Addictions

by

Nancy L. Clarke

*There are two NC-17 scenes (strong sexual content) in this story. The majority of "Addictions," however, is rated R (violence, language, adult content). For readers who object to the NC-17-rated material, I have segregated the scenes in question (Parts 15 and 27b), and will give additional warning, plus spoiler space, when those are posted.

DISCLAIMER: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek in all its various incarnations. In this story, most of the characters are theirs, Bryn Hampstead and Uleth Tahng (plus others) are mine, and the situation is the product of my overactive imagination. This is a not-for-profit work of fiction.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Several people helped me in the writing and editing of this story -- and I couldn't have finished the project without any of them. They are all excellent authors, as well as editors, and I'm truly lucky to be able to count them as friends.

Mariel -- I put you through fanfic hell with this one! Talk about torture -- false starts, major re-writes, "brilliant" ideas that didn't go anywhere... Thanks for staying with me and for lending me your skill, enthusiasm and patience -- also for keeping me going with daily doses of "Complications"!

Beth Wallace -- Your insights, support and enthusiasm helped me with the tough job of editing this monstrosity, as did the opportunity to read some of your works-in-progress. (Um... just to prepare you, Beth, the next P/C project on my list involves an insane environmentalist and a really strange little spacecraft... <g>)

Michael Hollihan -- The edits you suggested helped me to tighten up the story and to focus my thoughts. Your works-in-progress were truly inspirational and I'm so glad I had the opportunity to read them. Thanks, Mike! (My apologies for the conspiracy stuff; I swear the next one will *not* contain any of that!)

Thanks also to Kerri and Monica for their understanding and patience -- due to this project, I haven't been very communicative lately. In spite of that, these two special ladies provided me with much-needed support and encouragement.

Nancy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was drowning.

The top of her head broke the surface of the waves and she flailed about in the water, eyes stinging as she frantically searched for land. There was nothing but warm water all around her -- blue, white-capped waves as far as the eye could see. She went under once more and came up gasping and sputtering, knowing that this was the end...

"Come to me, my love. We'll be together always."

His softly-accented voice froze her soul. The liquid sea closed around her, caressing her, evolving slowly to strong arms that gathered her into an electric embrace. She tried to fight him, to ward off the torrent of desire and pleasure and need that engulfed her.

It was no use. She was too weak. She couldn't fight him; Ronin had won again. She lost herself, voluntarily gave herself over to...

Beverly Crusher gasped and sat straight up in her bed. Her heartbeat drummed loudly in her ears, her gown clung to her sweat-soaked body and her breath came in quick, uneven pants. Awareness of her surroundings finally descended upon her.

A nightmare. Again. When would this end?

Swallowing hard, she brought trembling hands up to her face and pushed wayward strands of red hair from her eyes.

"Computer. Lights 50%."

Beverly sat in the middle of her bed, sheets twisted about her, and promised herself that she would *not* cry this time. The nightmares would end eventually. Eventually nothing would be left of Ronin except a feeling of embarrassment over what had transpired on Caldos -- at what Jean-Luc Picard had witnessed in her grandmother's house...

Thoughts of the captain brought conflicting emotions to her -- need, anger, hurt, shame... She needed his strength and was angry that he hadn't made more than a cursory attempt to discover how she was doing. The fact that he had kept his distance had hurt her, although she knew in her heart what had kept him away...

Still, she condemned him. It would have helped her so much just to see him, hear his voice, to touch him...

Shaking the disturbing, unresolved thoughts from her mind, Beverly untangled the bedcovers, swung her long legs over the edge of the bed, and stood.

"Steady," she whispered. "One step at a time..."

She walked into the living area, mentally preparing herself for another sleepless night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard took the cup from the replicator, walked from the alcove and silently handed the hot chocolate to Deanna Troi. He glanced at the aquarium with the lionfish swimming lazily among the brightly-colored coral and wished he could be that calm... wished he didn't have this decision to make.

With a sigh, he motioned Troi toward the sofa and joined her there. "What you're trying to tell me is that you're concerned about her."

There. The conversation had begun.

Deanna stared into the steaming swirl of liquid, realizing her usual refuge wasn't going to help her this time. Finally, she looked up at the captain, worried brown eyes meeting intense hazel ones, and nodded.

"I am," she confirmed. "The nightmares haven't let up and the resulting fatigue is bound to catch up with her."

He frowned. "So, her job performance has suffered?"

"No," Deanna admitted slowly, "not yet."

The qualification gave him pause. Still, he couldn't summon a good reason for granting Troi's request. Beverly hadn't been negligent in her duties, and he had a suspicion that her work was all that had kept her afloat since they'd left Caldos.

"Counsellor, I can't relieve Beverly of duty unless you give me a good reason to do so, and, so far, you haven't. Besides, it has only been eight days..."

"Captain, do we wait until she makes a critical mistake in Sick Bay? Or perhaps until she becomes so withdrawn that none of us can reach her?" Deanna tried to keep a tight rein on her anger, but some of it seeped into her voice. Beverly needed help -- she needed the Captain's help, only he was too blind to see the enormity of that need. Troi took a deep breath, then continued, dancing around what she really wanted to say to Picard.

"Beverly is having trouble dealing with her shame over the incident. She feels she didn't offer enough resistance, she's questioning her self-control. Of course, she's also embarrassed that Ronin exposed such a private side of her so graphically, and that you... " Troi's voice trailed off as she watched the Captain fidget in his chair, his eyes on his desktop and his mouth tight. To say he was uncomfortable was an understatement, and she gave a mental sigh before deciding to change tack.

"Captain," she said softly, waiting until he re-focused his attention on her. "She's isolating herself, using that temper of hers to fend off every attempt to help her."

Troi glanced down at her hands, not knowing how to say the next without it sounding like one child tattling on another. "Beverly cancelled our appointment today."

She brought her gaze back up and noticed the concern which lit Picard's eyes. "Then she told me to go to hell when I informed her I'd have to note that in my report to you."

He exhaled loudly and leaned back in the chair, his hands gripping the armrests. "I didn't realize the magnitude of the problem." And why didn't you, his mind whispered back, the thought bringing with it powerful waves of regret and guilt.

Bolstered by his mental and physical reactions, Deanna forged ahead. "Sir, until Beverly gives me her full cooperation, I can't do much to treat the underlying problem of the addictive qualities of her sexual relationship with..."

"Yes. Well, I'm certain you're doing all you can, Counsellor." Picard quickly got to his feet, damning himself for allowing Troi to lull him into hearing even a part of this. It was not something he wanted to consider, not now; probably not ever. He tugged on his uniform tunic and crossed to the viewport.

His actions only confirmed her suspicions. The consequences of Beverly's ordeal seemed to be rippling throughout the entire crew, causing traumas of their own, and the captain was the most vulnerable...

"Sir, if I may speak freely."

The strength of Deanna's words caught his attention and Picard turned. "Of course, Counsellor."

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Captain, your attitude isn't helping matters."

A dozen ways to deny her statement popped into his head; a dozen excuses for his aloof behavior toward Beverly flitted through his mind. In the end, he knew it was no use running from the truth; he might manage to delude himself, but could never fool Deanna.

Picard allowed his feelings to surface briefly, acknowledging the shock he'd felt at what he'd seen that night, the shock that someone he had considered so strong had been felled by something so base. Then right on the heels of that jolt had come a sickening jealousy that he continued to battle unsuccessfully...

Troi watched him intently and although his face was a mask of composure, years of familiarity revealed to her the telltale signs of his internal struggle -- the way a tiny muscle at his jaw twitched, the quickly clenched and relaxed hand, the small vertical lines between his dark brows. Even though he could block most of his emotions from her, he couldn't completely cover his self-recrimination and his confusion, nor the faint coil of darker emotions that underlay all that.

Deanna slowly stood and placed the cup on the low, burnished-wood table. The words had to be said, she knew that, but the knowledge didn't make it any easier to accomplish.

"You haven't shared breakfast since the incident. You barely acknowledge her presence in the staff meetings." She held his gaze, her black eyes earnest. "You've always been there for Beverly no matter what, and she for you."

Troi took a few steps toward him, making her next words even more personal. "Captain, she needs you now, but by avoiding her, you've given her permission to build up an emotional and physical distance between the two of you. Eventually that distance will be extremely difficult to breach..."

He held himself stiffly, unable to meet her gaze. Finally, Picard sighed, relaxed and ran a hand over his smooth head. "You're right, of course." Hesitating, he gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I tried to talk to her that first day, but she asked me to leave, said she didn't want to think about it. I know I should have pursued the issue, but..."

Picard glanced up at her, sadness in his eyes. "I just don't know what to say to her. I'm embarrassed myself..."

"I know, Captain." Troi rescued him from the anguish of his emotions with her words. "Still, you *have* to talk to her -- whether either of you feel comfortable with it or not. You both need this, sir."

He nodded at the conviction he heard in her voice and as he did, caught sight of the PADD on his desk -- the Counsellor's report that had started this conversation in the first place. Picard realized there was only one thing to do.

"I'll speak with her," he acquiesced.

"Now?"

His face slackened, pulse quickened, and his mind raced to get out of this somehow...

"Yes, Counsellor. I'll speak with her now."

Picard motioned toward the Ready Room doors, heart falling as he followed Troi onto the bridge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beverly stared at the monitor, only half-listening to Selar's explanation of the results. Addiction. The word was something from the past, something loathsome and vile, and something which she never would have thought would be applied to her.

Realizing Selar had stopped speaking, she pulled her eyes away from the display and glanced up at the Vulcan. "I've read my history. I don't need this explained to me."

The words were said more harshly than she'd wanted, and Beverly tried to temper them with a faint smile. "The 'reward pathway' was stimulated electrically by the anaphasic energy. Opium derivatives operate in the same manner, only chemically."

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "The results are the same, however, and my initial cellular level scans show that some neural changes had occurred. Correct?"

Selar nodded, studying the CMO's drawn face. "Correct. You were lucky in one regard, Doctor."

Crusher lifted an eyebrow, thinking herself anything but lucky at this point. "And that was?"

"The contact with the instigating agent was minimal, therefore the damage to the neural pathways was limited. The resulting withdrawal effects subsided more quickly and were not as acute." Selar studied her intently. "The effects *have* subsided, have they not, Doctor?"

Crusher swallowed and nodded an affirmative to Selar's question even as her mind focused on what she'd gone through those first two days. Withdrawal. The shaky restlessness she'd experienced, the decreased appetite, inability to sleep, the craving to feel that indescribable warmth bloom between her legs...

Crusher stood up quickly, self-consciously smoothing her uniform. She looked anywhere except at the Vulcan.

"Thank you, Selar. I appreciate everything you've done."

Selar hesitated. It was a dismissal, she knew, but there was one thing left to be said.

"Doctor Crusher..."

Beverly lifted her head.

"You need time away from your duties." The Vulcan pushed on, unaffected by the brilliant anger which flashed in the CMO's eyes. "At this point in your recovery, you will be prone to mistakes in judgment..."

"What I need," Beverly said slowly, "is for everyone to stop hovering over me." She glared at Selar. "Dismissed."

The Vulcan gave her a brief nod, then turned and walked from the office. When the sound of her footsteps had faded, Crusher sat back down heavily and took several deep breaths. Her eyes stung from unshed tears and she could barely swallow against the rising lump in her throat.

All morning it seemed, she had been mentally repeating a sentence she'd read in one of Nana's later journals -- "I tried to extinguish the candle once, but, God help me, I just couldn't."

Addiction. Withdrawal. Defects of the soul, weaknesses of will...

With a heavily strangled cry, Crusher slammed her fist down on the desk and finally freed her tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geordi La Forge looked up from the console, brows dipping below his VISOR in a frown. A muffled noise had drawn his attention away from the engine calibration -- a noise that had sounded remarkably like a giggle.

When it happened again, La Forge glanced around Engineering at his staff; they, too seemed to have been distracted.

He stood and walked slowly toward the sound, feeling all eyes on him.

Sondra Martens sat at the diagnostics station, one bronzed hand clapped over her mouth, shoulders shaking with her mirth.

"Lieutenant?" La Forge walked closer and, as she turned, his face registered surprise. Something was wrong. Her brown eyes looked glazed and unfocused, her tanned skin flushed, and was that blood around her nose?

"Mister La Forge." She slurred the words and giggled once more. "What can I do for you?"

"I think I should be asking *you* that, Sondra." He continued to frown at her, trying to decide what to do. She looked drunk, but that was impossible; and the blood glistened in crimson smear from her delicate nostrils across to her high cheekbones -- had she injured herself, and how?

As La Forge watched, she unsteadily got to her feet and, for a heartbeat, stood swaying in front of him, a wide smile curving her lips. With a suddenness that made him gasp, Martens' face paled, her eyes grew wide, and she grabbed at her chest, fingers clawing at the gold material of her uniform. She convulsed and made tiny gurgling sounds deep in her throat as she pitched forward.

Geordi caught her in his arms, then thumped the comm badge at his chest. "Medical emergency! Two to beam directly to Sick Bay!"

La Forge looked down at her just before he felt the transporter beam grip him.

Bright red blood bubbled up from Martens' full lips and she stiffened in his arms, eyes wide and unseeing.

The transporter beam stretched and echoed his anguished cry before it consumed them both in rainbow smudges of light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard hadn't realized the depth of the purple shadows which now rimmed her once vibrant eyes, and cursed himself for that lack of perception. Beverly looked so frail to him now, so vulnerable...

She hadn't seen him, and was intent on the tricorder she held. He knew she would consider his presence here as an invasion, and he steeled himself for what he knew would come.

Beverly felt his eyes on her almost immediately and she turned to face him, a swirl of emotions widening her eyes -- pleasure and relief that he had finally come to talk to her, but anger that he hadn't done it sooner. The anger came to the fore, hardening her face.

"Captain?"

His title, not his name. Jean-Luc gave her verbal dart sanctuary in his heart, but didn't allow his gaze to waver from hers.

How dare she turn on him when his only intention was to help her. He allowed a bit of his own anger to bolster him. "A word, Beverly?"

He'd used her name and the accent was almost the same as... Bile rose in her throat at the distraction.

"I have work to do..."

"This won't take but a moment of your time, Doctor." Picard mechanically motioned toward her office. "If you'd indulge me, please."

Her offense at the interruption was plain in the tight cast of her face and her stiff posture. Still, she turned and led the way to her office, battling against that tiny voice in the back of her mind which kept insisting she was being unreasonable. He *had* come...

Picard watched as she walked behind her desk and stood with arms crossed protectively over her chest, lips pressed tightly together, purposefully raising the level of tension between them. He recognized the ploy, but chose to ignore it.

"Beverly, your friends are worried about you." He hesitated, not knowing how she might react if he said it, but deciding to risk being honest with her and with himself. "*I'm* worried about you."

Briefly, she squeezed her eyes shut, realizing someone else had prodded him into this visit; it hadn't even been his idea. So, he must be here in the capacity of her CO rather than as her friend. His spoken concern ended up grating against her nerves instead of providing the comfort she'd hoped they would generate. She wanted to scream, to throw something...

"I am fine," she said through clenched teeth.

He forced himself to relax. "Deanna doesn't think so..."

"Damn it! I said I'm fine. Has my job performance suffered in the least, Captain?" At his stony silence, she gritted her teeth and spat the next words out without thought. "What the hell do you want from me?"

Picard stiffly glanced behind him, assuring himself that her tirade hadn't drawn any attention. He re-focused his gaze on Beverly who now stood red-faced, arms still wrapped tightly around herself, eyes downcast. Deanna had certainly been right about how Beverly was brandishing her temper. He was half-tempted to relieve her of duty *and* put her on report for insubordination.

It took a few seconds for him to relax again. When he spoke, he purposely softened his voice, attempting to add an intimacy to this conversation that he hoped would ease Beverly's rage.

"I've been asked to relieve you of duty," he said slowly, watching as her eyes snapped up to his.

"Relieve me of..." she stammered, then caught herself and jutted her chin out defensively. "My judgment has *not* been impaired..."

"I haven't said a word about your judgment, Beverly, although after this, maybe I *should* question it."

God she was impossible! Then, he realized he had allowed his anger to draw him off track again and he sighed, giving a quick tug to his uniform. Trying to keep both mind and voice level, he tried once more. "This is about the cancellation of your appointment with Counsellor Troi..."

Beverly walked to the display positioned eye level on the wall. She kept her back to him as she called up a DNA scan of a patient she'd treated more than three years ago - anything to avoid looking into his concerned eyes. "I don't need anyone's help." The words seemed hollow even to her. What she wouldn't give now just to hear him speak words of comfort from *his* heart -- just one word, one touch... Beverly tamped the yearning down and pretended to study the display.

He approached her slowly, stopping only centimeters away. Her shoulders were tense and he longed to smooth the tightness away, but didn't dare touch her; surely that would only make matters worse.

"I see," he said slowly. "You can recover from this trauma all by yourself, then?"

"Yes," she hissed, wishing now that he'd just leave. Still studiously ignoring him, Beverly hadn't realized his close proximity, didn't feel him lean even closer. When next she heard his voice, it was soft and close to her ear, his breath stirring wisps of her hair at her cheek.

"Well, all I can say is you're doing an abominable job of it, Beverly."

The words and the dry humor beneath them were totally unexpected. It took her a few seconds to process what he'd said, but when she turned to him, her eyes contained a bit of their former sparkle and a smile teased the corners of her lips. She held his gaze, drinking in the warmth and concern she saw in his eyes, and her smile broadened briefly before fading away.

"Promise me you'll re-schedule with the Counsellor," he said softly.

She nodded, realizing he did care, basking in his closeness, wanting to lean into him, and not quite comprehending why her stomach was so full of butterflies.

"Jean-Luc, I..." she stopped, glancing down at her clenched hands, then back up at him.

Beverly opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to evaporate from her mind. She had no idea what to say or do. Finally, she exhaled softly and gave him an apologetic shake of her head before looking away again.

The hurt and indecision Picard saw in her eyes almost broke his heart. What an ass he'd been, running from her in an attempt to escape his own pain. Deanna had been right on another point -- they both did need each other and the strength of their friendship. What to say to ease this awkwardness that had arisen between them?

Picard allowed the overwhelming need to touch her guide him. His awareness of his surroundings faded as he reached his hand out to brush his fingertips across her smooth skin. Even when Beverly's startled gaze flew to his face, he didn't break the contact. Instead, he curled his fingers around her neck, just below her ear, his thumb gently resting against her cheekbone.

"I haven't been much of a friend lately, have I?"

His whispered words took Beverly's breath away and the warmth of his touch nearly stopped her heart. She desperately wanted to respond to the solidity of his caress, to reclaim even that absurd, two-decade-old dance of theirs, but she hesitated, poised on the precipice. To act now on what she'd never been able to act on before... how would *he* respond? What was *he* thinking?

Afraid of rejection, she held herself motionless and simply stared at him.

Uncertain what this lack of reaction meant, Picard started to bring his other hand to her cheek, but was unable to fully complete the motion.

A sharp cry exploded from Sick Bay and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fading scintillation of what could only have been a transporter beam.

The sight and sound galvanized them into action. Picard released her and the two ran from Beverly's office.

What Crusher saw stunned her motionless -- La Forge holding a limp young woman in his arms, the blood streaming from her mouth... Dear lord, there was so much blood...

"Get her on the bed!"

Geordi did as ordered, gently lowering Martens, averting his gaze from her dilated eyes. He glanced up at the bio-indicators as he moved out of Crusher's way -- no respiration, no pulse, no brain activity.

Picard gently laid his hand on La Forge's shoulder, but immediately pulled it away when he felt the sticky wetness there. The Captain turned his hand over and stared at his blood-smeared palm as Geordi glanced down at his crimson-soaked uniform.

"Sorry, Captain..."

"What happened, Mr. LaForge?"

Geordi stared at the frantic activity surrounding Sondra Martens and slowly shook his head.

"I have no idea, sir," he mumbled. "No idea at all..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard stared at the monitor as Sondra Martens' record scrolled across the screen. She had been with the *Enterprise* for three years, having transferred from a science vessel, the *Darwin*. Martens had been promoted to lieutenant a year ago, she had an exemplary record -- including two commendations from La Forge -- she was bright, well-liked, respected.

He sighed and sat back in his chair, but continued to read as her biography scrolled into view. Martens was from Earth, of Mexican ancestry, second of three children, parents Roberto and Amelia both living and both assigned to the Starfleet Diplomatic Corps. Picard noted that not two weeks ago, she had celebrated her 28th birthday, that her hobbies were listed as swimming and...

The door chime sounded and he bookmarked the record before glancing up.

"Come."

She hesitated at the entrance, face pale, her uniform splattered with drying spots of blood, fingers picking restlessly at the hem of her sleeve.

"Jean-Luc..."

"Dear God."

Picard pushed away from his desk, strode across the room and pulled Beverly inside. He noticed Will Riker had risen from the command chair, concern in his eyes. Before the doors closed, the Captain gave his First Officer a brief shake of his head, silently requesting this be left to him.

"She's dead," Beverly whispered as he led her to the sofa. "I couldn't stop the bleeding."

He took her by the shoulders, sat her down and, still gripping her tightly, sat next to her. "Beverly, look at me..."

She brought wide, horrified eyes to his face. "The worst part of it is that I'm not sure I did everything I could to save her..."

Picard's face slackened at the revelation and he didn't know how to react to her comment. That Crusher was a professional, he had no doubt, and under ordinary circumstances he would have chalked her comment up to her natural tendency to blame herself for any loss of life. These weren't ordinary circumstances, however, and her reaction was far from normal. The diplomat in him took over.

"Why do you say that?"

Beverly shrugged against his hands. "I... the withdrawal... maybe my judgment *has* been impaired..."

So that was it -- a confidence crisis. All their concern for her, all their attempts to get her to open up to them had backfired in an unexpected way. Picard took a breath, knowing how to navigate these waters.

"Tell me what happened." He moved his hands from her shoulders to cover and still her restlessly moving fingers.

Beverly calmed herself, silencing the worrisome voices of doubt and allowing her training to take over.

"There was massive hemorrhaging of all major systems -- heart, lungs, liver, brain..."

"Could anyone live through that?" he interrupted gently.

She caught herself. Of course not; no one could survive the kind of damage she'd seen in Sondra Martens' scans. Beverly took a deep breath, closed her eyes and shook her head.

"No. It's not survivable." She felt utterly silly and a faint blush colored her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I..."

Picard gave her hands a brief squeeze, and stood.

"What could cause that kind of damage, Doctor?" he asked brusquely as he walked back to his desk. He pretended to focus his attention on the monitor.

Clearing her throat, Beverly stood slowly. "I'm not sure, Captain; but I'll find out."

Picard glanced up at her. "I'd like a full report before I contact Martens' parents."

She nodded. "I'll have something for you within the hour."

Beverly turned, walked to the doors and hesitated. Before she exited, she glanced back at him.

"Thank you, Jean-Luc."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alyssa Ogawa handed Crusher the results of the second scan and watched as Beverly shook her head in disbelief.

"Why would she have this much in her system?" Beverly sat back in her chair, frowning up at Ogawa. "Obviously, the ephedrine caused the hemorraghing, and its anti-coagulant properties prevented us from stopping the bleeding once it started."

"Agreed."

"But, this other compound." She sat forward and tapped her finger on the PADD's display. "If I had to guess, I'd say the first segment of this molecule was related to L-Dopa, but I have no idea what this other could possibly..."

Selar interrupted them. "I've found something interesting, Doctor."

Beverly nodded and pushed herself away from the desk. Even as she and Alyssa followed Selar into the autopsy room, her mind was working, trying to identify that elusive segment.

"Here," Selar said simply, pointing to what looked like a blemish on Martens' pale thigh. "It appears to be the site of repeated injections."

Sighing, Crusher ran a hand through her hair. Mentally, she turned over all the clues, hoping something would click into place... Something finally did.

"Heroin!"

When Alyssa and Selar simply stared at her, Beverly waved her hand toward her office. "The other molecule! It's heroin."

She pursed her lips, remembering. "Two months ago, I read a paper on synthetic analgesics. Part of that paper was historical reference -- it contained a discussion of the early 20th century use of opium derivatives for relieving surgical pain..."

All three women gazed down in surprise at Martens' body, unable to fully grasp what they had discovered.

"She was an addict," Beverly whispered, the word hitting far too close to home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard paced in front of her desk, his heels clicking on the floor.

"If this is true..."

"It's true, Jean-Luc," Crusher said with conviction. "She was addicted to this new substance -- this combination of neurotransmitter and euphoric. The research I've done also points to ephedrine as being a compound which was historically used to dilute some addictive substances. As I said, we found a large enough quantity in Martens' system to have caused her death."

He couldn't keep the shock from his face. What in the world was he going to tell the young woman's parents? "Where could she have gotten it?"

Beverly shook her head, pulling her eyes away from him. It was one of the questions that begged an answer, but there was one more that was even more chilling. "And, how widespread is its use on board the *Enterprise*?"

She glanced up at Picard, held his eyes and watched them fill with worry, sadness and horror.

He sat down heavily in the chair across from her and struggled to keep his mind from spinning at all the implications.

"What do you propose, Doctor?" he asked softly, hoping for some guidance in this.

She shrugged and gazed down at the representation of that complex molecule. "I'm with you -- I'd like to find out where she got this."

"Then, the best place to start would be in the lieutenant's quarters."

"A search?" Beverly looked up at him.

"I'll have Worf handle it personally..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Worf glanced around Martens' quarters with distaste. It was a mess. Clothes were strewn about -- black leggings draped over a cushioned chair, a white lace bra on the blue carpet. There were even dishes still on the table, crusted with dried food -- she hadn't even placed them in the recycler.

"Sir..."

The Klingon glanced up, then held his hand out to accept something from Ensign Euell.

It was a wooden box -- small, about eight centimeters square. Its black lacquered surface was chipped in places, especially around the lid and the tiny brass-colored latch.

Worf clumsily worked the delicate closure until it snapped open; he lifted the lid. Inside were several small vials of a yellowish substance and three hyposprays, their silver nozzles crusted with white, opaque crystals.

He tapped his comm badge and spoke, unable to keep the disgust from his voice.

"Worf to Crusher -- I believe we have found what you are looking for, Doctor."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Data stood before the Captain's desk, golden eyes on Picard's grim face.

"She and Lieutenant Forrester then boarded a shuttle for Alpha Corvi IV. They spent three days there before returning to Starbase 14. Lt. Martens departed the Starbase at 14:30 hours and boarded the *Enterprise* at 19:00 hours. Lt. Forrester departed shortly afterwards, at 15:00 hours and records show he boarded the *Feynman* at 18:30 hours."

Picard sat forward, elbows on his desk, hands clasped in front of him. "They didn't go anywhere else, Data? Just Alpha Corvi IV?"

"If they did, sir, the records do not indicate it."

He nodded. "Very well. This Lt. Forrester -- I believe I'd like to have a word with him."

Data raised his brows slightly. "That would be impossible, Captain."

"And, why is that?"

"He died this morning, sir. The cause of death was listed as cardiac arrest."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bryn Hampstead combed her fingers through her short brown bangs and glanced away from the angry face that filled her monitor.

"Mr. Forrester, if I could just..."

"My parents have already given you their answer, Doctor. No autopsy!"

She glanced back up at him, desperation in her green eyes. "But, sir, it would..."

"What is it with you?!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Can't you get it through your thick skull that we don't want to be a part of your paranoia?"

Thin lips parted in surprise, she stared directly into his now smirking face.

"Yeah. That's right, Doctor. We found out about all your little conspiracy theories." Jason Forrester chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "My brother is dead. He died of cardiac arrest brought on by an undiagnosed valve defect. We will not allow you to drag his good name into this craziness of yours, Doctor Hampstead."

The last words -- her title and name -- were said with sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Jaw clenched, Bryn leaned forward and terminated the connection without preamble.

She slumped against the hard-backed chair, feeling each of her vertebrae crush up against the unyielding wood.

Who had told them? Probably those jerks in the lab -- they never seemed to tire of hassling her.

With a small groan, Bryn glanced down at the death record of Lt. Kevin Forrester. She was sure this was another to be added to her steadily growing file, but without a proper tox screen...

"You really know how to make friends, don't you?" she whispered, glancing around the tiny, windowless cubicle that was her office.

Office. It was a converted coat closet in the basement of the medical annex -- as far away from Starfleet Medical as they could get her and still call her "attached." Her unconventional research interests had landed her here -- that, and rusty "people skills." She was forever rubbing people the wrong way.

Hampstead pushed back against the chair, then stretched slender arms up toward the ceiling, finally crossing them behind her head. There had to be some way she could talk to the parents again -- last night they had seemed reasonable sorts, even though she knew all too well what they were going through right now...

The sound of footsteps outside the door made Bryn sit up straight. The doors across from her tiny desk whooshed open, and a petite young woman entered, a wide smile on her face, hands behind her back.

"Well, Carla, care to share whatever's caused that grin? I sure could use a bit of humor right now -- this has been a hell of a morning."

She didn't immediately respond and her smile broadened even more before she pulled her hands from behind her back. "Ta-da!"

With narrowed eyes, Bryn gazed at the PADD her friend had produced, finally reaching across and taking it from her.

"What is this?"

"The answer to your prayers," Carla Dawes said, watching her roommate intently.

Bryn's mouth opened at what she saw. She brought wide, startled eyes to Carla's amused face, then stood up and practically danced around the desk until she could grab the younger woman in a quick hug.

"Someone finally had the guts to list the cause of death as a 'drug overdose'! And, look at this -- they even found large amounts of ephedrine. Admiral Morgan is gonna *have* to believe me now!"

Hampstead tried to calm down, took deep breaths, and continued reading beyond the tox screen, down through the autopsy report and beyond to the signature.

"Beverly Crusher, Chief Medical Officer of the *Enterprise*," Bryn whispered. She glanced back up at Carla, briefly chewing on her lower lip. Crusher was almost legend, and it was a daunting prospect, but...

With a quick nod of thanks to Carla, she started toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

Bryn fixed her with a penetrating gaze, knowing what she was planning was absolute craziness.

"Carla, I *have* to get on board that ship..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The chair in front of Admiral Calloway Morgan's massive wooden desk was large and heavily cushioned. Bryn fidgeted close to its edge as she watched the man's brown eyes flit over the PADD she'd handed him.

As he read, she noted the twitch of his frosty brows and the minute quaver of his lower lip as he brought his teeth against it. Not much of a reaction, but Bryn got the distinct impression of a fox who'd just been caught in the hen house. One corner of her mouth quirked up.

Gotcha, she thought smugly and allowed herself the luxury of becoming comfortable, crossing one black trousered leg over the other and settling into the cushions.

Finally, Morgan laid the PADD down, leaned on the desk and clasped his hands in front of him. His eyes flicked to Bryn's face, then away again, toward his terminal.

"Well. Very interesting, Dr. Hampstead."

"Interesting, sir?" She sat forward, eyes riveted to his face, wondering why he wouldn't look at her. "A documented death directly attributable to..."

"Don't go jumping to conclusions, Doctor." He reached for the terminal's keypad, and tapped something out, keeping his attention focused on the display as he spoke. "We have questions concerning Dr. Crusher's analysis..."

"Questions? What questions? And who is 'we'?" Bryn re-occupied her spot on the edge of the chair. Crusher was above and beyond reproach; the woman never made a mistake. She felt a knot begin to tighten in the pit of her stomach. When Morgan finally looked at her, his expression was oddly apprehensive.

"We believe her assessment was... a bit premature," he said slowly, not really supplying answers to her questions. "In fact, as we speak, a meeting is taking place between Dr. Crusher, her commanding officer and Admiral Kellogg."

She couldn't help noticing how intently Morgan was studying her, couldn't help noticing that apprehension surface again briefly in his eyes. "I don't understand, sir..."

"I have to deny your request to rendezvous with the *Enterprise.* Nothing has happened that is worthy of further investigation. It's Starfleet Medical's opinion that only four deaths in the past eight months have occurred as a result of L-domethodone usage. You're chasing after ghosts again, Doctor."

Hampstead didn't know why it hadn't hit her before - Morgan's early refusal to look at her, the hesitation in his voice, that strange expression of his.

"Damn you!" She stood up, glaring down at him. "You know something, don't you?"

"Sit down!" he thundered, rising above her. "You're dangerously close to insubordination young woman, and don't think for a minute that I won't report you for it!"

"What do you know, Admiral Morgan?" she hissed, refusing to obey the order. All this time, all this pain, all the deaths - the nightmares, the censure, the laughter behind her back. He had known she was right all along. The knot in her stomach burned.

Their standoff was interrupted by the chirp of a comm channel opening.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Admiral, but you asked me to let you know when Admiral Aidan was free. Would you like me to patch her in?"

Morgan didn't pull his eyes from Hampstead's face. His words were slow and measured. "No, thank you, Lieutenant. I think I'll take it out there."

"Yes, sir."

Bryn's anger rapidly transformed into frightened confusion. What was going on here? Why was he looking at her like that? Talking like that?

The Admiral patted the top of his terminal as he walked around his desk. "Pardon the interruption, Hampstead. I'll be back in *exactly* five minutes."

She just stood there staring at him, mouth open, eyes wide. Morgan fixed her with one last penetrating gaze, then stiffly marched out of his office.

Hampstead puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled and shook her head. "What the hell is happening?" she whispered, replaying the last few minutes over in her mind. She kept hearing his voice, the emphasis on certain words, seeing the intensity in his eyes. I'll be back in *exactly* five minutes, he'd said...

...and she finally figured it out, the knowledge almost strangling her and she coughed violently even as she ran around his desk to move the terminal's screen into view.

On the display was an untitled directory with a dozen untitled files listed underneath and in the bottom right-hand corner, the security icon flashed red - Morgan had deactivated the secret clearance.

*Exactly* five minutes...

Heart pounding and feeling slightly queasy, Bryn placed shaking fingers over the terminal keypad and began typing the commands that would download the entire directory to her area.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lieutenant Lyda O'Malley nodded to herself, but continued to keep her eyes riveted to the screen.

"She's begun the download, Admiral."

Morgan clasped his hands behind his back and gazed down at the younger woman who had been his aide for more than ten years. "I wish you hadn't talked me into dragging you into this mess, Lyda."

She glanced up at the gentleness of his words and gave him a quick smile. "You didn't do any dragging, Cal. I volunteered, remember? My Ellen would be 21 now and almost ready to graduate from the Academy." She sighed and turned back to the screen.

A handful of seconds passed silently before Lyda tapped a command on her keypad. She sat back in her chair, gazing up at Morgan. "It's done. She has them all - even put some sort of encryption on them. The girl's smart..."

The Admiral nodded, hating to use Bryn this way, but not seeing another way out. Thinking about all the deaths - the *preventable* deaths - left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He would have traded all their high ideals for just one of those lost lives. He'd gotten tired of how long it was taking Kellogg to seek permission to *do* something and had decided to take matters into his own hands. Had he done the right thing? Getting Bryn involved like this...

Morgan turned from his aide and gazed out the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. The bay fog was lifting under the coercion of a mid-morning summer sun and he was able to unerringly pick out Starfleet Headquarters from all the rest of San Francisco's majestic skyscrapers. He sighed at the sight of it.

"God help her. I hope she has more luck with this than I've had."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard sat at the desk of his quarters with one elbow on the armrest, fingers pressed lightly to his lips, and a frown creasing his forehead. He stared at the terminal without seeing it, and only barely heard Crusher's words as she raged at the conversation that had just occurred.

He didn't like it one bit, but for the life of him, couldn't figure a way out. The Prime Directive was supposed to protect, not cause as much damage as its enforcement had wreaked in Martens' situation -- and just how long had this been going on, this sweeping things under the carpet until a "proper course of action has been determined." Kellogg's words and his own questions so occupied him that he almost missed the tone of finality in Beverly's voice.

"...falsify an autopsy report? I'll just go straight to Vice Admiral O'Donnough, and..."

"No," Picard said, shaking his head for emphasis, the frown seeming to have permanently settled in place.

She turned to face him, hands on her hips. "You're not going to sit still for this, are you?"

He stood slowly and adjusted his uniform before speaking. "We have no idea what's really going on, Beverly," he began softly, holding her gaze as he rounded his desk. "We need more information before we decide what to do..."

"You sound like Kellogg," she said sharply.

Picard made a derisive sound at Beverly's comment, but looked beyond her to the stars outside the viewport, turning over options in his mind. There were favors he could call in, but that would only draw attention. No, these circumstances called for more stealth; going through back doors was the smarter thing to do.

Beverly crossed her arms over her chest and studied him. He was up to something, she could see it in the intensity of his gaze and the straight set of his mouth. It made her smile.

He noticed her silence and when he glanced over at her, saw the twinkle in her blue eyes and the upward curve of her lips. Picard raised a brow.

"What?"

"Are you going to let me in on it?" She walked the two steps it took to stand in front of him, eye to eye.

Picard took a breath. "We need to discover the true magnitude of the problem. How long has it been going on? How widespread is it? Has any attempt been made to find a solution? Agreed?"

She nodded.

He took her by the elbow and walked her toward the door "Search Starfleet Medical's databases. Find out if *anyone* has done any research which might be even remotely connected to this substance - and, Beverly, no matter how crazy, follow *every* lead."

"And, what are you going to do?"

"Call a friend for some gardening tips," he answered drolly.

Beverly turned before they reached the door, giving him a puzzled look. Picard smiled, then gently took her hands in his and simply gazed at her.

"It's nice to see you feeling better."

His words were warm and gentle, as was his touch, and Beverly allowed their comfort to reach her heart, not minding the change in subject. She *did* feel better and mostly because he had made the first moves towards reclaiming their friendship -- it almost felt like old times... She smiled back at him, caught up in the moment.

"Throwing yourself headfirst into a mystery seems to help," she responded dryly. Then, impulsively she reached out to trail her fingertips along his jaw, her sparkling eyes following their path. Old times, indeed... "So does having a friend who won't let you get away with anything."

Picard's smile broadened as she gently pulled away, turned and exited his quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something wasn't right. There was a piece missing in the puzzle and Hampstead couldn't figure out what it was.

The information in Morgan's files had left her reeling. Starfleet Medical and the Federation Council had been aware of the drug's existence for about as long as it had been imported into Federation space. Their initial problem had been a Prime Directive one -- the culture responsible for the dangerous situation had yet to see technological advances greater than the wheel and the production of iron. Upon realizing that the Ferengi were pulling the distribution strings, however, the Federation Council initiated negotiations with them. There had been one meeting, more than a year ago, and then after that... nothing.

It was as though the problem had disappeared. Morgan's files after that first contact with the Ferengi contained only scattered, odd reports concerning improper procedures -- bypassing the mandatory autopsies on a Starfleet Officer who had died in the line of duty -- or strange bits of information from the Federation Proconsul's office concerning Federation transports being re-routed around the Beta Caelum system...

Fluff and nonsense, Bryn thought as she threw the PADD onto the table in front of her faded green sofa. Ignoring Carla's concerned gaze, she made her way to the bathroom.

Had they stopped negotiating with the Ferengi? If they had, what in the hell could have made them turn their backs on the problem? Was something being done that she didn't know about? Would sticking her nose in this only turn out to cause more harm than good?

Frowning, she placed her hands on either side of the white antique sink and leaned forward, head bowed, allowing the chill of the porcelain to seep into her bones.

Sighing, she thrust her cupped hands under the brass faucet and watched her palms fill and overflow with water before splashing some of the cold liquid on her face. Slowly, she straightened, ignoring the trickles down her chin and neck, mind focused on the dilemma. Was there *anything* she could do with this sketchy information?

As she turned to leave, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped. Tormented green eyes stared back at her from a too-thin face, making her look far older than her 33 years. Her gaze instinctively settled on the hairline scar which bisected her upper lip. It wasn't noticeable to anyone else; only she knew the history behind it, and for a moment, memories of that night six months ago flooded through her.

The night Mickey had died. The night she'd lost the baby. They'd both been high, walked to Golden Gate Park, the drugs in their systems making them feel invincible, powerful. Mickey had stopped, brought out another hypo, and even though she'd gotten an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach at the prospect, she didn't stop him as he shot them both with more.

Not much was clear after that -- just that awful scream that had exploded from Mickey's throat, her attempts to drag him toward help, the fall that had split her lip, and the stab of a contraction as she'd aborted the baby...their son...

Bryn didn't shy away from the memories -- she pulled them fiercely to her, experiencing each jab of remorse, each twist of guilt. It had happened; it had changed her; she would never be the same for it -- thank God she would never be the same. Life was more precious to her now; love twice so, and never would she live for tomorrows or bury herself in yesterdays. The now was all that mattered.

"Hey. Are you ok?"

She looked up, managing to quickly come back to herself and give Carla a smile. She slowly unclenched her hands and reached for the rough towel.

"No."

Carla sighed, misinterpreting the response. "It's certainly a puzzle, isn't it?"

Bryn nodded and threw the towel over its rack, recognizing the reference. "Yeah. It looks like they just stopped negotiations, but I keep asking myself why?" She brushed past Carla on her way to the living room. "Makes me wonder who had holos of the Proconsul's wife with..."

Her heart thudded in her chest. It couldn't be, could it? Could someone be bribing or blackmailing someone as high up as...

"Oh, God, Carla," she breathed, hands shaking. "I may have really stuck my foot in it this time..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I plant them and some inconsiderate roughneck walks all over them. Hell of a way to make a living."

Bryn glanced up as the elderly gentleman sat down next to her. She shifted a bit on the park bench, allowing him more room and followed his eyes to the flower bed directly across from them and in front of the fountain.

She'd been staring at the bed for the past 30 minutes and hadn't really seen that several of the plants lay flattened to the ground, victims of carelessness. The long afternoon shadows distorted the blooms' color, but she imagined they were the same velvet purple as the petunias her mother used to plant in her bedroom windowbox.

"Sometimes people just don't realize what they're doing," she said absently, the comment covering more than one topic.

He harrumphed. "Too busy to take the time to look around them, I suppose. Doesn't excuse their behavior, though."

Out of the corner of her eye, Bryn saw him staring at the PADD she held tightly to her chest. She turned toward him and gave him a sad smile. "You don't want to know, Mr. Boothby."

"Didn't ask," was his gruff reply.

Bryn almost chuckled, but caught herself at the grin stage, then thought what harm could it do? The Academy's head gardener was a good listener and on many occasions, just explaining a problem to him had allowed her to see a heretofore undiscovered solution.

"It's a mind-bender of a predicament, Mr. Boothby," she said slowly. She pulled the PADD away and gazed down at the first paragraph of the summary she'd written. Bryn licked her lips, glanced up at the gardener again, then handed the device to him.

He accepted it with gnarled hands and looking down his nose at the display, began to read.

If it shocked him, he didn't let on. Bryn didn't know anyone with a better poker face than Mr. Boothby. Knowing that she wouldn't get anything more out of him until he'd finished her summary, she sat back and listened to the musical sound of the fountain's water as it spilled down its courseway. Eventually, she felt him shift and she turned to look at him.

"They didn't take action against the Ferengi."

She shook her head. "No," Bryn said softly, "they didn't. I think there's probably a reason for that..."

"I see," he said slowly.

As Bryn studied him, she recognized the comprehension in his eyes. Smart man, she thought, smiling.

"Well. You were certainly correct about it being a mind-bender, Bryn." Boothby handed the PADD back to her. "What are you going to do about it?"

She pursed her lips and sat forward, elbows on her knees. "I don't really know, Mr. Boothby, but I keep thinking if I could just get to the *Enterprise*, just talk to Dr. Crusher, maybe we could both..."

Bryn's voice trailed off and she allowed her eyes to settle again on the fountain. "The only thing I *do* know is that I have to do *something*. No matter what the price." She turned to him and gave him a sad smile. "I've made some promises to myself that I intend to keep."

She reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze as she started to rise. Bryn was startled when he clasped her hand between both of his and stood as well, regarding her intently before nodding. From the look on his face, Bryn knew he'd just made some sort of decision.

"I know someone you need to speak with."

Bryn shook her head in confusion. "Who?"

He tucked her hand into the inside bend of his elbow and gently pulled her along with him as he strode down the concrete path.

"Trust me, Dr. Hampstead."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She swallowed hard.

It wasn't as though she'd never seen the man. There were video clips of speeches he'd made - the more notable ones about Borg implants - and there was his biography with its still holo shots. It was just that Bryn had never really *seen* Captain Jean-Luc Picard like this - not with those intense hazel eyes boring into her, that stern mouth, that grim expression.

"Sir, I... uh... I mean, Captain..." She glanced around nervously, peering through the lush tropical foliage for a glimpse of Boothby. It was no use; once he'd brought her to the Academy arboretum and had stood her in front of the monitor, he'd disappeared.

"I can assure you I don't bite, Dr. Hampstead."

The warm tone he'd used forced Bryn's attention back to Picard's image. She noticed his expression had softened somewhat and thought there might even be the barest hint of a smile developing around his mouth. His eyes certainly held a sparkle of amusement and she found herself responding, calming, smiling herself at how worked up she'd become.

"Of course not, sir. Forgive me." She squared her shoulders and smoothed her jacket down, then she uttered a single word.

"L-Domethodone."

The captain frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"The drug your CMO discovered in Lt. Sondra Martens' blood. That's what Starfleet Medical is calling it."

Bryn watched as shock briefly flared across his face.

"What can you tell me about it?"

She held up her PADD. "Almost everything, sir -- except for why Starfleet seems to be dragging its feet..." She didn't dare tell him she thought a cover-up had been initiated, not without something more than what Morgan had given her.

Picard seemed to be considering something. He finally broke the silence. "Where did you obtain your information?"

Bryn shifted uneasily and pulled her eyes away from the monitor. "The source was reliable."

"That's not what I asked, Doctor."

She looked back up at him. "I know, sir."

He took a breath and shifted in his chair. "I see."

"Begging your pardon, Captain, but no, you don't. My situation is... complicated. I'd rather not discuss anything about the source of the information or its content until we meet..."

"A moment, Doctor," he said sternly, holding up his hand. "No one has said anything about a face-to-face meeting."

A flash of anger coursed through her. After all she'd been through, all that she'd suffered, she was not about to allow anyone to cut her out of seeing this through to the end. Bryn lifted her chin. "I'm afraid if you want to see these files, you'll have to see me with them, sir." It was a gamble, but she counted on his being concerned enough about his people to want some answers and she rushed on before he could interrupt.

"Captain Picard, I've spent the last four months of my life trying to prove this stuff has made a larger impact on the Federation than the authorities are willing to admit. I spent the two months previous to that withdrawing from the drug." She allowed the words to sink in before continuing. "I lost my husband and unborn child to L-domethodone, not to mention my self-respect and bits and pieces of my life that I'll never be able to recover. I don't want to sit by and *watch* its eradication, I want to be there actively taking it down. Please, Captain."

She watched him watch her, nothing of what he was thinking apparent on his face. Finally, he leaned forward.

"I don't normally allow myself to be manipulated in this manner, Dr. Hampstead, but a member of my crew has died, I want to know why and you seem to be the only one with any answers. However, once you're on board my ship, I won't tolerate anything less than your full cooperation. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," she answered weakly.

"Expect to receive orders within the hour. Picard out."

The look on his face before the screen blanked had been one of barely contained annoyance. Bryn briefly closed her eyes, cursing herself for not totally trusting the man and for apparently making an enemy before she'd had a chance to make a friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the call came, Morgan wasn't really surprised. He'd been too nervous to eat dinner, spent his time pacing in the library, wondering how Bryn would handle what he'd given her, wondering who she might call on to help her reach the *Enterprise*, even faintly wondering if somehow, someone had discovered what he had done...

Resignedly, Morgan smoothed his shirt and sat at the library desk. Swivelling the desktop monitor around to face him with one hand, he tapped out his authorization with the other.

The blue logo faded, replaced by the severe visage of Jean-Luc Picard. Slightly taken aback, the admiral hesitated and noticed Picard's expression changed minutely to something approaching concern.

"I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, Admiral..."

"Not at all, Captain. What can I do for you?" Morgan's curiosity was piqued and he leaned a bit closer to the screen.

"You're Dr. Bryn Hampstead's commanding officer, correct?"

His face slackened at the question and he tried to recover his equilibrium. Bryn had gone straight to Picard? Good God, but she was bold...

Morgan cleared his throat. "Yes, I am, Captain. What's this all about?"

Picard glanced away from the screen and the Admiral noticed his slight frown. The man's reluctance was obvious, but Morgan wouldn't encourage him - at least not until he knew where the captain stood.

"Admiral, one of my crew died this morning from what my Chief Medical Officer believes was a drug overdose."

He nodded. "Yes, I heard. Quite a tragedy, Captain. Lt. Martens, wasn't it?"

"Sondra Martens," Picard answered softly, briefly glancing down toward his clasped hands. "I assume since you've heard of her death, you've also heard we have been... strongly advised not to pursue an investigation of the circumstances surrounding it."

"I have. You and Dr. Crusher were informed that it was a Prime Directive matter." The admiral leaned back. "So, tell me. What does Dr. Hampstead have to do with all this?"

The captain focused his eyes on Morgan. "I believe she may have information pertinent to the lieutenant's death. Information that would indicate if this were just an isolated instance, or whether there might be a more widespread problem..."

"You were ordered not to become involved in..."

"No, Admiral," he interrupted firmly, "we were not. We were *strongly advised* against conducting an investigation." Picard sighed heavily, obviously frustrated and trying to rein himself in. "Sir, I have more than one thousand people for whom I'm responsible. If I'm to make decisions concerning the lives and well-being of those people, I need to know the extent of this situation - and, it's my feeling, Admiral, that I'm being blindsided."

Morgan almost smiled. Picard was certainly living up to his reputation as a forthright, concerned, and ethical man; Bryn had chosen well.

"What would you like me to do, Jean-Luc?"

The captain hesitated, eyes widening slightly at the use of the familiar. "I... well, Admiral, I wondered if the *Enterprise* might borrow Dr. Hampstead for a few days..."

"Consider it done. I'll have her on a transport within the hour." Relieved, the admiral leaned forward, but paused at the shocked look on the captain's face. "Was there something more?"

Picard cleared his throat and, frowning slightly, shook his head. "No, Admiral; nothing more. Thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome, Captain. Morgan out."

With a sigh, Morgan crossed his arms across his broad chest and kept his eyes on the screen.

"Why didn't you just tell him, Cal?"

He glanced up at the soft pressure of her hand on his shoulder and smiled.

"He and Bryn are going to need someone on the inside, Lyda. The longer I can keep my complicity in this a secret, the more help I'll be able to provide."

"Like cutting Bryn's orders?"

Morgan nodded and turned back toward the terminal. "Go finish your dinner, love. This won't take but a minute..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard laid the newly-replicated cup of tea down on the low table in front of him and looked to the door.

"Come," he said.

Crusher walked into his quarters, a smile on her face. "I've found someone I think can help us. A young woman from Starfleet Medical named Bryn Hampstead. From what I've seen, she's been trying to research..."

Her voice trailed off at the scowl on his face and she raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

Picard sat up, motioned toward the spot on the sofa next to him, then reached for his PADD as Beverly walked around the table to sit beside him.

"She's on her way," he said tightly.

Surprised, Beverly turned fully to him. "And that's not good?"

"I'm not certain." He sighed, mulling over the conversation with Morgan, wondering why it was bothering him as much as it was. Slowly, he tried to put voice to his musings.

"It was much too easy to get Admiral Morgan to agree to a temporary reassignment for Hampstead," Picard said, frowning. "It was almost as though he were *expecting* someone to contact him..."

Pulling his attention away from the vague misgivings, he concentrated on the more concrete ones. He handed Beverly the PADD. "My main concern, however, is *that*. Dr. Hampstead's personnel records - and after talking with her, I have to admit I concur with most of what's written there."

Retrieving his cup, Picard sat back and waited for her to finish, eyes on her profile. He noticed her drawn and held breath, the brief frown and parted lips. When Beverly finally looked at him, she managed a faint smile.

"Sounds like Hampstead is capable enough -- she just has some rough edges."

He shook his head at her generous assessment, eyes now fixed on the tendril of steam which escaped the surface of his tea. "I've a bad feeling she's going to be a loose cannon - something we don't need in this situation."

"Just what did she say to give you that impression?"

Picard frowned and shifted in his seat. "Told me that if I wanted to see her information, I'd have to see *her* with it."

Beverly couldn't hide her smile and had trouble swallowing her laughter at the look he gave her. "Sorry," she finally managed to whisper.

"It's not funny, Beverly," he said as he tugged on his uniform. "She's been placed on report for insubordination a half dozen times in only four months. She's stubborn, undisciplined, calculating, hot-headed..."

"Tenacious, creative, bright, passionate..." she interrupted, ticking off synonyms with more flattering connotations.

Picard regarded Beverly skeptically for a few seconds, then with a smile turned back to his tea.

"Maybe you're right, Beverly. Actually, the more I think about it, the more she reminds me of a certain young doctor I had the misfortune to run across..."

"Misfortune?" she echoed in a mock-wounded tone of voice. "As I remember it, you were quite enthralled..."

He chuckled. "Shocked at your boldness was more like it."

Beverly's smile broadened as they both considered the shared memory in a brief, but companionable silence. Finally, she turned to him with a sigh and rested her hand over his.

"Let's just give her a chance - at least find out what she has."

As he looked down at her fingers curled around his, Picard couldn't help but notice how much thinner they appeared, how pale Beverly's skin was against his. He was worried about her -- wondering when she'd last eaten, slept...

Still, he took the easy way out, telling himself that Deanna was aware of the situation and more than capable of handling it. Finally, he nodded and responded to her comment.

"It's all we *can* do, under the circumstances."

Picard glanced at the chronometer, unable to totally still his worries about Beverly and wishing he didn't have to wait the eighteen hours it would take to rendezvous with Hampstead at Starbase 24.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stars outside the forward viewport glowed steadily, set in a blackness whose intensity was beyond anything earthbound sorts could imagine.

Bryn had always admired the stark beauty of space on the rare occasions she travelled, but now, all her mind conjured for her was its cold, empty vastness and the hidden dangers it promised. Shoving the vision aside, she pulled her eyes from the view and shifted in her seat.

"First time?"

She focused on the shuttle's pilot, an Ensign Zellman. So, her nervousness was that apparent...

"Yes," Bryn lied. It was easier to let him think that than to tell him the truth.

The ensign smiled and returned to his pre-flight check. "Don't worry. There's nothing to it," he said, tapping out a command on the console. "We'll have you at Starbase 24 before you know it..."

Bryn sighed and tried vainly to ignore her slowly simmering fears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stars had once been a source of fascination, a taking off point for Uleth Tahng's soaring imagination. But, he'd been a child then, both in body and mind. He'd learned many hard lessons since that time of joy.

Now the Alahman's eldest son stood in the haro field, head flung back with his long dark hair reaching the backs of his knees, glaring in hatred at the scintillating pinpricks of light. Once he had wondered if there were others like them -- like his people. Once he had imagined that the beings from the stars would be lovely creatures with lovely souls... how wrong he had been.

With a derisive snort, Uleth brought his attention back to reality. The beings from space had turned out to be grotesque creatures with bulbous heads, beady eyes, spiky teeth, and souls every bit as ugly as their bodies.

They had seduced the priests first with their words and promises, then Caeli leaders -- a close friend and his father included, to his shame. The people had been enslaved, the creatures had misused the gift of the haro, bringing pain and suffering to any who would dare to partake of its poison...

In the darkness, he could barely make out the flowers around his feet. Uleth knew their beauty -- the sky-blue, paper-thin petals, the heavy green stalk that held them knee-high, the pregnant pods. He also knew the beauty of the ey'haro. The Alahman's sons were expected to be tutored in the ways of the ancient ones. When those ways were followed precisely, the ey'haro allowed them to experience a oneness with the gods, to share in their transcendent knowledge. The ey'haro helped them attain that compassionate wisdom, that ability to see how all things were connected, that quality which allowed them to rule with intelligence and clemency. It was their strength.

No more. Not since *they* had arrived.

Uleth kicked at a flower with his sandalled feet, the action giving him only a small amount of pleasure.

"The haro is not at fault, my son."

Her voice was soft, the hand she rested on his naked shoulder warm and strong. He turned and found a smile for her. "I was remembering how it was, mother; and praying for his success."

"He has gone. To prepare, he said."

"And Lara?"

"Your sister is with her beloved."

Uleth heard how her voice had cracked and knew what a painful thing this was for her and for Lara. Seeking to console her, he said the only words which had bolstered him. "Mother, they both have to do this - to set things right. It was the will of the ancient ones; you know that. We all had many discussions about..."

"Words," she interrupted, her voice harsh, "will never replace your father's arms, nor heal your sister's heart."

Uleth watched helplessly as she turned from him and walked slowly back toward their lodge. He kept his eyes on her straight back until he saw golden light spill from the door she'd opened. The thump of it closing behind her brought a sense of finality to him.

He returned his eyes to the heavens, searching for a sign from the old ones, something that would help him navigate the heaviness in his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A rush of adrenaline burned its way outward from Vincent Kellogg's gut. As he stared at the terminal with widened brown eyes, he tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry.

"No," he croaked, bringing a thick index finger to the screen and tracing the words. "What the hell does he think he's doing?"

His eyes were automatically pulled to the holo of his son and daughter-in-law at their wedding. The picture had sat on his office desk for the past three years, tangible evidence at first of his success as a parent; only lately had it become a reminder that these two were the only family he had left.

He would do anything to protect them -- and *had* for almost ten months. He'd done things he'd never thought himself capable of doing... to have all that nauseating effort wasted now when he had a grandchild on the way? And by some half-witted fool who thought he could hide what he'd done by burying the information in the *Nightengale's* manifest?

It's not your fault, he counselled himself, pulling shaky breaths into his lungs. Morgan had acted on his own...

Buoyed only slightly by the thoughts, he sat up straight in the hard-backed chair and tapped his comm badge.

"Kellogg to Flemming..."

"Flemming here. What can I do for you, Vincent?"

Did he really want to do this? If he kept his mouth shut, Flemming might never find out... The Head of Starfleet Medical swallowed hard and looked from his terminal display back to the holograph in its gold frame. No; shoulders slumping, he realized he didn't have any choice.

"You need to check the *Nightengale's* manifest, Proconsul..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Federation Proconsul Harrison Flemming paced in front of his desk, hands clasped tightly behind his back, jaw clenched.

"What would you like me to do, sir?"

Flemming didn't answer immediately. He bowed his head, watching how the weight of his footsteps crushed the thick pile of the dark blue carpet. Morgan obviously suspected something, otherwise he wouldn't have tried to hide the fact that he'd sent Hampstead to the *Enterprise* on a temporary assignment. The proconsul was mildly impressed that Kellogg had even caught the subterfuge -- just goes to show what the proper motivation will do, he thought smugly. It had been a stroke of genius to threaten the daughter-in-law, and now that the woman was five months' pregnant...

Stopping mid-stride, he turned to look at his nondescript visitor. There was only one thing *to* do, he thought.

"I want you to find out how much Morgan knows. Search his home, his office," Flemming walked toward the man, ice blue eyes fixed to his face, "and let him know you've been there..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long, sleepless journey to the *Enterprise,* but at last she was finally here. Hampstead sighed a little in relief, quickly stifled a yawn, then pulled her eyes away from the viewport and refocused her attention on the pair sitting across from her.

Silently she contemplated Picard and Crusher as they studied the PADD's data. Obviously, they were more than just Captain and CMO. They sat a bit closer on his Ready Room couch than a working relationship would dictate, the casual physical contact they shared too frequent and slightly prolonged, and the looks they exchanged had a lingering quality that was hard to miss. Yes, there was definitely something more going on here, something more subtle than what Bryn had witnessed between Morgan and his aide, but definitely *there*.

It had been an hour since her arrival. The captain had been stiff and aloof when he'd met her in the transporter room, not offering her his hand or even a welcome. The icy reception had been expected, especially considering the underhanded tactics she'd used to get here, but Bryn hoped Picard would thaw after he'd seen Morgan's files.

Crusher had been just the opposite -- she'd greeted Bryn with a warm smile, firm handshake and a dozen questions. Her friendly behavior had come close to counteracting the effects of Picard's remoteness -- until the captain had pulled a chair away from his desk and directed her to it while he and Crusher took the couch. At first, she'd thought it was one of those command games that the brass feel they have to play with the junior officers. Now, watching them both hunched over the PADD, shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh, Bryn knew there was more than one reason she'd been stuck with the chair. It made her smile.

The captain's sigh pulled Bryn's attention to him. He sat back into the sofa, leaving the PADD to Crusher who continued to scan the contents. Bryn noticed with relief that his irritation with her seemed to have diminished.

"Your research into the suspicious deaths correlates well with the information contained in these files. It's most impressive that you were able to piece together as much as you did, especially considering all the efforts to discourage you from the investigation."

"Thank you, sir," she said slowly. He was leading up to something, she was sure of it.

Picard leaned forward, studying her intently. "There is one thing I noticed about these files, however..."

Here it comes, she thought, meeting the captain's eyes and waiting for him to continue.

"The headers have been deleted." He paused. "I'd like to know who authored these, Dr. Hampstead."

Bryn turned away from him at that, uncertain what to do. She didn't want to implicate Morgan, but didn't want to lie to Picard; she *had* promised him her full cooperation. Bryn found herself looking to Crusher, but the CMO wore a guarded expression similar to the captain's. She glanced back at Picard.

"Captain, I'd rather not..."

"I'll make it an order, then," he said, his tone clipped. "Who is the author of these files?"

The ice had returned to both his voice and his eyes and Bryn's blood boiled at the sight and sound of it. How dare he! She wasn't about to implicate Morgan. Picard could go to hell and...

"I could have you on board a shuttle headed back to earth in 30 minutes, Doctor..."

Picard's voice was low and his threat dissipated the tempest of her thoughts. Bryn's heart fell. She was half-tempted to tell the captain to do whatever he wanted, that she'd never reveal the source, but she'd begun to feel that she not only owed it to Mickey to see this through personally, she owed it to herself.

"I want you to know I protest that order, Captain," she said softly.

"Noted."

"...and accept full responsibility for my actions," Bryn added, glaring at the captain. He held her gaze firmly, stone-faced, waiting. She took a deep breath and broke the stand-off by looking away.

"I stole the files from Admiral Morgan's area." Her voice was a bare whisper. Seconds passed in complete silence, with no response from either Picard or Crusher. Hesitantly, Bryn took a quick glance up at the captain. Once more, he held her eyes with his, expression inscrutable.

"You don't have a high enough security clearance to have retrieved these files."

Bryn remained quiet, trying to control her anger.

"Who helped you?"

Damn him!

"Admiral Morgan," she replied, the syllables practically dripping with acid. Bryn noticed with some small bit of satisfaction that Picard was taken aback by the information. Crusher seemed shocked as well and, placing the PADD beside her, turned to the captain.

"So he *was* expecting something..."

"Indeed," Picard said mildly, eyes on Crusher's face.

The CMO raised an eyebrow at him, then turned to Bryn. "What exactly happened?"

Bryn paused a moment to gather her thoughts, then hesitantly supplied Crusher with a detailed account of the conversation and what had transpired after Morgan had left his office. She also explained her fears of a conspiracy, pointing out that Starfleet hadn't resumed negotiations with the Ferengi and that Morgan had seemed to be keeping tabs on the goings-on of both Admiral Kellogg's and Proconsul Flemming's offices. Not once did she look at Picard; she decided that since he was so fond of orders, she wasn't going to give him the time of day without one.

When she'd finished, Bryn looked once more toward the viewport behind the captain's desk, trying not to listen while he and Crusher conversed in hushed tones. Outside was the enormous curving bulkhead of the docking bay, lit here and there by glaring spotlights that washed all color from anything they touched. Occasionally a shuttle traversed the view, looking like a tiny insect against the cavernous interior.

"Dr. Hampstead..."

Reluctantly, she turned to regard the captain.

"Your loyalty is commendable, as is your grasp of the situation. I assure you that what has been revealed here will go no further, but understand that I will not tolerate information being withheld from me. Do I make myself clear?"

She frowned at the words and the complex emotions they generated - pleasure that he had complimented her and mild embarrassment at the minor dressing down. The thought that he was able to engender either of those feelings in her almost made her scowl in disgust.

"I was only trying to protect..." She stopped at the stony look he shot her way. "Very clear, sir."

He stood and motioned her toward the exit, stepping in place beside her. "I'd like you and Mr. Data to work together starting first thing in the morning. I want to know if the Federation has faced anything similar in the past, and how the situation was resolved. I also want more background information on Beta Caelum III. The senior staff will assemble in the Observation Lounge at 1000 hours; you and Mr. Data may present your findings at that time."

Head whirling at his instructions, all she could do was nod.

"Good. Get some rest, Doctor - I have a feeling things will only become more hectic as time goes on."

"Yes, sir." Shoulders straight, she turned smartly and exited the Ready Room.

Picard was mildly pleased by the look of perplexity which had crossed Hampstead's face right before her departure. She *would* pull her weight around here; he'd make certain of that.

Turning, he headed toward the replicator, glancing over at Beverly. Her expression was an odd mix of puzzlement and reproval.

"Thoughts, Doctor?"

She picked up the PADD. "On this?" Beverly tapped a few commands onto the keypad and re-read the first few paragraphs of text detailing the suspected extent of the drug's distribution in Federation territory. She shook her head as Picard returned and, laying the PADD on the table beside her, accepted the cup from him.

"I'd say this is one hell of a mess." Beverly glanced at Picard as he sat beside her. He looked tired and she thought briefly about ordering him to bed, but she knew that he wouldn't sleep; he'd continue to brood until he'd decided upon a course of action.

"If you're asking for suggestions, I'd say try to discover if they're continuing negotiations," she offered. Glancing back down at the PADD on the end table, she sighed as she recalled the curious bits of information Morgan had collected about Kellogg and Flemming. "You know, she could be right about a conspiracy..."

Picard frowned, bringing the cup of tea to his lips. "Not enough evidence to support that theory at this point." He shook his head before taking a sip of the fragrant brew. "I'm wondering if we can trust Morgan. I'm certainly not impressed with his methods -- dumping something like this in a subordinate's lap the way he did."

The silence stretched between them as each considered the information Hampstead had supplied. Finally, Picard leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and took a deep breath. "I'm afraid that the only people with any answers are the Caelis, but contacting them would constitute a severe breach of the Prime Directive."

She shook her head. "Seems to me that if we'd just talked to the Caelis at the very first, this situation wouldn't have gotten so out of hand." Beverly finally took a sip of tea - lemon with just a hint of honey - and she smiled faintly, relaxing back into the cushions. How had he known?

His lips quirked upward at her remark. Beverly wasn't particularly fond of the tenet, especially when she perceived that suffering might result from its enforcement. "It's quite possible that Kellogg is still working on a way to circumvent the problem of contacting such a primitive culture. We really have no idea what might have transpired or what is in the works."

"So why not just call him? Ask him what's happening?"

Picard raised a brow at her questions, finally admitting to himself that he *was* concerned. Some of the items Morgan had included in his files *did* hint at Kellogg's complicity in a possible cover-up.

"Let's just say I don't want to do anything rash," he said slowly. "I think the best course of action would be to work with what we already know and tackle things one step at a time. Getting us to Beta Caelum III should be first on the list."

He leaned back, unwittingly bringing more of himself in contact with more of Beverly. For a heartbeat, he tensed, expecting that she would shy away from him. She didn't. Slightly surprised, Picard glanced at her and discovered she was gazing at him intently.

"What?"

Beverly took a deep breath. "Why do you dislike her so?"

At first, it didn't register -- dislike whom? What was she talking about? When realization dawned, Picard turned away from her and allowed the question to settle. Why *did* he dislike Bryn Hampstead?

"I've never known you to make up your mind about anyone before giving them a chance -- until now," she said softly.

Picard had to admit Beverly had a point; it wasn't like him to react this strongly or this negatively toward someone.

"What is it about her you dislike so much?"

It was a good question. Picard opened his mouth to speak, then quickly shut it as the answer became all too apparent to him. This was *not* something he should discuss with Beverly; not now. Not until he sorted his feelings out. Not until they had both gained some emotional distance from Caldos and Ronin.

Taking his silence to mean he had no answer, Beverly gave his hand a squeeze. She stood, placing the cup next to the PADD on the end table, and turned back toward him.

"You'd better find out why, Jean-Luc, and work it out. If you don't, *you* might end up being the only loose cannon on this mission."

She gave him a tight-lipped smile, then walked to the exit. The doors closed behind her with a soft hiss.

Picard remained stiffly motionless on the couch, eyes focused beyond the bulkhead opposite him. His thoughts were a dark swirl and he hated being forced to admit to any of them.

He couldn't like Hampstead because he had no respect for her. How could someone become so dependent on the fleeting pleasures of a drug that they would throw a career, a child and a life away? Didn't that indicate the woman suffered from a lack of probity and responsibility, not to mention an absence of self-control?

The parallel hounded him and Picard briefly closed his eyes against it. It *was* different, he told himself fiercely. Based on Selar's report, he knew the same neural pathways had been stimulated, the same *type* of response had been generated, and Beverly had even gone through some mild withdrawal. But, damn it, she had been manipulated by a powerful entity; it couldn't have been a true addiction...

...and he knew he was lying to himself. There was only one solution to his dilemma and, resolutely, he stood and marched out of the Ready Room to find it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lyda stared in shock at their living room.

The white sofa cushions had been slashed, the stuffing thrown about the room; lamps had been overturned, their stiff beige shades crushed; all the books had been pulled from their shelves and lay in heaps beside the bookcases; even the gold carpet had been pulled away from the floorboards.

"Cal..." she whispered, tears of anger welling in her eyes.

"I'm coming," he called from the foyer. "Remind me to get someone to check that lock. It seems to be..."

She turned to him, clenching her hands, watching the shock, disbelief and finally, the rage, stalk across his features. His brown eyes narrowed and his white brows lowered in a frown.

"Lyda," he began softly, continuing to scan the room, "go pack a bag, sweetheart."

Shaking her head, she approached him, but stopped when he held a hand up. "Cal, please don't make me leave you..."

Morgan looked up at her, saw the fear and worry fill her blue eyes. His heart broke at the sight of it and he held his arms open to her.

Lyda rushed into his embrace, throwing her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"If anything were to happen to you..." Morgan whispered, running his hand over her soft brown hair.

"Nothing's going to happen," she answered quickly, voice hoarse.

He paused, fingers resting lightly at her crown, thoughts flashing towards Hampstead. Dear God, what had he done...

The admiral looked around the ransacked room. Slowly, he allowed himself to focus his attention on Lyda -- on the faint scent of her perfume, the way his arm fit around her narrow waist, the soft skin beneath his fingers as he gently massaged her neck.

He shook his head. "Nothing's going to happen," he echoed harshly, the sentiment encompassing both Lyda and Bryn. "I'm going to make damned certain of that..."

Confused, she pulled away from him and gazed into his eyes. "Cal... what are you planning?"

Morgan let her go and tilted his head toward the bedroom. "Pack a bag for both of us. Captain Norris of the *Independence* owes me a favor and I'm going to call him on it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft blue robe was a comfort. Bryn smoothed its folds as she drew her legs underneath her and settled into a corner of the couch. She reached for the cup of warm milk just as the door chimed.

"Damn," she whispered, then uttered a quick "Come in," and glanced up to see *him* standing there, looking very ill at ease.

Quickly, she stood, setting her cup on the low coffee table. "Captain, I..."

"I apologize for the interruption, Dr. Hampstead, but I was wondering if I might speak with you for a moment. It's... personal."

She stiffened. So, here it was. The whys and the hows, the accusations and the contempt. Bryn had been through it so often these past four months that she had begun to see it even before they did.

"Then this is off the record, sir?" she asked, voice chill. At least he had enough decency to act uncomfortable, she thought as he gave her a curt nod, then tugged on his uniform tunic.

Bryn shifted a chair that was close to one end of the sofa, angling it a bit so they would be almost facing each other. She motioned toward it -- let's see how *he* liked it -- then re-claimed her spot on the couch, waiting.

Picard sat down, but kept his eyes on his hands and didn't speak for a span of seconds. Bryn sighed, the soft sound bringing his eyes to her face. She thought she saw a bit of fear there. Puzzled, she decided to help him, but only a bit.

"Just ask the question."

Picard exhaled. "Why? Why take the drug in the first place?"

"We'd heard about its reputation for temporarily enhancing the intellect. We were both vying for high-profile research positions at the time and thought we could use the edge," she answered honestly.

"You weren't aware of the highly addictive nature of the drug?"

She took a deep breath. "We'd heard rumors that only a few doses would get you addicted and that only made us laugh. How could *that* be possible? Besides, we were doctors, we were young -- we really thought we could handle any downside..."

A tense silence developed between them until Picard softly broke it with another question. "Did it... do for you what you'd hoped?"

She paused, uncertain why he'd asked and unsure how to respond. "I know you've reviewed my personnel file. Notice anything unusual about a four-month period that began in August, less than a year ago?"

"Not unusual really," he answered, leaning back in the chair. "It did seem to be a period where you had begun to receive recognition for your work with enzymatic inhibitors -- you were published in some very prestigious journals, you received several awards... It appeared to be the beginning of a brilliant career."

His unspoken "but you threw all that away, didn't you?" rang in her ears, making her smile ruefully. Bryn looked up at him, holding the gaze for a few seconds before she spoke.

"That four-month period marked the beginning of my experimentation with L-domethodone."

Picard frowned and sat forward, hands clasped before him. "Do I understand you to mean that you're attributing all your accomplishments to..."

She nodded. "Yes. To the drug." Bryn got caught up in the tale, remembering what it had felt like initially. "That first night, Mickey and I were a little scared and we quartered the suggested dosage, but almost immediately, I felt as though doors had been opened in my mind. The solution to a problem I'd been having in the lab came to me just like that," she snapped her fingers for emphasis. "I started making connections, looking at situations differently than I ever had before. It felt like someone had pulled gauze from my eyes and I was seeing clearly for the first time.

"Then, of course, there was the euphoria that went along with it - that feeling of invincibility, that nothing could touch you..."

Her voice trailed off and she stared down at her hands. They'd gone cold and she rubbed a bit of warmth into them before continuing.

"So we kept taking it; we were most definitely benefiting from the dopamine component, even if it was only a temporary effect. Only problem was that after a few weeks, we'd wrapped our whole lives around the drug -- getting it, injecting it, relishing what it did for us. And, then, after a month or so, we had to start using more and more to get the same effects. A few months later we were only using the stuff to keep from experiencing the withdrawal. We tried to stop - several times, but..."

"What was the withdrawal like?"

She glanced up at him, confused. No one had ever asked her that before - why would he want to know? She'd wondered when she'd caught that initial fear in his eyes if he had some ulterior motive for this conversation; now she was almost positive of it.

Bryn studied him, noting his silence and the detached expression he wore. Finally, she glanced away from him and provided an answer to his unusual question.

"Tremors, nausea, vomiting, hallucinations, this terrible burning, crawling sensation all over..."

Bryn wrapped her arms around herself and sat back. She was lost in the memories, forgetting even to whom she was speaking.

"I couldn't bear it. I'm ashamed that I couldn't and ashamed that I had allowed something to take control of me like that. I thought I was strong, but I discovered otherwise." She said the last softly as she brushed strands of golden brown hair from her face, never noticing that Picard had visibly flinched at this particular revelation.

"So, I kept buying even though the price went up, even after they started cutting the crap with stuff that made me deathly ill. I kept using it even after I discovered I was pregnant..."

The pain in her voice, her posture and her eyes was almost intolerable to him. Picard started to reach his hand out to her, but stopped himself, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts.

"Why didn't you and your husband seek help?"

She looked up at him, disbelief that he would ask such a thing plain on her face. "And just where would we go? We were career Starfleet officers; you know what that means. You have to be above reproach and we certainly fell far short of that." Quiet for a moment, she finally shook her head. "No, there was no help. We were by ourselves in this and we'd reached a brick wall. That night...the night Mickey died..." Bryn looked up at him, unable to control the tears welling in her green eyes. "I think he had decided the only way out for us was to..."

She stopped herself. She'd never told anyone her suspicions that Mickey had planned a murder/suicide - why the hell was she spilling her guts to Picard, of all people?

He was mesmerized and horrified by what Hampstead had related and, this time, he did touch her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Picard had sought some understanding of the problem, of what Beverly might have experienced, and deep down, had expected confirmation of his prejudices. He had to admit the picture Bryn painted was far from black and white and was contrite that he had been lured so easily into bigotry.

"Do you," he began hesitantly, "ever think about using the drug again?"

Another question that had so much more under the surface. Everything about him telegraphed an uneasy curiosity - the tightness across his shoulders, how he'd pressed his lips into a thin line, that glint of fear that had resurfaced in his eyes...

Frowning at his behavior, Bryn shrugged. "Of course I do." She'd said it with more force than she'd intended. "Look, I enjoyed what it did for me those first few months."

She narrowed her eyes at Picard's disapproving look. When he sat back in the chair, Bryn leaned forward immediately, closing the physical distance he'd tried to gain.

"You asked me if I *thought* about using it, but I believe what you really want to know is if I *would* use it."

For a few moments, they stared at each other across the centimeters that separated them.

"Would you?" he asked harshly.

"No," she said flatly. "Not a chance. It's taken too much from me already. I won't allow myself to be robbed that way again." With that, Bryn sat back, but kept her eyes riveted to his. He seemed to be working through something and she remained quiet, watching him relax just a bit. He must have found an answer to whatever was *really* on his mind.

Finally, he nodded, then stood. Picard gave his jacket a quick tug. "I appreciate your honesty, Dr. Hampstead."

"You're welcome," she said, a touch of sarcasm in her tone.

When he turned away from her and walked stiffly to the doors, Bryn surprised herself by calling out to him.

"Captain." As he turned toward her, she stood and walked a few paces closer to him. "You don't trust me, do you?"

"My trust is something you'll have to earn." Then his face softened somewhat. "But I do understand you better, Doctor, and at least that's a start."

Unwilling to allow him the last word and stinging at the slight, Bryn took a shot in the dark. "Captain, why don't you just talk to whoever it is you're really worried about?"

He spun around, eyes wide. "I beg your pardon?"

//Bullseye// Bryn smiled smugly. "I don't think for one moment that this conversation is about me. This feels like a fact-finding mission. You're concerned about someone else." She stared at him, guessing who that someone else was from the way his cheeks slightly reddened. "So, why waste your time here? Why not just be honest with this person and..."

"This is none of your business."

Bryn had heard this particular sentence many times before, but never had she heard this much warning, this much venom, injected into those six words. Quickly, she backed off.

"Yes, sir," she said mildly, submerging the churn of emotions this entire visit had engendered.

He strode out of her quarters, leaving her standing in the middle of the room to mull over what had just happened. And with an overwhelming desire to smash her fist into a wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keeping his eyes on the deck, Picard sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, trying to silence his mind's replay of Hampstead's words.

"Turbolift halt."

He was alone here and as the lift came to a standstill, he shed the "Captain's" mask, allowing weariness and concern to overcome his carefully composed features.

Picard leaned back against the wall. Hampstead had been right -- he *should* talk to Beverly, follow his gut instinct and go to her quarters, force her to eat something, force *her* to talk to him... anything to help her get over what Ronin had done to her.

He wished he could follow those instincts, but knew he couldn't. He would be tempted to go over the line as he had been the other morning. His mind traveled back to that conversation in her office and Picard shook his head, smiling ruefully, remembering how the pain in her eyes had blown a hole in his wall of reserve. He had come so very close to drawing her even more closely to him, to pressing his lips to hers, and...

"Resume."

Straightening up quickly, he tugged on his uniform tunic. Picard immediately re-captured the aura of command, relegating his humanity to something he considered only briefly in the dark silence of his quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flemming lifted the fluted wine glass to his mouth and took a sip, taking in a bit of air along with the burgundy -- he experienced just the right amount of bite on the back of his tongue and the perfect woody scent tickling his nostrils. Reaching out, he twisted the bottle around and gazed appreciatively at the label. Robert Picard definitely knew what he was doing. Too bad the brother hadn't stayed earthbound as well...

"All they have are supposition and circumstance." He uttered the pronouncement as though he believed it.

"You would tell the Daimon not to worry then?"

Taking another sip of the premium wine, he quickly scanned his second's report again, frowning at the information that Morgan and his aide had disappeared shortly after reporting a break-in at their Lombard flat.

"The Daimon should not worry. I have everything under control," Flemming lied. He deleted the report, reminding himself that his group owed the Ferengi nothing -- theirs had been a convenient, temporary alliance, nothing more. "Besides, Jean-Luc Picard is a man who does things by the book. He wouldn't risk his career by playing a hunch, especially one as thin as any Morgan has given him."

"Very well, then. I shall relay your message."

Flemming acknowledged the chirp of the terminated communication with a slight raise of his brow, then, in one quick motion, downed the garnet contents of his glass.

It was falling apart before his very eyes. More than three years of hard work trashed because one dumb human decided to follow his instincts.

Shaking his head, Flemming tapped a command into the terminal and waited patiently for his inquiry to display a list of transports leaving Earth within the next 24 hours. He would find a way off this rock first, then take care of the loose ends...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beginning the count a third time, the Alahman started with the small wooden spindle, its sharp points scratching his thumb and index finger. Steadily, not losing the rhythm, he moved to the next bead in the counting necklace, this one round and smooth. The next was the same and as he pushed them up the strand of waxed twine, they clicked ever so softly against each other.

In the darkness of the Ferengi ship's cargo bay, all he knew was the feel of the beads, their tiny click, and the smell of the poison which permeated this place. The Alahman knew his men hid among the crates -- 20 warriors and four priests, but they were well-trained and he had to listen hard to catch the sound of their breathing.

His thoughts went to one particular man among them -- his daughter's beloved -- and he tried to stop second-guessing himself. This was as it was supposed to be; the priest knew that. They all did.

The law said plainly that wrong-doers had to be given an opportunity to redeem themselves. It was just that usually the redemption didn't mean certain death; only the failure to accomplish it resulted in a forfeiture of life. Their crimes, however, had touched every man, woman and child among the twelve villages; their crimes demanded the highest sacrifice. They already wore the shorn hair of outcasts. Failure to find the mandatory redemption here would result in...

Pulling his thoughts from the ancient ones' harsh proscriptions, he continued to count. The Alahman caught another whiff of the drug's pungent odor as it seeped from the containers. He crinkled his nose slightly. So ugly, he thought, just like the Ferengi...

Again, he allowed his concentration to drift just a moment, remembering a night more than a year ago. He and his eldest son had taken the ey'haro and they had seen what a tangle the fabric of Caeli destiny had become since the aliens had arrived. Something had to be done to right the wrongs - *his* wrongs - and with the wisdom of the ancients still coursing through them, they had come up with a solution.

It had been easy to learn what they needed to know about the aliens. They were lazy creatures at heart, and when the Caelis had volunteered for menial tasks aboard their great ships, the Ferengi had made no argument.

The Alahman's men had done more than load supplies, though.

First, they had learned the enemy's language, then how to use the tricorders, weapons and readers they had stolen. Later, they had tapped the ship's brain and had come away with a wealth of files and drawings that had completed their education.

And it had all been for this day.

Early in the morning, just before the sun had risen, he and his men had approached the automated cargo shuttle, waiting in the shadows while Uleth had lured the Ferengi called Bocha from his guard post. It had been so simple that the Alahman had allowed himself a brief surge of hope... might they accomplish this mission and cleanse their souls in the eyes of the ancient ones, clear their respective family names?

The thought evoked a memory of that last look Tahng had shared with his eldest son. He recalled the pride he'd seen in the young man's gaze, and was grateful knowing that Uleth would always respect him and honor his memory. For so long, he didn't believe that would ever be the case -- his son's eyes had held such indictment...and rightfully so.

Tahng sighed inwardly as he began the ninth circuit, thoughts flowing now to his wife and their last night together. Emara had tried to be brave, but had cried in his arms as they made love in a bittersweet farewell. She had pleaded with him to let someone else do this deed, but he wouldn't be swayed. He had listened to the priest, he had allowed the wrong and for that, he had to pay.

Briefly, he closed his eyes, relishing a final memory of her creamy brown skin and raven hair, the music of her laughter, the scent of baked bread which always seemed to follow her...

One more circuit of the counting necklace and the Alahman would give the word. His people would slowly make their way through the air ducts and energy conduits on their way towards the bridge. They would wreak vengeance on the Ferengi and destroy the cargo of poisoned ey'haro. They would give their lives so that their people would be free from oppression. They would find their redemption.

Click. Click. Click.

In a still steady rhythm, the Alahman counted away the remaining seconds of his and his men's existence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Bocha was a fool, Daimon. You were wise to leave him behind." The Ferengi stood on the bridge, behind the command chair, wringing his hands in indecision. Should he ask for Bocha's job now, or wait until the Daimon had stopped fuming over the idiot's failure to show up for cargo bay duty?

Smiling, he decided he should seize the opportunity. "Daimon, perhaps it would be wise if I..."

When the over-eager imbecile standing behind him never finished the sentence, Daimon Vanak frowned. When he heard the strange burbling sound, Vanak turned...

...and gasped as the glinting blade of a knife slashed down to his neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had struck quickly and quietly, taking the bridge crew by complete surprise. The Alahman glanced around as he strode towards the center of the bridge. Ferengi bodies littered this place -- some lay twisted on the deck, others were slumped over their stations. He watched as his men dragged them from their chairs and consoles, piling them in a heap at the center of the bridge. They looked so much like children...

Tahng shook the disturbing thought from his mind and returned his focus to the task at hand. What they would do here would take only a few minutes and he was glad of it -- glad that he and his men wouldn't have to spend too much time in the midst of this putrefaction, assaulted by the smell, the sight and the memories of the Ferengis' horrible screams as they died.

The Alahman assured himself that none of his people had been injured then tried to sit in the command chair. He fell into it with a plop that made him grunt and realized he had sorely underestimated its size. It was too low to the deck, too small for him, and he shifted uncomfortably, discovering that no matter how he contorted his lean frame, his knees would always end up higher than his waist.

Tahng's fruitless attempts to accommodate his bulk to the command chair were stilled as soon as his eyes found the viewscreen. For a moment, his mind couldn't grasp what he saw. The blackness was more intense than that of the deepest Aristal Mountain caves, and the points of light embedded in that consuming darkness shone steadily, like the eyes of a puma before it strikes. Stars in the heavens -- they were moving through the realm of the ancient ones and it was a stark and lonely place, nothing like the warm paradise the legends predicted.

Disturbed, the Alahman glanced around at his men -- they, too seemed shocked motionless, all eyes on the scene in front of them.

"Take your places," he ordered in a voice quieted by awe. The Alahman watched as his men slowly obeyed. "We are wasting time -- remember our purpose here."

The latter comment sped them up and soon, all were seated uncomfortably at their stations.

"Shut off life support to the lower decks."

"Done, Alahman."

"Lock out secondary controls, disable control transfer features."

"Attempting, Alahman..."

"Prepare to open cargo bay doors..."

"Alahman!" A young man, hair cut short in the style of the condemned, twisted around to face him. "There is another ship!"

Tahng stood up, grateful to leave the constricting confines of the chair. He walked to the tactical station and glanced down at what the man had discovered. His heart fell at the sight -- the computer had identified another Ferengi ship not more than 15 minutes away. This was a totally unexpected development; the schedules they'd studied last night had made no mention of another ship being in the area. As he watched, that vessel began to hail them.

"Alahman, control of the cargo bay has been re-routed. The computer refuses to obey my commands..."

The plan was falling down around him like the straw forts his children used to build after the harvest. They had been so naive. How could they have anticipated any of this? Their minds had been too small, unable to grasp the complexity of the situation, unable to prepare for all of what they might face.

Their lives would be forfeited, and for what? The Ferengi wouldn't give them another chance to pull something like this. They would tighten the yoke, his people would never see their former glory. No, he couldn't allow that to happen. This was their one chance; the work had to be done now.

Furiously, Tahng's mind worked... and finally settled on the only way to salvage this situation. He recaptured his resolve and a bit of confidence along with it, the emotions shining in his brown eyes.

"Target the other ship," he said to the Caeli manning weapons, "and fire when they are in range."

The Alahman walked over to the security station, pausing when he reached it to suck in a deep breath.

"I will set the ship to self-destruct in 45 seconds..."

To their credit, they didn't twitch a muscle or widen an eye. The Alahman smiled -- their deaths *would* have meaning. What they did here *would* inspire the rest of the village to fight, and win.

Tahng began tapping out the authorization codes necessary to blow them to the paradise he prayed existed beyond this place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ashamed, Morgan refused to meet his friend's eyes. He continued to stare out the viewport of the stateroom, watching the stars streak by, wishing Andrew Norris hadn't quartered them here -- Lyda may have deserved VIP treatment, but he knew he certainly didn't.

"I think Kellogg and Proconsul Flemming are actively involved in a cover-up. That's all I'd better tell you for now."

Now that the words were out, the admiral felt a calm settle over him. It had been such a relief to make the statement, even if he had only his gut instinct to guide him in the matter. The fact that Norris hadn't questioned him made Morgan turn.

There was respect in the younger man's eyes -- respect and trust. The admiral felt his stomach turn. How many more honest people would he involve in this before it was over?

"I shouldn't have come to you..." He stopped, torn between guilt that he'd placed all these people in danger and a resolve to quickly rectify *all* the wrongs that had been committed. It was a shock to feel Norris' strong fingers close briefly over his arm. Stunned, Morgan glanced up at the *Nightengale's* captain.

"At Wolf 359, if you hadn't come back for me..." Norris saw the protest building in Morgan's eyes and he shook his head. "No! You listen to me, sir. If you hadn't come back for me, they would have assimilated me. I would be Borg now, admiral." The horror came back to him and he fought it down. "But that didn't happen. It didn't happen because of your bravery." Norris stood up straight and, conviction gleaming in his brown eyes, he allowed a smile to touch his thin lips.

"Admiral, you and Lt. O'Malley are welcome on board my ship. I'm honored to repay in some small part the debt I owe you." His smile broadened. "What are your orders, sir?"

Gratitude welled up in him at Norris' words. Morgan pushed his guilt aside, knowing there would be plenty of time to consider his less-than-sterling actions later. Straightening, he finally nodded and issued the command.

"Get us to Starbase 24, Captain."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daimon Zoht ignored the call from the bridge a third time and grinned, showing rows of sharply pointed teeth. He had been assured all was going well on earth; Flemming had control of their minor little problem. It always amazed him how a few threats and some well-placed bribes would always smooth the way.

There were other matters which made his smile broaden -- demand for the drug was so great he couldn't meet it, he was rich beyond his wildest dreams, and he'd gained unheard-of stature within the legitimate vendor community...

Life was definitely good.

Zoht reached for the last bar of gold-pressed latinum and with the gentleness of a lover, carefully laid the heavy brick on top of the golden wall he'd built in the middle of his quarters, then stood back to admire his handiwork.

The wall of shining bars came up to his shoulders, and if he stretched his arms out, he could barely reach his fingers around its girth.

Who would have thought that sap from a wildflower could bring this much wealth?

The Ferengi couldn't help but snicker at the success of this operation. They'd stumbled across the substance during a visit to a primitive world. It only grew on one large equatorial island and the inhabitants used the stuff in their religious rites. Zoht had managed to steal a sample and when they'd analyzed it, had discovered it was chemically similar to a drug used by the Lomar of Alpha Sagitta IV -- a drug which was extremely difficult for the Lomar to procure.

Zoht had ordered a few processing changes designed to make the substance even more closely resemble its Lomaran cousin. Then, he had established a market, expanded the territory a bit and had begun to see some profit. Reaching into his pocket, he closed his fingers around a vial of the stuff that had started it all. He always kept it with him as a reminder of the Ninth Rule of Acquisition -- Opportunity plus instinct equals profit.

As the Daimon fingered the vial, he couldn't help but feel giddy over all his good fortune. He found his thoughts wandering with contempt to the Caelis -- in the beginning, he had bought their help in this endeavor with trinkets -- they had toiled in the fields, cultivating and harvesting the haro, for nothing more than beads and shiny cloth. But, even better, Zoht had soon discovered that whippings were motivation enough for them and he'd found himself with a malleable workforce operating for nothing. Zoht had begun acquiring wealth at an alarming rate, even though at first, they'd distributed the "product" only to non-Federation worlds. No sense inviting trouble, they had reasoned...

He grinned and caressed the golden bars with his fingers, remembering when the unthinkable had happened. A little more than a year ago, Starfleet's own had begun to import the substance. The Federation had responded with a "diplomatic mission" -- the Daimon giggled, remembering their attempts at "negotiating a solution," how he had told them they had no authority, had threatened to fire on their ship, how they had turned tail and run...

Then came his association with Proconsul Flemming -- the human wasn't as narrow-minded about profit as most of his kind, and had responded positively to Zoht's offer to share the wealth. It had surprised him, but Flemming had agreed to every demand in exchange for a bit of latinum here, an artifact there, especially the ones they'd uncovered on Beta Caelum III. The human had kept Federation ships away from the area when cargo was being delivered and, more importantly, had stalled attempts at further "negotiations."

Then use of the drug had skyrocketed. It had started out as just a trickle, a few isolated purchases, but during the past few months, demand within the Federation had increased exponentially. It was becoming difficult to supply that demand, and they'd had to resort to "cutting" the drug with various compounds. It made overdose more likely, but that wasn't Zoht's problem, was it? Besides, Flemming and Kellogg had made certain that the true causes of the resulting deaths had remained unknown.

As he gazed at his carefully arranged latinum bars, the Daimon rubbed his hands together excitedly. Another shipment was due today and he had decided on impulse to be here personally to accept it. After all, he had already lined up buyers eager to pay any price he asked...

Zoht turned at the sound of a door hissing open behind him, still grinning and in fine humor. "Yes, yes. What it is it, Krel?"

"Daimon Zoht..." The small Ferengi glanced nervously around, eyes widening as they alighted on the sparkling wall.

"Is it not a work of beauty?"

Krel's tiny eyes darted from Zoht to the viewport where a small golden speck grew larger and larger. They'd be here any minute; he *had* to give the Daimon this most unfortunate news, had to do it now...

"There is a problem, Daimon." He blurted the words out, eyes still on the growing speck as it took on the shape of a Ferengi ship. At Zoht's silence, Krel gazed at him, heart pounding.

"The supply ship... Vanak doesn't answer our hails. We tried to contact you... the Caelis..."

"What are you babbling about?" Zoht frowned, the movement deepening the ridges on his forehead. "What do the Caelis..."

His words were silenced by an explosion that rocked the ship, toppling the latinum wall he had so meticulously constructed.

"What does Vanak think he's doing?" Zoht growled. "Patch me through to him!"

"It's not Vanak!" Krel shouted over a second explosion. "It's the Caelis. They've taken over the ship!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Ferengi paled and looked up from the console.

"Auto-destruct!" he rasped, then re-claiming his voice, shrieked, "They've set the auto-destruct!"

"Disable it, you fool!" another growled, striding over to where the first sat.

"How?! They've locked out most of the controls, Nagh!" What logic he may have possessed vanished when the count-down began. "We're going to die!"

With a grunt, Nagh backhanded his second, knocking him from the chair. He didn't argue when the coward scuttled away and fled engineering; the Ferengi's eyes were firmly fixed on the silent, flashing countdown -- 30 seconds...

Quickly, he ran his hands over the controls even as he saw that the Caelis were firing the ship's weapons. He sent a distress signal first, then he bent to the job of disabling the auto-destruct, sweat beading across his broad brow ridges...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Alahman sighed, then nodded. "Yes, I see. A distress signal..."

"And they are attempting to shut down the self-destruct sequence. From Engineering, is appears..."

"Alahman."

The flat tone of the young man's voice sent a chill through Tahng. He turned toward the speaker.

"They have found a way to the bridge; they will be here any minute..."

"Auto-destruct has been disabled, Alahman. I cannot re-set it."

He swallowed, heart pounding in his chest. So close... but, they would not give up, not yet...

The Alahman turned in a complete circle, catching the eyes of each of his men, momentarily holding their gazes.

"There is still hope. We will break out their weapons, I will select three of you to go back to the Cargo Bay to destroy as much of the poison as you can..."

He was interrupted by pounding from below. The Ferengi would break through at any second. He pointed to three of the men, his gaze lingering meaningfully on the one he had hoped to some day welcome into his family, then gave them the signal to leave. He watched them take weapons, then ease into a service tunnel, knowing the Ferengi would be waiting for them at the end, realizing he was sending them to their deaths, but praying they would be able to complete the mission.

The Alahman turned to the others.

"Now," he said softly, "the rest of us stand and fight..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoht coughed at the acrid fumes which permeated his bridge.

The Caelis had crippled them, as incredible as that seemed to him. How he had misjudged them...never again, he thought, bringing his fist down hard on the command chair's armrest.

"Engineering! How soon before we have warp?"

"Several hours, Daimon..."

"Impulse then! Get us out of here!"

"Yes, Daimon."

Cursing, Zoht pushed himself up from the chair, wiping at his small eyes with the backs of his hands. "Communications! Send a distress signal..."

"But, Daimon, the cargo. There is a *fortune* on board..."

"Don't you think I know that!" Zoht screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. Even though his anger allowed him to literally hear the blood coursing through his body, he tried to calm himself enough to formulate a plan.

"We'll come back for the cargo," he finally said through clenched teeth. "We'll come back for it and for the Caelis..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had seemed to him that his head had only just touched the cool fabric of his pillow when the call came. Instantly awake, Picard raised himself up on one elbow, staring out into the darkness of his bedroom.

"Picard here. Go ahead, Mr. Data."

"Sir, we have received orders to investigate two distress calls which were intercepted ten minutes ago. They appear to have originated from the Ferengi vessels the *Fortune* and the *Opportunist*; and, sir, the ships' locations are only a few light years outside the Beta Caelum system."

Stifling a groan, he threw back the bedsheet and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I don't suppose you and Dr. Hampstead have had a chance to compare notes..."

"Actually, sir, we have."

Picard paused, lifted one brow and nodded in silent appreciation. Good; she was on her toes...

"Very well, Mr. Data. Get clearance from Starbase 24 to proceed," he said as he stood, reaching for his robe. "At Warp Nine what would be our ETA?"

"Thirty-seven minutes, fourteen seconds, Captain."

"Warp Nine, then, Mr. Data; and assemble the senior staff -- including Dr. Hampstead -- in the Observation Lounge. Fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir. Data out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uleth looked down regretfully at his handiwork, deeply disturbed that this had been his first act as Alahman.

Bocha's blood darkened the rich brown soil of the haro field and some still bubbled up out of the slit Uleth had carved in the being's skinny throat. The only sound he heard were the terrified pleadings of the other Ferengi his people had rounded up.

Uleth glanced over at the men who surrounded a dozen of the quivering, gesticulating aliens. He had performed the cleansing rites, learned each of their names and passed the information on to the elders who would perform the sacrifices. Now, he slowly raised the milky crystal knife high over his head. The darkly stained blade glinted in the early morning sunlight as he chopped it down. As the Alahman watched, the aliens were dispatched quickly and humanely, their blood allowed to soak into the ground, to enrich the field.

Long ago, innocents had been sacrificed here as gifts to the haro, but Uleth's people had come to see the folly in the waste of precious life. That's why now, only criminals' blood would be let here -- the occasional Caeli who would dare to take the life of another, or take a woman against her will. It didn't happen frequently -- in fact, more blood was spilled today, by his orders, than had been spilled in his entire 26 years of life. It didn't set well with him.

The Caelis stood by silently, heads bowed in respect for the spirits which fled these bodies to join the ancient ones. Uleth started the process of blessing each body before it was given to the earth.

When it was done, he sighed and allowed his broad shoulders to briefly sag. Turning to face the knot of villagers who had borne witness to the start of this fight for freedom, he searched their faces, at first not recognizing the one he sought. He finally found her and Uleth's heart fell.

His mother already wore the ashes of mourning on her face, the gray mask marred by the dark lines of her tears as they tracked down her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elbows on the polished table and chin in her hands, Bryn studied the transparent blue and green globe spinning slowly in front of them.

Data inclined his head toward the display. "There are five major land masses, the largest of which spans almost a third of the equatorial region and extends into both the northern and southern hemispheric temperate zones." He touched a button and the view narrowed to the continent in question. The visual unrolled before them, then rotated horizontally while the computer simulation took them on a bird's eye tour of the land.

"According to Federation records, it is on this continent that most of the sentient population is concentrated..."

"How old are those records, Mr. Data?" At the head of the conference table, Picard lounged back in his chair, his gaze focused on the android.

"Approximately fifteen years old, sir."

"A lot can happen in fifteen years," Will Riker said dryly.

"Apparently, a lot *has*," Crusher said with a meaningful look in Bryn's direction.

"Continue, Mr. Data."

The android gave Picard a brief nod, then stood and strode to a display at the end of the room. "The dominant culture is agrarian, pantheistic, and on a technological level similar to the Mayas of Earth. Their population numbers approximately 15,000, scattered in twelve villages across the continent, the largest of which is located in the middle of this peninsula. It is here that the leader of these villages resides -- the Alahman." He narrowed the display's view. "These are the peoples the Ferengi have referred to as the 'Caelis.'"

The village was composed of about three dozen single-storied, wooden buildings -- some obviously dwellings, others commercial in nature. The dirt roads appeared to have been compacted and graded, and were flanked by umbrella-shaped shade trees.

Data tapped in a command and on their monitors, a representation of the village inhabitants appeared.

Bryn leaned forward, eyes on her display. It was the first time she'd seen them -- all information about them had been deeply hidden. The Caelis were certainly an attractive race -- they were taller than humans by a good 24 centimeters and their strength was apparent in their lean, muscled builds. Their bronze complexions held a curious shimmer -- the female's more noticeable than the male's -- as did their dark hair which, for both sexes, was worn long. Large dark eyes rimmed with long black lashes, set in oval faces with high cheekbones completed the appealing picture.

"There are, of course, competing races, mainly nomadic and of a technological level significantly below the Caelis, however these are the people believed to have cultivated the plant from which L-domethodone is produced."

"*Believed* to have cultivated?" La Forge frowned as he sat forward. "You mean we don't know for certain?"

Brows slightly raised, Data turned to Bryn.

She cleared her throat, then regarded the Chief Engineer levelly. "As Mr. Data told you, this information is fifteen years old." Leaning forward, Bryn touched a few controls on her keypad, displaying a portion of one of Morgan's files. "Because of Prime Directive prohibitions against contacting a race as technologically undeveloped as the Caelis, the Federation decided to try to negotiate with the Ferengi. They dispatched the *Tolstoy* to Beta Caelum III carrying a diplomatic team they hoped would convince the Ferengi of the immorality of their actions..."

"Now THERE'S an exercise in futility..." Geordi muttered.

"Mr. La Forge..." Picard said in mild reproach and shifted in his chair.

"Sorry, Captain, Doctor."

Bryn smiled at the exchange, bowed her head to cover it, then quickly continued. "The meeting lasted only one hour and ended with a Daimon Zoht threatening to blow the *Tolstoy* back to earth's ice age. Fortunately, a reconn mission was able to acquire a sample of the plant in question, as well as holos of the Caelis. From what they saw, it appears that these people are *cooperating* with the Ferengi..."

"Bridge to Captain."

The interruption caused Picard to sit up straight in his chair. "Picard here. Go ahead."

"Lt. Everett reporting, Captain. Long-range sensors have picked up two Ferengi vessels -- the *Opportunist* is fleeing the area on full impulse; another, the *Fortune* is dead in space."

"Lifesigns?" he asked, standing.

The rest of the crew shifted as Picard rose from the chair. Bryn could practically feel their tension building.

"We're getting a few faint humanoid readings and about a dozen Ferengi readings from the injured ship. The other vessel has its shields up. Estimate another three minutes before we'll be able to confirm these scans, sir."

"Understood, Lieutenant. Plot a course for the crippled ship," he glanced at Riker and the younger man nodded. "Maintain a sensor lock on the fleeing vessel."

"Aye, sir."

"Picard out." He focused on Beverly. "Prepare a medical response team for boarding."

When she nodded he took a few seconds to gaze at the rest of them. "In spite of what we may think we know, there are too many uncertainties in this situation for us not to exercise extreme caution. I want no examples of over-confidence we might ultimately regret. Is that understood?"

Even though the last wasn't directed at her, Bryn got the distinct impression that it was *meant* for her.

"Dismissed. Dr. Hampstead, if you'll remain a moment..."

Sighing, she pushed up from the chair, allowing the others to file out of the room. As the First Officer passed by, he gave her a friendly wink and she couldn't help but smile at the gesture.

When the others had exited, Picard approached her. "Doctor, you will continue to work with Mr. Data. I still want all the information we discussed..."

"Excuse me, sir," she interrupted, trying desperately to keep her anger in check. "I *am* a doctor and it sounds like we're about to plough headfirst into a medical emergency..."

"I understand that, Doctor, but the fact remains..."

"The facts are that you don't trust me." When he remained silent at her audacity, she softened her voice, but continued to stand her ground. "You told me I'd have to earn that, Captain. How can I accomplish it if you won't give me the chance?"

Picard studied the petite woman standing so stiffly in front of him, warring with himself. Trust her or not? Of all the unknown variables in this predicament, she seemed the most obscure.

Finally, with a sigh, he nodded. "Report to Sick Bay, then."

"Thank you, sir. I promise you won't regret this..."

"I had better not, Doctor." He motioned her ahead of him, trying vainly to still his doubts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crusher walked briskly down the corridor, explaining procedure to Hampstead while the rest of the medical response team followed behind them.

"The Security team has already rounded up a dozen Ferengi, but there are probably more of them hiding on board the ship." She glanced at the young woman. "And, based on what I read in those files of yours, the Ferengi are *not* going to be happy to see us. So, even though Worf's people will be with us..." Beverly sighed and nodded toward the phaser at Bryn's waist, "yes, that *is* necessary."

Arriving at the transporter room doors, Crusher didn't wait for them to open fully before striding through, pulling up short when she saw who was standing behind the transporter console. Picard nodded in greeting, then approached her, glancing at the rest of her staff.

"We're ready to beam over, then?"

This wasn't normal. It wasn't unheard of for him to join the medical response team, but it *was* unusual. Giving a sideways glance toward Bryn, she thought she knew why he'd decided to accompany this particular team. The young woman shifted uneasily, eyes on her feet, the deck, the transporter chamber -- anywhere except the captain's face. Obviously, they hadn't fully resolved whatever was causing the friction between them.

Then, Beverly realized she was in the same boat as far as he was concerned. Nothing had really been resolved between them either. Even though she felt more comfortable with Jean-Luc on a personal level, their profession relationship was still up in the air. Beverly knew the threat of being relieved of duty still hung over her. She didn't want to consider it, but quite possibly, her own behavior had sparked this sudden interest from the captain.

Her thoughts strayed to the re-scheduled appointment with Deanna. It hadn't gone well. She had been frustrated and angry, and she'd taken it out on the Counsellor. Not, she admitted, the best idea since the captain's decision regarding her duty status would be based on Deanna's recommendations.

Add to that the fact that this would be the first away team she'd commanded since Caldos...

"May I have a word, Captain?"

He held himself up straighter, but nodded and motioned her toward the transporter console. The lieutenant there found something across the room that needed checking, and Crusher noticed with gratitude that Alyssa Ogawa had begun herding the other three team members toward the transporter chamber.

Beverly took a deep breath and, folding her arms across her chest, turned to Picard. "Why?"

He knew what she was asking, just as he knew she already had an inkling of the answer. Still he hedged.

"I believe a captain *can* decide to accompany an away team..."

"But why *this* one," she interrupted, refusing to let him get away with it.

"I'm just an observer, Beverly..." he said, voice low.

"And just who are you observing, Jean-Luc? Bryn?" She hesitated at the flicker in his eye, an icy shock of realization running down her spine. Her thoughts returned to the hastily arranged meeting with Deanna, the resentment she'd so colorfully expressed during that session...

It wasn't Bryn he was worried about, it was *her*! Her eyes flew to his face, and in spite of the knowledge that she had no one but herself to blame for this particular display of concern, anger glittered in her gaze.

"It's me you're worried about, isn't it?"

When he didn't answer, her face slackened, the anger draining from her. Oh, God; she'd been right... Beverly took a deep, unsteady breath.

"I see," she said softly, turning away.

He reached out for her, fingers closing around her wrist. "I don't think you do, but we'll have that discussion later. Agreed?"

She shrugged, gazing meaningfully at his hand until he let her go. She tried to still her anger that he would spy on her or any of her team; attempted to dismiss the accusatory little voice that told her she was walking a fine line here...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From her spot within the transporter chamber, Hampstead tried not to stare at the discussion going on between Picard and Crusher. Both were tense; that much was apparent in their eyes and in the stubborn set of their faces. Whatever was going on, it was thankfully brief. She shifted as the two walked toward the chamber, their faces still grim. Then her heart fell as they took flanking positions -- Crusher to her right and Picard to her left.

As the transporter beam gripped her, Bryn couldn't help feeling as though she were caught between the opposing jaws of a steel trap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bridge was littered with bodies, both Ferengi and Caeli, and it smelled of death -- that sick, rusty iron odor that made her stomach churn. Bryn stepped forward, almost slipping as her foot contacted a dark glistening pool... Ferengi blood she realized; then, glancing around, noticed that most of the blood on the deck had originated from the Ferengis' slit throats; the Caeli bodies exhibited far less damage.

Mouth dry, Bryn pulled her gaze away from the carnage and focused on her tricorder as she swept it around the area. So far, she'd scanned three Ferengi and four Caelis -- none of them alive.

She sensed Picard at her back. "Nothing yet, Captain. They all appear to be dead," she reported before he could ask.

Crusher moved a few paces away, her back to them. "I'm not picking up anything either."

The captain sighed, shoulders lifting. "Looks like it was quite a struggle."

Bryn started to reply when a faint heartbeat registered on the tricorder. She glanced up, spotting the arm thrown over the top of the command chair, and watched as the large hand closed into a feeble fist.

"I've got something!"

Eyes wide, and forgetting the inherent danger of the situation, she moved quickly towards the injured Caeli, Picard and Crusher following in her wake.

"There's another," Crusher said and, veering off from the other two, rushed to a now-groaning Caeli.

Picard watched as Hampstead knelt by the felled humanoid, passing the peripheral sensor over his body, her gaze focused on the tricorder display. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beverly going through identical motions.

With a solemn expression on her face, Bryn looked up at Picard and shook her head. She laid the tricorder down and opened her medkit, pulling a hypospray from it. Gently, she pushed the man's hair away from his neck, pressed the nozzle against his skin and administered the medication. He didn't respond; his dark brown eyes were riveted on Crusher as she tried in vain to halt her patient's rapid progress toward death.

"What was that you gave him?" the captain asked softly.

Bryn glanced back up at him. "Analgesic," she said, laying the hypospray on the deck beside her. The Caeli she was working on finally turned away from his dying companion and toward their voices. His mouth and throat worked spasmodically, but produced no sound. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

The captain bent down on one knee, bringing himself down closer to the man who was so desperately trying to speak.

"You're trying to help us," the Caeli finally whispered.

Picard nodded. "It is our way to provide help to those in need of it."

The man smiled. "We are blessed..."

A fit of coughing wracked him and Bryn moved her arm under his back, cradling the dying man against her. He looked up at her, a curious expression on his face.

"Gijah," he said softly, and smiled.

She shot the captain a puzzled look. He raised a brow and leaned closer to the man.

"Is that your name?"

Bryn got the impression he would have laughed at Picard's question had he the energy to do so. Instead, he smiled weakly, then shook his head. Slowly, the smile waned and with a sinking heart, she saw the life dimming in his eyes. He turned in her arms, gazing at her fiercely, speaking directly to her.

"I call on you, gijah. If you are friend, take my people back. Tell my son... tell Uleth to perform the rites so their souls will join the ancient ones. Tell him Caro Tahng sent you..."

His voice faded at the last. He blinked once, then relaxed completely in Bryn's arm, his head lolling to one side.

She swallowed hard as she gently lowered Tahng's body to the deck and ran her hand softly over his gray-streaked black hair. It seemed to her she'd been dealing in death for far too long and she was beginning to wonder if the procession of victims would ever end.

Bryn was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize that Picard had a hand on her arm and was gently tugging her to her feet.

"There was nothing you could have done for him."

She nodded at his soft comment, her expression dull, gaze still fixed on the Caeli's unmoving form. Her eyes swept over him once more, noting his leather trousers with their coarsely sewn seams, the leather suspenders which crossed his naked chest... and something nagged at her, a thought scurrying around the edges of her mind... What was it Data had said -- the Caelis were technologically equivalent to the Maya? Then how...

Bryn turned to the captain, surprise on her face. "Sir, how did they get here?" At his puzzled expression, she shook her head, hands moving as though her thoughts could be better molded by them. "How did these people take over a Ferengi vessel? Mr. Data said they were no more advanced than the Maya..."

She stopped speaking when she saw the light in his eyes.

"How indeed, Doctor." Picard glanced around him. For the most part, the Caeli bodies lay close to ops consoles -- engineering, tactical, navigation, command. The Ferengi bodies were further away, most piled up toward the center of the bridge, others a meter away from the Caelis and the ops stations. The scene suggested two struggles, the latter occurring as the Caelis defended their positions at the ship's controls...

Grateful for a concrete question in need of an answer, Picard's eyes almost sparkled. "I need your research skills, Dr. Hampstead. Work with Mr. Data -- I want all the histories of these consoles downloaded and analyzed," he said, stepping away from her, "and a full report in 30 minutes -- my Ready Room." The captain hesitated, then turned to regard her intently. "Good job, Doctor."

Bryn smiled at him, unable to still the pleasure she'd derived from his words. She turned away, catching sight of Crusher kneeling next to her patient. The CMO had obviously lost him and as Hampstead watched, she closed the man's eyes and stood, weariness evident in her sluggish movement. Hampstead felt a surge of sympathy for her and was about to speak when the chirp of a comm channel opening caused both women to glance towards Picard.

"Worf to Captain Picard."

Oblivious to the attention he had attracted, the captain tapped his badge in response to the query.

"Picard here, Mr. Worf. Go ahead."

"Sir. We have discovered three Caelis near the cargo bay entrance. Two are dead, one is still alive, but needs immediate medical assistance..."

"Understood," the captain said slowly, not really wanting to ask the next question. "And the cargo bay?"

"Holds approximately 1,000 kilos of L-domethodone. We have also discovered this is where the Caelis staged their attack on the ship."

He glanced up at Hampstead. Trusting her this far hadn't been that difficult, but assigning her to an area so close to the drug was another matter. On top of that, his very presence here had usurped Beverly's authority and, as he looked her way, Crusher purposefully turned and pretended to continue with a sensor sweep.

Picard sighed. There really was only *one* choice.

"Dr. Crusher and I are on the way, Mr. Worf. Picard out." He caught Beverly's cold stare and never broke it as he motioned toward the turbolift. "Doctor?"

She continued to stare at him stoically. "Yes, Captain?"

Playing by the book, was she? He narrowed his eyes. "You'll accompany me to the cargo bay."

Beverly nodded, then addressed Bryn, but only after making sure she still had the captain's full attention. "Dr. Hampstead, you're in charge here until I return."

Stunned, Bryn glanced from Crusher to Picard. It was unthinkable that the CMO would choose such a green newcomer over staff with whom she'd worked for so many years, but Hampstead picked up on the undercurrent of anger between the two and gritted her teeth, finally understanding Crusher's decision.

How she wished to be something more than a pawn in someone else's game...

"Yes sir," she said stiffly to Crusher, then turned back to her tricorder.

Picard watched all this with outward detachment, but beneath the calm exterior, he seethed. Ogawa was a senior member of the *Enterprise* crew; that Crusher should choose Hampstead over Alyssa... He knew what Beverly was doing; trying her best to irritate him -- and she was succeeding.

Stiffly, he followed Crusher toward the turbolift. He would refrain from calling her on this now. But, later...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dropping the tricorder, Beverly grasped the Caeli's hand in both of hers and tried to help Picard extract the front of her uniform from the man's clawing fingers.

Worf stepped in and, in one smooth movement, brushed the humans aside and pinned the Caeli's arms over his head.

"Easy," Crusher implored the Klingon, coughing in an effort to fill her oxygen-starved lungs with air.

Worf growled, but slightly loosened his grip on the Caeli. He noted with slight amusement the abject terror in the alien's brown eyes.

Picard got to his feet, but didn't move far from the spot, eyeing the Caeli warily.

"We're trying to help you," Beverly said forcefully and retrieved her tricorder. "Now hold still!"

Eyes wide, the Caeli glanced from the fire-haired woman to the hairless man to the... creature. The latter had been stronger than a rutting bull and his very presence dampened the Caeli's enthusiasm to complete the Alahman's mission. Still... he turned toward the cargo bay doors, eyes wide. This was mostly his fault, he *had* to succeed, to find redemption...

"There is death beyond," he whispered. "I must destroy the poison..." He looked to them for understanding and found curiosity in the hairless one's inscrutable eyes.

"Poison?"

The Caeli flinched as this one knelt beside him and, confused, noticed the hard look the woman gave him. Her deep-set eyes were like the snow on the Aristals when the morning sun touched them -- cold blue ice and blazing heat all at once.

"Poison," he whispered again, trying not to show his fear as the woman ran her clenched hand from the top of his head to his toes. Was she blessing him? Or tendering a curse?

"You work with the Ferengi to make this... poison?"

He gritted his teeth. "No!" The effort of the shouted word wracked him with fits of coughing. His lungs burned and his throat closed in spite of his efforts to keep it open. Even though he thought they were trying to help, he thrashed against their restraining arms.

"I have to get him to Sick Bay!"

"Lock on Dr. Crusher's signal! Two to beam up directly to Sick Bay!"

The Caeli could no longer breathe, much less fight against them. He resigned himself to his fate -- whatever they would do to him, they would do.

Losing consciousness, he tried to convince himself that the ancient ones had not taken him to their bosom inside the rainbow smear of light that was their trademark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eyes wide, Kellogg watched the files disappear one-by-one from the directory on his screen. His heart pounded in his chest as he hunched over the keyboard and tapped out commands, trying to trace who was wiping his area clean of the incriminating evidence.

Swallowing hard at the response, the admiral straightened.

"Kellogg to Flemming."

"Proconsul Flemming is unavailable."

The words froze him motionless for a few seconds, his mind unable to accept the inevitable conclusion.

The sound of the door chime almost made him jump out of his skin.

"Who is it?" he called, his tone unusually neutral.

"Starfleet Security, Admiral. Sir, we have some questions for you..."

Calmly, Kellogg reached for a side drawer of his desk and deactivated the lock, opening it softly. "Just a moment. I'll be right with you."

He gazed at the drawer's contents -- a clear plastic container holding one isolinear chip, and a phaser. The first he opened and carefully picking up the chip, he inserted it into the terminal. Quickly, he typed the recipient's name and location, then pressed his index finger to the "send" command.

There had been two things Flemming hadn't counted on -- that he'd be smart enough to keep a back-up of their files, and tenacious enough to have located Morgan...

"Admiral Kellogg, open the door immediately!"

The minor victory and the calm he felt made him smile. It was the first time in almost a ten months that he knew exactly what he needed to do.

"I'll be right with you," he repeated, his voice robotic.

Kellogg kept his eyes focused on the holo of his son and daughter-in-law, on their smiling faces and bright, clear eyes. He picked up the phaser, fingers working the controls, setting the weapon to maximum. He would not bring shame to his children -- his grandchild. He would not put his family through the public scrutiny and gossip that a trial would cause; he loved them too much to ask them to endure that.

Even as he heard the sound of his office doors being forced open, Vincent Kellogg turned the phaser towards himself, the business end of the thing hard against his breastbone, his finger on the button.

He took one breath, said a silent goodbye to his family and pressed down...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard strode onto the bridge, face grim. The disturbing brutality of the scene on board the Ferengi ship, the comments the Caeli survivor had made, the fact that the Caelis had actually wrested control of the vessel from the Ferengi... It all served to underscore the fact that they were headed blindly into this situation, and the captain didn't like that one bit.

 "Report, Number One," he said briskly, sitting down in the command chair.

"We have the *Fortune* in tow. The *Opportunist* is still moving out of the system on impulse. Should we attempt to intercept her?"

"No. Let her go, but continue to track her for as long as she's in range. Our orders were to investigate and provide assistance, and we have enough of a mystery on our hands without complicating it at this point." He watched as Riker nodded. "Continue."

"The *Fortune's* logs indicated a crew complement of 45. There were 21 dead and Worf's men have rounded up two dozen survivors, which accounts for all of the crew. Even so, Worf has a detail scouring the ship. He said he didn't want any surprises."

Riker watched Picard's brief smile and matched it with one of his own.

"The survivors are all uninjured. They're being detained in the brig, protesting loudly, of course..."

"Of course," Picard echoed dryly.

"There were 24 Caeli fatalities..." his voice tapered off.

The Captain looked up at him. "Something bothering you, Will?"

"Actually, yes, Captain." Riker leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped before him. "Security reported that the Caelis had been armed with phasers, but none of the weapons had been discharged. They had used knives instead."

Picard nodded, a frown on his face, his jaw tight, remembering the blood on the Ferengi bridge. "I know. Dr. Hampstead asked an interesting question which, I think, correlates well with your worries -- how did a race, supposedly as primitive as Earth's Maya, manage to seize control of a Ferengi ship?"

"Good question. Any answers, sir?"

"Not yet," Picard answered, leaning back in the chair, hands on the armrests. "Mr. Data and Dr. Hampstead will be reporting shortly..."

"Crusher to Picard."

He sat up straight. "Picard here. Go ahead, Doctor."

"I just thought you should know that our Caeli patient is going to pull through just fine. However, he's asking that we take his people home for a proper burial."

"Understood. Please let your patient know we'll do everything we can to honor his request."

"Thank you, sir. Crusher out."

Picard sighed and leaned back, frowning. "That's the second request we've received -- they seem to be extraordinarily concerned with providing a decent burial for their comrades." He spoke the words more to himself and the anthropologist in him analyzed the situation from several different angles. "That concern would indicate a highly spiritual culture -- but the violence they perpetrated... it doesn't fit."

Riker smiled slightly. "Someone once said some of the bloodiest wars were fought in the name of God."

The captain allowed a rueful smile to curl his lips. "Point taken, Number One."

The First Officer allowed the silence to stretch between for a few seconds before breaking it. "What now, sir?"

He raised an eyebrow. "The only option I see is to get permission to proceed to Beta Caelum III. I think it's the only way to get any real answers."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Working with Data was a delight. Bryn admired his thoroughly analytical mind, his naivete was refreshing and, in spite of his insistence that he was far from it, she found herself thinking of him as the most human being she'd ever encountered.

Now, in his quarters, with Spot purring and firmly ensconced in her lap, Bryn glanced over their results and shook her head. The Caelis had not only taken over the *Fortune*, their precise, surgical phaser hits had damned near destroyed the *Opportunist.* It seemed odd to think of any Ferengi as heroic, but it was only the last minute efforts of a few of the *Fortune's* crew that had prevented total annihilation of both vessels.

"We have twenty minutes before we report to the captain and we're still no closer to an answer than when we started." She absently stroked Spot's head as he pushed his cold, wet nose into her palm. "Look at this. It's inconceivable -- how the hell did they know what kinds of encryption codes to use? I mean, they totally locked the Ferengi out of their own bridge for almost fifteen minutes..."

"Unknown, Doctor." Data's brows dipped down in a slight frown. "It would appear our assumption of their technological level is suspect."

Her memories of Tahng lying on the *Fortune's* deck, his clothing, their conversation... none of it made sense. She shook her head. "No," she said softly, slowly, "The analysis was correct. We're missing something..."

For some reason, she couldn't stop thinking of the chemical formula for the drug and, closing her eyes, Bryn sighed and let her thoughts take over. The hydroxyls attached to the molecule, the similarities to L-dopa... the whole chemical structure of the complex molecule resembled a neurotransmitter, one known for its effects on intelligence...

Inhaling sharply, her eyes flew open and she tensed. Spot growled his displeasure at such unexpected behavior and jumped from her lap in obvious annoyance.

Bryn stood quickly. "I have to talk with Dr. Crusher," she said breathlessly. "I'll meet you in the captain's Ready Room in ten minutes..."

As she fled the room, Data raised his brows in puzzlement and accepted Spot's attempts to claim a place in his empty lap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The CMO leaned heavily on gloved hands splayed against the desk. To her left was a Caeli body on a hard metal slab and Bryn immediately looked away from it, eyes settling on Crusher's tense shoulders. Only a moron would have failed to notice her distress.

Unsure how to approach the woman and still stinging from her treatment on the *Fortune*, Hampstead simply cleared her throat.

Crusher tensed even more, but turned, face grim. "Yes, doctor?"

She nodded toward the body, and even though she didn't mean it, said, "Would you like some help?"

Beverly gazed at the young woman, then shook her head slowly and turned back to the desk. "No, thank you. I'm just finishing up."

Bryn hesitated, but approached the CMO. "I was wondering... did you find anything... unusual about the Caelis' cerebrums? Maybe high neuronal density, augmented neural pathways, elevated electrolytic..." She paused as Crusher turned to her again, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Yes to all three. How did you know?"

Hampstead almost smiled, then walked to Crusher's side, explaining what had piqued her interest. She only had to mention the molecular structure of L-domethodone before the CMO's eyes lit up.

Crusher tapped some commands into the PADD and pushed the device toward Hampstead. "Our survivor -- Isayli -- here's his neural scan. They're humanoid, but there's something just a bit different regarding *their* neurotransmitter activity and ours -- especially relating to re-uptake of dopamine. I'd have to do more research to discover exactly what the effect would be, but as you can see, the results of the scan seem to support your theory..."

Delicately biting her lower lip, Bryn glanced up at Beverly. "May I download these results to Data? We're supposed to report to the captain in a few minutes..."

Crusher visibly stiffened at the mention of the *Enterprise's* commanding officer, but she began the requested download. As Bryn watched her attempt to regain her calm exterior, a question formed in the young woman's mind, one she'd wanted to ask ever since boarding this vessel...

"You and the captain care very deeply about each other, don't you?"

Eyes flying to Bryn's face, Crusher blanched. "What would make you ask a thing like that?"

Hampstead gritted her teeth. Stupid! she thought, mentally berating herself. Then, trying to recover, she managed to bury herself more deeply in the trap. "It's just that I noticed..."

Beverly's face paled even more. "Noticed *what*?"

Hampstead sucked in a breath and held it. She'd really stuck her foot in it and, closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dr. Crusher. It's none of my business...."

She started to turn away, to leave the room, then stopped.

No. This wasn't right. Everything about their behavior... they did care, but why would they deny themselves that happiness? Memories bombarded her. She recalled the joy she'd experienced with Mickey -- before the drugs... she'd give anything just to hold him again, just to...

Clenching her hands into tight fists, Bryn faced Crusher. She ignored the anger which so obviously seethed below the older woman's exterior.

"You care about each other very deeply."

It wasn't a question this time and the certitude of the young woman's words took Crusher's breath away. Frowning, she glanced away from the accusing green eyes.

"You were right before, Doctor," Beverly said tightly. "It's none of your business..."

"I don't understand. Perhaps you can explain it to me -- why is it you turn away from each other? Feeling the way you do?" When Crusher's eyes met hers again, she held their angry blue depths. "Don't you know how precious a commodity love is? To have it and put it aside as if it were unimportant..."

"I said, it's none of your business!"

Bryn glared at her. Finally, she held her hands out to her sides, palms up, in an exaggerated motion of surrender. "Fine, Doctor. None of my business. But, speaking as someone who had that love, and who allowed it to be ripped away... you're making a terrible mistake. Both of you!"

Then, turning on her heel, she stormed out of autopsy room, unable to fathom their obvious stupidity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In spite of Crusher's order, she couldn't sit down.

"They're using the drug themselves, Captain! Only, it's not really the same drug... it's different somehow..."

Beverly glared at her, nodding toward the chair in front of Picard's desk. With a sigh, Bryn finally sat, hands folded in her lap and eyes on the carpeted deck.

Beverly noted the captain's slightly puzzled expression and knew he'd immediately picked up on the tension between herself and Hampstead.

"Dopamine," she said, hoping to give him something else to occupy his thoughts. "It's a neurotransmitter and one which appears to dramatically augment Caeli intellectual capacity."

With an almost imperceptible lift of one eyebrow, Picard sat back in his chair. He glanced at Data who nodded in confirmation.

"It appears that the Caelis are using a form of the drug whose only properties are enhancement of their intellect. In humans, the effect is transient and involves gains of only one or two intelligence quotient points. However, for the Caelis, we estimate that permanent gains of as much as thirty IQ points..."

"How is that possible?" The captain interrupted, frowning.

Crusher took over the conversation. "We don't know the mechanism at this point, however I would guess that it has something to do with how effectively the Caeli brain handles re-uptake of dopamine, as well as other neurotransmitters..."

Picard held up his hand to silence her. "I just want to make sure I understand, Doctor. You're telling me that the permanent intelligence enhancement effect is limited to the Caelis?"

"Exactly."

Ignoring the three sets of expectant looks affixed to his face, he closed his eyes and ran a hand over his brow.

"Have you been able to get..." he paused, searching for the man's name, "Isayli, to speak?"

"Yes, and he's told quite a story." Beverly sat back in her chair. "Most of what we had assumed was true. At first, his people had voluntarily helped the Ferengi. That was *before* they discovered the compound had been changed from the ey'haro -- that's the unadulterated drug *they* use..."

"The intelligence enhancer?" Picard interrupted, leaning forward.

Crusher nodded. "Yes, and its use is mainly restricted to the leader -- the Alahman -- and his sons, although *they* can prescribe it for any of the males; females are forbidden to use it..."

"Naturally," Bryn said under her breath.

The captain shot her a quick warning glance. "Continue, Doctor."

She raised an eyebrow at Hampstead's comment, then continued the narrative. "When several of their warriors died after taking the Ferengi's version of ey'haro, the Caelis knew they'd made a mistake. Their first attempt to drive the Ferengi away failed. That's when the Caelis were practically enslaved and torture *was* used to force them to continue working the fields, until the Alahman and his son came up with a plan..."

"To capture the Ferengi ship?" Picard asked.

She shook her head. "The plan was to destroy it. Isayli said their information didn't indicate that the *Opportunist* would be rendezvousing with the *Fortune*..."

The Captain leaned back in the chair. "So they were surprised..."

"It appears so." Crusher pursed her lips and briefly glanced down at her folded hands. "Isayli said he and the others did the best they could, but he's extremely upset that the cargo wasn't destroyed. He kept saying this was his second failure."

He frowned, mulling over the words. "Did he elaborate?"

She shook her head. "No, not really."

"So, he's holding something back from us?"

"It's possible."

He remained silent as he considered all that had been related. There was still so much they didn't know about the Caelis and he was no closer to determining a course of action than he had been before this meeting began. Sighing, Picard sat forward.

"There's only one way we'll get any answers," he said. "I've already requested permission from Starfleet for us to pay the Caelis a visit. It may take time, but given the circumstances, I feel certain the order to proceed will be forthcoming." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "That will be all. Dismissed."

Picard noticed Hampstead hurried out of the room ahead of Data, her mouth tight, a slight frown between her brows. Beverly's expression was a mirror of the younger woman's, but he was startled at what else he saw in her.

Quickly, he moved around the desk. "Beverly."

He'd said her name softly, but she'd reacted as though he'd shouted it.

"Yes, Captain?"

She'd answered a bit too loudly, used his title, and the tension in her shoulders made his own muscles ache in sympathy. Only when his Ready Room doors had closed behind Hampstead and Data did she relax, and then, only slightly.

Picard gazed at her worriedly. He hadn't noticed until seconds ago how thin she'd become. The shadows under her eyes had deepened and there were tiny lines around her mouth he'd never seen before.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, voice low and filled with concern.

Beverly blinked at him. "Fine. I'm fine."

"And there's nothing you'd like to discuss?"

She recognized this tactic. Jean-Luc approached this problem the way he always approached any of her problems. It was a dance with them. He would worry and voice his concern. She would smile and tell him everything was all right. He would back off and leave her alone. She would eventually get better -- on her own, by herself.

Smiling, Beverly played the game. "I'm fine. Really. But I do have one more autopsy to perform..."

Picard took a breath, wanting to do more this time than just ask the questions, wanting to assure himself that Beverly was telling him the truth...

"Jean-Luc? The autopsy?"

"Yes," he said slowly, losing the thread of his thoughts. He gave his uniform tunic a quick tug. "Of course, Doctor. Carry on."

It was only after the doors had closed that he'd realized what she'd done -- what he had allowed to happen. Damned, but they had their rituals and manipulations all mapped out, didn't they?

Vaguely unsettled by their lack of communication, Picard walked toward his desk and absently picked up the first PADD on the stack -- Deanna's report with Selar's examination appended. Both officers had requested the same action -- enforced rest for the *Enterprise's* CMO.

Picard sighed in exasperation. He didn't want to relieve Beverly of duty, but after finally *looking* at her just now, he reluctantly agreed with the recommendation.

Gazing out of the viewport at the colorful star trails, he willed himself to come up with another solution. There just *had* to be another way...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morgan's eyes widened as he scrolled through the directory -- there had to be at least two hundred files here.

"My God, he even has financial records..."

The admiral nodded at Lyda's comment, lips parted in surprise and a frown settling on his forehead. There were files on Federation distribution routes; records of bribes, threats and blackmail; lists of falsified documents; names of all who had died from taking the drug...

Morgan punched up the last and began to scroll through the list. Seconds later, he'd stopped at one name, sighing.

Michael Robert Hampstead, Lieutenant, Biochemistry Division, Starfleet Medical.

He barely felt Lyda's hand on his shoulder, didn't hear the doors hiss open behind him, or Norris' approach.

"We have to speak to Kellogg. He has to come clean with this..."

Norris cleared his throat and when Lyda and the admiral turned to him, he shook his head sadly. "Just got word, sir..."

Morgan's face slackened and he leaned against the desk for support. "Oh, dear lord, don't tell me..."

"I'm sorry, sir," Norris said softly. "Admiral Kellogg killed himself right after transmitting those files to you."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Morgan turned away. When he opened them again, he found himself facing the screen and the list of the dead. Resolve strengthening within him, he clenched his hands, still staring at Micky Hampstead's name.

"Get me the Federation President," Morgan rasped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hampstead's words. Beverly couldn't seem to escape them, even though she'd spent close to an hour trying.

*You care about each other very deeply.*

With a sigh, she laid her fork down and pushed the uneaten pasta away from her. In the silence of her quarters, she finally answered the question.

"Very deeply," Beverly whispered, "so much it hurts sometimes." She bowed her head, then brought her hand up to the table, tracing an abstract pattern on its smooth black surface.

It was ridiculous, this fear she had. Afraid Jean-Luc would leave like all the others, she'd pushed him away, making up all sorts of excuses to convince herself it was the right thing to do -- and trying never to admit how badly she'd wanted to pull him closer...

Damn Hampstead and her self-righteous interference! She'd been fine up until now... but that thought slammed up against reality before it could gather any more momentum. Beverly realized that she'd been anything *but* fine.

The tempest of emotions left her feeling unanchored and, with a small groan, Beverly stood. She began pacing her quarters, needing the movement to keep her memories from straying to all the possibilities between Jean-Luc and herself, all the missed opportunities, every one of the times she'd said no to being more intimate with him when she'd really wanted to say yes.

As she tried to imagine what a physical relationship with him would be like, a half-formed thought entered her mind -- that Jean-Luc represented something that Ronin could only attempt...

The door chimed and she let go of the foggy revelation, almost thankful for the distraction, until, at her command, the doors opened to reveal Jean-Luc standing hesitantly in front of them.

When she didn't respond, he lifted a brow. "May I?"

"Of course," she stammered, motioning him inside, "please..."

Beverly noticed his resolute expression and her heart fell. Her temper tantrum in the transporter room -- that had to be why he was here. He had said they would discuss the matter later. Without being consciously aware of the manipulation, she began an apology.

"I was really out of line in the transporter room." She sighed when he didn't respond and looked away from him. "And on the Ferengi ship." Beverly let her words settle before squaring her shoulders and saying the final words. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc."

"Beverly, you've been out of line a lot lately..." He paused, knowing that letting her get away with just an apology this time wouldn't be good for either of them. Her moody behavior was skirting the edges of insubordination. If she continued in this manner... if he *allowed* her to continue in this manner, it wouldn't be long before she crossed the line.

Hating what he had to do, Picard stayed rooted to the spot and didn't speak again until she brought fearful eyes to his.

"I want you to take a break. No duties for the next 24 hours." he said, voice low.

"You're relieving me of duty?" she whispered, voice shaky, anger gathering.

"No. And, this isn't an order." Picard kept his voice soft as he approached. "It's a request, from one friend to another."

"If I refuse?" Beverly asked tightly. She pressed her lips into a thin line and glared at him through narrowed eyes, all thoughts of making amends fleeing in the face of the infamous Howard temper.

He shrugged and sighed. "Then, I suppose that would leave me no choice..."

Before she knew what was happening, he had scooped her up in his arms, took three long strides and had dumped her into the chair at the end of the table. Speechless, she stared up at him.

He scowled at the unappetizing plate of pasta and vegetables and shoved it away. "No wonder you're not eating..." he said as he headed toward the replicator.

She found her voice and incredulity underscored her words -- anger took a brief back seat to astonishment. "You've been checking up on me?"

Jean-Luc turned from the replicator, fingers still tapping out a selection. "I've been *looking* at you." He gazed back at the food slot as a tray materialized. "I've been noticing how thin you've become; how your uniform is just hanging on you..."

He took the tray and approached her. "...noticing the shadows under your eyes and how drawn your face is..." Jean-Luc set the tray loudly on the table. "...which means you haven't been getting any sleep either..."

Picking up the spoon, he stirred the thick soup. "We'll work on that after you've eaten something."

With raised brows, she studied him as he brought a spoonful of broth near her mouth. Glaring at him, she clenched her jaw.

"Open," he practically growled.

An acerbic protest firmly in mind, Beverly did open her mouth...

...only to have the spoon thrust unceremoniously inside and several large drops of warm liquid dribble down her chin.

Swallowing, she blushed furiously as she grabbed a napkin and brought it to her mouth, then hesitated and blinked at him. "Chicken soup?"

He smiled. "I thought it was appropriate."

Beverly's smile turned into a grin which slowly evolved into soft laughter. Something about the situation and their reversed roles breached the dam inside her and she found not only merriment in the resulting flood of emotions, but tears as well. She tried to stop them, tried to halt the sobs that followed her mirth, and turned away from Jean-Luc when he gently pulled her to her feet.

"Don't," she protested, finally giving up fighting him and pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

"Why?" he whispered, tightening his arms around her.

"I don't want you to see me cry."

He hesitated a moment as he recalled bits and pieces of his conversation with Hampstead -- the shame to which she'd admitted, the fact that she'd been alone in dealing with her problem... Then he remembered all the times Beverly had seen *him* in tears -- in particular, the aftermath of his assimilation by the Borg and the resulting shame he had felt at his helplessness to stop the mind-rape... The times he had most despised himself were the times she had refused to leave his side. The force of his thoughts was like a physical blow.

How many other occasions had she been there for him, held him, comforted him? And, when was the last time he had repaid her for any of it?

Appalled at his selfishness, Jean-Luc vowed to show Beverly every bit of the care she had always shown him -- no matter how much she protested.

He brushed his cheek against her hair and finally spoke. "Maybe that's been the whole problem..."

"What?" she sniffed, thoroughly confused.

"The fact that you've been crying alone all this time."

Jean-Luc's voice was soft, strengthening the import of his words, and as Beverly stood within the circle of his arms, she realized just how correct those words had been. She had always prided herself on her independence, her strength. She was always the giver -- never the taker -- and her chosen profession had only fortified this facet of her personality.

Never had she been so blatantly assaulted by another's concern as she had been tonight; Jean-Luc's behavior had astounded her. Normally, he would let her know of his care, but would leave her to her own devices in dealing with her problems. Now, here he was offering comfort, solace and -- dare she even consider it? -- love. God only knew how desperately she needed it -- needed him...

At first she'd stiffened in his arms, then relaxed slightly, even bringing her arms up to his chest and resting her hands lightly on his shoulders. The tears stopped, her breathing slowed, but she remained motionless and silent. His heart sped with fear that he might have pushed her too far and, wondering what he might see in her eyes right now, he turned his head...

...to Beverly, it seemed as though Jean-Luc hadn't said a word in hours. Was he regretting this conversation or his behavior? Fear that he was forced her to look at him...

The corners of their mouths met and both of them froze at the shock of the warm contact.

Dear God in heaven, he thought, then compelled by sheer desperation and a fatalistic sense of having reached the point of no return, Jean-Luc brought his lips fully to hers and kissed her gently. The caress only lasted a few heartbeats before he leaned away from her and opened his eyes. He was thoroughly surprised at what he saw.

Beverly's face was relaxed, her lips upturned in a slight smile. As she gazed at him through half-closed lids, he thought he saw a shimmer of wonder there.

Jean-Luc waited, a smile first dancing in his eyes, then curving his lips.

"You taste like chicken soup."

She laughed. "And whose fault is that?"

The only other movement Beverly had made was to softly move her fingers from his shoulders to the back of his neck.

He bent his head and kissed her again, confidence now allowing him to express some of the passion he felt for her. She parted her lips to him and her response further emboldened him. Jean-Luc wrapped one hand in her soft hair, the other he splayed against her lower back, drawing her into an even more intimate embrace.

Everything about what they were doing felt right to him, but on some deeper level, he realized there were other matters which should take precedence. He mentally quenched the intense fire she'd started within him, reminding himself that he couldn't forsake the attempt to simply care for her -- to do otherwise would certainly be taking advantage of her vulnerability.

Later, Jean-Luc would wonder how he'd accomplished it, but now, he reluctantly ended the kiss. Keeping her gently restrained within his arms, he smiled down at the puzzlement in her eyes.

"I'm going to take care of you tonight." His voice was hoarse from his effort to control the desire he felt for her. "That means you'll finish your dinner while I draw your bath. After you've relaxed there for a while, you'll dress for bed, then you'll go to sleep. Understood?"

Beverly nodded and swallowed hard. That he would show her this much concern, that he should care this much for her... She was warmed by his words and the underlying sentiments, until an old fear surfaced.

"You won't leave me?"

Jean-Luc shook his head slowly and traced her moist lips with his thumb. "Never," he whispered, then kissed her one last time, a seal to the promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WARNING: The following section contains sexually explicit material. Those offended by NC-17 material should skip to Part 16.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Holding the snifter of brandy up to the candlelight, Beverly gazed at the warmly glowing amber liquid inside. She glanced around her bathroom at the scented candles Jean-Luc had so carefully arranged and inhaled deeply their mild, spicy fragrance.

When he'd brought the brandy, she'd asked him to stay and was sorely disappointed that he had declined. He'd told her this was her time to relax -- she'd had no idea how to tell him that there were other ways he could help her accomplish that.

Sighing, Beverly shifted in the tub, leaning over to lay the snifter on the floor. Her movement stirred the water and the bubbles that floated on the surface. It was almost a caress and her thoughts strayed once again to what had happened just minutes before -- the feel of his arms around her, the firm warmth of his mouth on hers...

She smiled and wondered what Jean-Luc would say if he knew how grateful she was for what he'd done. The simple solidity of him, the fact that she could feel his chest rise with each breath he took -- his very humanity had been such an assurance. Running her fingertips over the bubbles, Beverly didn't think he would understand this particular fear -- the doubt that no physical contact could ever compete with what Ronin had done to her...

Beverly's thoughts darkened. The memory of the pleasure Ronin had given her was tempered now with knowledge of *how* the being had accomplished it, and even though her shame over the incident had slowly diminished, her disgust at how she'd been used was like a sour taste in her mouth.

The sound of soft rapping at the door effectively pulled her from her thoughts and, smiling, she glanced up.

"Come in."

When the doors opened, her smile broadened. He'd changed into a short-sleeved green robe, the hem of which just barely grazed his knees. Beverly's eyes were drawn to his hard-muscled arms, his large hands holding a white terry-cloth robe.

"For you." He returned her smile and laid the offering on the counter. "Don't you think it's time you came out of there? I'll bet you're already wrinkling..."

She laughed and held up a delicate hand. "No wrinkles, I swear."

"Yet," he said as he approached. Noticing the snifter on the tiled floor, he nodded toward it. "Are you finished with this?"

She didn't answer, merely gazed at him, at the candlelight shimmering in his eyes, at the curve of his mouth, his strong jaw. He was a damned attractive man; she'd felt a physical pull toward him the moment they'd met -- a pull she'd tried with varying degrees of success to ignore. Tonight, though, she caved in to it -- partly because she found his actions this evening had torn through her defenses, partly to erase the undercurrent of doubt which ran through her, and partly because she couldn't think of a good reason to resist.

Jean-Luc's brows furrowed slightly at the look in Beverly's eyes and, worried at her frame of mind, he knelt by the tub. Gently, he touched her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.

"What is it, Beverly?"

Her breath caught in her throat and she fought to come up with the words that would express what she felt at this moment. What could she say to make him understand that it was all right now? How could she break through the barrier of nobility and virtue he so steadfastly maintained?

Heart pounding, she realized that maybe words weren't what was needed now...

She covered his hand with hers and pulled his palm to her mouth. He didn't move; even when Beverly tasted his skin, Jean-Luc's only response was a slight, brief widening of his eyes -- but she saw desire plainly in their hazel depths and that helped her to make the decision.

Taking his hand in both of hers, she turned her head slightly to press tiny kisses to his fingertips. Lids lowered, she allowed her lips to linger against his skin, then without warning, pulled his index finger into her mouth. His resulting gasp made her smile and she raised her eyes to his.

Jean-Luc pressed his lips together firmly to prevent the moan building in his throat from escaping them. He held his breath, trying to regain control as he felt her tongue slide along the bottom of his finger, but he was losing himself in the sensation and in the passion he saw in her blue eyes.

The good intentions he had clung to earlier -- those of taking care of her and not advantage of her -- dissolved in the face of what Beverly was doing to him. His only intent now was to touch her and to give her what pleasure he could in the process.

Jean-Luc slipped his other arm behind her and she finally released him, leaning back as she did so. As he closed his mouth gently over hers, he felt her guide his hand down her neck to her chest. Needing no further urging, he continued the trip, hand sliding over her water-slicked skin to the gentle swell of her breast, fingers brushing the stiffened point of her nipple.

Beverly arched her back at the caress, then moaned at the first touch of his tongue against her lips. She exhaled her held breath softly against his cheek, anticipation growing as, beneath the bubbles, Jean-Luc ran his hand down her ribcage, to the flare of her hip, trailing his fingers down one thigh of her bent legs, reaching her knees.

With gentle pressure, he worked his fingers against her skin until she parted her legs to him. Intensifying the kiss, he gently stroked the inside of her thighs, moving ever closer to his ultimate destination, stretching the anticipation out until he felt her push her hips into the touch.

Jean-Luc smiled against her mouth, but continued the gentle probings he had begun with both tongue and fingertips. At last he brought the heel of his hand against her mons and with deliberate slowness, stroked the soft folds of her womanhood.

She gasped, pulling away from his mouth, and almost rose half out of the water at the exquisite pleasure of that one touch. As Jean-Luc moved his lips to her throat, Beverly felt sure he could feel the pounding of her heart there. Dear God, she was so close from just his touch and she gritted her teeth when his fingers continued their leisurely explorations. Too soon, she didn't want to...not this quickly...

"No," Beverly rasped, pressing her hands against his arm, "not yet." She felt him shift, resisting all her half-hearted efforts to push him away.

He brought his lips to her ear.

"Yes. Now."

The two words, spoken in a husky rumble, did about as much to push her over the edge as did the tender invasion of his fingers.

With a cry that he quickly captured in his mouth, Beverly arched upwards, and surrendered to the intense waves of her climax, shivering as pleasure coursed through her. When he finally broke the kiss, she sagged back against his arm and moaned as he supported her, eyes still closed. Turning her head, she sighed and smiled up at him.

Jean-Luc allowed his eyes to move over her slightly flushed cheeks, up to her blue eyes, heavy-lidded from spent desire. There was no accusation in her expression, no indictment of his actions -- there was clemency in the tenderness he saw in her face. Gratitude shone in his as he returned her smile.

"Ready to get out now?"

Finally noticing his position on the hard tiled floor, Beverly sat up.

"That looks uncomfortable," she said contritely as he helped her to stand.

"I hadn't really noticed," he replied honestly. Jean-Luc's eyes focused on the small trail of bubbles that slid down her creamy skin, revealing more and more of her -- the rose color of her tightened nipples, the dark triangle of copper between her legs.

Reaching behind him, he grabbed the robe and used it to dry her hastily, then tossed it to the floor and pulled her into his arms. She fit perfectly against him -- she always had -- but, never before had he experienced the sensation of Beverly's soft skin under his fingers. As he brought his lips to her neck, he ran his hands over her, concentrating on each delicious curve.

"Mon Dieu, but you are beautiful," he whispered against her skin.

Beverly held her breath at the feel of his mouth against her throat, at the indescribable pleasure of his hands sliding over her skin. She pressed herself into the embrace and felt the obvious bulge of his desire against her thigh. Smiling, she draped her arms around his shoulders and turned her head, lips resting below his ear.

"Come with me."

Reluctantly stepping out of his arms, she took Jean-Luc by the hand, led him from the bathroom and to the bed. She reached for the sash at his waist and quickly untied it, then slowly, she pulled the robe away from his chest and pushed it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it and started to reach for her, but Beverly shook her head.

"Let me just look at you," she breathed, eyes travelling from his shoulders, down his chest, her appreciative gaze stopped by the silk pajama shorts he wore.

With a smile Beverly stepped toward him and, hooking her thumbs into the elastic of the waist, she pulled the shorts down over his hips to his thighs, freeing him at last. As he stepped out of them, she gazed at him for just a heartbeat, then began to run her hands over his skin, an echo of what he had done with her just seconds before.

Everywhere she touched, Jean-Luc felt a small fire ignite -- her caress practically burned a path from his thighs, over his hips, up his chest and back down again. Beverly teased him with light touches, slowing and circling her fingertips over his stomach until he groaned in frustration.

Unable to stop himself, he took her in his arms and pressed his mouth over hers, one hand resting against the small of her back, pulling her hips roughly up against his.

Not only had he trapped his warm, hard length between them, but he had imprisoned her hand there as well. Beverly managed to slide her fingers over their sweat-slicked skin down toward her goal, and when she took him in hand, was rewarded with his sharp intake of air.

Jean-Luc allowed only a few seconds of her firm caresses before leaning away from her, breath ragged. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, halting her motions, and gazed into her eyes. In all the years he had dreamed of this, never had he imagined the look of ardor Beverly now wore -- and, even more miraculously, it was for him.

"Make love to me," Beverly whispered, releasing him.

How he had longed to hear those words from her, to see what now shone in her eyes. Smiling faintly, he took the time to bring his hands up to her face and, working his fingers into her silky hair, Jean-Luc pulled her to his mouth.

The tenderness of the kiss took Beverly's breath away, made her so weak that she was almost clutching him for support. He moved them both towards the bed, reluctantly pulling his lips from hers as he gently lowered her to the sheets.

She flinched as the cool fabric contacted her overly-warm skin and turned towards him as he lay beside her.

Jean-Luc took her in his arms, gently stroking her back, running one hand down over the curve of her buttocks, the other up to her shoulders.

Rolling her onto on her back, he applied soft, quick kisses to her throat, working his way past her collarbone to her chest. There he tasted her skin and paused to inhale the faint scent of roses which clung to her, a fragrant remnant of her bath. He brought one hand to her breast, grazing his fingers over one nipple while taking the other into his mouth. Beverly's response was immediate and gratifying -- with a low moan, she arched into his caresses and curled her fingers around the back of his neck, holding him firmly to her.

Gently, Jean-Luc pressed his knee against her thigh and she opened her legs as he moved his hands down to her hips. He resumed the sensory exploration of her body, trailing kisses down to the flat of her stomach, his mouth leaving spots of cooling moisture in its wake. He caressed her inner thighs, then brought his fingers to her, reacquainting himself with her wet warmth, enjoying her immediate response to his touch.

Involuntarily, she pushed her hips up as his fingers skimmed across her and held her breath, determined not to allow him a repeat performance, but beginning to lose herself in what he was doing. She shivered in anticipation at the soft touch of his lips against her inner thigh.

He moved slowly, learning from her reactions and using what he was discovering to bring them both to the brink. Finally, he brought his mouth to her, watching as she caught the bedsheets up in her hands and tightly clenched them, watching an expression claim her beautiful face that under different circumstances, might have been called agony.

Jean-Luc had never have imagined just how provocative the sights and sounds of her could be, and it took all his self-control just to lift his head, just to move over her.

The pressure of his knees against her thighs brought her eyes fully open. The look on his face, the tenderness in his eyes, the feel of him hard against her, quickened her already rapid pulse.

Poised above her, hands on either side of her head, Jean-Luc took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice even as he spoke.

"Do you realize how much I love you, Beverly?"

She didn't know how she managed the words. "Yes -- every bit as much as I love you." Beverly wrapped her arms around him, an invitation to complete what they'd started, and closed her eyes, inhaling as he slowly entered her.

He bent his head to touch his lips to hers, so very lightly that Beverly thought she might be imagining it, but she felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek, and she knew the reality of him inside her.

Then he moved, almost imperceptibly at first. As Jean-Luc brushed his parted lips slowly over hers, she felt him begin an echo of the caress with his hips. It was an unhurried rhythm, a counterpoint to their wild heartbeats, and she had no idea it would do to her what it did. In only seconds, she found herself matching his movements, and moments later had intensified them, simply unable to bring herself close enough to him, to accept enough of him into her.

"Jean-Luc." She exhaled his name in a half-sigh, wrapped her legs tightly around his hips and held onto him, digging her fingers into his back as she gave herself over to cascades of sheer pleasure.

He ceased movement and closed his eyes, willing himself not to respond to the strength of her climax. Not yet; he had waited too long for this and would not rush towards his own release.

Slowly, Beverly began to relax beneath him and Jean-Luc wrapped her in his arms, cradled her as he pressed a kiss to her throat.

"I never imagined..." he rasped, then began a stronger rhythm, one that she matched again, pushing her hips up into his. He was almost unaware of her arms around him, so lost was he in her enveloping warmth.

Beverly brushed her lips beneath his ear, held him tightly and whispered words she'd spoken to him only in her dreams.

"I love you, Jean-Luc. I always will."

He buried his face in her hair, moaning her name, clasping her tightly against him, and finally surrendered to a release that surprised him with its intensity.

Slowly recovering his senses, he raised himself above her and gazed down at her in wonder. Reluctantly, he moved from their embrace, but caught her back up in his arms and held her against him as their breathing returned to normal and their bodies relaxed.

Smiling, Jean-Luc stroked Beverly's hair and was the first to break the silence.

"Well, that was certainly worth the wait."

She grinned. "Oh really? Then I suppose we should let another 20 years pass before doing this again?"

"Not on your life," he grumbled with mock-austerity, rolling her over and adding his soft chuckles to sounds of her mirth.

Looking at Beverly's shining blue eyes, her rose-tinged cheeks, the fan of flame-colored hair spread around her like a corona, Jean-Luc sobered. He traced the planes of her face with his fingers, then bent his head to kiss her tenderly.

Not too long from now, they would be headed into a powder keg of a situation. Now more than ever, he didn't want any harm to come to her. He understood with abrupt clarity all the fears which had for so long prevented her from taking this step with him.

"You *are* going to take tomorrow off, aren't you?"

From his serious demeanor, Beverly could guess what was on his mind -- the irony of it forced a sigh from her. "Only if you will," she said, smiling faintly at his scowl. "It works both ways, Jean-Luc."

He considered her response, and no matter how inadequate it seemed, he finally admitted the truth of it.

"Then promise me you'll be careful."

"Always," she whispered, tracing his mouth with her fingers. "I have so much more at stake now..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uleth Tahng gazed where the young warrior had pointed.

The fringes of the forest were dark, but at least the stiff wind had pushed away the usual morning shroud of mist. He looked up at the narrow bands of grey clouds that raced across the sky and knew they were about to face more than just the Ferengi's wrath.

Bringing his eyes back to the forbidding wall of swaying foliage, Uleth asked the question. "How many, do you think?"

"About five of them, Alahman."

Five? He tried not to outwardly cringe at the news. He studied the forest, thinking it was a perfect hiding place, but knowing it also held many dangers. How many times had one of his people entered its depths hunting for a wayward arrow, never to come out again? On the other hand, the Ferengi were cunning and he dared not trust the forest to do what must be done...

Tahng turned to the young man, noticing the warrior had bent his head and would not look up.

"Do not blame yourself, Hassa," he said and laid his hand on the warrior's shoulder, finally gaining the man's attention. "The Ferengi *will* be found, but it must be done quickly, before they call the stars for help. Do you understand?"

The very fact that the Alahman had touched him was proof of redemption. Surprised and grateful, Hassa held himself up straight. "It will be done, Alahman."

Quickly motioning the rest of the warriors around him, the young man gave a short nod to Uleth, then led the group down the dirt path that led to the edge of the woods.

Tahng watched them disappear soundlessly into the undergrowth, a frown on his face. It was possible he had just sent six men to their deaths, but he'd had no choice. If the Ferengi succeeded...

Uleth turned to the group of women standing a few paces away and motioned to one of them. She was tall and lean, her dark hair shone even in the dim light and swung about her hips as she approached him.

"Lara," he said softly so that the others wouldn't hear, "you and Mother gather the women, the children, and the old together. Take food, clothing, weapons, whatever you need, and go to the Cave of Voices. Stay there until someone comes for you."

Her dark eyes widened at his instructions. "Brother, have you gone mad? The prayer place is not for women or children..."

"I think the ancient ones would suffer this minor intrusion, don't you?" Uleth smiled at his sister. He had discovered long ago she'd broken that particular prohibition; more than likely, she'd been listening to the prayers longer than he had. He'd never told their father, secretly proud of Lara for her rebellious spirit.

"Tell the people it is my order, that it is *I* who will bear the responsibility; they will not be punished," he said with conviction.

She closed her mouth and returned his smile. "May you be successful, Alahman."

He gazed at her. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he would have done differently had he been in power... "And you, my sister. Now hurry." He glanced meaningfully up at the sky, then back down at her face. "The Ferengi are only part of my worries."

Lara nodded in understanding, then turned away, striding toward the young women, gathering them to her. After a quick backward glance in his direction, she ran to do what he had ordered, the rest jogging after her.

Uleth watched Lara go, wondering if this might not be the last time he would see her, praying that she would forgive their father for sending the man she loved to his death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hunkering down behind the huge leathery leaves of some unknown plant, Qinz held his breath and waited.

Something more than the impending storm had startled the red and yellow birds in the canopy above to flight, something he hadn't seen or heard, but the Ferengi always paid attention to his surroundings. He attributed the fact that he was still alive to that particular trait.

He didn't want to think about it, but found himself reliving the pre-dawn events. If he hadn't noticed the dark shadows which had flickered past the tiny ventilation slot above the floorboard, the shadows that momentarily blocked the moonlight, he'd be in the same position as the others...

Qinz dug his fingernails into his forearm, hoping the pain would distract him and prevent the memory of the massacre from surfacing. He glanced around, forcing himself to look and listen. Not too far away, he heard a sound like leaves rustling, then a hiss and a thump. The colorful birds took to the air again, screaming their alarm loudly, but the Ferengi relaxed. He'd spent a year on this planet, long enough to know the sound of one of the native snakes finding a meal.

Still, he moved slowly back onto the path, eyes darting around the thick undergrowth. Carefully, silently, he made his way down the narrow, almost invisible trail he himself had cut the first night he'd spent on this world.

It took a while, but Qinz finally reached the site where he had secreted the communications equipment. With an inaudible sigh, he squatted and crawled under the cover of dense, prickly shrubs. Brushing leaves, hard-backed red beetles and dark brown earth from the casing, he gazed in obvious relief at the still-functioning apparatus.

He had set this up as a mirror to the activity at the main communications shed -- whatever went in or out, whatever subspace traffic they may have intercepted there, a copy was routed here. Qinz had discovered long ago that while trading in physical goods brought quick profit, brokering knowledge netted power. This arrangement had served him well on many occasions, but never had he expected his very existence to depend upon it.

Trying to control the shaking of his hands, Qinz picked up the molded earpiece, inserted it and began listening to the last 12 hours' of intercepted messages.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beverly hovered in that place between wakefulness and sleep, enjoying the warmth she felt, but not truly cognizant of its source. Still half-dreaming, she stretched and sighed, tangling her legs with his... The contact sharpened her awareness and brought with it memories vivid enough to make her blush. Opening her eyes, she smiled and tried to keep her breathing regular, tried to be still so she wouldn't wake him.

It felt as though she were dreaming -- so much history between them, and so much of it like ballast, weighing them down. How they had gotten to this point tonight, she would never know, but she was elated that they had. Beverly moved just a little, trying to get as close to him as she could...

Jean-Luc smiled and lifted his arm until she settled again, her back to his chest. He hadn't slept at all -- had simply been delighting in the feel of her against him, trying to convince himself that this was real and feeling every bit the lovesick schoolboy. Unable to resist, he lifted his hand and gently stroked her soft hair, remembering a time when that was all in the world he had wanted to do, recalling that he would have sold his soul just for the opportunity to touch her without guilt. And here she was. Here *they* were...

"You're not asleep, are you?"

He chuckled. "No. I'm sorry I woke you."

She shook her head and reached for his arm, pulling it back around her. "You didn't."

He brought his other arm out from under his pillow and gently worked it beneath her body, finally accomplishing a bear hug of an embrace. Being with her, holding her -- all of it was perfect...

//But how would she feel about this tomorrow?//

The abrupt thought stopped Jean-Luc's breathing. He gazed over Beverly's head into the darkness, the words tumbling in his mind, unable to come up with a reassuring answer.

Beverly felt the tension in his body and heard the way his breath caught in his throat. Reluctantly, she left the warm cocoon of his embrace and turned, propping herself up on one elbow to gaze down at him. Even in the low lighting, she could see his eyes were troubled and her heart fell. Was he having second thoughts? Dear God, he was...

Jean-Luc saw the fear and hurt in her eyes, knew he had to speak, to ask the question, but was so terrified of the answer, he hesitated. As he watched Beverly's face, he saw an expression shadow her features, one he knew only too well. It was cold, resolute, accusing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized she'd misunderstood his silence, had jumped to an incorrect conclusion.

It had happened so often in the past with them, these mis-steps borne of an unwillingness to bare the soul for fear of rejection. It had become habit, and like all habits, was difficult to break, but as Beverly's expression hardened even further, as she sat up and moved to get out of the bed, Jean-Luc found his voice...

"Please tell me you don't regret this."

She stopped and turned to him, eyes wide. His voice had been so thick with fear she'd barely understood his words.

So, *he* didn't have any doubts; he thought *she* did. Her heart broke at the realization that this was her fault, that her diffident handling of all those "almosts" between them had forced him to wonder if she regretted making love to him...

"I don't regret this, Jean-Luc," she said with absolute certainty.

He almost cried from sheer relief. Having lost his voice to the knot in his throat, he sat up fully and simply reached for her.

She moved into his arms willingly and laid her head against his chest. The way his heart pounded told her how difficult it had been for him to ask the question, to open himself up once more for rejection. The knowledge brought shame with it and Beverly closed her eyes.

"What I do regret," she said softly, "is pulling you in so many different directions over the years that you had to ask something like that."

He swallowed and unconsciously tightened his arms around her, uncertain how to interpret the comment. "I didn't mean..."

"I know, Jean-Luc" Beverly interrupted gently, noticing that his heartbeat had slowed. She was soothed by the slowing rise and fall of his chest. "Everything's going to be all right with us. We just have to stop walking on eggshells around each other."

"Agreed." Relieved, he pressed his lips to the top of her head and relaxed, inhaling the warm fragrance of her hair. "So, you're going to be able to handle it when Deanna senses the change in both of us, when this gets all over the ship, when you discover Will has paid off the winner of 'the bet'..."

Beverly groaned and burrowed deeper into his arms. "I'm not saying it isn't going to be rough, Jean-Luc; and, there are quite a few things we have to consider..."

She lifted her head to look at him, trying to ignore the way his hands glided over her body. "There's still the Commanding Officer-CMO problem..." tried to ignore the soft pressure of his lips against her face, "and Starfleet..." the feel of his body against hers as he rolled them both over, positioning her underneath him...

Giving up, Beverly tightened her arms around him and returned the caresses.

There would be plenty of time for conversation later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morgan paced in front of the sofa, frowning and muttering under his breath. Finally, he stopped and turned to Lyda.

"How much bloody time are they going to waste? How difficult can it be to cut Picard's orders?"

She shook her head slowly, worry and exhaustion showing in the dark shadows under her brown eyes and in the lines around her full mouth. Lyda ran slender fingers through her long brown hair. "I don't know, Cal," she said softly. "Maybe they're just trying to assess how much damage has been done. This has all been quite a shock..."

With a pang, he realized he had only been thinking of himself these past few hours, trying desperately to get to Hampstead, knowing that the *Enterprise* had already responded to the Ferengi distress signals, knowing Picard had requested permission to travel to Beta Caelum III. He hadn't even considered how deeply Lyda had been affected by this. She'd known eight months ago that the cause of her daughter's death hadn't been an undiagnosed aneurysm, but to have seen Ellen's name on Kellogg's list...

Crossing quickly to her, Morgan reached for her hands and drew her to a standing position. He folded her into his arms just as the tears started.

Lyda had been widowed right after Ellen's birth. She'd done her best to be both mother and father to her child, but the girl had been headstrong and had turned out to be something of a troublemaker. When Lyda had received word of Ellen's death, she'd blamed herself, her circumstances. Morgan had done everything in his power to convince her otherwise...

"It wasn't your fault." He whispered the familiar words against her hair and tightened his arms around her when Lyda nodded. Slowly, she relaxed and, sniffing, pulled away from him, wiping tears from her face.

"I know, Cal," she whispered gazing up at him. Gently, she ran her fingers along his jaw. "I need a minute, ok?"

He nodded, watching as she turned and headed towards the bedroom, allowing his feelings to surface. God how he loved her. When this was all over, it just might be time to...

"Norris to Morgan."

"Morgan here. Go ahead, Captain."

"Just thought you'd like to know, sir... Starfleet has ordered the *Enterprise* to Beta Caelum III. We're to proceed to Starbase 24 as support should they need it. I've also been asked to tell you to expect a communication from the President shortly."

He sighed, smiling sadly. The way he had handled this situation wasn't going to earn him any stars; if he didn't receive a reprimand, he'd certainly be demoted. Glancing towards the bedroom, Morgan squelched his previous thoughts. How could he ask Lyda to marry him, knowing the kind of censure he would be facing?

Holding himself up straighter, he finally answered Norris. "That's good news all 'round, Andrew. Thank you for relaying it. Morgan out."

Turning, he looked beyond the sofa to the viewport windows, watching the stars streak by, wishing he hadn't acted like such a coward and hoping Hampstead would remain safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daimon Zoht paced the length of his dimly-lit, cluttered quarters, hands clasped behind his back, lost in thought. Even the gleam of the latinum bars couldn't hold his attention for long.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and his fingers brushed across the vial. Zoht pulled the object out and, holding it between thumb and forefinger, he squinted at it.

This had been his salvation. With this drug he had been able to climb out of the cesspool of privateers and pirates to take his rightful place beside the upper class entrepreneurs and brokers. It was where he belonged -- but, now, there was something standing in the way of his continued success.

Re-pocketing the vial, Zoht negotiated the concourse formed by his displays of various cultural artifacts and stood before his desk. He punched in a code on the terminal, beginning playback of the intercepted message and snarled when the human's face filled the screen.

"Picard," he seethed over the audio, clenching his bony hands into fists.

"...we have the *Fortune* in tow, sir, and the surviving crew are being held in the brig, mainly due to their lack of cooperation..."

Listening to the human's deep, accented voice came close to causing Zoht physical pain as his overly sensitive ears keyed in on its rich harmonics.

"They have the *Fortune* in tow," he repeated sarcastically, punching the keypad to terminate the playback. "Not for long, *Enterprise*; not for long..."

He turned and marched out of his quarters, intent on devising a plan to rescue his merchandise, and to make the Caelis pay for what they had done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind gusted around him, roaring and swirling up bits of debris from the forest floor into a shoulder-high tornado. Oblivious to the growing storm, Qinz sat on the damp forest floor and stared at his feet.

The messages had been shocking. The *Fortune* in tow, almost half the crew murdered, and the *Opportunist* crippled -- by these savages? It just didn't seem possible, but he'd heard the distress signals both ships had transmitted, heard the *Enterprise* respond -- and that last message, the one from Starfleet directing their flagship here...

In the periphery of his vision, he noticed a flashing red light, indication that a coded message had been intercepted. Quickly, he picked up the earpiece and listened. Qinz' eyes widened in recognition. It was their carrier -- the one they had modified to use here in this system because it mimicked the incessant solar flares -- and under that carrier was a message.

It was the *Opportunist* and they were trying to raise the base, unaware of the devastation the Caelis had wrought.

Qinz frowned, uncertain whether to answer the communication. Daimon Zoht might have his head over the espionage perpetrated against him. Then again, there might be profit to be made in striking a deal with the Daimon -- wouldn't he be pleased to know that some of his people were alive and willing to help spy on the *Enterprise* crew? Information *was* power, Qinz reminded himself.

He smiled, baring spiky yellowed teeth as he keyed in the transmitter and tapped out a response...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glancing down at the terminal, Jean-Luc shook his head. Hampstead's suspicions had been right on target -- there had been a cover-up involving both Kellogg and Flemming. Now the former was dead by his own hand, the latter was missing, and no one really knew why.

He switched screens to the directory of information which they'd just received from Admiral Morgan -- hundreds of files detailing almost every aspect of the conspiracy, but none of them answering the ultimate question. Picard wondered if they would ever know Flemming's reasons for allying himself with the Ferengi...

The feel of her arms around him made him smile in spite of all the troubling news. Turning, he gathered Beverly up in a warm embrace, closing his eyes briefly, nuzzling her neck. He discovered that the feel of her hair against his face and the scent of her perfume had taken on an unusually vivid quality.

"We're going to be late -- for *your* meeting," she whispered.

"Mmmmm." He smiled and kissed her skin. Taking a deep breath, Jean-Luc finally released her, knowing he could have remained where he was for a good long time. "You're quite a distraction, Beverly."

She reached up to touch his face, eyes shining. "So are you. Now, you'd better get going. I'll wait just a bit before following."

He pulled her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her palm, eyes still locked with hers. "We can meet later, when time permits..."

The vagaries of the upcoming mission finally brought them back to earth. He gave her hand a brief squeeze as she stepped away from him.

"Don't forget your promise to me," he said as he turned to leave.

Beverly smiled. "I'll be careful, Jean-Luc. And you?"

"Always," he replied, eyes twinkling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beverly still hadn't arrived and Picard wondered how he should respond to her tardiness. It was *his* fault she was late and he tended toward allowing the matter to slip -- but if he *didn't* call her on it, wouldn't that raise a red flag? Wouldn't that let everyone here in on a secret he wanted to keep between just the two of them for at least a little while longer?

Mentally scowling at the predicament, he shifted in his seat. Even though he kept his gaze on the PADD he held in his hands, he was all too aware of Deanna's curiosity as she fixed her brown eyes firmly on him. With all that he had learned from Sarek, there were still some things he couldn't hide from her. He allowed himself a faint smile at the realization that his contentment and joy had leaked through even the strongest mental discipline.

When the Observation Lounge doors hissed open, Picard raised both eyes and brows, watching as Beverly swept into the room. He couldn't help but smile faintly at her flustered appearance, especially knowing what had caused it.

"Nice of you to join us, Doctor." He'd said the words without thinking and came to the realization that he'd discovered the answer to his dilemma, one that he would share with her later...

She gazed at him, amusement and mild irritation glittering in her eyes. "I apologize, Captain. I'm sure it won't happen again."

Choosing to ignore the comment, Picard laid the PADD down and leaned forward. "Well then, I believe we can begin..." He glanced around the conference table, purposefully avoiding the Counsellor's now-smiling face. "We've received orders to proceed to Beta Caelum III."

He allowed the buzz of surprised comments to continue briefly before pressing ahead. "I'm sure all of you have read the reports issued by Dr. Hampstead and Mr. Data, as well as familiarized yourselves with Dr. Crusher's and Mr. Worf's findings," Picard said as he leaned forward. He caught Bryn's eye. "We've also just uncovered information which suggests that Admiral Kellogg and Proconsul Flemming were actively aiding the Ferengi in their distribution of the drug to Federation space..."

Picard paused again as the room erupted with startled comments. He watched Hampstead close her eyes briefly and lower her head. Quickly, he re-asserted control of the meeting.

"Our orders," he began loudly, "are rather vague." The captain punched the communique up on his terminal, allowing his staff a few seconds more to recover from their shock. "We're to 'attempt a solution to the problem.'"

"That's it?" Riker sat forward, a disbelieving half-smile forming under his beard and mustache. At the Captain's nod of affirmation, he looked around the table at the other shocked faces. "Quite a bit of leeway there, sir."

"Indeed." Picard sat back, one elbow on the armrest. "That's why I want to hear as many options as possible before deciding how to proceed. Suggestions?"

Data leaned forward and regarded the Captain intently. "In this instance, diplomatic measures would be our best recourse, Captain."

"That has already been tried," Worf interrupted, "and it has failed." He turned to Picard. "I suggest a strictly enforced blockade of the entire system..."

"But, for how long, Worf?" Geordi asked. "We can't tie up resources like that, especially with the Borg and Dominion threat..."

Bryn had held her tongue for as long as the could.

"What about the Caelis?"

Silence blanketed the room and surprised eyes focused on her. She squared her shoulders.

"Shouldn't the first order of business be to talk to their leader?" she asked bluntly. "You're not certain Isayli is being honest with you. After you've discovered whether he's telling the truth, then you can decide whether blockades or diplomacy would be the better route."

Picard smiled and glanced around the table; all expressions there indicated accord with what she had offered. "Very well then," he said, "the first order of business is to arrange a meeting with the Caeli leader." He paused, remembering how Caro Tahng had responded to the young doctor; the captain followed his instincts. "Dr. Hampstead, please enlist Isayli's help. We'll need to know the location of the village, their customs, their leader's name..."

Bryn glanced at the others, unsure how to respond and unconsciously seeking guidance. "Now, Captain?"

He nodded. "Report to my Ready Room in 20 minutes with your summary of the conversation."

"Yes, sir." Hesitantly, she stood and walked from the room.

Picard quickly directed his thoughts towards the next problem. "I don't want us to continue towing the *Fortune*, Mr. Worf -- have their cargo beamed over, stabilize the vessel's orbit, then release her. Mr. Data, download all logs and scan them for any mention of rendezvous with other ships."

He glanced around the table, then rose from his seat. "Very well. We'll proceed to Beta Caelum III to meet with their leader. Dismissed."

Picard waited until most of the crew had disappeared through the doors before speaking again. "Doctor Crusher, may I have a word?"

Beverly stepped away from the table, ignoring the pointed gaze Deanna had given her. "Of course, Captain," she said, approaching him.

When the doors had shut, she playfully slapped him on the arm. "'Nice of you to join us?' You do realize that if you hadn't..."

"I know," he interrupted, stepping closer to her. "I worried about what I should do in that situation..."

"You did?"

Picard nodded. "And I came up with an answer of sorts." He took a deep breath. "I can't treat you any differently... we can't treat *each other* any differently, especially when we're on duty. I need to know I can rely on you to tell me I'm a damned fool if that's how you see it. I don't want you to let me..." he grappled for the words, "have my way simply because our relationship has grown into something more."

He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Am I making any sense at all, Beverly?"

It was a gesture he had initiated a thousand times, but the feel of his hands was different now. He loved her; she knew that. She had returned that love. What he was saying *did* make perfect sense. Now, more than ever, they needed to rely on each other's professional experience and judgment to prevent them from coming to harm.

Beverly smiled. "You're a very bright man, Captain."

He released her reluctantly, but held her eyes with his. "Just bright enough to realize you've been my heart and soul all these years. I don't ever want to lose that."

She reached up to touch his face, trailing her fingers along his jaw. "You've been that and more to me, Jean-Luc."

Then Beverly turned and walked to the doors.

Picard waited until they'd closed behind her before allowing a grin to consume his features.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Qinz shrugged his shoulders up against the blustering wind and slunk through the vines which concealed their camp. He squatted at the periphery, gazing in disgust at what he saw. There were just five of them left, including him, but there would soon be less if Clev continued to fall asleep at his post.

Running his fingers along the ground, he picked up a handful of the hard small fruit that continually dropped from the vine. Taking careful aim, he threw one low, toward Clev's outstretched legs. The Ferengi jumped, emitted a quick yelp, then scrambled to his feet and grabbed his whip, eyes darting around him.

Shaking his head, Qinz stood slowly and, disgusted that Clev still hadn't seen him, he moved out of the foliage and into the clearing. Clev's shoulders sagged in relief, but an angry expression clouded his face.

"What are you trying to do?" he hissed as Qinz slowly approached. "How dare you..."

"How dare *you*!" Qinz interrupted hoarsely, anger painting his yellow cheeks a pale shade of ochre. "You fall asleep at your post? I could have been a Caeli, you fool, and we could all be dead!"

Their voices roused the other three and they slowly made their way out of the swaying branches of the gigantic tree in the center of the clearing. Qinz turned his attention toward them, watching their hesitant faces, waiting until they were close enough to hear before speaking.

"The *Opportunist* is on its way."

The information widened their eyes and they opened their mouths to speak, but Qinz waved his hands to silence them.

"There's more." He glanced furtively around the area, hoping that the earlier commotion hadn't attracted any attention from either Caeli or the forest wildlife. "The *Enterprise* will be here in less than ten minutes. Daimon Zoht wants us to observe their landing party and report on their activities. He has a plan..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoht moved restlessly around the bridge, stopping occasionally to glance over a shoulder, or examine a display. Flemming's disappearance had disturbed him only briefly; it was something with which he would deal later. Right now he was intent on recovering his cargo and on exacting some vengeance.

The Daimon paused at Navigation, flustering the young Ferengi who manned that station.

"Remember, keep just outside of their sensors, and when we get closer to the system, use the planets to shield our approach."

"Yes, Daimon."

Turning, Zoht gazed at the quiet activity around him and allowed himself a self-congratulatory smile. The plan was a good one. They would arrive unnoticed at Beta Caelum III, wait for Qinz to contact them, then he would give the word to put the scheme into motion...

Sitting down in the command chair, the Daimon called up the latest purchase offers for the drug. It didn't matter that he might lose the Federation market -- there were so many other avenues available.

Unable to hide his glee, Zoht giggled and continued with his calculations.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bryn accepted the cup of coffee from Picard, aware of Riker's eyes on her, as well as the captain's as both men settled into their chairs. She glanced over the captain's shoulder at the rainbow smears of starlight in the viewport, trying to organize her thoughts.

Perched on the edge of her chair, she took a sip of the deeply roasted brew, briefly savoring its fragrance as well as its bite before launching into what she had learned from the Caeli.

"Their leader -- their Alahman -- was Caro Tahng; the man I tended on the Ferengi vessel, sir."

Picard took a breath and sat back in his chair, regarding her intently. "This 'gijah' Tahng mentioned -- did you find out..." He paused, raising a puzzled brow at the blush which colored her face.

Bryn glanced down at her feet, feeling heat spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She sighed, then brought her eyes back up to his. "It seems I look like one of their... spirits, sir. From what I understand, a 'gijah' ferries messages back and forth between the Caelis and their gods."

Riker grinned and tried to control his chuckles.

Picard couldn't help but smile at the information. "Excellent stroke of luck. Continue, Doctor."

Bryn fidgeted uneasily and cleared her throat. "Caro Tahng's eldest son is named Uleth and, by their laws, he assumed the mantle of Alahman upon his father's death."

"So, it is Uleth with whom we must deal?"

"Well, normally you would deal with the priests -- meeting with one of them and submitting a petition to confer with the Alahman..."

"I hear a 'but' in there somewhere, Lieutenant," Riker interrupted with a smile.

Smiling herself, she lowered her head and stared at the tendrils of steam which rose from her coffee. "But there is no priest for their village now."

"What happened to him?" Picard sat forward, elbows on his desk.

Bryn gazed up at the captain. "I couldn't get Isayli to tell me, sir."

Picard and Riker exchanged concerned glances.

"So, he *is* holding something back." The First Officer was the first to break the silence.

"He *did* tell me that the Alahman wouldn't speak to someone he considered to hold a lesser rank than himself." Bryn gazed pointedly at Picard.

The captain raised an eyebrow. So, he would finally have an ironclad reason to lead an away team...

"Sir..."

Picard held up his hand to silence Riker, knowing exactly what his second was about to say. "And this village -- he'll take us to it?"

She shook her head. "No, sir." Bryn waited until she had their full attention before proceeding. "He told me he is an outcast and can't return to their village..."

"Why is he an outcast? What did he do?" Riker swivelled his chair around to face her.

"He wouldn't tell me..."

The First Officer shook his head. "Captain, until we have the man's full cooperation..."

"A moment, Number One." Picard gazed thoughtfully at Hampstead. "Data is conducting high resolution scans of the area now. Do you think Isayli would help us determine the best beam-down point..."

She was already nodding before he could finish the question. "He said he would provide you whatever help he could. He just can't beam down."

"What does he think will happen to him if he does?" Riker asked.

Bryn took a deep breath and glanced from one man to the other. "He told me the Alahaman would kill him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isayli watched the small man with interest. All these people were so very different from the Ferengi -- in how gently they treated him, in their attractive appearance -- but, this man held a special fascination for him. The one they called "Captain" reminded him of Caro Tahng. This Captain was a leader of the same caliber -- Isayli could see it in his bearing, his intense eyes, his strong voice.

"...we could beam down farther out then, approach the village along this path..." Picard tapped his finger on the wall display in Crusher's office. Based on Isayli's information, Data had managed to scan the area in spite of the building cloud cover, obtaining high-resolution images of the village, as well as the surrounding area.

Riker watched as the captain moved his finger down the winding road which led through fields of wildflowers to a building Isayli had said belonged to the Alahman. "Sir, I still don't think it's wise for you to beam down, especially with the hurricane just off-shore..."

"Will, we've been over this..." The captain stood up straight and tugged on his uniform tunic. "With regard to the storm, it would be a perfect opportunity to prove our sincerity by providing the villagers protection from it." Glancing toward the Caeli, he said, "Besides, Isayli has told us the Alahman will not speak to anyone he considers to be of a lesser rank than himself..."

Focusing on the captain's last objection, Riker held himself stiffly as he gazed down at Picard. "Sir, one of us could take your place as 'Captain' and the Alahman wouldn't know the difference."

"I don't think that lying to the leader of this culture upon first contact is a very honorable action, Number One." When he noticed Riker about to speak again, he held his hand up to forestall it. "That's all, Commander. No more discussion," he said brusquely. Then, more gently added, "I assure you I shall take all possible precautions. A security team will accompany me and you can have Mr. Worf maintain a sensor lock on us, beam us out at the first sign of any trouble."

Unconvinced, but unable to persuade the man otherwise, Riker nodded. "As you wish, Captain."

Picard almost smiled at the sharp edge he heard in the remark, but the amusement left his eyes as he turned to Caeli. He would have preferred to have the man join them -- would certainly have been more comfortable with the entire situation had he thought the Caeli were being totally honest with them. Still, Isayli had answered most of their questions and his help had been invaluable. The captain took a deep breath before speaking.

"There must be something we can do regarding your status in the village. At least allow me to attempt to speak to your Alahman..."

Isayli smiled, but shook his head, even though he was sorely tempted to take Picard up on the offer. "No, Captain. I am outcast. That is my place now and I must accept it. However, I wish you to know that I am honored you would offer to make such intercession on my behalf."

Picard studied the man intently before giving him a short nod. What *was* Isayli hiding?

"Bridge to Captain."

"Picard here. Go ahead, Mr. Data."

"Sir, we are approaching the beam-down point. ETA in ten minutes."

"Thank you, Mr. Data. I'm on my way. Picard out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Qinz squinted through the device. It had been manufactured for someone with eyes larger and more widely set than his, so it was difficult to see anything through the objectives. There was just one position where everything came into focus, but the buffeting winds made it almost impossible to... There, he thought, smiling and pressing the device firmly into the holder he wore on his head.

His vantage point on the periphery of one of the haro fields afforded a view of the village proper as well as the Alahman's lodge. Qinz swept his gaze over the handful of small wooden buildings, noticing the dark smoke that twirled from the back of one, caught in the ever-strengthening wind. He recognized this as the blacksmith's shop and almost snarled in anger -- the Caelis were making weapons again, weapons he was sure were meant to be used against the Ferengi.

Attempting to bring his emotions under control, he continued his sweep of the village, putting the device on infrared every once in a while in an attempt to cut through the building darkness. After a few minutes, he realized that none of the women, children or elderly were present -- only the broad-shouldered, bronze-skinned warriors. This only confirmed his assumption that the Caelis were readying themselves for war.

Qinz swept the device from the village to the lodge and, noting no activity at the Alahman's home, he continued his surveillance. He'd gotten halfway down the path when he saw a shimmer at the edges of the field of view and, quickly, he brought the device to a focus on the light.

Transport in progress, he though, smiling. Then as he watched the materialization, his jaw dropped. Who would have thought that...

Qinz pulled the device from his head and sat unmoving in the undergrowth, stunned. The Daimon would be more than just pleased, he would be elated!

It took all his self-control to keep from giggling as he scrambled to his feet and set off at a quick jog toward the rendezvous point.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard glanced around, narrowing his eyes against the onslaught of the chill, gusty wind.

Everything looked muted and less than real as a result of the overcast skies. The fields were packed with knee-high plants, their thick, smooth stems supporting hand-sized, paper thin, blue flowers. Picard was able to follow the progress of the wind as it loudly ruffled the plants, bowing some almost to the ground. The haro, he realized, scowling now at the plants that had caused so much grief.

Ringing the level field were dense woods, choked first with undergrowth, then with taller umbrella-shaped trees -- the foliage seemed to be a thing alive, thrashing and rustling loudly. His gaze was pulled from there to rolling foothills not more than a few kilometers distant. He followed their increasingly steeper swells up the mountains that jutted into the sky, their tops obscured by dark clouds -- the Aristals, Picard thought, recognizing them from Isayli's description.

"Sir..."

The Captain turned to Lieutenant Ybanez, then looked where he had pointed. Data had beamed them down within 20 meters of the village, and already, a group of men approached -- about a dozen, all carrying spears, including the man who led them. Gods, but they were tall, Picard thought with a sigh. Giving his uniform tunic a quick tug, he motioned for his security team to stay behind him and slowly approached.

Both groups walked leisurely, giving each time to size up the other. When there was less than a meter between them, the Caeli leader stopped and held up his hand. Picard mirrored the motion. When the Alahman took a few steps forward and stopped again, the captain did the same. Then Picard spoke the words Isayli had taught him, slowly forming each alien syllable. The Caeli leader's large brown eyes widened and a faint smile formed on his lips when Picard had finished.

"I am Uleth Tahng, Alahman of the Twelve Villages. You have come during troubled times, stranger. We ask you to identify yourself."

Tahng. This was the dead man's son. Picard stepped forward cautiously, raising his hands as high as his chest, palms out.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard and I come bearing a message from Caro Tahng."

A collective gasp erupted from the group and the spears that were pointed at him wavered. For his part, the young man's face remained expressionless. Only the slightest flaring of his nostrils betrayed his surprise.

"Caro Tahng is dead."

"The message was delivered before he died. We have brought his body back..."

The commotion this news caused was almost deafening.

"My father gave the message directly to you then? He spoke directly to you?"

Remembering, Picard shook his head, choosing to be honest. "I was there, however..."

The Alahman folded his arms across his broad, naked chest. "Only the chosen messenger can deliver the message. We will not listen until he is brought to us."

Damn! The captain briefly closed his eyes. He couldn't see any way out of this. Tahng looked resolute and there was still the matter of those javelins.

Picard reached up and tapped his comm badge.

"Yes, Captain," came the immediate response.

"Please have Doctor Hampstead beamed down to these coordinates, Number One."

There was just the slightest bit of hesitation before Riker answered in the affirmative.

"Thank you. Picard out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frowning, Data ran his fingers over the sensor control panel at Navigation. It was the third time he had witnessed the anomaly and his curiosity was piqued.

"Problem, Mr. Data?"

The android shook his head, the frown still in place between his perfect brows. "Unknown, Commander. The solar flares are exhibiting... unusual behavior."

"Unusual how?" Riker pushed himself from the command chair and walked to a spot behind Nav, glancing at what Data had displayed. "Looks normal to me..."

"Three times the broad-spectrum emissions have been amplified slightly. All three amplifications have occurred approximately one second after onset of flare activity." Data glanced up at the First Officer. "There is no known mechanism which would explain this, sir."

Riker stroked his beard. "Keep an eye on it, Data."

"Yes, sir." The android turned back to the console and resumed tapping commands onto the panel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard didn't turn at the sound of the materialization, but kept his eyes on Tahng, and the dozen or so spears pointed at his chest. Behind him, he heard the security contingent stir, followed immediately by soft footsteps crunching on the gravel strewn path.

As he watched, the Alahman's expression changed from somberness to something approximating wonder. Glancing down at Hampstead, the captain had hoped to catch her eye, but she was gazing at the young Caeli, lips slightly parted in surprise... and something else.

"Gijah," Uleth said softly, a smile forming on his lips. He glanced at Picard, but brought his eyes immediately back to Bryn's face. "I can understand why my father would choose this messenger."

Bryn shifted uneasily and a slight blush colored her face. The Caeli was quite handsome and it didn't help that he stared at her with such open appreciation. She pulled her eyes away from his and gazed at the captain.

"Sir, you requested I beam down?"

"The message, Dr. Hampstead; it appears you're the only one able to deliver it," he said quietly, then in a louder voice as he turned to the Caeli leader, "Uleth Tahng, Alahman -- may I present Lt. Bryn Hampstead."

Uleth couldn't keep his eyes off her, didn't want to try and didn't really care that he was making something of a fool of himself. She was lovely -- smaller than this captain, the top of her head only reaching the man's jaw, with grass green eyes, short brown hair shot through with gold, pale complexion with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose...

He smiled and held his hand out to her.

Bryn took a deep breath and glanced up at Picard, eyes wide. "Sir, I..."

"Please, Doctor, don't keep this man waiting," he said sternly.

"Yes, sir." She turned back to the Alahman and tried to ignore the warmth in his large brown eyes, the way his full lips held his smile, the fact that he was naked to the waist, broad-shouldered, and his hairless, bronzed skin glistened as though lit from within...

Putting her hand in his, Bryn watched as it was swallowed up in his warm grip. The sight was both mildly frightening and incredibly erotic. Quickly, she glanced down at her feet, reaching for composure and, finally, found the professionalism of her Starfleet training. She looked back up at the Alahman.

"Your father asked me to deliver a message to you."

Uleth nodded, the smile fading from his face.

"He wanted you to take care of the dead. He said to tell you to perform the rites so their souls would join the ancient ones. He said to tell you that Caro Tahng sent me."

Grief flashed briefly in Uleth's eyes. For a moment, he looked beyond the gijah, beyond her captain to the haro fields and remembered the night he had uprooted a plant, kicked at it with a sandalled foot. What was it his mother had said? The haro is not at fault? He was beginning to wonder...

Bryn watched his face, saw sadness, despair and anger spark his brown eyes. She'd known a lot of death in the past half year and her heart went out to him. Gently, she laid her other hand on top of his.

The softness of her skin against his almost sent a shiver through him. He brought his gaze back to hers, eyes wide at the emotions she provoked in him.

"I'm sorry," Bryn whispered. "If it's any comfort, I made sure your father wasn't in any pain. I just wish I could have done something more..."

"You are a healer?" he interrupted. His statement caused a flurry of conversation among the warriors and Uleth finally remembered that his people still stood at his back. He glanced down at Picard, but didn't relinquish his hold on Hampstead's hand. "Forgive me, Captain. Please, you and your men, accompany us to my lodge. You will be made welcome there and we will be able to talk..."

Turning, Uleth began walking down the path, Hampstead in tow.

Bryn turned around once, seeking guidance from Picard, but all he did was raise a brow -- and although the stormclouds seemed to consume the last of the afternoon light, she could have sworn he was smiling...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The building reminded her of a reconstructed log cabin she'd seen once while visiting an historic site in the Appalachian Mountains. It's straight rouge wood slats and the dark brown filler packed between were just alien enough, however, to make Bryn wary as the Alahman practically pulled her through a door that had to be at least seven feet high.

It was dim and cool inside the large anteroom and she sniffed slightly at the change in temperature and the odd, but not-unpleasant, cedar-like scent of the wood. The smells changed, however, as the two continued to move through the large rooms of the lower floor, evolving into something she recognized, something that almost made her gag...

"This man is Hassa Miklos, my friend. Please, gijah, if you are a healer, can you not do something for him?"

The Alahman had released her in front of a low cot. It was from here that the smell emanated, from the Caeli lying motionless on the crude bed. Even in the dim lighting, Bryn could see the sweat glistening on the man's brow. She heard the whistle of his breathing deep within his chest, and the odor... decaying flesh; she'd recognized it immediately.

Bryn resisted bringing her hand to her nose as she gently reached out to touch the man's face. He was burning up with fever and when he opened his eyes, it was obvious he wasn't focusing on anything. She moved her hand down to the soft fabric of the blanket as Hassa twisted restlessly underneath. Gently, she lifted his arm and pressed her fingers to his wrist -- his pulse fluttered against her skin. Resuming her delicate exam, she hesitated and frowned when she reached his lower right thigh, just above his knee; the Caeli's firm skin gave way to something spongy and the man moaned softly at her brief touch.

"What happened?" she asked the Alahman, noticing that Picard had moved to stand beside her.

"To'alt," he replied sadly, "the venom is deadly, but it was my hope..."

"Snake bite?" Bryn interrupted softly.

He nodded. "I sent Hassa into the forest to search for the Ferengi. It is my fault. Is there something you can do, gijah?"

"I don't know," she answered sadly, then turned to Picard. "From what I felt, the venom might possess some sort of necrotizing factors..." Bryn hesitated, trying to put her observations into layman's terms. "The venom might be attacking... breaking down his flesh. It felt as though only the subcutaneous layers of skin were involved, but it could have progressed all the way down to the muscle tissue." She gazed down at the suffering man, wishing she'd brought her medkit, but not very confident she had the knowledge necessary to help him. This was a far cry from her normal research and labwork.

"What can be done for him?" Picard asked softly.

She sighed and repeated her earlier response. "I don't know. From his other symptoms, it also appears that a neurotoxin is involved as well." Bryn looked up at Picard. "Frankly, sir, this is a bit out of my league. May I request that Dr. Crusher have a look at him? She's had much more field experience than I, and I'd really feel more comfortable assisting."

Picard had been disturbed about the Alahman's mention of Ferengi somewhere in the forest and he'd made a mental note to probe the situation further. Hampstead's request left him with mixed emotions -- fear for Beverly's safety, but the balance tipped by a selfish desire to have her with him. For once, Picard gave in to his wants and tapped his comm badge.

"Picard to Crusher."

"Crusher here."

"Doctor, there's a wounded man at the Alahman's lodge -- snake bite..."

"One of ours?"

"No."

"I'll beam down immediately."

Picard smiled. "Thank you, doctor. Picard out."

He turned to the Alahman, noticing that the man hadn't seemed shocked at the communication and remembering that none of the Caelis had reacted as though anything out of the ordinary had happened when Hampstead had beamed down. This culture had been polluted by its contact with the Ferengi, so much so that it was possible the Prime Directive might not apply to this situation. Filing the thought away for later, he gave Tahng a reassuring smile.

"Another one of our healers will arrive shortly. I assure you we'll render whatever assistance we can."

"Thank you, Captain." Uleth returned the smile, trusting this man completely and realizing his boyhood fantasies of benevolent star people had been somewhat vindicated by Picard's arrival.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beverly picked up her medkit from her desk and opened it.

"Saved by the bell?"

Deanna's question almost made her smile. "Something like that." She continued to check the kit's contents, mentally ticking off facts she'd learned about Caeli physiology and wondering if she had all the right ingredients to treat a snakebite victim.

"Beverly."

She looked up as she closed the kit and slung it over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

Troi took a breath and smiled warmly at the emotions she sensed from her friend. Behind the calm professionalism and underneath the mild worry was muted joy -- there was only one thing that could have caused *that.*

"I'm happy for you -- for both of you..."

Crusher allowed a smile to break through as she walked around her desk. She motioned Troi ahead of her, but stopped the Betazoid just outside her office door.

"I promise we'll talk later," Beverly said softly, giving Deanna's shoulder a brief squeeze.

"Oh, I can assure you, we will talk. I want to hear *all* the details..."

Before she could stop it, Beverly's thoughts wandered to the previous night, to the bath and what had transpired there. Almost simultaneously, both women inhaled sharply. Crusher's startled eyes flew to Deanna's face and a look of consternation quickly appeared on her slightly reddened face.

"Oh my..." Deanna breathed, eyes wide.

"We will talk *later*," Crusher said under her breath, then turned on her heel and marched out of Sick Bay, her blue lab coat flaring behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isayli watched the flame-haired healer breeze out of the room, followed seconds later by the smiling dark-eyed woman. Glancing around this place, he noted that the rest of the healers were focused on their tasks -- the alien woman who never smiled tapped her fingers on a small rectangular device she held in her hand, the woman who had helped the flame-haired one now talked gently to a crying child.

Easing himself off the bed, the Caeli continued to dart his eyes about the room. The hard floor was cold under his bare feet and there was a continuous rumble that vaguely tingled his ankles, but he ignored these things, concentrating instead on making an unobserved exit.

He had waited long enough. For the past few hours he had requested and read material concerning this ship called *Enterprise* -- he felt sure he knew how to do what needed to be done.

As Isayli moved out into the carpeted corridor, he allowed himself a brief smile. His patience would be rewarded, soon the score would be settled and he could die redeemed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoht couldn't believe his good fortune. Picard of all people! His plan might net him even more than the return of the *Fortune.* He couldn't help but smile at Qinz -- in spite of the fact that this one had spied on him, the results of the espionage were turning out to be useful enough that he wouldn't seek revenge on the younger Ferengi. Still he was curious...

"No one else knew of this?" the Daimon asked, sweeping his hands around the area and the equipment concealed in the undergrowth.

Qinz remembered showing it to only one, but he was dead. He shook his head in the negative. "No, Daimon. No one else knew until after the Caelis attacked..."

At the mention of the tall meddlesome aliens, Zoht's face darkened and his resolve strengthened. "Very well. I will give you the honors, Qinz. Contact the *Opportunist* and tell them they may begin beaming the supplies down..."

Grinning, Qinz bowed. "Thank you, Daimon."

He glanced down at the monitoring equipment, patiently waiting for a strong solar flare to erupt. It took only seconds before the sensors made a detection. Still grinning, Qinz stabbed the transmit key, sending the message and setting Zoht's plan in motion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uleth watched with concern as the fiery-haired healer pulled something from the bag. He reached out to intercept her, but the gijah grasped his hand firmly before he could complete the motion.

"What is that? What is she doing?"

Bryn stood up and tried to move Uleth out of Crusher's way. "It's a device that gives us information about Hassa -- breathing, pulse and a lot more. We need to know all we can before trying to treat him."

Worried, Uleth looked from Bryn to Picard.

"Alahman, perhaps if we left my crew to do their jobs..."

Sighing, he nodded and allowed the captain to lead him to the table at the center of the room. "Forgive me. There is so much I do not understand."

Picard smiled. "That's perfectly understandable."

Shaking his head in consternation, Uleth motioned towards the pitcher and cups on the table. "You must also forgive my manners, Captain. Our women have spoiled us, and now that they are no longer here..." He picked up the pitcher and poured liquid into two small bronze bowls.

"Where are they?" Picard asked as he accepted a bowl from the Alahman.

"They are with the children and the old, someplace safe." Absently, he took a sip of the liquid, eyes straying to the two healers. "We knew the Ferengi would retaliate and we did not want our loved ones to be harmed or used against us."

The Captain's heart sped at the concept, wishing now that he hadn't given in to his earlier desires so quickly and thoughtlessly. He raised fearful eyes toward Beverly and attempted to cover his emotions by taking a sip of the cool, tart liquid. "You said earlier that you had sent Hassa into the forest after the Ferengi. What happened?"

Uleth pulled his eyes away from the women and gazed at Picard. "We raided their bases here in concert with our attack on the ship; five of the Ferengi got away."

"Were they found?"

"No. Hassa and his warriors came up empty-handed and that concerns me." He didn't let on that his greater concern was incurring the wrath of the ancient ones by ignoring their rules. His gaze strayed once more to his friend and the women who tended him -- how could he have enforced the punishment? Sometimes what the ancient ones required made no sense...

"Alahman?" When the young man turned to him, Picard studied him intently. "Where are the other Ferengi, the ones who didn't escape into the forest?"

"They were executed, of course, to atone for their transgressions." Uleth watched disapproval flash briefly in the small man's eyes. "Do you not punish those who intentionally do your people harm?"

"We do, but not by executing them," he answered slowly, taking another sip of the liquid. Then, seeking to avoid further digression, he made an abrupt change in subject. "We would like to help in this situation, Alahman, especially since the drug is causing our people great harm. However, we need to know more about how the Ferengi managed to do what they did, and what your people's involvement and desires are in the matter. Can you tell me more about how all this came about?"

Uleth nodded at the wisdom in Picard's words and set his bowl on the table. "It was our priests who brought the Ferengi among us; the priesthood was seduced by the creatures' whisperings of power, wealth and women. The priests convinced our leaders," he glanced away, remembering not only his father's involvement, but a friend's... "our leaders convinced the people. Too late we discovered our folly..."

Picard listened to the rest of the Alahman's story, mentally comparing the tale to what they had learned from Isayli. The points matched perfectly and it gave the captain some measure of comfort to realize that Isayli had not lied to them, and in the back of his mind, he held out hope of convincing Tahng to allow the dispossessed Caeli to return to his village.

"So, now you know our story, Captain. Can you help us rid ourselves of these Ferengi?" Uleth noticed Picard did not respond quickly; he seemed to be considering all that had been said. How different these people were from Ferengi, who had lulled his people with their fleet and honeyed responses.

Sighing, Picard laid the bowl down on the table. "This is a difficult matter, Alahman, and I don't wish to make a rash decision. I'll have to speak with my people to discover if it's appropriate for us to become involved at all."

"I do not understand," he said, frowning.

"It's difficult to explain." Picard glanced down at the sparkling grain of the hardwood floor, then back up at the Alahman. "My people believe we should never interfere with a culture such as yours."

"Even if help is needed?" Tahng listened in astonishment as the captain answered in the negative. "Even if we *requested* your help?"

Picard took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. "Under certain circumstances, we might be able to provide aid -- and this appears to be one of them. It is more likely that any help we provide wouldn't be construed as interference since you have already been interacting regularly with a space-faring race..." He paused and spread his hands out before him in a helpless gesture. "But, I do need to speak with my people, Alahman, before any decisions can be made."

Uleth smiled. "I understand and all I can ask is that your people consider our dilemma." He paused for a moment, listening to the creaking sounds coming from upstairs, realizing the wind was getting even stronger. "It appears that the storm will prevent us from tending to the dead that you have returned to us, Captain..."

"We'll be glad to do whatever we can for you in that regard, Alahman. We can also help you make certain that your people reach places of safety *before* the hurricane makes landfall..."

Tahng listened with gratitude as Picard outlined an evacuation plan and every so often allowed his gaze to wander to the gijah who helped tend Hassa.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

La Forge frowned, then reached over Data's shoulder and tapped out a quick sequence on the science console's smooth black panel. He straightened and, placing hands on hips, gazed at the display which resulted.

"Is there a problem, Geordi?"

The Chief Engineer shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Data. There's something about that pattern that looks familiar..."

"Perhaps I could clean up the signal further by extrapolating additional frequency signatures from our current data and then..."

"Yeah!" La Forge said, brightening. "Average those out and come up with a second filter..."

"Precisely." Data turned his eyes back to the science station. While his fingers flew across the console, he kept his gaze fixed on the display, watching the spiked pattern smooth out...

La Forge sucked in a breath as he finally identified the familiar signal.

"Commander, there's a Ferengi ship in the area! That," he said, pointing at the display, "is their version of a transporter!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beverly sighed as she studied the results of Hassa's scan. "Good diagnosis, Doctor, but the question now is how do we treat this man."

"Too bad we can't use the drug," Bryn muttered, keeping her gaze on the Caeli.

Eyes widening, Crusher entered data into the tricorder and finally looked at Hampstead. "I think you have something there..." Smiling at her companion's surprised expression, she passed the device to Bryn. "We wouldn't need to use a full dosage, so we could avoid the addictive effect. And look at this; the ephedrine content is perfect, and with the way their physiology potentiates the dopamine..."

"It would work, wouldn't it?"

Beverly nodded and looked down at the Caeli, working the dosage out in her mind. "We would probably need to increase the dopamine content, but I don't think we should use a synthetic form of it..."

Hampstead took a deep breath. "The ey'haro! It's close to 85% dopamine..."

"And, in a form that the Caelis can readily utilize... I'll contact the *Enterprise* and ask Mr. Worf to beam down the samples we took from Lt. Martens' quarters while you get the ey'haro."

Bryn hesitated, darting a quick glance at Uleth and breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn't seen her look his way. Something about the Caeli stirred emotions within her that she'd always thought would be reserved for Mickey; it was unsettling.

Crusher raised a brow. "Doctor?"

Clearing her throat, she nodded. "I'll go ask him..."

Slowly, she approached the Alahman and Picard. Tahng turned when he heard her footsteps and flashed her an incredible smile that Bryn found herself returning automatically. Cursing the heat she felt flaring toward the tips of her ears, she continued forward.

"Captain, Alahman. I'm sorry to interrupt..."

"You have not interrupted, gijah."

She nodded and stood a bit straighter, trying unsuccessfully to control her rapid heartbeat. "Dr. Crusher and I believe we may know how to treat Hassa, but we need some of the ey'haro."

Uleth frowned and glanced from Hampstead to Picard. During his conversation with the captain, he was careful not to speak its true name, rather he'd used its common one. "How is it that you know the sacred word for our dream-giver?"

"Isayli told us..."

"What?!" the Alahman whispered. He turned shocked eyes to Picard. "The priest is still alive? And you withheld this from us?"

"Priest?" Bryn whispered. So that was what the man had been hiding... She wilted under the look the captain gave her. She barely heard Crusher's approach from behind.

Picard tugged on his uniform tunic and fixed Tahng with a steady gaze. "He told us he was outcast, but he didn't tell us why..."

"And even if he had, you would not have meted out the proper punishment because that is not your way." Tahng said harshly. "Correct, Captain?"

He sighed. "We would not have required his death, no..."

Crusher stepped closer to Picard. "Gentlemen, can we talk about this later? We can save Hassa, all we need are..."

"No!" Uleth glared at the flame-haired healer. All the mistakes in judgment he'd made -- first sending the women and children to the Cave of Voices, then not allowing Hassa to be punished for his failure to achieve redemption... The ancient ones were displeased, he was sure, and there was only one way to avoid their retribution. "He must bear the responsibility for his failure. Hassa must die..."

"What?" Crusher stared at the tall man, eyes wide. "Alahman, didn't you understand? We can save him..."

"No!" Tahng turned from the impudent woman to Picard. His father's will was strong within him no matter what other course his heart might dictate. "And you will return Isayli to us immediately. The priest must face his punishment as well."

"I'm afraid we can't do that," the captain said softly.

The Alahman's face reddened slightly from his anger. Square jaw set, he narrowed his brown eyes as he studied Picard.

"Do not interfere, Captain," he said, voice low. "I will ask you again to return Isayli to us."

For a few tense moments, the two men stared at each other. Uleth broke the silence, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on the captain's grey eyes.

"If you do not," he said pointedly, "I will have to insist that you remain here as our guests..."

Before Picard could respond, a high-pitched voice broke into the conversation, sending a rush of adrenaline through him.

"Why that's exactly what *we* had in mind, Alahman..."

The captain spun around toward the voice, pushing Beverly behind him as he did so. He never saw it coming and, initially, he heard more than felt the whip as it cracked up against the side of his face. Only briefly did pain lance through him, but by then he was falling to his knees, his vision dimming and only one thought pounding in his mind....

//Beverly... Dear God, what about Beverly?//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isayli wrapped the fingers of one hand around his wrist and pulled it toward him, applying additional pressure as the struggling woman tried to extricate herself from the choke hold. His face stung from where she'd scratched him and he had only just recovered his breath from the kick she'd applied to his groin.

That a woman, especially one so small, would fight him at all was impressive -- that she would actually cause him harm, even more so. It reminded him so much of... Shaking the thought from his mind, he brought his focus back to the task at hand.

As the woman lost consciousness, he whispered to her, concern clouding his face.

"I will not harm you. I am sorry for this and ask forgiveness."

With a sigh, the brunette relaxed against him, and Isayli gently lowered her to the floor. Carefully, he stepped over her gold and black-clad form to the transporter console, glancing at the panel for only a moment before selecting the coordinates. He knew his destination's exact location; he knew many things that the Ferengi never expected him to know.

As he entered the final value, the entire room pulsed in a red glow and klaxons whooped out a warning. Isayli's heart pounded, but he forced himself to remain still. If he had caused this, if they knew he were here... He sighed when nothing more happened and turned his attention back to the board.

Isayli's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't had time to familiarize himself fully with their written language, but he knew these words -- "Red Alert. Transporter Locked Out." He also knew from his study of the Enterprise manuals that special access codes were required before he could manually override the device.

"And just where do you think you're going, mister?"

He didn't even turn at the sound of the young woman's voice, already knowing she had a weapon pointed at him. He had failed -- again. The fact that he was still alive was an obscenity.

Shoulders slumping, he leaned heavily on his hands, all thoughts of rectitude and revenge evaporating.

"Nowhere, it appears..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deanna pulled her eyes away from the viewscreen that the Ferengi ship that hung before them. Frowning slightly, she gasped and clutched the bottom of the chair. "Something's happened..." she whispered, eyes widening at the focused points of anger and fear. She tried to keep up with them, even as Will leaned over and grasped her arm, ordering her to tell him what was wrong.

The strongest and calmest contact was the captain -- it was also the first to be broken. Next came Beverly whose puzzlement was quickly giving way to concern. Last was Bryn Hampstead -- Troi felt anger and resolve from the woman.

"They're in danger," she finally reported, gazing worriedly at Riker. "The captain... he's still alive, but... unconscious, I think..."

The First Officer pushed himself up from the command chair and turned toward Worf. "Lock onto them. Prepare to beam them out..."

At that moment, the tactical console flashed a warning. "Sir, the Ferengi ship is powering up weapons!"

"Evasive," Riker shouted, switching concerns mid-sentence as the bridge rumbled and quaked around him.

"Hit on our forward shields. They're holding at 96%."

Riker grimaced at the information. The hit had been strong enough to drain the shields by 4 points; obviously the Ferengi were serious. "Return fire."

"Aye, sir," Worf responded, unable to keep the pleasure from seeping into his deep voice. "Targeting engines and firing... direct hit on their starboard shields. Their weapons are locked on again..."

Deanna turned to face Will. "I've lost contact with all of them..."

"Continue evasive, Mr. Worf. Continue firing," he said curtly, then glanced at Troi. "You know we can't lower our shields now..." He stopped the thought as another hit shook the *Enterprise.*

"Obviously *they* know that as well," Deanna whispered, clenching her hands in frustration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isayli instinctively reached out for support as the deck bucked underneath him. His escorts grasped his arms and held him steady, their faces not betraying anything they might be feeling.

"What was that?" the Caeli asked.

"Sir, if you'll continue; it will be safer for you in the brig..."

He disliked this treatment from them, but knew he had earned it. With a contrite nod, he allowed the security personnel to herd him down the corridor. Even when the ship shuddered again, the trio continued their march towards the holding cells.

Isayli knew any hope of gaining his redemption was slipping away and now, with this mighty ship trembling underfoot, he wondered if his fate might simply be to die here among the stars...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were Ferengi everywhere -- they poured into the room, snarling like hyenas, snapping their whips and firing weapons.

Ignoring the pandemonium, Uleth tried to grasp both women, aware of the importance of each, but their training gave them an edge over him and they bolted away.

Hampstead was barely aware of Tahng's fingers brushing against her uniform sleeve as she charged the Ferengi. Lightning fast, she kicked out before he had a chance to recoil the whip. Her booted foot contacted his sternum soundly, knocking the air out of him and sending him to the floor. She threw herself down there with him and the two struggled for possession of his weapon.

Crusher had managed to get both arms around Picard's chest; she held his weight against her and gently lowered him the rest of the way to the polished wooden floor, wincing when she saw the bloodstains on his collar and one shoulder of his uniform.

"I have you, Jean-Luc. Everything's going to be all right." Staunching his wound with her lab coat, she ran her other hand over him, pausing first at his neck, then at his chest, assuring herself that he was still breathing and that his pulse was normal.

"Gijah!"

The sound of Uleth's voice pulled her attention away.

The Alahman tried to reach Hampstead, but stiffened when a whip caught him from behind, its painful tip notching the back of his neck and its paralyzing agony shooting down to the soles of his feet. He gritted his teeth and crumpled, unable to make his muscles obey him and never seeing Crusher reach for him.

"No!" Bryn cried and as she watched the Alahman fall, realized she'd lost the struggle with the Ferengi -- he had managed to reclaim his breath and his verve. He let go of the whip, but only long enough to grab Hampstead's arm and bring her wrist to his mouth...

The pain of his teeth sinking into her flesh was excruciating. She screamed, but tried desperately to keep her fingers on the weapon.

The Ferengi began to gnaw on her wrist, working his sharply pointed teeth deeper and deeper towards the bone, oblivious to the sticky blood which gushed into his mouth filling it with the taste of salt and iron.

Bryn screamed again and dropped the whip.

The Ferengi released her, grabbed his weapon and danced away. He snarled at the human female, his mouth and chin dripping crimson.

"Bryn..." Crusher tried to reach for the injured woman, but the Ferengi returned to Hampstead, grabbing a fistful of her short brown hair in his bony hand.

"This one will pay..." he hissed.

Ignoring the pain, Bryn moved her eyes around the dimly lit room, trying to gauge just how dire their situation was. Two of the Caeli warriors who had been seated at the rough-hewn table had fallen to the floor, their large chairs overturned, and she could see another still seated, but unmoving, one well-muscled arm hanging limp beside his thighs. The other three that were in her field of view were well-guarded by Ferengis who carried standard issue phasers -- one Ferengi for each Caeli.

Bringing her eyes forward, she finally caught a glimpse of Uleth on the floor. Blood trickled from a wound at the nape of his neck and there was a crimson smear across his broad shoulders. A sharp stab of anger and fear pierced her, made all the worse when she saw Crusher cradling the captain in her arms.

Bryn opened her mouth to speak, but heard voices and bootfalls behind her.

"Answer me! What have you done with Captain Picard!"

Her heart fell. She recognized Lt. Ybanez' voice and from the sound of multiple sets of footsteps, she realized the Ferengi must have rounded up the *Enterprise* security contingent. The lieutenant's angry voice was oddly energizing, however, and a faint smile curved her lips as he continued to rage at their captors; but, a second later, Hampstead jumped at the harsh crack of a whip. She squeezed her eyes shut as the sound was immediately followed a loud thump.

"Anyone else care to lodge a complaint?" a voice asked imperiously. Several Ferengi gave the comment an obligatory snicker, but carefully maintained their vigil over their captives.

"Good," the voice continued, coming closer to her. "Get rid of that body, stand the rest up against the wall."

Her captor yanked down hard on her hair, snapping Bryn's neck back. She bit back a moan as she focused on the face of a Ferengi wearing the headdress of a Daimon.

"It looks like this female gave you trouble, Clev."

He growled in reply. "I claim her, Daimon Zoht. It is my right."

"Very well; we'll take her with us."

Clev released her and prodded her to her feet with the whip's handle. She watched as Zoht walked toward Crusher. The CMO pulled Picard's still unmoving form closer to her and glared at the Ferengi.

"Captain Picard will be taking a little trip with us," Zoht said smugly.

"I don't think so." Beverly had worked a hypospray free of her medkit during the excitement and after cycling it to the strongest sedative available, had slipped it up her sleeve. It didn't offer her much hope, but she would at least have the satisfaction of taking one of these Ferengi down.

"I really don't think you'll be able to do anything to stop it, my dear Dr. Crusher." Zoht smiled at her puzzlement; he had done his homework concerning the *Enterprise*, including the study of the senior crew's bios. If Picard hadn't been so "available," this female would have made a good substitute. As his eyes roamed her body, Zoht thought there might have been other uses for her as well.

Grinning, the Daimon stepped back and nodded briefly. Another of Zoht's crewmen stepped up behind Beverly...

Bryn watched in horror as the creature gave a quick flick of his wrist. The blue shrouded whip snapped toward Crusher's head and a tiny bolt flew from it, striking her at the base of her skull. With a groan, she fell limply to the side, losing her grip on the captain.

With a cry, Bryn reached for them as two more Ferengi grabbed Picard and hoisted him up. Clev's bony hand closed around her wrist.

Hampstead fought with renewed vigor as she watched the Ferengi drag the captain toward the lodge entrance, struggling against Clev's attempts to hold her down and ignoring the stabbing pain in her wrist.

She never saw it coming. One minute Bryn felt her blood-slicked hand slipping away from Clev's grasp, the next minute, her world exploded and she found herself falling into the light, finally reaching the darkness behind it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pounding had more of a tactile than audible quality to it and that confused him, so he focused on it, slowly realizing that each thump occurred in conjunction with a beat of his heart...

Picard inhaled sharply as awareness returned to him, bringing a stabbing pain with it. Groggily, he started to raise his hand to his face, but found his arms had been pulled behind him and his wrists restrained with metal circlets. Testing those only briefly, he quickly turned his attention to his surroundings.

He was seated on the thickly padded, damp forest floor, his back against the trunk of a tree, the lanceolate leaves of a twisted vine scratching his left cheek and flaking bits of dried blood onto his uniform. Picard focused first on the howling wind, then on the sounds of voices and footsteps, trying to gauge how distant they might be, when another sound, close by, made him hold his breath in fear. A low moan right behind him -- a woman moaning...

"Captain?"

He sighed when he recognized Hampstead's voice. His initial relief that it wasn't Beverly evaporated -- worry filled the void.

"What's your condition, Doctor?"

"I have a few injuries, sir, but I'm ok."

Picard frowned at the weak quality of her voice. "What kinds of injuries?"

"I guess the worst is the bite wound on my right wrist. Doesn't really matter, sir... I think they killed Ybanez, maybe some of the Caelis. Dr. Crusher and the Alahman were knocked unconscious..."

He swallowed hard at the news, tried not to focus on it -- not yet. Their first priority was escape. Picard heard footsteps nearby and looked up to see four Ferengi approaching.

"Quiet. They're coming..." he managed to say the words before two of their captors hauled him roughly to his feet and propelled him in front of them.

Their push and the effects of the wind at his back caused Picard to stumble over the massive tree roots and undergrowth, but he managed to right himself even as one of the Ferengi shoved him in the back once more. He gritted his teeth at their high-pitched laughter, remembering a time when he thought of these beings as irritating, but essentially benign -- no longer; and if he could have gotten his hands around their throats right now...

Behind him, he heard Hampstead moan and he tried to turn, but the Ferengi wouldn't allow it. Picard shrugged their hands off his shoulders and focused on taking in as much of the clearing as he could. He noted the light had faded even more and glanced up toward the canopy of leaves. No longer could he see bits and pieces of clear sky and the banded clouds had merged into a solid, threatening mass. The hurricane continued to approach and he wondered how much time they'd have before its full force struck them.

Bringing his eyes earthward, he noticed most of the activity in the area was frantic and conversation was at a minimum. He watched several Ferengi hurriedly carting equipment into boxy green buildings. Some of the devices looked familiar, and he finally recognized them as components of a portable sensing apparatus. It appeared that several others were setting up some sort of security perimeter, one drove spiked cylinders into the ground while others seemed to scan those with devices resembling tricorders. As he neared one group of workers, he heard a low hum and saw one of the cylinders glow briefly; it was all the confirmation he needed of his assessment.

"Well, Captain, nice to see you up and about. I'm Daimon Zoht. Welcome..."

Picard turned and glared at the being who approached him. "Why have you kidnapped us?"

Zoht smiled and motioned towards equipment resembling communications consoles. "You're here to help us strike a bargain. The female is here as... a guest." Then, the Ferengi strode forward and ripped Picard's comm badge from him and hurled it into the woods. "I doubt you'll be needing that..."

Gritting his teeth, the captain barely resisted as his two escorts positioned him in front of what looked like a transmitter and, at last, got a good look at Hampstead. She was pale, her face drawn, a large purpling bruise under her left eye, and her right uniform sleeve was soaked in blood. Picard noticed the hem of the sleeve had been practically shredded and he brought horrified eyes up to hers. Just a bite wound, she'd said?

"Let her go and I'll cooperate fully..."

The Ferengi laughed. "You'll cooperate fully no matter what, Captain. We are in control of this situation and we intend to profit from it." He pulled out a phaser and pointed it at the human's chest, then nodded to one of the guards.

Roughly, Picard was unshackled. He rubbed the grooves in his wrists, mind racing as he tried to stall. "What is it you want?"

"The return of the *Fortune* in exchange for your life."

Zoht grinned at the look of shock on the human's face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Worf looked up from the board, a scowl on his face. "Sir, the Ferengi are hailing us... from the surface."

Riker stood up and walked a few paces towards a point between Navigation and Helm, then turned to the Klingon. "On screen."

The Ferengi's broad, grinning face filled the viewscreen. "Greetings, *Enterprise*. I am Daimon Zoht and I am contacting you to propose a mutually beneficial trade."

"We're not in the habit of dealing with kidnappers or drug traders, Zoht. You have our captain and several of our officers. We demand their return. Immediately."

"Oh, we shall return them," Zoht said agreeably, "when you release the *Fortune* into our custody." He paused and motioned to someone off-screen.

Troi had edged forward in her seat, eyes riveted to the viewscreen. Her eyes widened when Picard's grim visage entered the field of view. One side of his face was caked with dried blood and she could see a slit down his left cheek; the wound began just under his eye and ended close to his jaw.

"No deals, Number One." Picard barked the order before the Daimon could speak.

Zoht backhanded the human, gaining a certain amount of pleasure from the sting which radiated down his own knuckles and even more from the trickle of blood which appeared at the corner of the captain's mouth.

Riker's fury forced him to step a few paces closer to the viewscreen. "No deals, sir," he echoed sternly. Then, tugging on the bottom his uniform tunic, he glared at the Ferengi. "Return our captain and crewmen, or..."

"Or what, *Enterprise*? Don't you understand there is nothing you can do? We have covered *all* contingencies!" Zoht shrieked. He glanced around him, looking for a weapon, eyes falling on the hypospray that one of his men had intercepted as it was being beamed down from the *Enterprise* to Crusher. Zoht snatched it up, knowing what it contained, and shook it in front of the screen. "Perhaps I have not motivated you enough..."

He ejected a half-full vial from the cylinder with one hand, the other he shoved deeply into his pocket withdrawing another cylinder and snapping it into the device. That done, in one swift motion, the Ferengi brought the hypospray's nozzle to Picard's neck and pressed down hard.

"No!"

The word was screamed by two women -- Troi on the bridge of the *Enterprise* and echoed by Hampstead on the ground in the Ferengi camp.

Deanna was on her feet and standing by Riker's side in a flash, having recognized the stylized hypospray as one of those confiscated from Sondra Martens' quarters. She watched in horror as the captain's eyes rolled back and he lost his balance, falling into the arms of two of his captors.

"It must have been the drug," she whispered hoarsely. "They've injected him with the drug."

Zoht glared at the screen, all pretenses at good humor dropped. "Release the *Fortune* in one hour's time, and I will return your captain. Refuse, and every hour, on the hour, I will give your captain another injection. The drug is highly addictive especially in its pure form, and at that rate and dosage, he'll become mildly addicted in about five hours. By the tenth dose, his neural pathways will have been permanently altered. The fourteenth dose... well, that much *that* fast will render him a mindless shell. Your choice."

The screen blanked, but Riker continued to stare at it, speechless. His gut clenched and the icy shock of adrenaline coursed through him.

What in God's name had he just done?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isayli glanced at the tense-shouldered man standing behind the console in the brig. The young man pulled his eyes away from it with obvious effort and gazed at the security escorts.

"The Ferengi have the captain," he said tightly and nodded toward his console. "They're transmitting a message from the surface now."

His escorts, their hands still around his upper arms, moved toward the console to watch the transmission. Isayli pulled his attention from them and focused on the tiny window with its moving images. He finally recognized the Ferengi and bile rose in his throat -- this was the creature who had enslaved his people, forcing them to work the fields, threatening to take their women...

Then it struck him and Isayli's mouth opened in surprise. He knew this place, recognized the trees, the clearing, some of the equipment. Qinz had shown it to him so long ago, promising him that he and his beloved would soon take their place among the star people, promising him riches, telling him it would all happen from here... if only he would convince the Alahman to conduct a minor bit of business.

"I know where this is," he whispered, eyes still focused on the screen and the horror unfolding there. "I know where your captain is being held..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five dead. Ybanez and Soto of the *Enterprise* security team, plus three Caelis -- Lonien, Miros and Sonda. Numerous injured, but Beverly had managed to take care of all of them; even Hassa had responded to her admittedly inadequate treatment. That just left the Alahman -- he had refused to be treated until all of his men were given aid first.

She hugged herself, feeling the useless hypospray still up her sleeve, but unwilling to draw attention by removing it. Instead, she tried to keep her thoughts focused on escape, tried not to let them wander to Jean-Luc...

"You should sit."

"And you should let me take care of that wound. All of the others have been treated, you know..."

She was grateful she'd struck the deal with the Ferengi -- aid for their injured in exchange for her retaining possession of her comm badge, but even if she hadn't understood Uleth's words, Beverly felt sure she would have recognized the concern in his deep voice. She tried to give him a reassuring smile.

The Alahman returned her smile. "I am all right, but I am worried about..."

"Silence!" one of the Ferengi snarled.

The Alahman glared at the creature, but kept quiet and stepped several paces away from Crusher. He kept the being in the periphery of his vision, waiting until the Ferengi had discovered something else of interest. Uleth took a calming breath, then spoke.

"There is a way out..."

Crusher barely saw his lips move and the sound of his voice mimicked the gusting wind outside the lodge. Frowning, she stared at him. Had she heard correctly? "Go on..." she prompted, mouthing the words more than speaking them.

He turned his head to her right. She saw him tilt his chin towards a panelled wall and she followed the direction of the motion, noticing that one portion looked a bit more faded than the rest. A doorway. It wasn't something that anyone would really see -- unless they were looking for it.

The Ferengi standing watch there grinned at her, thinking she was ogling him. Disgustedly, Beverly lowered her eyes. Seconds later, she felt the Alahman move next to her and although he stood close enough for her to feel his body's warmth through her uniform, she had to strain to hear his soft voice.

"Get the Ferengi to move away from the wall."

Oh, anything but that, she thought, sighing. Then, arranging her lips into a smile instead of the grimace they had automatically assumed, she lifted her head and gazed steadily at the guard. When the Ferengi leered back at her, she moved away from Uleth, surprised and grateful when she felt him give her hand a quick squeeze.

Smiling more broadly and never allowing her eyes to leave the guard's face, she walked to the table. Beverly split her awareness between the Ferengi and the Alahman; the former sauntered towards her, the latter slipped away from her.

Taking a deep breath, she worked the hypospray into her hand so that its nozzle lay concealed in her palm and, reaching for the pitcher, poured rose-colored liquid into two bowls. Beverly pushed one toward the Ferengi.

"It looked as though you could use a little... refreshment," she breathed, willing the Alahman to make it to the damned door. He was almost there, just a few paces more...

The guard ran his eyes over her body and nodded. "Refreshment is *exactly* what I need."

When the Ferengi reached for her, Beverly stepped away and coyly gazed at him through half-closed lids. "Not so fast..." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Uleth motion to her and she smiled at the guard. "Let's take things slowly," she purred, reaching out with her left hand to run her fingers along the ridges of his ear.

The Ferengi closed his eyes and, moaning softly, pushed his head into her hand. Beverly stepped closer and before the guard could react, she placed the hypospray to his neck and pressed down.

The hiss sounded deafening and she glanced around the room as the guard slumped against her. They had heard -- five Ferengi at the far end of the room turned toward her, frowning.

"Now, Doctor!"

Uleth's shout spurred Beverly to action. She stepped away from the Ferengi and he collapsed to the floor with a thump. Behind her, she heard the crack and sizzle of the whips above the pounding of boots on the wooden floor and she practically dove into the cavernous opening, colliding with the Alahman's solid chest.

Beverly tried to gather her wits, aware that others had entered the tunnel's darkness with them, and she struck out instinctively.

Uleth reacted more quickly this time and caught the healer's hand in his before it made contact. "My warriors," he hissed and, releasing her, helped the others bar the door.

Confused by both the tumult beyond the wall and the circumstance, Crusher squinted into the darkness, attempting to identify the shadow that stepped close to her. "Lt. Rogers, Doctor," he whispered. "What now?"

"That's up to the Alahman, Lieutenant..."

"Move. This way."

The disembodied voice possessed large hands that turned her around and urgently impelled her deeper into the humid, mildewed shaft.

Beverly didn't argue and, as she ran, she reached up to her chest, tapping the comm badge and sighing gratefully at the chirp and rapid acknowledgment from the *Enterprise*.

"Scramble this signal and patch me through to Commander Riker..."

Turning her head briefly, Beverly tried to ignore the sounds behind her as well as her fears that they would all soon be trapped deep underground, defenseless, and with a dozen rabid Ferengi bent on revenge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isayli bowed his head, trying to remain patient. "I realize you cannot lower the ship's shields at this time. To do so would invite destruction at the hands of the Ferengi." He brought his brown eyes back to Riker's and leaned forward, elbows on the table. The motion swept his blunt-cut black hair over the tops of his shoulders. "You can, however, send one of your shuttlecraft..."

"Which the Ferengi would promptly blow to kingdom come. You're crazy if you think I'd send anyone on a suicide mission like that." Riker stood up, glaring at the Caeli who sat across from him. It was unnerving, talking to the man as though he knew something about procedure or tactics.

"Your Chief Engineer has been working on modifications to your shuttlecraft shields in order to make them more..."

"You dare quote to me what our people are researching?" Riker stared at Isayli in disbelief.

"Actually, Commander, he is correct," Data interrupted gently. "Geordi *has* been working on ways to create multiple layers of shields. The offset interleaving he proposes would eliminate gaps, especially those which exist near..."

"I know, Data." The First Officer sat back down and sighed, running a hand across his eyes. He looked up at Isayli, saw the man's hopeful expression, and that only heightened his guilt. That something should have happened to the captain due to his actions... "Data, has Mr. La Forge done anything more than simulations at this point?"

"Yes, sir. The simulations were successful, therefore he has begun work modifying the power source."

Eyes on Isayli, Riker asked Data, "And when do you estimate a fully-functional prototype could be completed?"

Data cocked his head to the side, his eyes downcast and moving rapidly as he calculated the answer. Finally, he gazed up at Riker. "If I am able to provide assistance, approximately 1.67 hours, Commander."

Isayli sighed and sat back in the chair. "I request permission..."

The First Officer held up his hand. "Let's take this one step at a time, all right?" He asked the question with less vitriol, recognizing that the Caeli truly wanted to help. When he received a quick nod in reply, Riker tugged on his uniform tunic and stood. "Very well, then. Data, you and..."

"Worf to Riker."

Frowning at the urgency he detected in the summons, Will hesitated briefly before answering. "Riker here. Go ahead."

"Sir, I have Dr. Crusher..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beverly sprinted up the ladder, swallowing her claustrophobia as she repeatedly brushed against the damp earth and rock inside the close shaft. She was startled, but didn't refuse the help as two Caeli warriors she didn't recognize lifted her up and set her gently on the grassy ground.

It was a shock to be outside in the gathering storm. Even though the lodge had creaked and groaned in the gusting wind, its warmth and light had insulated them from this cold gloom. Turning, she barely discerned the Alahman conferring with another half-dozen warriors, his long black hair whipping behind him. When he caught her gaze, he nodded, then approached the tunnel exit.

After helping the last of the escapees from the hole, he grasped the ladder, pulled it out and flung it aside. Uleth put his hand on her shoulder, signifying to the others that the healer was to be treated as a friend.

"These men are loyal to me. They have come to help us." He motioned toward the forest. "There is a place we can hide while we wait for the shuttlecraft..."

"Just a minute." Lt. Rogers stepped forward and showed the group his phaser. "Picked this up on the way out."

Grinning at their shocked expressions, he pointed the weapon towards the hole and fired at its rocky perimeter. "Let's see if we can't give 'em a bit more of an obstacle..."

The group ducked at the spray of debris which resulted, but when it was over, piles of rock, grass and earth had filled the hole, providing a barrier that would at least slow their pursuers down.

Uleth stepped forward, his stern expression and stiff posture garnering their attention. "Enough. We must get moving..."

With that, he marched off toward the dark forest leaving the others scurrying to keep up with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fabrics of lives, both his and others, radiated from where he stood and Picard gazed at the resulting tapestry in amazement. Each thread of warp and woof had some significance -- events, both minor and major, which had affected him, or conversely, a glance, a touch or a word of his that had impacted another.

He spied a particularly coarse area and reached out his hand to touch it. The colorless, twisted fibers were rough under fingers and he knew immediately what this was...

*Locutus* his mind whispered along with the collective.

"No!" he shouted, jerking his hand away as though burned, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut against the memories. "No..."

Something warm brushed his mind and he opened his eyes slowly, searching the weave until he found the cause. It started as a shimmering strand far behind him, widening into a soft ribbon of blue satin that twined throughout the whole of what stretched before him, supporting it, smoothing it, ultimately changing the picture of his future into something that took his breath away with its joy...

This Jean-Luc recognized as well. What he had never realized until now was that she had always been a part of him and always would, no matter what did or did not happen between them. He didn't try to stop the tears that welled up in his eyes.

"Beverly..." he whispered, voice hoarse.

"No."

His heart froze at the word and he tried to reach toward the sound, but couldn't make it. Something blocked him, prevented him from reaching her.

"Beverly, please."

"Captain, it's not Beverly..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bryn cradled him in her arms, biting her lip as he reached up, trying to touch her face. She caught his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, the gesture causing her to gasp in pain.

"Captain, it's not Beverly," she whispered again, folding his arm back over his chest and taking a moment to wipe the tears from her face and from his. "It's Bryn Hampstead, remember?"

He moaned once, then relaxed, but she saw the movement of his eyes under his lids and his breathing was ragged. She didn't have to imagine what he might be going through. She had been there. This was the first stage -- what she'd always called the revelation, where your brain went crazy snapping things together into some breathtaking representational structure that would stay with you long after the drug's effects had vanished.

The euphoria would take hold next, then he'd crash, would probably experience the confused but unconcerned feelings next, and then it would start all over with another injection.

Bryn glanced up as the security enclosure hummed and sparked around her, catching sight of Clev as he scurried past. She glared at him and even in the dimming light and fierce wind, noticed with satisfaction that the bruising around his eyes had deepened in color. She didn't know who had been more surprised at her frenzied reaction to what Zoht had done to Picard -- Clev or herself -- but, she'd caused the Ferengi enough harm that he'd given up his claim on her.

So, here she sat in the howling wind, holding the captain of the *Enterprise* as though he were a sick child, and watching as the stormclouds above mimicked her roiling emotions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uleth squatted, brushing leaves and other bits of windblown debris away until he had a relatively clear patch of exposed earth. Picking up a twig, he began to draw. He maintained his silence, not quite trusting his voice; fear of the approaching storm maintained its prominence in his thoughts, but other emotions churned just below the surface.

Self-doubt ate at him -- had he done the right thing? Asking these star people for help could turn out to be as big a mistake as welcoming the Ferengi into their villages. Uleth glanced up at Crusher and her uniformed workmate -- they seemed to care a great deal for each other and for those they did not know, but he realized the trust he had placed within them was based on nothing more than gut instinct. They *had*, after all, refused to return Isayli and it was clear they did not understand the ways of his people; ways he had begun to question lately...

He frowned at the errant notion and tried to refocus his attention on his map, but his thoughts had already strayed to the priest. He couldn't stop the anger that rose within him at the fact that Isayli had survived the mission when his father had not. Why him? Why couldn't the gijah have saved his father?

Right on the heels of his anger came a sinking feeling as he considered how Lara would react when she heard this news. What would he do then? If he demanded Isayli meet his fate, as his father had proscribed, how could he look Lara in the eyes, knowing how much she loved the priest? Uleth remembered the long nights of hearing her heart-rending sobs, the fact that their father hadn't been swayed by them or Lara's words, that Caro Tahng had been insistent Isayli should pay the price for his folly... His sister's feelings were more clear to him since he had finally given his heart to another and now he faced the very real possibility that the gijah might not live long enough for him to speak his love...

The twig snapped with the pressure Uleth had placed on it. Hurling it into the wind, he picked up another and began to speak, trying to distract himself from the internal torment.

"This is where we are now," he said, pointing to the small circle, hoping the others could see in the dim light. "Here is where the Ferengi are holding Captain Picard and Bryn." Uleth glanced up at Crusher, making sure he'd pronounced the gijah's name correctly. The fire-haired healer smiled briefly and he nodded, turning his attention back to his map.

"Over here are where the caves begin. This is the Cave of Voices, where our women, children and our old are hiding. It is a sacred place to us, difficult to find and the path to it is hard, but I do not want to rely upon its location as protection enough. The Ferengi must be kept away from this area."

Crusher leaned forward and shook her head, speaking loudly over the gusting wind. "That cave is awfully close to their camp, Alahman..."

"I know, healer." He sighed and ran his hand over his brow. "Still we must do our best to keep attention away from this place."

"Of course," Beverly responded.

"We all know the plan -- we will provide a distraction while the shuttlecraft lands. Those within the flying ship will attempt the rescue; we will support them. Understood?" When they all nodded solemnly, Uleth looked to Crusher. "Healer, you will give us the sign to proceed..."

She fingered her comm badge, wishing that she could contact the *Enterprise* again, wondering if they'd heard anything from Jean-Luc's captors, but knowing all transmissions were being jammed. None of them could communicate. Everything they were about to do, they would be attempting blindly...

"Dr. Crusher?"

She dropped her hand to her knee and nodded at the Alahman. "I'll give the signal. We have about 45 minutes left before the shuttle leaves the *Enterprise*."

Uleth stood. "Then we should use this time to meditate upon what we need to do." He glanced quickly up at the sky and the grey clouds lit occasionally by lightning strokes. "Let us hope the ancient ones hold back their fury long enough for us to rescue our people."

He turned and walked slowly away from the group, not too far, but putting enough distance between them for privacy. The Caelis -- those who had escaped from the lodge and those who had met them at the tunnel exit -- followed their leader. With a nod in her direction, Lt. Rogers got to his feet.

"I'll stand watch," he said as he moved off into the undergrowth.

Beverly remained where she was, sitting on the ground, staring at Tahng's map. It had been almost an hour since she'd spoken with Will, but she hadn't been able to stop her mind's replay of his words -- "They've injected him with the drug."

One of her fears had become reality -- Jean-Luc was in danger and she was impotent to help him. The thought that he might not survive his ordeal was a punch to her gut. How odd it was, then, to realize she was handling the situation with an unaccustomed equanimity. When and where had she gotten *that*?

Comprehension flashed within her; Beverly knew exactly what had happened. She had no regrets now. There were no more "if onlys," no "I wish we hads" staring her in the face. Of course she was worried, fearful, and frustrated at her helplessness, but now she was buoyed by an undercurrent of shared love. It was something she'd never experienced as far as Jean-Luc was concerned and the irony of it made her smile. Holding him at arm's length all those years had never protected her -- it had only caused more trauma.

Sighing at the revelations, Beverly tilted her head back and squinted at the black clouds as the wind continued to howl around her. Already, she could hear the distant booming of thunder and found her sentiments echoing the Alahman's. In 20 minutes' time, they would make the hike to the Ferengi camp -- battling them would be difficult enough without trying to fight the weather as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emara stood within the shadows of the cave and waited, listening as the wind tore through the canopy of the forest. It was almost completely dark now -- even the thin haloes of light thrown from the twin moons had been banished by the stormclouds almost an hour ago. The smell of the air had changed; it carried a hint of rain with it now, and already she could see forks of lightning between the clouds.

The storm would be bad, and with the amount of rainfall they had received over the past months, Emara knew flooding would be inevitable. A quickly whispered prayer for Uleth and his warriors escaped her lips, then she focused her thoughts on her eldest daughter Lara, questioning the wisdom in letting her leave the safety of the cave.

A scrabbling sound off to her right caught Emara's attention and she automatically reached for the javelin leaning up against the cave's entrance. Holding her breath, she waited, finally exhaling softly when a flash of lightning shimmered on Lara's long dark tresses. Emara squinted into the darkness. She was barely able to make out her daughter's motions as Lara placed her fingers in the last of the hidden handholds and hauled herself over the lip of the rocky ledge that served as a porch to the Cave of Voices.

Emara almost launched into a sermon about the need for stealth, but held her tongue when she saw her daughter's dark troubled eyes.

Stepping back further into the cave, Emara took Lara's hand and held it between both her own. She tilted her head back to gaze up at the tall, lithe woman whom she still thought of as a little girl.

"What is wrong? What has happened? Has war broken out?"

Lara shook her head, taking deep breaths to ease the exertion from her recent climb, and not knowing how to describe what she had seen. "No, I didn't see any of our warriors, but..." She nodded in the direction of the watershed far below them. "There are about 14 Ferengi, mother, and they have two people in a cage of light..."

"What people?"

"Like us, but different -- definitely not Ferengi." Lara turned back to the forest, troubled by what she had witnessed. "One of them is a woman -- she looks like a gijah, mother -- and she is injured. The other is a man, small, but taller than the gijah. Several of the Ferengi entered the cage, they fought with him, finally they held him down -- it took four of them -- and another Ferengi pressed something to his neck and the man stopped struggling. He just lay there. I don't know if they killed him..."

She swallowed and closed her eyes briefly. "The gijah screamed words I did not understand and the Ferengi laughed and kicked her. When they left, I watched her crawl to the man and hold him in her arms..."

Emara inhaled sharply, not liking the picture her daughter had painted. A strong gust of wind pulled her eyes away from Lara's worried face and toward the cave entrance. The seconds between lightning and thunder had diminished and in the strobing illumination, she could see fat raindrops slanting toward the ground.

"Come, we must take shelter."

"But those people, mother..."

The older woman's eyes were sad. "Let the storm pass and then we will see if there is anything to be done for them..."

With a reluctant backward glance, Lara followed her mother deeper into the cave. She wasn't sure the people could survive the Ferengi, let alone the storm. Hands clenched tightly in frustration, her mind worked furiously. There had to be something she could do to help them...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her strength was waning -- she had tried to pull them away from the captain when they'd come to give him a third injection and they'd beaten her, causing more injuries. When he'd realized what was happening, he'd tried to get to her, battling them with a vengeance. She remembered her surprise at the captain's strength -- how it had taken four of them just to restrain him and a fifth to accomplish the deed. They had exchanged worried looks as they had exited the containment area and she smiled grimly at the memory.

Now, Picard was unconscious again and Bryn couldn't suppress the fear that welled within her. She needed help -- her wrist had swollen to the point that she couldn't move her hand, she was sure she had broken ribs, suspected she had internal injuries, bleeding...

Bryn shivered as the cold wind pounded against her back, lifting her hair and swirling bits of earth and leaves into her nose and eyes; she tasted the grit in the back of her mouth and turned to spit it out. Tightening her grip on Picard, she felt pain lance through her torso as held him more closely to her. She buried her face against his chest, gaining as much as she was giving.

When the wind let up momentarily, she raised tired, haunted eyes to the sky and noticed for the first time the lightning as it forked through the clouds. The thunderclaps didn't sound so distant now and a cold splash of water struck her cheek, making her blink and bow her head.

Were the Ferengi going to leave them out here, exposed to the full force of the hurricane? The bastards kept ferrying equipment into the sheds, but continued to ignore her and Picard. Sighing, Bryn hunched down over the captain, providing him what little protection she could against the building onslaught.

It appeared things would get worse before they got better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riker stood at the science station, watching as the young woman called up statistics on the storm. He shook his head at the windowed display. Sensors indicated that at the coordinates Isayli had supplied, sustained winds had already reached 107 kph with gusts up to 123 kph -- and this was just the beginning.

The infrared view of the stalled hurricane revealed its still tightly-wound arms and well-defined eye, despite its landfall nearly an hour ago. That meant it wasn't losing much strength and if it suddenly picked up its former momentum, its fury would reach the captain's location in a little more than an hour.

It had already pounded the southern peninsula with winds topping 215 kph, and had flooded the area with more than 12 centimeters of water. Probably the worst of it was the unusual amount of electrical activity. With that much lightning in the area, he doubted that the *Enterprise* would be able to get a good enough lock on any of them to beam them out. Communications would be a problem as well -- and could even Data pilot a shuttlecraft through all that?

Sighing, Riker nodded at the brunette. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said grimly, then looking up, addressed the computer. He was *not* going to sanction this mission.

"Riker to La Forge..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geordi sat on the edge of the co-pilot's seat in the shuttle and, mouth open in surprise, glanced at Data. "But, Commander, we have the time..."

"Have you taken a look at the weather data, Mr. La Forge?"

"Yes, sir, I have," he answered quickly, continuing to tap commands onto the smooth black console, linking his new shielding device with the shuttle's defensive systems. "The hurricane is currently stalled, giving us close to a two-hour window." Geordi paused. "Commander. We *can* do this. If you'll just let us give it a shot..."

There was silence for several seconds before Riker spoke again. "Mr. Data. Your assessment?"

The android glanced at Geordi, at the Chief Engineer's black and silver equipment sitting between them, then back at the expectant eight-man crew and their supplies -- a dozen phasers, tricorders, medkits. The Caeli priest, his leather trousers traded for a gold-and-black uniform, nodded and Data echoed the motion.

"I agree with Mr. La Forge, Commander."

There was a brief pause and Geordi spoke before Riker could. "Commander, we're wasting valuable time here." His words were underscored with a confidence he hoped would filter through to the First Officer.

After another brief pause, Riker finally spoke. "Very well, Mr. La Forge. Make it so."

"Yes, sir!" Grinning, the Chief Engineer bent down to key in the last of the commands onto the control panel of the computer interface. "All right, Data. Any time you're ready..."

The android gave him a brief nod, then cycled the shuttle's power. A faint whine briefly filled the cabin as both the engines and the life support systems came to life. He glanced up at the viewport, watching as the shuttle bay doors opened to the star-sparkled ebony landscape. Data returned his eyes to the pilot's console and tapped a flurry of commands onto the panel, oblivious to the very human tension which steadily built within the tiny craft. Satisfied with the preflight check, he initiated the comm link.

"Shuttlecraft *Vesta* requesting clearance."

"Affirmative, *Vesta*. You are cleared to launch. And, good luck, sirs..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riker pulled his eyes from the science station display and turned to Worf. "Wait until the Ferengi begin firing before you do anything. We don't want to attract their attention just yet."

The Klingon nodded as the First Officer turned to make his way down the ramp. "Yes, sir. And, Commander..."

Riker stopped and turned back, his expression grim.

Conviction straightened Worf's posture even more. "You *are* doing the right thing, sir."

He gave the Klingon a brief smile of thanks before continuing his progress down the ramp and to the command chair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The *Opportunist's* tactical officer had long ago removed his earset -- the *Enterprise* had been jamming all frequencies for almost two hours now, and the Ferengi saw no point in continuing to listen to the wailing and hissing which had resulted.

Bored, he had turned to calculating his current net worth. The blip on his board went unnoticed for a time; it had cleared both ships and had journeyed halfway to the planet's surface before it was finally detected.

Once the Ferengi were aware of its presence, however, all weapons were brought to bear on the tiny ship...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been difficult for him to fathom at first, but Isayli found himself grateful that Data was not human. It was comforting to know that the being who piloted this small ship was immune to the fear which the continuous flashes, rumbles and quaking provoked.

The Caeli glanced around at his human counterparts and noticed the tension in their faces and shoulders and hands. He fingered the weapon at his waist, the one Riker had personally given him, and wished to be already on the surface where he could be using it against the Ferengi pigs...

"Continuing evasive," Data said calmly.

"We've lost one layer." Geordi briefly grabbed hold of the armrest as another hit jostled them. "The other three are holding. Just get us there as quickly as you can, Data."

"I am attempting to do just that, Geordi." Data made some adjustments, internally acknowledging that it had been difficult to avoid the Ferengis' weapons fire because there had been no discernable pattern to it -- but, once he had realized that...

There hadn't been a hit in close to five seconds, and La Forge almost breathed a sigh of relief. Another layer of shielding had been reduced to 25% of maximum, but they still had two layers to go -- and less than 60 seconds to touch down.

If they could just hold out for one minute more...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morgan's heart sank at the news -- both Picard and Hampstead captured by the Ferengi -- and it was his fault.

Seated at the desk in their quarters, he leaned both elbows on the smooth, burnished surface and laid his forehead into his cupped hands. Tiredly he worked his fingers into his temples in a vain effort to massage some of the tension away.

Norris was waiting for a response. He could feel Lyda's eyes on him as well. What to say? How many more innocents would he drag into this mess? He'd turned into such a coward...

"God damn it!" he exploded, pushing up from the desk, almost overturning the low, cushioned chair in the process. "No! I'm not about to ask you to risk your life..."

"Sir!"

The admiral halted his tirade, frowning, and turned swiftly to the captain.

Norris smiled. "We've been ordered to assist the *Enterprise* in the rescue of Captain Picard and Doctor Hampstead. I'm not here to ask your permission to do anything, Admiral. I'm just informing you of my orders..."

Morgan hesitated as Lyda walked to him and linked her arm through his. Andrew approached, his smile broadening at O'Malley's gesture, and gently laid a hand on the admiral's shoulder.

"I was just wondering if you'd attend the briefing -- ten minutes, in the Observation Lounge."

The admiral looked from one to the other, then finally sighed, bowing his head. "Of course," he said softly. "If there's anything I can do to help..."

"The information you have will be invaluable," Norris interrupted. He gave them both a quick smile and a nod, then turned towards the doors. "We'll see you in the Lounge -- ten minutes, Admiral."

"I'll be there," Morgan said resolutely, straightening his slumped posture.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crusher flinched as the wind dashed raindrops against her face and whipped hair into her eyes. Lightning more frequently forked through the clouds, illuminating the roiling mass briefly.

She pulled her gaze away from the tempest and cupped her hands over her brow, leaning into the windstorm, re-focusing her eyes on the camp. The Ferengi scurried about, dragging equipment into temporary shelters, but not one of them had made even the slightest movement toward their captives. Were they just going to let them ride out the hurricane unprotected?

Gritting her teeth in anger, she turned her attention back to Jean-Luc. It hadn't been difficult to locate him -- the Ferengi were so confident in their plan they had illuminated the entire camp.

The wind shifted once more, swirling Jean-Luc's words to her above the not-so-distantly booming thunder.

"...needs medical attention! You have me! Let her go!"

Then the words were torn away again, flung elsewhere, leaving Beverly in a rage over her helplessness. She watched him walk back to Hampstead's unmoving form, watched him cradle the young woman again, hoping this time he would remain where he was, heart falling when he left her side. He couldn't keep himself still and that was dangerous on more than one front. It was obvious Bryn was injured badly; she was probably in shock and needed his warmth. If Jean-Luc didn't settle, if he continued to ignore that need, especially in this gale...

Then there was the fact that in less than five minutes, utter chaos would break out. If he continued this movement, he would be more of a target and it would make the job of rescue that much harder.

Sighing, Beverly tucked her hair back into the collar of her uniform and glanced at the others who had positioned themselves in the fluttering shadows. They kept darting glances at her, waiting for the signal...

An unexpected flash and boom occurred simultaneously.

The concussive force of the too-close lightning strike bowled Crusher backwards and left her gasping for breath. Quickly regaining her senses, she got to her knees, watching the camp's lighting flicker, then go dark, the only illumination now coming from the flaming top of a tall, spindly tree. Behind her, she heard a faint whine and realized the shuttle had initiated an emergency landing just beyond the perimeter of the camp.

Her gaze flew back towards Jean-Luc's last location. The containment field sizzled and sparked as she watched, then it completely shut down. Incoherent shouts drifted in and out of the gusting wind, but one finally came to her clearly, freezing the breath in her throat.

"Captain! Run! Get out of here!"

//No!// she thought; but during a relative moment of calm in the storm, just before weapons fire and confused shouts broke out, Beverly heard bootfalls rapidly fading away in the direction of the caves. The sounds were heavier than a Ferengi could make. Her people weren't yet moving. There was only one person who...

"Damn it!" Beverly got to her feet and tore through the forest, gritting her teeth against the stinging rain and slashing undergrowth, ignoring the phaser fire that tracked her zig-zagging progress across the dark camp.

The sound of Jean-Luc's pounding footsteps was a beacon and one she followed doggedly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The flash startled everyone except Data. His fingers were a blur as he tried to compensate for the shock wave which followed right behind the brilliant streak of lightning. The shuttle bucked slightly, then banked as Data quickly located a place to land. There was a small clearing just outside the camp's perimeter and he guided the shuttle there.

La Forge worked his face into a semblance of calm before glancing back at the grim-faced crew. "It's going to be chaos down there -- worse than we'd expected. Remember our people's lives are at stake here. Stay sharp."

Data continued the process of landing the shuttle, but made a comment meant for the Chief Engineer only. "We will not have communications for another five minutes, Geordi, if at all."

Sighing, La Forge reached for his phaser, trying not to look at the tree branches whipping up against the viewport.

"I know, Data. I know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bryn tried to curl into a ball, but was so cold and stiff that she couldn't force her torso into the necessary position. She lay on a bed of damp dead leaves and squeezed her eyes shut against the flashes of lightning and phaser fire, the accompanying booms and sizzles and the resulting shouts and screams.

The chill wind pushed against her back, actually moving her small form a few centimeters along the ground. Somewhere in the back of her mind came the observation that she'd stopped shivering. Bad sign, she thought unemotionally, realizing she'd probably used the last of her energy to push Captain Picard away when the containment field had shut down. She'd screamed at him to go, to get away while he could, that it was their only chance... and remembered, despite her growing delirium, his hesitation, the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, and his quickly whispered words -- "I'll come back with help."

She had no doubt he would, but he'd be too late...

It was becoming more and more difficult for her to remain focused. She let thoughts of the captain drift away and tried to summon some strength to simply lift her head, but the will to fight her circumstances seemed to evaporate before she could marshal it. The sounds of the fighting, the flashes of light she saw reddened behind her closed lids, the smell of ozone and rain and fire... all of that seemed to recede from her.

Alone with her thoughts, Bryn found them flitting from one image to another, finally settling on the Alahman's face. Regret surfaced within her and she was shocked that this would be her last thought, that she should wish for the opportunity see him again, to know the man... Why him?

"Uleth..."

"E'tas, gijah."

It was a nice dream, she thought; his deep voice, the alien words... Then more words reached her ears, the gentle sounds still not making any sense, but along with them came warmth against her chilled skin.

Bryn sucked in a deep, painful breath and opened her eyes. The lightning strikes illuminated his face and the worry which lined it. He spoke more, but she couldn't understand...

This was no hallucination. Amazed, she reached up to touch his face and realized with a shock that the moisture she felt there didn't come from the raindrops; it came from his tears.

She felt the pressure of his arms as he lifted her and she cried out at the searing anguish the movement generated, quickly losing consciousness even as she fought to hold onto it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riker watched from the command chair as Worf returned fire. The orange bolt managed a glancing hit on the Ferengi ship's aft shields. Those glowed a transparent yellow for only a few moments before collapsing in a burst of white sparkles.

Worf looked up from his board. "Their aft shields are down and their forward shields are at 35% maximum..."

The First Officer pushed himself from the chair. "Target their engines! Fire!"

Practically defenseless, the *Opportunist* slowly heaved to port, moving to protect the obvious choice of target. Before they could complete their maneuver, another orange streak lanced out from the *Enterprise.* It touched the engine pods and they exploded, showering debris into space and making Riker blink instinctively as pieces of engine bounced into the *Enterprise's* shields.

"Direct hit!" Worf announced enthusiastically. He took a breath and smiled complacently as the communications board announced an incoming message. "They are hailing us, Commander."

Riker glanced at Troi. "Anything of the captain?" he asked softly.

"Nothing." She looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I keep picking up flashes of worry from all of them, but with Beverly it's worry *and* determination..."

He sighed. "I don't understand it. Things must have been going our way down there for the Ferengi to have attempted to make a break for it..."

"Sir," Worf interrupted. "The *Opportunist*..."

Hands and jaw clenched in frustration, Riker looked over his shoulder and nodded, then barked out orders. "On screen, Mr. Worf. Prepare to beam their crew over. And, try raising Data again..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Other drumming blended with the constant thunder and howling wind. Frowning, Emara peered through the slanting rainfall to the watershed below the cliff face, watching colorful horizontal flashes of light join vertical white ones. She watched and listened only long enough for her heart to fall at the knowledge of what was happening so close to their refuge.

"Uleth." She whispered her son's name, the sound catching in her throat, then turned to the women who milled about in the smaller entrance to the large cavern beyond.

"Come. Gather the people. We must move further into the Cave of Voices..."

"But, Emara, the ancient ones..."

"Have not yet minded our presence here," she interrupted, holding her hands out to her sides and shooing them as though they were a flock of cackling white geese.

The women reluctantly moved at her insistence, herding the others past the antechamber and deeper into the main cavern. It was dark and damp, but what worried them more than anything else was that this was the place of the ancient ones. It was here that the spirits whispered and wailed; it was in this place that most of them had never been before, nor did they wish to witness the ancient ones' power now.

Shivering slightly in the cold, Emara glanced around at the 40 or so women, children and elderly. All wore the same fearful but resolute expressions, all looked to her for protection and guidance -- it was the way it should be. She had been an Alahman's wife and was the current chieftan's mother. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to speak to them what comfort she could when the sound began...

It was a hissing noise, almost like a coiled to'alt just before it strikes, and it echoed about the clefts and crannies of the cave. The people huddled closer together, pulling children into their arms, holding on tightly to elderly parents.

Then the unthinkable occurred. The spirits began to speak to them in an unknown tongue, but there was an anger beneath the words that translated across the language barrier.

The women began to wail, the children cried and the old raised their hands in supplication, pleading with the ancient ones not to harm them. Emara glanced around at the turmoil, seeking Lara -- now more than ever before, she needed her daughter's calming ways. Heartbeats passed with the spirits' angry voices continuing to bounce around the cavern, and there was still no sign of her.

Heart pounding, terrified herself, Emara reached for some inner reserve -- that same something that had seen her through Caro's death as well as his life -- and she shouted for quiet. Then she spoke words which bubbled from her heart and resounded with her experience as one wedded to power.

"The spirits are angry at the Ferengi -- not at us, my people! Be calm. Listen to their rage, but know that it is directed against those who would harm us..."

It seemed to work, the people quieted somewhat, but her own heart and soul were in turmoil. Her headstrong daughter was gone and Emara thought she knew where.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riker got up from the command chair for the fifth time and stalked up the ramp toward communications.

"Get him back!"

"I am trying, sir," Worf practically snarled, his own frustration showing not only in his voice but with each increasingly harder jab he made to his flashing board. "The storm is generating massive amounts of electrical interference..."

Frowning, Riker glanced down at the board, confirming Worf's assessment, then moved quickly to the science station. If the storm were stalled, as it should be, there wouldn't be this much interference...

His shoulders slumped at the sensor data -- not only was the hurricane moving further inland, but it had picked up forward velocity. So much for Geordi's two-hour window -- their location would be pounded with the worst of the storm in less than thirty minutes.

Damn! Riker clenched hands and jaw. How could he be so stupid? First, not standing his ground with the captain, then his inaction putting Picard through the hell of that drug, now stranding Geordi and Data in the path of a damned hurricane...

It didn't register at first, the touch on his arm. When it did, Riker straightened and shrugged away from it.

"Not now, Deanna," he said, voice clipped.

She reached out again, grabbing his arm and stared up at him, expression resolute. "None of this is your fault..." Troi kept talking sternly through the protest she saw building in his blue eyes, "and if you keep thinking that it is, you'll only do them more harm than good. Do you understand?"

He took a deep breath and his frown relaxed slightly. She was right. He didn't need the distraction of these emotions right now. He needed a clear head.

"Thanks, Deanna," Riker said softly, then turned to Worf. "Would it help to tighten the beam or increase power to the sensors?"

"Already done," the Klingon said, frowning and playing his hands across the board. His face relaxed. "I have Data!"

Riker clapped Worf on the shoulder. "Report, Mr. Data."

"...Ferengi continuing to fight... Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher have disappeared... attempted to contact... several injuries, Dr. Hampstead's appear to be the most..."

Worf continued to try to clear the signal, punching up filters, boosting the gain, but nothing worked and a heartbeat later, Data's voice faded behind the hiss and crackle of static. Tightening his hands into fists, the Klingon worked to control the rage building within him.

"I am sorry, Commander..."

"Keep trying, Mr. Worf," Riker responded, then turned to Deanna and, taking her gently by the arm, walked her down the ramp and back to her chair. "You may be the only link we'll have with them..."

She nodded, grateful that Will had risen above the cloud of self-recrimination she'd sensed from him earlier. Tentatively, Troi closed her eyes and opened her mind, reaching out, searching for those bright beacons that were Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Constant lightning followed by booming thunder jarred Crusher's bones. Behind her, higher-pitched sizzles and screams played a staccato accompaniment to the legato rumbles, rattling her nerves in the process. She jogged through ankle-deep mud into a driving wind, rain and bits of leaves lashing every bit of exposed skin. Plastered heavily against her body, her sodden uniform demanded a greater effort for each step she took.

Out of breath before she knew it, Crusher finally conceded it had been a dumb move to follow him by herself. Fearfully, she eyed the lightning-illuminated views of his footprints as they rapidly filled with water, realizing that in just a few moments, his trail would be completely obliterated.

Beverly pulled up short, breath wheezing in her throat, and as the wind buffeted her, she stared at nature's latest obstacle. Under normal circumstances, the wide creek would probably have been one of those gentle, musical varieties, but now its waters churned and roared, its banks overflowed, quickly threatening erasure of Jean-Luc's path.

Reflexively ducking her head against a powerful gust that threatened to lift her off her feet, she tapped her comm badge for the third time and barely heard the rude chirp of another failed link. She placed her palms flat against her thighs and, back curled, continued to gulp in cold air, considering her options -- wade across here and risk being swept away by the current, or try to find an easier passage downstream and lose what was left of Jean-Luc's trail.

Her tingling skin distracted her.

It was the only warning she received and it came too late for action.

 The lightning bolt slammed into a dead tree across the stream and several meters away. Flung like a rag doll into the muddy ground, she felt several precious seconds tick away as she fought to recover her bearing. Ears ringing, she scrambled to her feet, covering her head with her arms as debris from the blasted tree trunk hurtled toward her.

Reactions slowed by disorientation, she didn't dodge one large piece of tree limb quickly enough. It knocked the wind out of her as it struck her chest. She fell backwards, reaching too late towards her comm badge, fingers uselessly grasping for the device as it sailed away and plunged into the stream.

Groaning, she sat up and moved to hands and knees, pulled air into her protesting lungs and stood shakily to contemplate the rushing stream hell-bent on thwarting her progress. Gritting her teeth against very real pain and the phantasms of her fears, she strode forward and waded in, concentrating on maintaining her balance as the water climbed up her calves, swirled around her thighs and tugged at her hips.

Shivering violently as she clambered up the opposite shore, Beverly lay on the muddy ground for a handful of seconds, ears still ringing and chest on fire. She pushed herself up on her hands, flinching at the flash and boom of another nearby lightning bolt, but a second later her heart skipped a beat at what the burst of light had revealed.

Just a few meters up the mild slope of a hill lay a body, face down in the mud.

The sight forced all pain and discomfort from her mind. Beverly sprinted up the rise and fell to her knees beside Jean-Luc's unmoving form.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The colorful flashes in the valley below had stopped, as had the screams and shouts, but Lara remained crouched in the undergrowth, observing another drama that played out only a few paces away. She circled one arm around a tree trunk for support against the roaring wind and watched the woman kneel by the man. One intense lightning flash revealed fear in the woman's face as she rolled him over; another showed the knowledge and intimacy in her hands as she ran her fingers over his body.

These two weren't Ferengi and they seemed so much like her mother and father that Lara made the decision without really thinking... The wind practically tumbled her out of her hiding place as she stood. Lara approached the two quickly, but with caution, ready to attempt flight at the first sign of trouble.

The woman glanced up at her, eyes wide, and moved closer to the man. Lara pointed up the hill.

"Come with me!" she shouted above the howling storm. "There are caves just over there!"

The woman frowned, shook her head and spoke in a language that seemed both familiar and alien to Lara. Hesitantly, the Caeli walked closer and knelt by the man. Although the rain slanted into their eyes, Lara kept her blinking gaze firmly fixed to the woman's. She slipped her arm under the man's back, struggling to raise him to a sitting position, then reached for his arm and stretched it across her shoulders. Lara smiled as the woman's eyes lit with comprehension and she mimicked the motion.

The two worked to lift the man from the mud. Lara curved her back, hunching down to their levels and hesitated briefly as she remembered her earlier ascent to the Cave of Voices. It had been difficult enough to find the handholds hidden in the vertical cliff face without the impediment of this storm. These two would never make it.

There was only one other place of safety she knew, and although it would break her heart to see it again, she inclined her head toward the direction they needed to take. At least the wind would be at their backs.

With the man hanging limply between them, the two women stumbled up the rutted, washed-out path towards shelter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obviously the Caeli had been here before, Beverly thought as they lowered Jean-Luc to the pile of blankets and pillows assembled near the opening to a tiny alcove. She found herself wondering if this were a lover's nest, and the sadness in the young woman's face only reinforced that guess, but no matter -- relief welled within Crusher first to have found Jean-Luc, then to be out of the storm...

Lightning continued its spotty illumination of the cave, briefly sparking the crystalline rock walls. Although not as warm as she would have liked, the cave's dryness lifted Crusher's spirits. The young woman spoke a few musical words and pointed toward the dark recesses of their shelter, then stooping slightly, the Caeli moved off in that direction.

Kneeling next to Jean-Luc, Crusher ran her hands over him again, ticking off the injuries her probing revealed -- cold skin indicating the beginnings of shock, a swollen gash that ran horizontally across the base of his skull, unusual stiffness at his shoulder and near his lower rib cage. None of the injuries were serious enough that he would remain unconscious like this. That left only one cause -- the drug.

He shivered violently, moaning, and she knew she had to do something to keep him warm. Biting her lower lip, Beverly wished for the thousandth time that she'd had the presence of mind to retrieve her medkit back at the lodge.

Useless exercise, she thought as she bent to the task of removing his uniform.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lara bent down to retrieve the blankets, but hesitated. Instead, she ran her fingers over the soft fabric, remembering the last time she had been here. It hadn't been to stealthily listen to the goings-on in the Cave of Voices as she had done since reaching her sixth year... It had been to say good-bye to *him*...

She choked back a sob as she lifted the blanket and pressed her face into its warmth. Lara could still smell him there, could smell herself, and memories flooded her with wanting. Reality hammered her with the knowledge that she would never touch him again, never hear his laugh, taste his mouth... Her anger welled at the uncaring edicts of the ancient ones, the edicts that had taken him from her.

Working her hands into the fabric, she clenched them tightly, gritted her teeth, and tried by sheer force to bring her raging emotions under control. Expelling her held breath, Lara got to her feet, lifted the treasures from the floor and took a moment to compose her features.

She reached for the gourd of water sitting inside a granite niche and turned with a sigh, heading back to the woman and her injured companion, ready to provide them what help she could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Beverly worked the undershirt from him, then rubbed her hands over his arms and chest, the friction providing only a temporary flash of warmth. She glanced up at a shuffling sound and watched in amazement as the young woman walked back into the main cave carrying blankets and a gourd of some kind in her arms. The Caeli's eyes widened briefly as she caught sight of the half-naked man. She raised a brow as she held her prize out to Crusher, but kept an appreciative gaze on the captain as Crusher continued divesting him of wet clothing.

Smiling slightly at the young woman's reaction, Beverly finished the job and took the soft, heavy lengths of fabric from her, quickly wrapping Jean-Luc in them. She dipped her fingers into the gourd's liquid and brought them to her lips -- water. Repeating the motion, she touched her wet fingers to his mouth and nodded in satisfaction as he flinched, then licked the moisture away.

Keeping a hand on Jean-Luc's blanketed chest, Crusher glanced up at the young woman. "Thank you," she whispered, then, pointing to her chest said her name. "Beverly."

The Caeli smiled. "Lara," she responded, tapping her breastbone with a slender finger.

For some reason, the woman's smile and the way it crinkled her large eyes reminded her of the Alahman. Beverly sighed, sadness creeping into her expression as she wondered about his fate, as well as Jean-Luc's.

"Bah-ver-lee?"

She looked up at Lara's concerned face and shook her head, speaking even though she knew the Caeli wouldn't understand her words. "It's just that you remind me of a new friend. His name is Uleth..."

Lara dropped to her knees and grabbed Crusher's hands.

"Uleth?! Uleth Tahng?"

Family resemblance, Beverly thought. Reflexively, she darted a glance toward the raggedly arched entrance of the cave, immediately wishing she'd been able to control the impulse when Lara's face slackened in comprehension.

Eyes wide, the young woman shook her head, scooted away and stood as Crusher tried to reach for her.

"My brother is fighting the Ferengi, isn't he? And, in this storm?" Lara glanced toward the entrance, wringing her hands. "I have to help him." She looked back down at Crusher. "I'm sorry... you both will be safe here... I'll come back for you..."

The only word Beverly understood was "Ferengi" and, too late, she left Jean-Luc to reach for Lara. She managed only a tentative hold on the young woman's wrist, one that Lara easily broke as she sprinted toward the entrance.

"Lara! No! The storm!" She started to follow, when Jean-Luc's ragged breath pulled her attention back. He shivered under the covers and Beverly knew she had to stay here, had to keep him warm.

With a soft curse, she turned away from the arch and sat on the hard rock floor to take off her boots, gaze fixed on Jean-Luc's half-opened, but unseeing, eyes. She quickly peeled the rest of the cold, wet clothing from her body and, shivering, lifted the blanket, slipping underneath. She turned him as best she could and wrapped herself around him, her chest pressed to his.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc," she whispered. "I have you. Everything's going to be all right."

"Beverly?" he groaned, syllables slurred.

"Put your arms around me." Beverly almost sighed when she felt him slip one arm underneath and the other over her.

"I was somewhere..." Picard frowned at the eddying sensations, unable to quite grasp a solid clue as to where he had been, what he had done, why he was now with Beverly. There was a place he had been, someplace where he had felt an emotional freedom he'd never known before, but it had been accompanied by confusion -- what had happened? A faint hint of urgency tickled his mind -- an important task, something he was supposed to do...

"Hampstead!" He tried to break free from Beverly, but his body wouldn't obey him. "Damn it, Beverly, let me go! She's injured!" The flash of clarity which had sparked the memory rapidly faded and he fought against the slurry of half-formed thoughts that rose to take its place.

"She is all right, Jean-Luc," Crusher said with more certainty than she felt. She tightened her arms around him and felt him calm. Even the shivering had eased; only slight tremors coursed through him now and his skin felt warmer against hers. "Calm down and I'll tell you what happened. Deal?"

Beverly felt him fill his lungs, then nod. She told him about the escape from the lodge, how she had contacted the *Enterprise*, and Will's plan to send down the shuttlecraft. In the middle of describing the damage the lightning bolt had done to the Ferengi camp, she felt all the tension leave his body and she stopped speaking. His skin had warmed and the regular rise and fall of his chest comforted her.

She pulled away slightly and gazed at him, drinking in the sight of his features relaxed in sleep. Sighing, Beverly pressed a kiss to his cheek and settled down next to him, eyes already beginning to flutter closed as exhaustion claimed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Troi sighed and opened her eyes, a slight smile on her lips. She felt Will's concern and turned to quickly reassure him.

"They're fine," she said softly, terminating her link with them as they drifted off toward sleep.

"Both of them?" Riker wasn't quite ready to believe that both Picard and Beverly had made it safely out of danger.

Deanna nodded, then stretched her mind out toward Geordi, Hampstead, and the others. "Both of them," she echoed, frowning slightly. "The others are... preoccupied -- busy, I'd say. Especially Geordi..."

"And Hampstead?"

At that, Troi paused and slowly shook her head. "She's alive, but probably unconscious..."

Sighing heavily, Riker leaned back in the command chair. "I wish there were something we could *do*..."

"It looks like all we can do right now is wait out the storm."

He nodded at her words even though they didn't provide any comfort. Waiting was not something to which Will was accustomed. Everything within him screamed for action, but he fought the urge, allowing his training and common sense to dictate inaction -- at least for the time being...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

La Forge shook water from his head and wrapped a replicated blanket around his shoulders, still puffing from the exertion of moving the injured safely into the shuttle. The decision had been made for the wounded to ride out the storm there, while he and the rest took refuge in the communications shed. It had seemed the logical choice at the time; the structure looked more solid, and it *did* house sensor, communication and transport equipment -- devices Geordi hoped he could use to their benefit.

Now, he wasn't sure the idea had been a good one -- both the transport and communications consoles were of a design he had never seen before. Worse, both of them were dark, the devices inoperable. Then, as Geordi glanced around him, he began to wonder what might do them in first -- the storm outside, or the storm brewing within. He tried to ignore the rattling of the shed, as well as the whining complaints of the Ferengi and the angry retorts of the Caelis.

Re-focusing his attention on the equipment, he ran his hands over the sensor console, thankful for the Ferengi propensity to alter existing devices to meet their needs. At least he understood this apparatus -- it was only a mildly modified version of what he used every day on board the *Enterprise*.

He took one last look at the comm unit and, sighing, decided to delay a thorough examination of that device, turning instead to the sensing equipment and the weather data displayed there. He tapped out a few sequences to increase resolution, then whistled in respect at the images and specs that appeared on the display. The hurricane hadn't remained stalled as they had expected. It now moved at 45 kph due north -- straight for their location. Even if they found the captain and Dr. Crusher in the next few minutes, which wasn't likely, they would still have to ride out the storm. Not even Data could negotiate a shuttle lift-off in these winds, and the lightning activity would prevent beam-out and all communications.

Commander Riker would probably have his head for this -- if he survived the situation at all. Glancing around the close quarters, Geordi could see tension in every humanoid in the room. His VISOR revealed the electrical impulses that kept shoulder muscles taut, increases in core temperatures that signified fight-or-flight responses, and the tiny fidgets that proved dark emotions were only barely restrained. The storm would only add more pressure and Geordi worried...

A red flash on the board pulled his attention back to the sensors. Frowning at an odd reading, he input commands to increase sensitivity and stared at the result, lips parted in surprise. It was a life sign, but he was sure they'd scoured the area and all the members of the scout party had returned.

La Forge couldn't help feel a surge of hope -- this might just be the captain or Dr. Crusher. Refusing to think what seeing only one of them might mean, he glanced up at the Caeli priest and motioned him over. "There's someone out there, Isayli. I'm going to find out who."

"I will go. You are needed here..."

Geordi halted the giant of a man with a simple touch to his massive forearm. "Actually, I need *you* here, Isayli," he said, his tone resplendent with hidden meaning. Nonchalantly, he nodded toward the eight Ferengi cowering in a corner of the shelter, the five warriors glaring at them and fingering tightly-held spears, and the six humans trying to divide their attention between Caeli and Ferengi. "Think you can you keep your men in line?"

It had taken the priest by surprise at first, but these star people insisted that all of them -- Caeli and Ferengi -- be treated equally, respectfully and without prejudice. Isayli nodded. "I will see to it personally, Mr. La Forge."

Grinning, he reached up to clap the Caeli on the shoulder. "Geordi. OK?"

Isayli couldn't help but respond to the man's infectious smile. "Do not worry, Geordi. The Ferengi will not be harmed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The storm continued to gain power, battering the shuttle with rain, sleet and a roaring wind. Data raised his eyes from the tricorder and glanced at the injured -- four Ferengi in the forward section and two *Enterprise* crewmates separating them from the three wounded Caelis at the rear. The percentages of injured and dead to survivors were not bad considering the chaos of the battle.

Bringing his eyes back to the tricorder, he made a treatment decision based on the readings and glanced up at the Alahman's stern, unyielding expression.

"Perhaps if you moved your hand..." The android watched as the Caeli complied. It would have been easier to treat Dr. Hampstead if the man had relinquished his hold on her, but that obviously would not be forthcoming. Data did the best he could, continuing to run the protoplaser over the young woman's torso, watching as color returned to her face. Her breathing became less labored as the device worked to repair her punctured lung and knit her broken ribs. She would still need rest and quiet to recover fully, but she was already making progress.

"That is all I can do for now." Data nodded toward an unclaimed mat. "She needs to rest. If you would..."

The Alahman gathered Hampstead closer to him and glared at the android. "She will survive then?"

Data nodded. "Yes, she will, although she does need rest..."

"Is she not resting now?" the Caeli demanded.

The android opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, studying the way the Caeli gently held Hampstead in his arms. He raised his brows and nodded. "She does appear to be. Very well, Alahman. I will leave Dr. Hampstead in your care. Please call me if her condition changes."

Uleth relaxed a bit and, gazing down at his gijah, he allowed a bit of hope to surface within him. His eyes were briefly drawn to the spear-head pin Data had attached to the blue of her uniform and absently, he traced its apex with his finger before glancing back up.

"I will, Mr. Data. Thank you."

He nodded. "It is my pleasure. She is my friend, too."

Surprised, the Alahman watched Data move away, kneeling now beside an injured Ferengi.

They were strange people, but noble, and Uleth's admiration for them grew. He gazed back down at the gijah's beautiful, relaxed face and found himself hoping that the flame-haired healer and the captain were someplace safe...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lara stood frozen like a stone statue, squinting as light flashed on the metal band that stretched across his face, hiding his eyes. His dark skin glistened with rain and he shrugged his shoulders up towards his ears against the howling wind -- still he held his hand out to her.

"You're injured!" he shouted above the noise. "Let me help you!"

Absently, she pushed wet strands of hair away from the burning gash across her forehead and felt the sting of a matching wound down her calf -- the price she'd paid for crossing the swollen creek. Lara frowned, noticing this one wore the same uniform as the woman and the man, but she could understand his words. How was it possible that he could know her language as the Ferengi had, but the other two...

"Come on! We're both in danger out here!"

"You go. I need to find my brother," she yelled back, widening her stance against the powerful wind.

"Then I'll help you..."

A crunching sound from behind made her twirl around. The wind had spun up a tall tree, twisting and snapping it as though it were nothing more than a twig.

As the tree fell towards them, Geordi grabbed her hand and the two ran toward the shelter. He quickly input the code, only barely hearing the thump of the tree as it hit the ground, the noise being immediately swallowed up by a thunderclap.

When the door opened, he whisked them both inside, then turned to manually seal the entrance when the electronic controls failed to do so.

Still breathing deeply from exertion and fear, Lara kept her head bowed, feeling rain trickle down from her scalp and into her eyes. Where was Uleth? Had she been wise to trust the dark-skinned man? Dare she tell him of the man and the woman she'd left behind?

 "Lara..."

Recognizing the voice, she brushed water from her face. Her heart almost stopped beating when she saw him. Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of his once-long hair cut to his shoulders in the symbol of an outcast. She ran her gaze down him, down the gold and black uniform that hugged the form she knew so well.

Lara raised her eyes back to his. "Isayli," she sobbed his name as she reached for him.

Heedless of the stares, the priest strode the three steps it took to reach her and folded her into his arms, whispering her name over and over as she clung to him.

Her relief at seeing him was short-lived. "Uleth..." she finally choked out her brother's name.

"He is safe. I will take you to him later," the priest said against her wet hair, reluctantly allowing her to lean away from him and smiling at the wonder he saw in her eyes.

She ran her hands over the soft fabric, down to the spear-shaped ornament at his chest, uncertain whether the pin's form had the same war-like meanings for these people as it suggested to her.

Darting a gaze at the dark-skinned man, she asked Isayli in a hushed voice, "These people are friends, then?" When the priest nodded, she sighed, bringing her hands to her beloved's face, unsure that he really existed. "I am glad."

Lara turned to the man who had pulled her from the storm's fury. "Two others of your kind are sheltering in a cave not far from here. The woman's name is Beverly; I do not know the man's name." She studied him, noticing his full lips had parted, but was unable to read his reaction since she couldn't see his eyes. "Do you understand what I have said?"

The man's lips curled upward and there was surprise and happiness in his voice when he spoke. "Dr. Crusher and the captain? They're both all right, then?"

She nodded. "The man is unconscious, but Beverly is taking care of him..."

He smiled. "I'll bet she is..." Thankful that surface communication hadn't yet failed, he reached up and tapped the ornament at his chest. "La Forge to Data. Good news -- Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher are safe..."

Lara turned away from La Forge, re-focusing on Isayli. Hesitantly, she brought her fingertips back to his face and traced the line of his jaw, smiling when he captured her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm.

She didn't care that he was outcast, didn't care what her brother, the Alahman, might say or do when he found out. For now, Isayli was hers again and she set about proving that fact to priest, oblivious to any other presence but his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WARNING: The following section contains sexually explicit material. Those offended by NC-17 material should skip to Part 28.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tapestry stretched before him and, as always, Picard's eyes picked out that one shining thread over all others, following its path from far behind, observing its widening to a blue ribbon, finally losing the satin fabric to a vanishing point far forward.

"Beverly," he whispered the syllables and watched the weave of his life resonate with the sound.

How he wanted to hold her now, just to touch her...

He moved in his sleep, the dream fabric giving way to a velvety weight over him and a warmth around him. The regular motion of soft skin brushing against his naked chest forced his eyelids open.

Jean-Luc inhaled, recognizing her scent and his breath caught in his throat. Memories returned -- Beverly's voice, her escape from the lodge, the plan to rescue him and Hampstead...

Thoughts of the young doctor were accompanied by his recollections of the drug. It had taken away his self-control, robbed him of the filters he relied upon before he spoke or acted, left him with only his instincts and his impulses to follow... He had reveled in that freedom.

The drug hadn't entirely vanished from his system and he didn't try to control the effects Beverly's proximity had on him. Ignoring the cacophony of the storm, unaware even of where they were, Jean-Luc closed his eyes and moved his hands over her, enjoying the feel of her skin soft under his fingers, the sound of her breathing so close to his ear... Jean-Luc nuzzled the graceful curve of her throat, gently dragging his mouth to her shoulder, tonguing the sensitive spot he knew existed just beneath her collarbone...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beverly wondered exactly when she'd drifted off and what had awakened her. Sleepily, she realized the storm continued to rage, so nothing had changed there...

With a quick intake of breath and widening of eyes, she realized *exactly* what had forced her to surface from the depths of her dreams.

Jean-Luc hung over her, his warm hands providing gentle blandishments, his mouth at her throat and moving lower...

She started to speak, to stop him, but the feel of his lips covering her chest with tiny kisses, his hands sliding beneath her hips, lifting her... She bit her lower lip to keep from saying anything. Eyes closed, Beverly circled her arms around him and parted her legs, arching into the feel of his now-warmed skin sliding over hers.

They didn't speak and even the faint sounds of their increasingly ragged breaths were swallowed up by the louder pounding of rain and sleet, reverberation of thunder and howl of wind. Their silence was erotic, allowing other sensations to envelope them. They explored each other with fingertips and mouths, inhaling the other's scent of ardor as though it were necessary for their very survival...

Eyes still closed, Jean-Luc trailed his lips over the top of her breast and swirled his tongue first over one nipple, then the other, smiling as both tightened immediately against his caresses. Reluctantly, he lifted his head as he moved between her thighs, then bent again to trail wet kisses back up the path he had just taken, finally bringing his mouth to hers.

He nibbled her lips, tasted them, finally covered them completely in a long, slow, probing kiss. He moved one hand between their bodies and beginning at the outside swell of her hip, gently traced delicate circles inward and down to the curls between her legs, teasing her with his fingers, making only brief forays to her silky folds, finally invading her gently and repeatedly.

Beverly clutched him, fingernails digging into his back. Her breath burned in her throat, but she held it there, quiet even as she felt him push into her. She moved with him, her hips rising and falling to the slow tempo he had set. There was no sight or sound; only the feel and taste and scent of him. Her pleasure approached in the same manner as had the storm -- slowly, stealthily, then suddenly in its intensity. She exhaled almost explosively as the climax cycled through her and dragged air into her lungs only to immediately puff it away again.

Jean-Luc's rhythm faltered momentarily at her waves of pressure and release, but he recovered, allowing the continuing echoes to dictate a faster tempo, holding his breath as his own climax built to a moment of hesitation followed by clenching ecstasy. He stiffened, gritting his teeth, not making a sound, then finally sighed as once again, he buried his face into her neck.

He tightened his arms around her, felt her shiver and, concerned, he lifted his head to look at her. There was a smile on her face, but tears glittered in her eyes as she continued to shudder.

"Beverly," he began hoarsely.

Pulling him back to her, she pressed her face against his, lips near his ear. "I thought I'd lost you..." She didn't try to stop the tears and they flowed down her cheek then tracked a salty path down his.

Jean-Luc rolled them both to their sides, keeping his silence as she cried, but freeing one hand to gently stroke her still damp hair. Mind travelling back to his experience in the Ferengi camp, he squeezed his eyes shut. What he had just done with her now, to throw away all reason and act...

He should have been worried now about any number of things, but he wasn't. Instead, he'd readily given in to his desires, and pushed his responsibilities to the background -- and had *enjoyed* it.

Hampstead's words returned to his mind. She'd said she had liked what the drug had done for her; *he* liked what it had done for him. How difficult it must have been for her to give it all up. Even now, knowing the things he knew, seeing the devastation this drug had caused, Picard acknowledged a faint pang of regret that this would be his last experience with it, and confusion that he should feel such a thing.

And Beverly? What must it have been like for her to be handed the freedom to fully experience her sexuality? The pleasure and abandonment Ronin must have encouraged in her...

Jean-Luc sucked in a breath, unable to prevent jealousy from rising to the surface as he remembered the look of rapture he'd seen on Beverly's face that night. A question formed in his mind, one he immediately dismissed as petty and egotistical, but he was morbidly curious.

Tightening his arms around her, he moved his lips below her ear. "I need you to forgive me...my ignorance."

She quieted immediately and tried to lean away from him, but he drew her closer.

"I didn't understand what you were going through. I do now and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you sooner," he whispered. "It's just that..." Picard stopped at the tension he felt in her body, then, marshaling his thoughts, continued. "...when I saw you... there was no sign of Ronin, and what I saw..."

Shaking her head, Beverly pulled away from him. "I can't talk about this, Jean-Luc..."

He pinned her gently underneath him, one arm still pressing her body to his, and cupped her chin in one hand, forcing her to look at him. "I have to know," he rasped, eyes boring into hers. "It's a stupid, conceited question and I'm more than half embarrassed to ask it, but when we... when you and I are together..."

Beverly's eyes widened with understanding and she reached up to press two fingers to his lips, halting his words. She took a deep breath and released it, then circled her arms around him. "Ronin was a mind-game, Jean-Luc. Nothing more," she said steadily, finally allowing the realization to strike her full-force. "It was all the creature could do -- generate the *illusion* of reality."

She slid one hand from behind his neck, across his shoulder and down his arm, watching its progress and gazing appreciatively at his bicep bulging beneath her fingers. Unable to stifle the warmth that blossomed low between her legs, she closed her eyes briefly, then brought her gaze back to his.

"You're real. Solid. I can *feel* you. But not only physically..."

Pulling his mouth to hers, Beverly gently brushed her lips against his. "You touch me -- all of me, Jean-Luc," she breathed, "heart, mind, body, soul..."

Roughly, he worked his arms around her and pressed his mouth against hers in an almost bruising kiss. Relief stoked his desire, love tempered it, and Beverly met everything Jean-Luc offered with a passion of her own that rivaled the still-raging tempest outside their sanctuary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She heard her name, but spoken badly, and Bryn frowned in her sleep. It came again -- the r lightly trilled and the vowel flattened out almost to an "ah."

"Mmmm," was the only sound she made as she burrowed deeper into the firm warmth that encompassed her. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around it and pulled it to her, nuzzling into the softness, wanting only to drift back into the comfort...

Deep, restrained chuckles and a jittery motion made her open her eyes.

Realization made her start.

Uleth was holding her. Hell, *she* was holding *him*!

Bryn pulled her arms from around his chest and tried to free herself, but he wouldn't allow it.

"I have been told to make sure you rest." He gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, noticing with pleasure that she stopped struggling at his touch.

She blinked at him, confused by the look in Uleth's eyes, awareness of her surroundings, and bits of recollection. A shuttlecraft? Bryn caught sight of Data's back, wondering how he had gotten here. Frowning, she swept her gaze over the four wounded Ferengi toward the front of the craft, two humans in the middle, three Caeli in the back...

What had happened? What was that jostling? That howling?

The storm, her dazed mind eventually supplied. It sounded as though it had worsened and Bryn sucked in a breath, remembering... Where was Picard?

"The captain," she rasped as the last thought took prominence. She brought horrified eyes to Uleth's face. "Where's the captain?"

Tahng gazed at her intently. "Your captain and Dr. Crusher are sheltering in a cave not far from here. My sister had seen what the Ferengi had done to you both and she fled her own refuge to see if she could help you. When she came across Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher, she took them to a safe place..."

Confused by the explanation, she shook her head. "I don't understand. How did you get this information?"

"The Alahman's sister is with Geordi -- in the equipment shed."

Bryn turned in Uleth's arms to glance up at Data. The equipment shed... She finally nodded, her memory supplying a vague image of one of the temporary buildings in the Ferengi camp.

"Are you feeling all right, Dr. Hampstead?"

She finally relaxed enough to take stock of her own situation and felt a twinge at her ribcage, stiffness at her wrist -- her injuries had been healed for the most part.

"I'm fine," Bryn said absently, mentally discomfited by the juxtaposition -- she should be the one *providing* the care, not the one *accepting* it.

"That is good news. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Mr. Data." She didn't notice he had moved away; her thoughts were focused on what she saw in the shuttle -- the wounded -- and she felt a sense of responsibility building within her. Once more she tried to get Uleth to let her go.

"You don't understand. I need to help them..."

"They are doing fine without your help, gijah."

She twisted in his arms, uselessly, as he counteracted any gains toward freedom with a gentle tightening of the embrace. "Uleth, please... it's my job..."

"You are always taking care of someone, Bryn, but never yourself. Why?"

The softly-spoken comment and question floored her and she looked away from the intensity of his gaze. Why? Because it was easier to give than to take, because she'd made so many mistakes in her life and had to provide recompense somehow...

"I will take care of you," he began sternly, "and you will allow it."

His words and their imperial tone shut down her self-analysis. Protest building automatically, Bryn glared up at him and pushed at his shoulders with the heels of her hands.

Smiling at the ferocity in her green eyes, Uleth cupped an entire side of her face in one hand, holding her motionless as he bent his head.

She gasped at the feel of his mouth on hers and found herself clutching him in downright shock as he impatiently parted her lips. Thoughts of their very public surroundings disappeared as his tongue danced slowly against hers. Unwilling to stop her response, Bryn circled one arm over his shoulder and pressed herself into the embrace.

Uleth broke the kiss as suddenly as he had begun it, leaving her breathless and wanting. She gazed up at him, astonished at the amusement that twinkled in his eyes and the smile that curved his lips.

"My people have a saying, gijah... Where your heart leads, let body and soul follow."

The hoarse passion in his voice speared her motionless.

"Will you follow, Bryn?"

She gazed up into his eyes, feeling Uleth's fingers warm against her face. Her heart pounded in anticipation as he lowered his head once more.

"Yes. I'll follow."

She managed to whisper the words just before she gave herself over to the sensation of his lips once again claiming hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was bound to happen, but La Forge had hoped to keep the sensor web alive for a while longer. Discouragement registered in the tight clench of his jaw and the hard line of his lips as, one by one, he watched the sensors wink out of the network.

La Forge saved the last bits of reported information, then shut down the now-useless system. He turned his attention towards the dark communications console, thoughts already switching to the problem of trying to repair it so they could contact the *Enterprise*. Of course, he'd have to do this off the top of his head -- it was unknown technology, he didn't have the benefit of accessing an extensive engineering database and, glancing around, realized he didn't even have the proper tools.

It would be really helpful if someone who knew the system showed him the ins and outs...

Pursing his lips, Geordi looked at the Ferengi. "I don't suppose any of you would consider giving me a hand over here..."

The Ferengi met the comment with hoots of laughter -- at least most of them did. One of them regarded him through narrowed eyes. Slowly, that one stood, pulling a blanket more closely around himself, his motion effectively silencing the others.

"I will help you, hu-man."

"Qinz! Are you mad?"

"Listen to the storm," he hissed. "Do you think we'll be able to survive without help?"

Clev glared at the Caelis and humans who guarded them. "Better to die than to help these swine..."

Qinz shook his head. "Better to profit than to die," he whispered. "Knowledge is power, Clev." He took one quick glance down into his companion's startled eyes, then threw off the blanket and marched toward the Chief Engineer of the Federation starship *Enterprise*.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riker kept his eyes on the viewscreen and Admiral Morgan's face, his own concerns about the current situation temporarily disrupted by the man's obvious anxiety.

"...turned the matter over to the Federation Council; at last they're willing to do something. I just wish Dr. Hampstead and Captain Picard hadn't had to lay their lives on the line to accomplish this..."

Riker heard worry -- and something more -- in the man's voice. "I'm sure both of them were well aware of the dangers involved, Admiral..." he began diplomatically, but Morgan stiffened at the words and brusquely waved the comment aside.

"When you receive word about them, please inform me, Commander."

Shooting Deanna a puzzled glance, he nodded. "Of course, sir."

"Very well then. We've been ordered to proceed to your location at Warp Nine; Captain Norris has informed me we're less than five hours away. We'll talk more at that time, Commander."

Riker tried to muster a smile to cover his confusion. "We'll expect you in five hours, Admiral," he confirmed.

Morgan nodded once, then leaned forward, his troubled face filling the screen briefly before the connection terminated.

At the sound of Troi's sharply expelled breath, Will turned. "What the hell was that all about?"

"Guilt." She provided the answer almost before the question had left Riker's lips. "He feels responsible for what's happened here."

He nodded, mentally fitting the puzzle pieces together. Although Picard had refused to answer inquiries about the source of Hampstead's information, all of the senior staff had speculated it had come from high up. That Morgan had provided it seemed logical and if he had used the young doctor...

Glancing back at Deanna, he watched her nod slowly. With a sigh and a slight lift of his brows, Riker walked back to the command chair and sat down heavily. He reached up and ran forefinger and thumb over his mustache. "So Hampstead was probably a pawn in all this," he said.

"More than likely," Troi answered softly.

 Dropping his hand to the armrest, he regarded her intently. "When all is said and done, Morgan's going to have a lot to answer for and I doubt his riding to the rescue now is going to help him in the least."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their lovemaking hadn't had a calming effect on him at all, and Beverly recognized Jean-Luc's growing restlessness as a sure sign that the drug was exiting his system. It had taken both physical and verbal persuasion to calm him, but at long last, he'd succumbed to a fitful sleep.

He turned again and, under the covers, she spooned herself against him -- her chest to his back -- draping one of her arms over his waist. She listened to the sounds of the storm increasing in intensity, wondering that the thing hadn't yet blown itself out, worry nipping at her mind... and that's when the sound started.

It was difficult to hear over the combination of thunder, the undulating howl and whistle of the wind and the staccato pounding of rain and sleet -- but it was there, present at the threshold of hearing. The hiss seemed familiar to her, but she couldn't place from where and the mystery made her focus on the sound.

 Flashes of lightning continued to invade the darkness of their shelter, revealing tantalizing glimpses of recesses and rocky shelves. During one prolonged burst, she caught sight of something odd on the floor of the small alcove directly across from her. Frowning, she shifted slightly, looking over Jean-Luc's head, keeping her eyes fixed on the spot.

"What?" he whispered, immediately alert.

"I don't know. I thought I saw..." Another series of strikes flashed starkly, shafts of illumination revealing the structure of the entire cave, and plainly showing Crusher what lay just across from her.

Sucking in a breath, heart pounding, she released Jean-Luc as he pushed himself to one elbow to get a better view of what had startled her so...

Bodies. Skeletons. Humanoid, but neither Caeli, nor Ferengi, nor sapiens. Long spindly arm and leg bones, a reverse teardrop shaped skull with huge eye orbits and a conical protrusion that looked like a ram's horn beginning behind the skull and curling upward just above the collarbone...

Crusher jumped at the sudden crackling noise that echoed in the cave, eyes wide and mouth open at what she heard next.

"...wish Dr. Hampstead and Captain Picard hadn't had to lay their lives on the line to accomplish this..."

 "What the devil..." Picard muttered as static crescendoed, then faded to the background again, the sounds of the storm cycling to prominence once more. He recognized Admiral Morgan's voice and, kicking at the covers, groped around for his uniform while Beverly did the same.

Their uniforms were still damp and cold, but they hurriedly shivered into them as the static cleared and Riker's voice filled the cave.

"Will," she whispered, pausing in her efforts to put on her boots. She tucked her hair behind her ears, turned first one way then the other, trying to track down the direction from which the message emanated. It had a strange quality to it, a reverberation that implied powerful amplification...

"I think it's coming from over here."

She looked up, watching Jean-Luc approach the alcove, ducking to gain entrance through the low archway.

"...receive word about them, please inform..."

Static once again claimed the transmission. Crusher sighed at the loss of the signal, but finished dressing quickly and moved to join Jean-Luc.

The sight of the three skeletons stopped her. Two of them appeared to have died in a sitting position, but very closely together, while a third's torso lay across their thigh bones, its legs tucked in a fetal position.

"It looks like they knew they were going to die," she said softly, "and were trying to comfort each other..."

Jean-Luc looked up from his examination of the rock wall. "Over here, Beverly." He stepped back, frowning as the flashes of lightning provided almost continuous illumination. "No receiver I know would have been able to pull that signal through the storm interference... And, did you hear that strange echoing?"

She glanced back at the skeletons, a half-formed thought teasing her. "Alien technology, then -- *their* technology."

He nodded, walking around her, lost in his examination of the wall. "I could have sworn the signal was the strongest here." He ran his fingers over the stone, searching for anything that would indicate something out of the ordinary.

Frowning, Crusher didn't immediately join the search. That slip of a thought, coupled now with a vague memory, continued to pester her... something Uleth had said about the caves...

"Of course!"

Picard turned towards her, brows raised in a silent question.

"The Alahman described a place to us called the Cave of Voices where all the women, children and elderly were hiding. He said it was sacred, Jean-Luc, and just the tone of his voice when he spoke about it..." she paused to catch her breath.

"Cave of Voices," Crusher repeated, enunciating each syllable, watching his face relax as he realized the ramifications, just as she had moments before. She smiled as he brought startled eyes to her face.

"The Caelis may have built an entire religion around an alien receiver..." he whispered.

She nodded enthusiastically. "And a *powerful* receiver for it to have picked up that communication through this storm..."

He glanced back at the skeletons, mind reeling with questions. He had interacted with many species in his career as a Starfleet officer, but he couldn't identify the remains of these beings, and for another race to build sacred beliefs around artifacts that may have been left behind...

Optimism and a sense of adventure came to the fore. He looked to Beverly, smiling. "I wonder if this device would transmit, as well as receive..."

Picard placed his hands back on the wall and seconds later, dislodged a shower of fine particles. Hopes continuing to rise, he dug at the area, discovering a long vertical slit in the stone. Frowning, he continued to examine the location, playing his fingers over the area to his left, then to his right...

His hand passed through the stone. The wall rippled and sparkled and he pulled his hand away.

"Force field," Beverly whispered, eyes wide.

"No, something else," he responded just as softly. Cautiously, he touched the place again, watching his hand vanish once more into a rainbow of sparkles. As he kept his hand in place, a musical sound echoed around the tiny chamber and he felt a tingle in his fingers.

"Transporter," she said, grabbing his wrist and jerking his hand away.

Jean-Luc nodded, eyes on the now rippling stone wall. He pursed his lips, wondering whether he should attempt it...

The sound of Will's voice echoed around them. "...expect you in five hours, Admiral..."

He straightened his shoulders and yanked on the hem of his damp uniform tunic. He gazed steadily at Beverly. "I'm going to give it a try. You stay here until..."

"No, absolutely not," she interrupted angrily. "You have no idea where you'll end up. For all you know, you'll wind up embedded in the bulkhead of some derelict..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced behind her, the sight of the skeletons strengthening her resolve.

Picard took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. "I could also wind up finding the help we need to get us out of here..."

"I'm going with you, then." She blurted the words out and held herself more rigidly under his intense gaze. The soft pressure of his hands on her shoulders became more of an irritation than a comfort. "I'm not staying behind, Jean-Luc. I'm going with you..."

Feelings still on the surface, his anger at her stubbornness bubbled forth. "No you're not! I'll not have you placed in any more danger because I can't stay away from you for more than..."

Her raised brows halted the torrent and he looked away, stumbling around the thoughts beneath his words, feeling a rush of heat at his face in the process. Jean-Luc left the sentence hanging and incomplete, changing tack mid-course as he made the decision.

"You're not going, Beverly, and that's final," he said sternly, then turned swiftly toward the field before her wide eyes could make him waver and, hopefully, before she had time to realize what he was about to do.

Beverly saw his resolve a split second before he moved and with a small cry, she lunged for him as he disappeared through the wall...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror crossed Riker's face as once more, the lieutenant replayed the latest surface scans. "Sir, I've verified the data three times," she said, voice shaky. "That dam burst about two minutes ago and the coordinates Isayli gave us puts the Ferengi camp right in the flood's path..."

"How long until it reaches them?" His mouth had gone dry and a chill swept through him as he watched the worried brunette tap out the inquiry to the computer.

"Forty minutes, Commander."

"And the Alahman's village?" He almost held his breath as she ran her fingers over the console.

"They're on higher ground there, Commander. The effects won't be as severe..." At the question she perceived in his expression, she made her statement more specific. "They will survive, sir."

Riker straightened, momentarily allowing his dread to take hold of him. What could he do for Geordi and Data? There was no way to beam them out, no way to even contact them through all that electrical activity...

Then a thought struck him... something he had seen upon review of the *Opportunist's* logs...

He reached over the lieutenant's shoulder, quickly accessing the information and scrolling through it, aware of how long it was taking to find the particular entry...

"There!" Riker said, jabbing his finger at the screen. "The Ferengi had discovered a way to prevent the solar flares from interfering with their communications and transports. If their equipment could punch through the plasma, it can sure as hell punch through that ionization..."

Quickly, he turned to Worf. "Has the boarding party filed a report?"

The Klingon's fingers practically danced over his board. "Yes, sir. Accessing now..."

The seconds of silence seemed to stretch into hours for the First Officer. "Well?" he finally said impatiently.

"The communications equipment was damaged," Worf said, disgust underlining his words. It had been *his* weapons targeting that had not only destroyed the Ferengi ship's engines, but had wreaked havoc with their tactical equipment, as well.

Riker crossed the few paces it took to reach the Klingon's side. "What about the *Fortune*?" He watched over Worf's shoulder as he called up the ship's logs, heart falling when he saw that the power supply had failed shortly after the distress signal had been sent. Then resolve buoyed him, he straightened, clapping Worf on the shoulder.

"Then we'll just have to repair one of them."

"Sir?" Worf frowned, considering the problem. "Commander, it is unknown technology," he said slowly, "that has been heavily modified..."

"...and it's the only way out for Geordi and Data and the others," Riker finished firmly. "Have an engineering team transport over to the *Fortune* -- it looks like less effort would be needed there. And, in the meantime, program an automatic beacon warning them of the approaching flood. I doubt they'll be able to hear it, but if the message does make it through, it'll give them just a bit more time to get to higher ground."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tingle grabbed her in the same manner as the *Enterprise* transporter always did -- reaching for her spine and prickling out to her extremities.

Beverly had closed her eyes this time, however. Not because she was afraid of the device, but because she knew what she would face upon re-materialization.

She wasn't disappointed.

"What the *hell* did you think you were doing?!" Picard thundered, voice echoing. "Beverly, so help me..."

A scream pierced through his tirade and he whirled, catching sight of where they were. This antechamber opened up onto an enormous cavern, one that covered as much area as a shuttle bay and with a ceiling that remained cloaked in darkness.

About a dozen people, mostly women, stood a few paces away staring at them in terror. One elderly woman fell to her knees, touching her lips and repeatedly stretching her hand toward them as though blowing a kiss. In a rasping voice, she whispered words he didn't understand...

Frowning, Picard reached for his comm badge, wondering what malfunction had disabled the universal translator, then sighed when memory returned -- Zoht had plucked the device from his uniform and had thrown it into the forest.

"Oh, dear lord..." he growled softly.

"That's probably *their* sentiment right about now," she whispered, watching as more of the people mimicked the old woman's posture.

"Merd." Picard gritted his teeth. Exasperated at the circumstance, still angry at Beverly's rashness, he clenched his hands and glanced around the alcove. What was he going to do? These people couldn't understand him, he couldn't understand them...

"...indicate floodwaters will reach your location in less than thirty-five minutes' time. You are urged to evacuate immediately and seek higher ground. Please respond. Warning!..."

His heart fell -- it was an automatic beacon issued by the *Enterprise* -- he recognized the distinctive feminine voice of the ship's computer -- but to whom was the warning directed? He had no idea where he was now, or for that matter, where he had been before. Cursing the befuddled and careless attitude that was only now beginning to lose its grip on him, Picard turned to Beverly.

"Could that have been meant for us?"

Her first instinct was to reply that she had no idea, but Beverly forced herself to consider his question. She recalled the fact that Lara had taken them on an uphill climb, then she remembered the stream that had almost sucked her under, the Ferengi camp lying below that, the fact that the ground had seemed so level there... like a floodplain.

She looked up at Jean-Luc, horrified. "Not us. Geordi, Data, Bryn, the Alahman..."

"Damn!" Picard turned toward the continuing sound of the *Enterprise* beacon, searching for the source of the transmission. He had to look hard but eventually found the devices. The two compact banks of equipment that lined the back wall had been effectively concealed, their consoles almost perfectly matching the color and texture of the surrounding rock. Lips pressed into a hard line, he brushed by Beverly.

"Well," he said, studying the faintly blinking panels. "As long as you're here, you can make yourself useful."

"Useful how?" she whispered, darting a backward glance at him.

"Keep them occupied," Jean-Luc answered absently, his mind finding a focus on the puzzle of triangular flashing lights before him.

"Occupied?" she sputtered, eyes wide. "How do you suggest I do that?"

When he didn't answer, Crusher brought her hand up to her neck and fiddled with a collar that now seemed too tight. Holding her hands out from her body and palms forward, she cautiously approached the throng whose numbers appeared to be growing, hoping Jean-Luc would find some answers -- and find them quickly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riker had retreated to the captain's ready room. He paced the length of it, pausing occasionally to run his fingers across the fine parchment pages of the open volume of Shakespeare's Collected Works, or to stare at the lionfish as it swam unconcerned among the white coral and miniature strands of kelp.

He wished he knew how Picard did it. How did the man simply put his trust in others, without feeling the need to constantly look over shoulders... A saying his father always quoted ran through his mind over and over again.

"If you want something done right..."

"Do it yourself," Will finished glumly. The thought was torture -- like salt in an already festering wound -- and he gritted his teeth, readying himself to charge out the doors and take over the communications modifications himself.

Stopping himself just short of the door, he took a deep breath as another thought entered his mind. Sure, his father had frequently used that expression, but he'd always said it under his breath and only when he'd been dissatisfied with Will's performance.

Smiling, Riker turned and headed back to the viewport behind the captain's desk. He had a good team and what they needed now more than anything was his confidence in them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emara had managed only to convey her name and garner theirs. That she couldn't communicate with the woman left her feeling uneasy. They hadn't had any trouble understanding the Ferengi; why these two?

The children, on the other hand, had given the woman -- Beverly, she corrected herself -- their enthusiastic endorsement, climbing into her lap when she had sat down, playing with the golden circles at the collar of her strange clothing, babbling to her excitedly, oblivious to the fact that she couldn't understand a word they said. Emara smiled as she watched Beverly wipe smudges from the children's faces, realizing she was definitely one of them -- a mother and a helpmate -- and most certainly not a god.

At the sound of the man's voice, she looked up. Jean-Luc was smiling at Beverly, beckoning her to him...

She watched Beverly go to him and although their words made no sense, she heard excitement in their voices as they gazed at the blinking triangles of light. Curiosity overwhelming her, Emara stepped forward a few paces, gazing at the pattern Jean-Luc tapped out -- one blue triangle, two green ones...

Nothing happened, damping her fear even further, making her take two more steps toward them...

The deep loud voice which boomed above the thunder sent Emara to her knees. Jean-Luc and Beverly may not have been gods, but they had the power to summon the ancient ones and to speak with them.

Emara cursed her folly and whispered trembling appeasements to the gods and their messengers, her eyes tightly shut against the wrath she expected to descend upon her any minute.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The view of the blue, green and white planet below had lost its lure, still Riker continued to stand at the viewport. He had resisted the impulse to check on the progress of the modifications -- had even refused to glance at the chronometer -- so that when the door chimed, he experienced a surge of expectation...

"Come."

Riker couldn't hide his disappointment when he saw Worf standing in the doorway, but something about the Klingon's eyes piqued his curiosity. There was disbelief there, but hope, and...

"Report," the First Officer ordered.

"Sir, I..." the Klingon frowned, then tried to form the sentence again. "Commander, I believe I have intercepted a communication from the surface. It's Captain Picard..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frowning, Jean-Luc listened as Will explained the situation, interrupting only occasionally to ask for clarification on personnel or location. When Riker had finished the narrative, Picard turned to Beverly, worry in his eyes. "How much time do you think it would take for us to get down to the camp..."

She was shaking her head before he even finished the thought. "More than they have."

Watching as he turned back to the devices, she sighed at the view of the Caelis prostate before them. As soon as Worf's voice had boomed through the cavern, they had fallen to the ground like leaves in autumn. Beverly wished there were some way to communicate with them...

"...coordinates and I'll give it a shot. Data would have the knowledge and if I could just get through to him, we might be able to discover how to activate the dimensional door..."

Frowning, she turned back to Jean-Luc. What was he thinking?

When Jean-Luc had first called her over, explaining that the devices' symbols were very similar to those used by the Iconians, Beverly had looked at him with some skepticism but had watched hopefully when he had tapped his forefinger against first a blue triangle, then two green ones.

They both had waited expectantly, feeling the curious eyes of the Caelis at their backs.

Nothing had happened.

She had taken a breath, had reached out to touch him, but had snatched her hand away when Worf's booming voice had echoed through the cavern.

He had managed to contact the *Enterprise*, but what he was proposing now... She laid her hand on Jean-Luc's arm and he looked up at her.

"Are you sure about this? From what I remember of your reports, neither you nor Data were 100% certain about the language or the function of that equipment. It destroyed the *Yamato*, and Data's circuitry was damaged so severely that it took Geordi two full days of diagnostics and repair..."

"I know, Beverly," he said softly. He took a deep breath. "It's a long shot, but it's all we have at the moment. Those floodwaters will reach them in less than..."

"Sir? Are you still there?"

"Yes, Will." Picard said loudly, then softened his voice as looked up at Beverly. "It's the only chance they have..."

She hated to say the words, remembering how she had felt when he had insisted upon beaming over to the Ferengi vessel with her medical response team, but the question needed to be asked.

"Jean-Luc. Are you sure you can handle this?"

He started to give her an immediate affirmative, but something in the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes stopped him. She wasn't questioning his knowledge, she was questioning *him*. Hurt and anger vied for control. How dare she? How *could* she?

Beverly took a deep breath and grabbed one of his hands in both of hers. She spoke softly so that her voice wouldn't be heard through the comm link. "You were right to want to keep an eye on me when my team beamed over to the *Fortune* -- do you remember?"

He looked away from her, recalling all his concerns that day. Jean-Luc nodded and, dismissing his irritation, allowed her question to settle. *Could* he handle this or had the drug robbed him of something he desperately needed -- the common sense and rationality to face an emergency squarely? Not robbed, he finally realized, and searching, grappling, discovered the steel that had only been hidden from him.

Raising intense eyes to her face, he nodded. "Yes, I can handle it." When she smiled and he felt her fingers loosening from around his hand, Jean-Luc firmed his hold on her. "Thank you for asking, Beverly."

Eyes sparkling, she nodded. "You're welcome. Now, get to work, Jean-Luc. You're wasting time..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bryn had trouble focusing -- the storm outside continued its rough handling of the shuttle, Mr. La Forge had reported the Ferengi's sensor web had failed, and -- she glanced up, catching the Alahman's eye -- how the hell was she going to respond to Uleth's marriage proposal?

In spite of the whirlwind of emotions, she felt as though she had claimed the eye of the storm and she smiled, remembering Uleth's declaration of love and the fireworks between them that they had barely been able to contain... then had come the question.

"Doctor?"

Blushing, she looked up at Data. "I'm sorry... I wasn't paying attention," she stammered, bringing her gaze back to the shuttle's manifest. "Um... we were on medical supplies, right?"

Frowning, Data glanced at the Alahman, noticing the Caeli's eyes continued to roam to Hampstead and there was a look on his face that matched one the captain had worn recently when Picard had been in close proximity to Dr. Crusher...

"Question, Doctor..."

Thankful for the distraction, she raised her brows, waiting.

"I have noticed you and the Alahman seem to have developed a sudden interest in each other -- would your feelings be an example of 'love at first sight'?"

Her blush deepened and she took a deep breath, unable to keep the smile from her face. "I suppose so, Mr. Data," she managed to choke the words out.

Data opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated at a sound only his ears could pick up; his brows came together in a frown. His positronic brain identified the noise as static and the faint voice underneath showed an 87.301% correlation with that of...

"What?" Bryn asked worriedly, eyes wide at his expression.

He shook his head, losing the sounds as the wind outside howled loudly. "For a moment, I thought I heard..."

"Picard to Data. Data, can you hear me? Please acknowledge..."

It was as close as Data had ever come to being shocked. Brows lifting, he tapped his comm badge, ignoring the stunned expressions and babble of voices which filled the shuttlecraft.

"I hear you, sir..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard practically grinned. "Well, then. Are you ready, Mr. Data?"

"Yes, sir. Please proceed."

He took a deep breath, almost oblivious to the people who stood behind him, a respectful -- and safe -- distance away. "All right. I'm keying in the sequence now..."

Picard tapped his fingers on the lighted symbols, whispering the sequence to himself and momentarily disconcerted at the faint hum which built with each input. Lights flashed in a sweeping pattern over the face of what he and Data had decided was a power indicator. He looked up toward the rippling forcefield to his right, expecting to see the android, but nothing happened. Seconds passed and, heart falling, Picard activated the transceiver.

"Data. What happened? Where are you?"

"It appears I am in a small cave, Captain. There are several chambers off of the main one..."

Crusher stepped next to Picard and leaned forward, lips close to Jean-Luc's ear. "Ask him if he sees the skeletons..."

Pursing his lips at his slow-wittedness, Picard nodded. "Of course," he said softly, giving Crusher an appreciative smile. "Data. I need you to examine the alcoves, but quickly. Report what you find."

Several more seconds passed with both Picard and Crusher growing increasingly frustrated at Data's silence.

"Sir, I have found three skeletons -- species unknown..."

"Yes, yes, Data," Picard interrupted hastily. "Proceed to the back wall. There's a vertical slit..."

"I have found it, Captain."

Jean-Luc glanced quickly up at Crusher. "I hope this works..."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "It will."

Picard looked at the rippling forcefield only a half-meter away from him. "Data. There is a force field of some sort..."

"Indeed, sir. Its energy output registers in the terraher..."

"Data, please. Just walk through the field." He held his breath as several heartbeats passed before the android responded.

"As you wish, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emara watched Jean-Luc and Beverly talk softly amongst themselves, then the small man spoke more loudly to another disembodied voice. She recognized the tenor beneath Jean-Luc's words -- being an Alahman's wife, how could she not. That one spoke with authority. He was a leader and both Beverly and the yet unrevealed man followed him.

When the two gazed expectantly at the rippling wall, Emara gave the order for her people to step back even further. There was no telling what would happen next and their situation was bad enough without encouraging the pandemonium that additional surprises would foster.

A golden man walked through the stone wall as though he walked through water. A *man* she repeated to herself, not a god. His alien looks and manner of arrival, however, brought less of a reaction from all of them, herself included, than what she would have imagined. Their collective lack of surprise worried her almost as much as an exhibition of it, for the dearth of shock indicated they were all getting used to these comings and goings.

Boldly, Emara stepped forward. She doubted this one would understand any more than the other two, but she had to attempt it.

The three stopped speaking at her approach and regarded her intently. Swallowing her fear, Emara returned the scrutiny, then focused on the golden man.

"I am Emara, widow of Caro, mother of Uleth. On behalf of my people, I bid you welcome to our sanctuary."

To her surprise, the golden man nodded and bowed. "I am Lieutenant Commander Data. This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Doctor Beverly Crusher. We are pleased to meet you and thank you for your welcome." Then the man handed strange jewelry to Jean-Luc and Beverly. Those two placed the ornaments at their chests and gave her reassuring smiles.

"Forgive us, Emara," Jean-Luc said. "Without these," he pointed to the pin at his chest, "we were unable to understand you."

Mouth open in surprise, she looked from one to the other. "You can... you know our language now?"

"Something like that," Beverly said, smiling and darting a quick look at the two men. "Perhaps you and I could speak privately for a moment, Emara. I have news of Uleth -- he is safe..."

Her heart sang. "Uleth?" She focused her attention on Beverly, afraid to ask the next question, but unable to prevent it. "And my daughter, Lara?"

Data stepped forward, remembering a conversation with Geordi. "She is safe, as well, Emara."

Eyes closed, she clasped her hands and pressed them to her chest as relief momentarily overwhelmed her. When Beverly put an understanding hand on her shoulder, Emara gazed down at the woman and recovered enough to point toward an area away from all the activity. "We can talk over here..."

Turning, she led Beverly away, but not without giving a nod of thanks to Data and Jean-Luc.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It really *did* look like a door.

Bryn took a deep breath, watching the air ripple as it defined its perimeter, observing the subtle change in color, seeing the rectangle solidify, clear and finally, she was gazing at Data and he was speaking...

"We are ready to receive the injured, Dr. Hampstead..."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Uleth closed his fingers around her upper arm. She glanced up at him.

"Not the Ferengi..."

Shaking her head, she looked back at the critically wounded Daimon and his men. "Uleth, we don't take sides..."

"I know that." He hesitated, watching as Captain Picard appeared in the magical window. "All I ask is that the Ferengi be kept out of the Cave of Voices."

They watched as Picard and Data exchanged glances. The captain stepped forward. "They are injured, Alahman, and need treatment..."

"Which can be given them in the smaller cave, correct?" Uleth studied Picard's face. "Captain, these people have taken so much from us already. Please, allow us to keep the sanctity of the place of prayers. They and their injured will be safe in the smaller cave."

Several seconds passed before Picard finally nodded and stepped out of view. Data beckoned to them.

"Please begin transport of the injured..."

Uleth didn't release his hold on Bryn and pulled her aside, even as she protested her need to help the evacuation process.

"You have not given me your answer," he said softly, eyes on the Caeli warriors who were being carried through the doorway first. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bear to see that indecision again...

Her heart fell. What to say? There were so many obstacles, but how she longed to throw caution and common sense away...

Bryn reached up to touch his face, reveling in the soft feel of his skin beneath her fingertips and the liquid warmth in his eyes as he turned his head to regard her.

She had to swallow against the lump in her throat. "Give me just a little more time, Uleth. Please?"

He looked away from her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. It was a rejection, of that he was certain. The river Dahl had never been as cold as the ice that moved through his veins now. Without a word, he released her and, shoulders stiff, walked away to help the *Enterprise* crew move the wounded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Briefly, La Forge allowed himself a worried glance around the nearly evacuated structure, then bent back to the task of programming the automated signal. If at all possible, he wanted this equipment and the documentation of what they had done with it to be recovered.

"Engineer..." one of the Caeli warriors said fearfully.

"Almost done," Geordi said, quickly keying in the last bit of code. The Alahman had refused to allow him to remain alone with Qinz, insisting that two of the warriors remain with them. He glanced down quickly at the Ferengi and held out his hand, smiling at the shock that registered on the Qinz' face. "It's been a pleasure working with you."

Qinz finally returned the smile, briefly revealing his spiked teeth, and took the Chief Engineer's hand. "I have profited much from the relationship."

"High praise," Geordi chuckled. He nodded toward the Caelis.

"Let's get out of here," he said as they approached and took up flanking positions. He tapped his comm badge. "OK, Data. We have four ready to walk through that doorway of yours..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uleth glanced around the cave, his eyes finally settling on a broad-shouldered Caeli wearing the gold-and-black of the *Enterprise* people -- the priest, Isayli, and the man had an arm protectively around the waist of his sister, Lara. Jaw clenched, Uleth stood motionless, still unseen by the two.

As he watched, several of the *Enterprise* people walked up to the priest and held their hands out to him. Frowning, Uleth observed this process repeatedly and when another door opened to his right, he watched a dark-skinned man call out the priest's name as though they'd been friends for a lifetime. The two men grinned as they shook hands...

It seemed the *Enterprise* people respected the priest. Uleth glanced at his sister's face, at the joy which shone there. Heart in his throat, he glanced back at the gijah who had bent to help one of his men, and decided that *one* of his family at least should have the happiness denied to the rest of them.

Slowly, the Alahman approached the priest and when he was only a few paces away, Isayli and Lara caught sight of him. Both stiffened as Uleth stopped directly in front of them. He knew in his heart what he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come; all he could do was stare at the short-haired priest.

Gritting his teeth, Isayli pushed Lara behind him. "I know you have a right to demand my death. I failed your father, I failed our people, and I failed you." He took a quick look at Lara, resolve blazing in his brown eyes. "But, I love your sister. I love Lara and wish to make a life with her," he said softly, his voice hoarse. "I'll do whatever I have to do Uleth Tahng to keep her with me -- even if it means asking the star people to provide us sanctuary on their great ship..."

Laughter had been building within him and he simply couldn't stop it from pouring forth. Isayli and Lara both looked stricken as Uleth continued to laugh. Then, Lara narrowed her eyes and, clenching her fists, stepped only centimeters away from her brother. She lifted her hand and swung...

Uleth caught her hand before it contacted his chin and pulled her into an embrace, still laughing.

"You're crazy -- or drunk," she hissed, squirming away from him.

"The first, possibly," he answered, finally bringing himself under control. "It's just that I hated to see Isayli waste so many words and so much emotion..."

"So," she said coldly. "You would ask Isayli to pay for his mistakes with his life, as our father had asked?"

"No." He grinned at the shocked look on her face, then turned his attention to the priest. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see people -- his people -- watching their Alahman's every move.

Uleth stepped up to Isayli and laid a large hand on the priest's shoulder. He was pleased to hear Lara's sharp intake of breath, the happy mutterings behind him as his people recognized the gesture, and to see tears of gratitude sparkling in Isayli's eyes.

"I would ask Isayli to return to the village and resume his responsibilities." The Alahman glanced around meaningfully at the *Enterprise* crew, eyes lighting on Bryn. He looked quickly away, swallowed his sadness and forced cheer into words that he spoke for all to hear. "It seems we will need someone to speak on our behalf with the... Federation. I can think of no one more able to work in that capacity..."

Lara threw herself into her brother's arms, sobbing. He gently extracted himself and taking one of her hands, placed it in Isayli's.

"I give you my blessing," he whispered, the words catching in his throat. How he had wished for *two* weddings...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The reunion hadn't seemed to have gone well.

Beverly watched as Uleth turned away from his mother and stalked off for the darkness at the back of the cave. Glancing around, she saw that Jean-Luc was occupied with Data and Geordi, so she slowly approached Emara.

"Is something wrong?" she asked softly, nodding toward the Alahman.

Emara shook her head. "He is in love and does not think the woman returns it. The gijah has not answered his marriage proposal..."

//Gijah?// Beverly eyes widened briefly as a slow smile spread across her face. Gently, she laid a hand on the woman's arm. "Let me see what I can do..."

Leaving Emara standing there with mouth open and eyes wide, Beverly strode towards the doorway, determined not to let Bryn Hampstead get away with this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had snagged her before she'd been able to walk through and there was no use fighting him.

Catching her lower lip gently between her teeth, Beverly turned to Jean-Luc. He didn't look at her, just kept his hand at her arm, gently running his fingers up and down the length until her breath caught in her throat.

"What's going on?" he finally asked, eyes still focused on the Alahman's stiff back.

It was hard to resist the impulse to lean into him, to wrap her arms around him, to kiss his lips...

"Minor setback," she whispered. "He asked the 'gijah' to marry him and she's stalling."

Jean-Luc remained silent for a few moments, then turned to her, a twinkle in his eyes. "What are you going to tell Hampstead?"

She shrugged, her lips curving upwards. "I'm going to tell her exactly what she told me..." At the question in his eyes, her smile broadened, then faded. Beverly brushed her thumb across his lips. "I'm going to tell Bryn that she'd be a fool to turn her back on love."

He raised a brow and regarded her intently. "She told you..."

"Mmm-hmmm." Beverly paused, holding his startled gaze. "She had us figured out right from the start."

Jean-Luc looked away, shook his head and groaned. "No..."

"Yes," she said, smiling and pulling away from him. "I'll be right back. Why don't you go talk to the Alahman?"

A look of horror crossed his face. "This really isn't our business, Beverly..."

"And *we* weren't Bryn's," she said pointedly, "but if she hadn't butted in, hadn't said to me what she did..."

Surprised, Jean-Luc studied her. From the look on Beverly's face, he knew she wasn't exaggerating. Something Hampstead had said to her had made an impact, just as his conversations with the young doctor had started him thinking.

Pursing his lips, Picard turned away, eyes finding Uleth's broad back. Briskly, he yanked at the waistband of his tunic.

"Fine. I'll just go have a talk with the Alahman..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bryn stared at the tricorder, not really seeing the results of the scan. Daimon Zoht had been fine only seconds earlier, why shouldn't he be fine now? Realizing she was only going through the motions, she stood.

"Seems I recall someone telling me that ignoring love was a big mistake."

Turning quickly toward the voice, Bryn sighed and looked away. "I was way out of line, Dr. Crusher. I always manage to stick my nose where it doesn't belong..."

"Maybe you're a bit too enthusiastic," Beverly said with a smile, "but your heart's in the right place. I needed a bit of a shove." When Bryn gazed up at her surprised, Beverly motioned toward a shelf of rock that looked remarkably like a park bench and continued as they walked toward it. "I've had my share of losses, just as you have -- I seem to have reacted to them a bit differently..."

They sat down on the hard rock, side by side. In a soft voice, Beverly told the story of Arvada III, of losing her parents, then skipped to the anguish she'd felt at Jack's death, the years of animosity directed at Jean-Luc even when he didn't deserve her censure, the loss of Wesley to an existence so incomprehensible to her that he might as well be dead, then to her budding feelings for Jean-Luc and the fear of more loss that had prevented her from seeking more from him.

"...so, you see? My experiences made me hide, yours..."

"Did just the opposite." Bryn stared at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I know what I said to you... I know how I truly feel about Uleth -- I love him! But, damn it, how can that be? I don't really *know* him and there are so many obstacles..."

"Obstacles galore -- there's the age difference, the effect of his station, how you're going to counter Starfleet opposition..." Beverly watched Hampstead frown and she smiled when the young woman turned shocked eyes to her face.

"You're facing the same things." She practically whispered the words and her mouth remained opened as Crusher's eyes brightened along with her smile.

"Anyone ever tell you that you can be mighty slow on the uptake?"

She couldn't keep the grin from breaking out. "Yeah. My friend, Carla. All the time." The two women laughed, the comfort level between them rising to the point that Crusher put her arm around the younger woman's shoulders.

"Bryn, what you said to me in the lab... You *were* right. Take your own advice. Don't ignore what Uleth's offering."

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Hampstead nodded. "I'll tell him 'yes' as soon as they can evacuate the Ferengi..."

Crusher stood and pulled the woman to her feet. "You'll tell him now. I'll stay with the Ferengi."

She hesitated a moment, unsure how to respond, then followed her instincts, giving Beverly a fierce hug before turning and sprinting toward the tiny alcove.

Crusher watched her retreating form, a smile continuing to light her blue eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picard looked up at the musical sound of someone walking through the dimensional door, smiling as he recognized Hampstead. Murmuring apologies to one of the Caeli warriors, he approached her.

When she finally caught sight of him, a smile broke out on her features and she rushed towards him, recovering herself when she got within arm's length of him.

"Sir! It's so good to see you!" Tears welled up in her eyes at the onslaught of dark memories. "I was so worried back there..."

He caught her hands up in his, holding them firmly. "I know what you did for me, Lieutenant," Picard said softly. "I owe you thanks... and an apology."

Puzzled, Bryn shook her head. "I don't understand, sir... an apology? For what?"

Picard took a quick breath. "For allowing my prejudices to dictate my behavior towards you. I seem to have learned some things -- the hard way." He paused, smiling faintly. "Mind you, I'm not condoning the methods you used to get aboard my ship... but I am glad for having had the pleasure of working with you, Doctor."

She blushed and smiled. "It's been a pleasure working with you, sir..."

He gave her hands a quick squeeze before releasing her, then tugged on his uniform tunic. "Well, then -- two items. First, are you fully recovered?" When she nodded vigorously, Picard smiled. "That's good news. Now, for the second..."

Stepping behind her, he laid one hand on her shoulder and with the other, pointed toward a grouping of knee-high stalagmites. Uleth had his back to them, but Bryn could see the tenseness in his broad shoulders.

"That man loves you very much, Lieutenant. If you're worried about Starfleet, don't. There are a lot of favors owed me..."

Shocked at his words, she turned to gaze up at him wide-eyed, then smiled. "You and Dr. Crusher are conspiring against me, aren't you, sir?"

"Turnabout's fair play." A faint smile tugged at Picard's lips. "He's waiting for you."

Bryn looked back toward Uleth and sucked in a deep breath before nodding at the captain's words.

"Yes, sir; and I've kept him waiting long enough..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uleth had heard her approach, but he didn't turn, keeping his eyes on the floor of the cave. When her footsteps stopped, his heart raced, then at the feel of her fingers on his arm, he tensed and swallowed hard, searching for the words that would make her understand...

"Your captain," Uleth began softly, "explained how different your world is from mine. He said that leaving your world would be a big step for you, that it would be difficult for you here..."

He turned and reached for her, laying his hands tentatively at her waist. "But he also said that you are courageous and bright and that you could find happiness here..." Uleth looked deeply into her glistening eyes. "I love you, Bryn. I would do everything I could to make you happy..."

"I know," she interrupted softly, placing her fingers lightly at his lips. Her heart thudded in her chest as she spoke again, green eyes fixed to his face. "So tell me, Uleth... is that offer still open?"

He stopped breathing, moved his hands to her shoulders and asked the question again. "Will you be my wife?"

She smiled. "Yes. Oh, yes, Uleth!" she whispered, her voice rasping with the passion of her answer.

He pulled her against him, stroking her back, running his fingers through her hair, wondering at how so much strength could be packed into such a very small body.

"Our children will be very wise and very brave," he said softly, tears welling in his eyes.

She laughed and raised her hand to his face, but sobered quickly. "Uleth, that's something we don't know. We don't know if you and I can have children..."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, gijah. The Ferengi left plenty of orphans..." He paused, taking in the sound of the still howling wind. "...as will this storm... little ones, children in need of parents to love them..."

Bryn shook her head, not fully understanding why she'd been so blessed. She gazed deeply into his eyes.

"I love you, Uleth Tahng..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just inside the arched entrance to another of the smaller cave's many alcoves, Beverly glanced over his shoulder, making sure they weren't being watched before kissing Jean-Luc again. Reluctantly pulling her lips from his, she gazed into his eyes.

"Forgive me?"

He shrugged and looked away. "I don't know. You *did* disobey an order..."

"You did *not* give me an order," she retorted indignantly.

"Oh, really?" He cleared his throat and melodramatically repeated his words. "'You are not going, Beverly, and that's final.'" He pretended to consider what he'd spoken for a moment, then shrugged. "Sounds like an order to me..."

When she started to pull away from him, he tightened his arms, capturing her motionless against him. All humor fled his face as, almost nose to nose, he regarded her. "I want you to promise me never to do anything like that again. What if I *had* transported into a dangerous situation..."

"I might have lost you and that's not something I'm willing to accept -- or to agree to stand by helplessly and watch, Jean-Luc."

He sighed and brushed his lips against her cheek. "It appears we have some unresolved issues between us..."

Beverly smiled and laid her forehead against his shoulder. "At least we'll be working on them together."

Jean-Luc nodded, enjoying the warmth of her, and smiled. "Together," he repeated, relishing the sound of the word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The medication had begun to work.

Groggily, he turned his head to gaze at the implements the surgeon had laid out on a polished chrome tray and caught his reflection there. Human, mid-fifties, short brown hair streaked with gray at the temples, square jaw, the too-pale pink skin, smooth forehead... Proconsul Flemming.

How long had he played this role? Three years? And for what? Fighting the anesthesia, he tried not to feel guilt that he had been only partially successful in this mission. He *had* been able to recover several Caeli artifacts from the Ferengi -- devices that the scientists thought might be portions of a time portal. He'd gotten enough of them, in fact, that a working model might be within their grasp in just a few years...

"Sir, I want to make sure you understand before we begin."

He looked up at the surgeon; the man looked nervous.

"We cannot totally undo the effects of the cosmetic surgery, Gul Morok. It has been three years, after all. Perhaps if we had..."

He waved a hand at the man and sighed. "Just do the best you can."

After a few seconds Morok felt the cold nozzle of a hypospray pressed to his neck and heard the hiss of the injection. With a faint smile, he gave himself over to a dark, dreamless sleep as the Chief Surgeon tried to right the wrongs that had been done to his features so very long ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jean-Luc paused on his way out of the bedroom, a smile on his face as he gazed at the tangle of sheets on the bed and the scattering of clothing on the floor. He was only two days into his convalescence, but what a glorious two days those had been.

Smile still on his lips, he strode into the living area.

"Come."

The doors hissed open to reveal Riker, a PADD in his hand. "Am I interrupting, sir?"

"Of course not, Number One; please, come in..." Indicating the sofa, Picard followed Riker there and took a seat beside the younger man. "What do you have there?"

With a flourish and a wide grin, Will handed him the PADD and a stylus. "The orders to transport the Ferengi off the *Enterprise*, Captain. Thought I'd hand-deliver this one."

A slight frown formed between Picard's brows as he studied the text. Daimon Zoht and all the others were to be returned to their government -- they wouldn't stand trial for anything they'd done.

"I'm half tempted not to sign this," he said softly, bringing his eyes up to Riker's face.

The younger man shrugged. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, sir. It really doesn't seem right..."

Tapping the stylus against the device, he pursed his lips. "But they *did* sign the treaty..."

"Yes, sir," Riker answered, automatically sitting up straighter. "No more drug trading, no travel within 10 light years of the Beta Caelum system. And, with your proposal being discussed by the Alahman and Ambassador Ellis..."

"How is that going, by the way?"

"I just ran into Dr. Crusher and Dr. Hampstead. They were headed for the transporter room." The First Officer's blue eyes twinkled and a smile tugged at his lips. "It looked like they'd already developed a full head of steam."

Jean-Luc groaned. "Let me guess... the Ambassador is wavering on the Alahman's request for Federation medical and educational facilities to be built in the villages, and Bryn has requested Beverly's help..."

"You got it, sir."

"Well, heaven help him," Picard said, "he has no idea what's about to hit."

Riker grinned. "Other than that one sticking point, I hear the Alahman is in full agreement with allowing the Federation to protect this world as an archaeological preserve. It was a good idea, Captain..."

Picard smiled at the compliment, then turned his attention back to the PADD. It was well within his rights as captain to refuse to approve the transfer orders. That refusal would result in Daimon Zoht being tried in a Federation court for all the atrocities he had committed, but then, the treaty would be void. The Ferengi could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. He would *not* allow that to happen.

Resolutely, the captain initialled the orders and returned both stylus and PADD back to Riker. "Get them off my ship, Number One."

"Yes, sir." He grinned as he stood, then turned and exited the Captain's quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smiling, Bryn watched Crusher link her arm through Ambassador Ellis' and lead him toward the lodge. Moments before, the man had wilted under their onslaught... The villages would have the Federation hospitals and schools that Uleth had requested.

Turning, she watched a group of Caelis and Starfleet officers working to clean up the hurricane debris. Already, the twelve villages had sent representatives to the most devastated areas. Combined with materiel and manpower provided by both the *Enterprise* and the *Independence*, the damaged homes and businesses would be fully restored by the end of the week

She shuddered as a chill breeze fingered her pale, naked arms. There was little warmth in the traditional Caeli garb, but still she wore it, remembering with a shock of pleasure Uleth's reaction this morning as she'd walked from their bedroom. Even her protests that he would be late for his meeting with Ambassador Ellis hadn't dissuaded him from sweeping her up in his arms, carrying her back to their bed, and quickly divesting her of the clothing it had taken her nearly 15 minutes to figure out...

Bowing her head, she allowed a grin to flash across her face as she ran her hands down the simple shift. The fawn-colored leather was incredibly smooth underneath her fingertips and the design seemed to enhance her narrow waist and the gentle swell of her hips. That his sister, Lara, had made it for her generated even more warm thoughts -- the way they had hit it off, the young woman's gentle humor...

Nodding briefly to herself, she acknowledged that she'd made the right decision. It would be difficult, but she would resign her commission...

"Dr. Hampstead?"

Bryn turned at the sound of Morgan's voice and carefully composed her features. She wasn't sure how she felt about the man. He had put her -- and Captain Picard -- in a life-threatening situation, but if he hadn't been suspicious enough about Kellogg and Flemming in the first place, the conspiracy wouldn't have been uncovered, and a solution would never have been found. Besides, Starfleet *had* handed the admiral a stern reprimand for his tactics -- then had expressed enough confidence in him to promote him to HSFM.

 Raising a brow, she gazed into his eyes. "Sir?"

He looked uncomfortable, uncertain, and bowed his head, his short-cropped gray hair catching the intermittent sunlight. Several seconds passed in silence before he raised tired brown eyes to her face.

"I placed you and Captain Picard in grave danger," he said softly. "I apologize for that."

She could see the regret and the sincerity in his eyes and with a slight smile, Bryn nodded. "Thank you, Admiral."

Relieved, Morgan allowed a smile to touch his lips. "But, you certainly proved yourself to be courageous and resourceful -- both Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher have told me how impressed they are with you." His smile broadened at the blush which colored her face. "And, Dr. Crusher has told me *you* were the one who discovered the fossilized bacteria in the bone marrow samples taken from the skeletons..."

Bryn shook her head, mildly uncomfortable with the compliments. "I think she's giving me too much credit, sir, but I have to tell you, it *was* exciting work." She paused, glancing away from him, enthusiasm lighting her face as she remembered the find. "Who would have thought it, Admiral? Staphylococcus -- they just didn't have any immunity and it cut them down so quickly..."

"Well, you've provided an answer as to what caused their deaths," he commented softly. "How would you like to work on answering the rest of the questions?"

She glanced up at him, eyes wide. "I don't understand, sir..."

"We still don't know who they were or why they were so interested in this world. And, as I said, Captain Picard's very impressed with you -- enough so that he's recommended you for the research position here. This would be a way for you to stay with Starfleet Medical; I've no desire to lose you, Hampstead..."

She bowed her head, smiling, grateful to the captain, to Dr. Crusher, to the admiral... Looking up at him, green eyes sparkling, she nodded.

"I accept, Admiral."

Morgan practically beamed. Hesitating only briefly, he held his hand out to her. "I'll be checking up on you in about a month, Doctor..." He glanced over his shoulder, still smiling. "...*after* Lyda and I return from our honeymoon..."

Mouth open and face slack with surprise, Bryn followed the admiral's gaze. Lyda O'Malley stood several meters way, facing them, and gave both a short wave.

"Congratulations, Admiral!" She shook his hand warmly, a dazzling smile on her face. "My best wishes to you and Lt. O'Malley..."

It was Morgan's turn to redden. He coughed a bit at Hampstead's enthusiasm and finally managed to extricate himself from the handshake.

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll pass that along to Lyda." He smiled, studying her intently, glad that his conversations with Picard and Crusher had provided this solution. Morgan truly respected the young woman standing before him and allowed that regard to show on his face. "And we *will* see you in a month."

"I look forward to it, sir."

Giving her a brief nod, Morgan turned and strode swiftly to Lyda's side, catching her hand up in his. Smiling, Bryn watched the couple walk hand-in-hand toward the Federation contingent waiting on the washed-out path that bisected the decimated haro field.

The sounds of the clean-up crew pulled her attention away from Morgan. One of the houses had been literally flattened and, before a new structure could be built, the debris had to be cleared.

She picked her way through the mud and seeing one Caeli struggling by himself with a twisted wooden slat, Bryn moved quickly to help him.

The man hesitated, eyes wide, as she bent to pick up the other end. "Healer..."

She looked up at him and frowned. "What's wrong, Hassa?"

Still holding the board, but frozen in place, he darted his eyes to the other warriors. They had all stopped work and were approaching hesitantly. Hassa took a deep breath and gazed worriedly at the gijah.

"It is not for the Alahman's intended to work like a common laborer," he whispered.

She was taken aback by the question and infuriated at the sentiment. For a moment her anger built, then Bryn quickly damped it, remembering Uleth's recounting of his conversation with Picard two days ago... Quickly, she realized the captain had been right -- her living among these people was going to be difficult for all concerned, but she *could* make it work...

Taking a deep breath, Bryn gave Hassa a brief smile.

"Is it not for the Alahman's intended to provide help where help is needed?"

Her question caused surprised murmurs and quick smiles. Hassa gazed at her, respect lighting his face. He nodded, tilted his chin toward the scrap pile and the two maneuvered the board there, dropping it with thud.

"The Alahman has chosen wisely," he said softly, a smile curving his lips.

She grinned, her green eyes twinkling.

"So have I, Hassa..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blue haro flowers plaited into Lara's raven hair nodded softly in the afternoon breeze, as did the ones molded into a fragrant blue crown atop Bryn's golden brown curls.

Picard smiled as he regarded the two brides -- and their grooms -- who stood before him and the Caeli priest. Hampstead had opted wisely for a Caeli ceremony, but the captain's presence as "assistant" assured that her marriage would be officially recorded by Starfleet and the Federation.

As the priest continued to solemnly drone the words of unification, the captain glanced out at the audience. About one hundred guests stood outside in the hazy sunlight on the white plasticrete foundation for the new school -- its expansive footprint had been quickly laid out specifically for this occasion, its perimeter rimmed with colorful flowers and blue satin ribbons.

Blue satin...

Smile fading slightly, Picard glanced down at the two blue sashes draped over his arm and followed the priest as the tall man moved to stand directly in front of Bryn and Uleth. Jean-Luc's thoughts wandered to the hallucination he'd experienced under the influence of L-domethodone -- that incredible tapestry that he continued to see in his dreams...

The priest reverently lifted one of the glimmering ribbons from the captain's arm, the motion bringing Picard briefly back to himself. Bryn and Uleth stretched out their clasped hands and smiled as the priest gently bound them with the soft material.

Turning to Isayli and Lara, the priest repeated the symbolic gesture, but Picard didn't see the joy in any of their faces.

Blue satin...

Unerringly, Jean-Luc picked Beverly from the crowd, focusing on her sapphire eyes. He gazed at her resolutely, making the decision even before he realized he'd had the thought...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The guests had finally departed, the couples' honeymoons had begun and for once, things seemed calm.

That's why Beverly couldn't understand Jean-Luc's aloofness. All evening, he'd been distant, barely talking to anyone, standing back and watching the celebration intently, but not participating in it. Even when he'd suggested this moonlight stroll, she'd detected an edge to his voice that had concerned her.

They'd been walking along the gently sloping path for almost fifteen minutes and Beverly had held her tongue, waiting for Jean-Luc to talk to her. Vainly, she'd tried to ignore his fidgeting and wondered why in the world he kept thrusting one hand into his trouser pocket.

Unable to take it any longer, she stopped and folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him. When Jean-Luc raised his eyes to hers, she could see the light from the twin moons shimmering there.

"Out with it," she said sternly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Out with it," she repeated, exasperation growing. "I want to know what's been on your mind all evening..."

Pursing his lips, Jean-Luc looked away and reached down into his trouser pocket, fingers closing around the soft velvet box secreted there. Heart pounding, he brought it out and took a deep ragged breath before gazing anxiously at Beverly.

She swallowed hard, her eyes focused on what he held in his hand. She barely heard his words as joy welled up within her and smiling when he paused, she watched him open the box.

The object glittered in the moonlight and bringing her eyes to his, Beverly answered Jean-Luc's question with one tenderly spoken word...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue

Waves of pain stabbed through Bryn, making her pant and moan. It didn't stop this time, just kept rolling, the nausea building in intensity, and she wanted so badly just to make it stop, to run away from it... When would it end?

She barely heard the voice above the pain and she tried to focus on the words.

"All right... steady... Now! Push, Bryn! Come on!"

She let go of Uleth's hand and raised up in the birthing chair on her elbows, trying to comply, but after 16 hours of labor, her enthusiasm had all but vanished. With a groan, she plopped back down against chair, eyes on the white spackled ceiling of their bedroom. By now, she knew every bump and valley there...

"It's crowning! Bryn, I can see the head. Push!"

She groaned and levered up on her elbows again, squeezing her face into tight concentration, barely seeing the flame-red hair of the woman who was positioned below, between her legs...

"That's it! One more! Here come the shoulders..."

Bryn dissolved into tears and giggles as the pain quickly subsided, leaving realization in its place.

Musical laughter joined her weary chuckles and she looked down again. Beverly straightened, holding a wet, wriggling, bronze-skinned, dark-haired, squalling infant in her arms.

"I love these kinds of house calls," Crusher whispered, then focused her blue eyes on the Alahman. "It's a boy. You have a son, Uleth."

The Caeli pursed his lips, unable to speak. He looked from his wife, to his son, to his child's godmother...

"Congratulations," Beverly whispered as she wrapped the Caelis' future leader in a soft beige blanket.

Bryn pulled her gaze from her newborn child to her husband of less than a year. "Take our son, Uleth," she whispered.

He looked back down at her. "In a moment, wife..."

Uleth leaned over her, kissing her tenderly at first, then more passionately, thrilling in the salty taste of her tears and perspiration. He worked his arms underneath her relaxed body, thinking as always, that he could wrap himself around her twice...

"How I love you, Bryn..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They walked down the path, watching the nodding haro, the petals purpled by the setting sun.

"What will they name the child?"

Beverly smiled and snuggled closer to him. She felt Jean-Luc put his arm around her, his hand snagging on her medkit. She groaned, wishing she'd left the damned thing behind, but it had been so hectic back there with all the family, the Federation brass, the well-wishers...

"The naming ceremony will be held tomorrow," she answered softly. "You and I are godparents; we'll have to be present..."

He laughed. "I know all that, Mrs. Picard." Stopping at a dense stand of umbrella shaped trees, he put gentle hands to her waist and pulled her against him, hip to hip. "I also know that you have an 'in' with the Alahman's wife..."

She grinned, circling her arms around his neck, eyes drawn to the red glint of the sun's rays on her wedding band. "I don't guess it would hurt to tell you..."

"Well?" he prompted.

Beverly traced the line of his jaw with her forefinger. "They are considering Jean-Caro Tahng..."

He looked away from her, and sucked in a breath, knowing the honor that the name would bestow upon him... and he smiled, glancing back at Beverly. "Really?"

She laughed and nodded. "Really."

"Jean-Caro Tahng," he repeated, raising a devilish gaze to her eyes. "Almost makes me want one..."

Her eyes widened. "A child?" she sputtered. "You?"

"I think I'd make a good father," he said slowly, seriously. "I already know you're a good mother..."

Beverly's heart pounded in her chest as she took his face in both hands and forced him to look at her. He had been making these hints for weeks now and, at first, both of them had laughed the idea away, but a few times they really had discussed how a child might affect their lives. They hadn't come up with anything truly negative...

Now, as she gazed at him, the sincerity in his eyes was unmistakable, but she asked the question anyway, needing to hear the words. "You're not joking, are you?"

He hesitated only a second before shaking his head, his expression sober. "I'm not joking, Beverly..." Jean-Luc tightened his arms around her and bent his head, his lips unerringly finding hers, parting them with an urgency he'd never felt before. They would make a beautiful child, he thought, an infant conceived with such love...

The kiss burned between them for a lifetime before they finally broke for air. "We'd have to get rid of the implants," he whispered. "And, God knows how Starfleet would respond. It was hard enough to convince them to allow both of us to keep our ranks *and* serve on the same ship..."

She pulled away from him, but kept her eyes fixed to his face. "Screw Starfleet," she said, smiling at his raised brow. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it..."

Slowly, she opened the medkit and pulled out a device that resembled a hypospray, twisting its chrome-colored top. Just as slowly, she placed the spade-shaped tip to her arm and pressed her thumb against something unseen, grimacing slightly, then pulled the thing away, allowing him to see...

The tubule was an opaque white, tinged pink with her blood. As he watched, Beverly ejected it and it rolled along the ground, grains of dirt sticking to it, hiding it.

Jean-Luc held his left arm out, but didn't watch as she placed the device to his forearm. He kept his eyes on her bent head, on the soft, flame-red hair, shining brilliantly as the last rays of Beta Caelum's sunset struck it. He winced only slightly as he felt the sting of the contraceptive implant being sucked from its hiding place, then without preamble, he pulled her to him and walked her backwards toward the stand of trees, his fingers finding the closure of her uniform, opening it...

"Now?" she whispered.

He bent his head to kiss her passionately and smiled against her mouth as his hands found the cool softness of her skin. "Why not?"

"This will change everything, you know..." Beverly whispered.

Jean-Luc ran his hands over her, tasting her lips, her skin, feeling her respond to each caress...

"No," he said softly. "It will just add another dimension, cherie..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End

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