked up a guard and tossed him into the crowd clearing a space

in front of him. He smashed his fists into two masked faces; one right

after the other, the faces fell out of sight. A guard grabbed his arm,

and Worf lifted him off the ground. Something hit him hard in the back

of the head. He whirled the guard still dangling from his arm. Another

guard was standing on a torture device with a broken piece of it in his

hands.

Worf tore the club from his, or her, hands and used it on the guard.

He used the club like a riot stick to clear the way and it felt good.

A scream echoed over the fighting. Picard was writhing in blue flame

again. Basha was at the control panel leaving his people to fight

alone.

Worf redoubled his efforts, throwing guards, smashing anything that

got in his way. Picard danced and writhed on the framework like a

broken puppet.

A shot echoed in the room. Sparks flew from the

control box. Basha jerked his hand back as if it were hurt.

"Stop it!"

Everyone's attention flickered from the fight to Talanne and a

handful of guards in the entrance to the torture area. They were all

armed. "No more fighting, that is a direct order."

The Orianian guards seemed willing to obey, but Basha yelled, "No,

they are here to rescue their captain. You must stop them!"

"Husband, this is a Federation ambassador and his counselor. You

can't just attack them. We have the audacity to pronounce a death

sentence on one of them. Do not make a worse mistake."

"I will not be questioned, especially not by my own wife."

"If not by me, then who, Basha?" Talanne asked. She walked into the

room, the guards fanning out at her back.

"You don't understand."

"I think I do." Her voice sounded tired. "You killed Alick."

"What are you saying, Talanne?"

Troi undid the gag on Liv. The woman took a deep sobbing breath. "I

didn't know he would use it to sabotage the peace talks. I didn't

know."

"You didn't know the Federation ambassador would use your filthy

technology to kill!" Basha said.

"No, you did it. You did it!"

"Liar, filthy lying Green!" He strode toward her, bare face flushed

and mottled with rage.

"She is telling the truth," Troi said.

"You would say anything to save your captain,"

Basha said.

"Why were you executing them personally, Husband?"

"They are important prisoners," he said.

"Why, Basha, why?"

"I simply want no mistakes about their questioning. The ambassador

said that his lieutenant and the healer, both knew of his plan to kill

Alick," he said.

"Did anyone else overhear th is," Talanne asked. "Olon, you are my

husband's sentinel. You are with him always. Did the ambassador

implicate the others?"

A guard stepped away from the rest. He cradled his right arm against

his chest. The wrist was hanging at an odd angle and looked broken. The

voice that came out was high and light, female. "I will guard your

safety in all things but I cannot become a traitor to my people. I

heard nothing but the screams."

"You lie!"

"Even your own sentinel will not help you now, Basha. You murdered

Alick while you offered him friendship and peace."

"Colonel Talanne," Worf said, "may we go to the captain?"

"By all means."

Worf stepped through the carnage of wounded guards. Troi hurried to

Worf's side and they went to the captain together.

He was very, very still. His skin was not white but gray with pain.

Sweat soaked his body. Worf touched the captain's cheek with one hand.

The flesh was cold. "Captain. Captain, can you hear me? It's Worf."

Troi was crying silently. "Captain, please open your eyes. Jean-Luc,

please!"

His eyelids fluttered. His mouth moved but no

sound came out. Worf had to place his ear nearly on top of the

captain's mouth to hear the words. "Lieu-tenant Worf, Counselor, glad

you could come."

Troi drew a sobbing breath that had an edge of laughter to it. The

relief of hysterics.

"Enough of this," Basha said, "They are the traitors. I don't know

how they bribed my sentinel, but they must have."

"Husband, sentinels are honorable. You have betrayed us all. You

killed the Venturi leader while he tried to make peace with us."

"It was the only time I could get close to Alick. It was so easy. I

had the smallest amount of poison tucked up my sleeve. I turned the

handle on the tea urn. I dropped the poison in then, with everyone

watching. it was simpler than I ever dreamed." He sounded proud of what

he had done.

"We can win the war, Talanne," Basha said. "We can!" He held out his

hands to her. "Join me in this."

"No," Talanne said, "no, we can't. Two hundred years of fighting has

proved that."

"The Venturi are leaderless, we can win the war."

"No, Basha, no. We cannot," Talanne said.

"Yes, I have bargained with an alien race. They will give us a weapon

to finish this war. To destroy the Venturies." He strode to her, hands

clenched into fists.

"Who did you bargain with?" Talanne asked.

"Milgians, a race far superior to us and to the Federation," he said.

"They lured your precious starship away."

Worf started toward him. "It was a trap!"

"They will not harm the ship. The Orianians do not make war on

children, and your ship carries families. We would not deal with anyone

that would do such a vile thing. The Milgians do not have any policy of

noninterference."

"Apparently not," Worf said. "What could you offer them in return for

such a weapon?"

Basha glared at them all. The look on his face was one of fierce

determination. Determination not to be wrong. "They wanted the Green

technology. They wanted our genetic material."

"How could you promise it to them," Talanne asked. "How could you

contact the Greens?"

"This one," he pointed at Liv, "we caught this one. She bargained for

her life and gave us enough."

"Enough to kill Alick and blame the Greens," Troi said.

"Yes!" He whirled on Troi. "The Greens could have helped me win this

war, but they refused. So I decided that they would help me win this

war, one way or another. With everyone believing the Greens murdered

the general," he smiled, a most unpleasant smile, "we could have hunted

them down and wiped them Out. No one would have protested."

"Husband, Husband."

Basha turned to Talanne, slowly. "Don't you understand? Don't you

see?"

"Have you never wondered why Jeric is healthy, perfect?"

He frowned. "What are you talking about? We were simply blessed."

"No, husband, it was bioengineering. It was the Greens that gave us

our son, healthy and whole."

"You are lying to me."

"No, Basha, I would not lie about our son, you know that."

He turned to stare at Audun who was still unconscious, then back to the

tear-stained face of Liv. "No, they are evil. She was weak and gave me

the means to destroy her own people."

"She is weak, but they are not evil. They gave us Jeric."

He shook his head over and over again. "No, no, I don't believe you.

I can't. They are evil." He took a step toward her. "Why are you lying

about Jeric? Such wicked lies."

"I swear by all we hold holy that Jeric is a product of Green

bioengineering," Talanne said.

Basha shook his head slowly. "No, no." His voice was soft and horror

filled. "Our son comes from Green technology?" he whispered it as if it

were too evil a thought to be spoken out loud.

"Yes, Husband, our beautiful son."

"Our son is one of them." He stared at Liv. "Our son is a Green. You

let this happen. You let this happen!" He drew a small object from

behind his back.

Breck yelled, "Don't, do it, General! Don't make us kill you."

That one action, drawing a weapon on the colonel, decided the guards.

There was no more hesitation. All weapons in the room swung to point at

Basha.

His breathing was coming in harsh pants. Rage and horror showed on

his face. Worf watched the man's thoughts flow over his face; it was

like reading. Was killing his Green-loving wife worth his own death?

The moment seemed to stretch forever, then he threw his weapon on the

floor.

The guards rushed forward, pressing him against the wall. Eager hands

searched for more hidden weapons. Basha was quickly bound and ringed

with guards. His beautiful eyes stared at Talanne, and you didn't need

to be an empath to see the hatred.

She had dealt with Greens. She had stolen his son from him, for Basha

now felt that he had no son. As simple as that all his love turned to

hate. Worf could not understand it. He knew there was nothing that

would end his feelings for Alexander. But the look in Basha's eyes was

pure and uncompromising. The Greens were evil, anyone who dealt with

them was evil-Talanne and Jeric were now evil.

Talanne turned to the guards. "Spread the word there will be no

executions tonight. Contact the Venturies. Tell them we know who

murdered their leader." She glanced back at her husband. "Tell them we

will give over the guilty party as soon as it can be arranged."

The guard saluted her. "As you say, so shall it be, General Talanne."

She nodded, and didn't seem to hear the new title. The Torlicks had

a new leader. Worf was betting that this leader would forge a lasting

peace. If it could be done, Talanne would do it.

Talanne stared at her husband. He stared back, his hatred nearly

touchable. Woif could not see Talanne's face, and he didn't want to.

This was a private grief. It deserved not to be intruded upon.

Chapter Twenty- three

PiCARD, TROi, AND Worf were standing in the roofed courtyard where they

had first beamed down to Oriana. Talanne and Breck, with a handful of

guards, were on hand to wish them farewell.

"Are you sure you will not stay with us, Ambassador Worf? I think you

have much to teach our warriors about honor."

Worf glanced at Picard, but the captain only seemed amused that the

Orianians had insisted on calling them both ambassador. "I am honored

that you think I am a worthy teacher, General Talanne, but peace is not

a time to train warriors. Your people must learn other paths to honor."

She nodded. "Yes." Her voice sounded almost wistful. "It will be

difficult for our people, so many years of fighting. Warriors are not

good in peacetime."

"I think you will do well, General Talanne," Picard said. "Saving your

planet will be enough of a challenge to keep any warrior occupied."

"And as soon as we can guarantee his safety Portun will be coming to

us. He and the other Earth-healers will show us the way to begin -

healing our planet."

"You have taken the first step by abolishing the law that made

bioengineering illegal," Picard said.

"Yes, and the Greens are eager to help the Milgians, as well. The

handful of Milgians that had plotted with my husband must have been

truly desperate. Their home-world sounds as damaged as our own. The

Greens are insisting on a stringent treaty to make sure their science

is not misused for war." Talanne smiled at them. "We will be needing

another ambassador to negotiate the treaty. Are you sure neither of you

would be willing to stay?"

"The Federation is sending Out a permanent advisor, General, but I am

afraid the Enterprise and her crew have other duties.'

"Then, fair traveling, Ambassador Picard, Ambassador Worf." She held

out her hand to Troi, and Troi took it, though she knew the touch would

be intrusive. Happiness, sorrow, but under all was hope.

"We will have mind-healers of our own again. Soon I hope."

Troi smiled. "I know you will. And Betazed will be sending some mind-

healers of its own to help you."

Talanne released her hand and stepped back to stand with the guards.

Picard touched his communicator, "Three to beam up, energize when

ready." He leaned into Worf and said, softly, "Are you sure you don't

wish to stay, Lieutenant? We would miss you at

tactical, but you could start a new career as a diplomat." There was a

very uncaptainlike shine to his eyes.

"No, Captain, I am very happy as head of security."

"As long as you're sure," Troi said.

Worf frowned at both of them. "I do not think I have the disposition

to be a good ambassador."

Troi fought the smile that tried to spread across her face. Her eyes

were very bright.

Picard cleared his throat sharply, obviously struggling. The tingling

rush of the transporter saved both of them from outright laughter.

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