Prologue

"DEATH!" OLD SE'AR MOANED, writhing in pain on her
pallet. "Ay me, death is coming!"
    "Hush, you're ill. Lie quietly," the maiden soothed,
kneeling on the hard floor of beaten earth. "You must
save your strength if you want to get well, Mother
Se'ar, you know that."
    "Well..." The old woman repeated the word as if
it were one of the local oberyin's magical healing
chants. She shook her head. "Do not lead me astray
with false hopes, child. I am old. I know what I know;
and I have always known when death would come." A
hollow chuckle escaped her fever-cracked lips.
    Yes, she thought wearily. Death has been to me the
best of friends. The best of husbands as well. Has not:
death himself fed me, clothed me, provided for me all
these years? I know when it will come, when the soul
will leave the shell and find the glories of distant
Evramur. Always before I have been right in my
predictions, but always before it was another's death I
saw approaching. Aloud she said, "Now it is my turn
at last."
    "Don't speak of that," the maiden insisted. "Your
time has not yet come."
    "And how would you know?" A sudden burst of
indignation flared up from the old woman's fading
spirit. She made a great effort, heaving herself up on
one elbow, and stabbed an accusing finger at the girl
beside her. "Don't give yourself airs, just because I've
taken you in. For your mother's sake I've let you share
my roof, my bread, the fear-offerings of our friends
and neighbors, but you don't share my gift! How dare
you presume--" A sudden fit of coughing racked her
bony body and she sank back down onto the sweat-
stained sheet. The reeking straw beneath the coarse
cloth crunched and crackled.
    The maiden got up swiftly, gracefully, and fetched a
clay bowl full of fresh milk, the cream beaten back
into it to fortify the sick woman. She set it to Se'ar's
lips and helped her drink. Only when the old woman
had had enough and waved her off did she say, "I
didn't mean it that way, Mother Se'ar. I know I have
no gift like yours." She lowered her head as if in
submission to the will of the gods, but beneath the
.fringe of blue-green hair, her eyes blazed with resent-
ment.
    The old woman seemed not to have heard the girl's
words. Outside the hut the sun was setting, staining
the sky pink and purple. Her life ebbed with the day's
dwindling light, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
    I was never wrong, never. When I said that such a
One wouM die, he was as good as dead. In time, the
people knew this. Was I wrong to turn my gift to trade?
Ay, what choice did I have? I was widowed young, no
sons to labor for me, my daughters all wed to shepherds
even stupider than the usual run of such shell-skulls.
Well, I suppose it was the best they couM do, poor girls,
with no dowry worth the name.
    "A shepherd's wife," she mumbled. "Nothing lower
could befall any woman." Her eyes rolled aimlessly
from side to side as her mind wandered.
    The maiden at her side wrung out a cloth that had
been soaking in a bowl of water nearby and laid it
across the old woman's brow. It soon turned warm
and she gave it another cooling dip. "Be at peace,
Mother Se'ar," she soothed. "Let nothing trouble you.
You did what you had to do to live, as we all do. Don't
worry about it now."
    Without warning the old woman siezed the maid-
en's hands in an iron grip, pulling herself upright so
that their eyes met. "You don't understand!" she
wailed. "I took what was holy and sold it as if it were
milk or fleece or grain! Because I could foretell death,
my neighbors thought that I could also forestall it.
They came to me with food and drink and cloth,
begging me to spare the lives of their loved ones."
    She paused, panting for breath as painful memories
assailed her. Fools. Sorry fools. Those who were bound
to die, died anyway, despite my silence. When that
happened, I tom them it was because the gods willed it,
and they had caused me to utter the doomed one~
name in dreams. How couM anyone prove otherwise?
Who wouM stand against the way of the blessed
Balance? They did not understand, and I let them live
on in ignorance because it suited me, and because it let
me lead a life of comfort, plenty, respect.
    "Nothing can justify what I have done," she
wheezed, shaking her head. "Nothing!"
    "You are not responsible for what others choose to
believe." The maiden slid her arm under Se'ar's back
and tenderly lowered her to the pallet once more,
feeling the nubs of her spine poking against the age-
slackened skin.
    The old woman gazed up into the maiden's tranquil
face and sighed. "You are a good gift, Ma'adrys. I
Wish I could tell you how often I have prayed to the
Lady of the Balances to work her holy transformation
on you and make you my own blood. But she would
not hear the prayers of a cheat and a trickster."
    ,It doesn't matter," the maiden comforted her.
"Even though I am not your blood kin, in all these
years you have never begrudged me a single mouthful
of your bread."
    The old woman sighed. "I only hope that you
haven't suffered for sharing it. It was contaminated
with the taint of how I earned it. Oh Ma'adrys, what if
that's it? What if that's what's kept you from your
:heart's desire? What if that's the flaw that Bilik saw in
you when he forbid you tom?"
    "Hush," the girl repeated, dabbing at the old
woman's waxen face with the damp cloth. "Don't
upset yourself. That's over and done with."
    "But you're such a clever girl, such a good girl, you
shouldn't be excluded just because--"
    "Mother Se'ar, what good will it do either of us
knowing why my petition was refused?" the girl asked
quite reasonably. "It won't change the way things
are."
    "True, true." The old woman's voice trailed away
like water trickling through stones. Her eyelids low-
ered. It seemed that she slept. The maiden settled
back to oversee her rest.
    The old woman's words came suddenly, taking the
girl by surprise. "Maybe it wasn't my fault after all,"
Se'ar murmured, her eyes still closed. She spoke as if
she were alone in the hut with none but herself to
hear. "The girl's kind, yes, but headstrong, too bold
about speaking up to the men, too demanding. Well,
who can hold her to blame for that? Father lost in the
winter storms before the Feast of Flowers, mother
died birthing her, poor youngling left to run wild...
Not that she ever had a proper mother to start, that
one. Easy to see where the daughter's strange ways
come from. Yes, everyone knew. Where that mother
of hers came from, I'll never know. Mad, most likely,
and driven out of her own village by folk with more
sense than we ever had. All her high-sounding talk, all
just ravings, ravings. Offensive to the Balance, her life
thrown back into the scales to pay for her words, poor
soul. Poor mad soul."
    Beside the deathbed, the maiden Ma'adrys sat back
on her heels, her back unnaturally stiff, her face
drained of all expression. She tried to exclude the old
woman's babbling from her mind, but she could not:
It was nothing she hadn't heard before, all the village
talk of her dead mother. As a child she'd gotten into
more than a few fist fights with the other children
when they'd taunted her by repeating the things
they'd heard their parents say. She'd lost more battles
than she'd won, and the elders had always punished
her afterwards for the few fights she did win. When
she was a little older, she'd tried to train herself to
play deaf to the gossip and the snide remarks, the
whispers she always heard behind her back, but it was
beyond her best efforts. In time, she'd learned that
there was only one safe thing to do when someone--
even a dying woman no longer responsible for her
own ramblings--spoke of her mother.
    'TII be right back," she announced, rocking back
on her heels and standing without needing to push
herself up from the ground. "The air in here's too sour
to do you any good. We should burn some dawnsweet
flowers to freshen it. It's early in the season for them,
but I think I saw a patch in bloom in Avren's meadow
yesterday. I won't be gone long." She was out the door
before Se'ar could utter a word to stop her.
    The old woman never noticed her departure. Her
eyes remained closed, her wrinkled lips moving over
words that were no longer audible to any but herself.
tn time she drowsed.
    In dreams she was young again, a maiden herself, a
girl whose brilliant golden eyes ensnared half a dozen
suitors. She was sitting on the steps of the village
shrine to the Six Mothers, whispering delicious se-
crets with her girlfriends--Dead now, all long since
dead! a wraith of reality moaned through the dream--
when a shepherd came by, down from the mountain-
side, and the girls paused in their chatter to tease the
lad. Like all shepherds, he was slow witted, with
hardly more brains than the beast that led his flock.
Everyone made fun of the shepherds, no one thought
anything wrong about doing so, and the shepherds
themselves lacked the intelligence to understand that
they were being ridiculed.
    But something was wrong: This shepherd under-
stood. He heard the dream-young Se'ar's taunts and
scowled darkly at her. She was taken aback for an
instant, then shrugged her misgivings aside. He can't
possibly understand. t she thought. He's only a shep-
herd. Ma says if you give one of them a piece of bread,
he'll be as likely to stick it in his ear as in his mouth.
No hurt's possible where there's no wit to mind what's
said. Having reassured herself, she launched another
verbal barb at the lad, and capped it with a rude
gesture with both hands.
    But she was wrong. He did understand. He let out a
roar of anger and leaped for her, siezing her by the
shoulders and shaking her while her girlfriends fled
screaming.

    She wanted to scream too, but she was helpless,
voiceless. Her captor shook her harder, harder still,
until she fell down and her teeth chattered together
and her head banged against the steps of the Six
Mothers' shrine. She could still hear her girlfriends
screaming, only now their screams had turned into
her name, shouted over and over while the enraged
shepherd tried to batter the life out of her bones.
  "Se'ar! Mother Se'ar!"
    She snapped back into the waking world, a hand on
her shoulder shaking her, but gently. She looked up'
into the broad, bland face of Kinryk, the innkeeper's
son, and what she saw there made her forget to
breathe. Easygoing Kinryk, lazy Kinryk, slack-faced
Kinryk who everyone said was only a half step off
from shepherdhood himself, this same Kinryk had
become transformed. His whole face was alight, radi-
ant with bliss, and his squat, flabby body quivered
with the effort of trying to contain some astonishing
piece of news.
    "She's gone!" he gasped. "Oh, Mother Se'ar, I was
there. I saw it myself. She's gone! She's been taken!"
    "Who?" A veil of shadow passed over the old
woman's eyes, the sign that always visited her when
she knew that a death was coming to the village. She
knew: "Ma'adrys." It was a whisper, like a fall of
pebbles into one of the mountain crevasses.
    She went to gather flowers to sweeten my sickroom,
Se'ar thought. Avrenk meadow. The main track up
that side of the mountain 's fine, but the shortcutk still
half gullied out by the winter storms. She wouM take
the shortcut, my wiM one, in a rush to come back to
tend me, and now--
    "Have they... fetched her body?" The old woman
tried to sit up, her thoughts roiling. Taken so young,
poor unlucky orphan. No man's child, a mad mother's
daughter. Ay.t As if a hard life were the fee to let us
purchase the hour of our death./Lady, in mercy give me
back only a handful of my oM strength. Let me see to
the proper arraying of her corpse. She gathered breath
with a great effort and panted, "Thatmthat box by
the hearth, My wedding dress. She shall have it for--
for her burial. Take it. Take it andreand bring it
to--"
    Kinryk laughed as if Se'ar had told him the best jest
in all the world. "Dress, Mother Se'ar? Ma'adrys
needs no dress where's she's gone. I saw them take
her, the shining ones, and the light almost blinded me,
but when I got my eyes back I saw her clothes left
there in the grass, all in a muddle. No need for any but
the robes of star and sunlight where she dwells now."
    Se'ar's almost toothless mouth gaped. What was all
this gabble? Some of the village wags must have put
the boy up to it. Their idea of sport, setting the
innkeeper's slow-brained son to play a prank on a
dying woman. Passionately she wished for strength
enough to flay this fool alive with curses. But I am too
weak... too weak, she thought. And my poor Ma' adrys
is gone.
    "Evramur!" the boy sang out, and from outside the
old woman's hut she heard a chorus of excited voices
echoing the holy name. "Our own Ma'adrys, worthy
to be taken living into the eternal garden, the shining
city, the undying refuge Evramur!"
    "Evramur," Se'ar repeated, unable to believe with
her mind what her heart had at last accepted. From
the time she'd been old enough to hear the good
teachings, she'd heard the name of Evramur, haven of
all blessed spirits after death. Yet sometimes a spirit
appeared whose great goodness couldn't wait for
death to free it from the flesh. That spirit's power was
so intense that it cried out until the servants of holy
Evramur came seeking it and took it, flesh and all, to
its rightful home. Se'ar had heard of folk so blessed,
but such privileged ones always seemed to live leagues
away; they were the stuff of legend.
    .No longer. Se'ar still saw the veil of death before
her eyes, but now she knew it was not for Ma'adrys.
She gazed at the innkeeper's thick-witted son with
pity. "Kinryk," she said softly, "carry me into the
air."
    Beaming with joy, he scooped up the old woman's
frail body and carried her out of the hut. Night had
fallen, one moon already visible high above the hori-
zon, the other two lagging behind. By rights all the
villagers should have been in their own homes, eating
their evening meal, getting ready for another day of
hard life and harsh labor. Instead, the narrow,
crooked path that led up to Se'ar's hut was choked
with people, all chattering and wide eyed. When they
saw the old woman, they surged forward, hands
outstretched.
    As if my touch could make them holy because she
touched me, Se'ar reflected. She tilted her head back
and looked up into the night sky.
    Yes, there it was, beyond the glimmering disc of the
lone risen moon: the red-gold sphere that the good
teachings named the Gate of Evramur. She imagined
that if she stared at it long enough, hard enough, she
could almost see the laughing face of her lost
Ma'adrys waiting for her just beyond the threshhold.
    I have bartered holy gifts for gain, Se'ar thought. I
will never see you again, my dear one, for I have made
my spirit unworthy of Evramur. The realization broke
her heart and she began to weep.
    No, Mother Se'ar. Was it an illusion or did she truly
hear Ma'adrys's voice in her ear? Recall the good
teachings: It is never too late to make your spirit
worthy. Not even now. One last time, use your gift as it
was meant to be used.
    "Yes--" The old woman's word was lost in the
clamor of the crowd closing around her. While they
strove to reach her, she placed her lips close to
Kinryk's grimy ear and whispered, "Listen to me,
boy. I have seen the veil of your death before my
eyes." She felt him freeze and quickly added, "Don't
fear it. It's yours no more. For her sake I will take it
from you, take it upon myself. For the sake of the one
who walks the shining gardens of Evramur in flesh
and spirit. For Ma'adrys--"
    The breath caught in her throat and was gone in a
gurgle and a sigh. Se'ar was dead. Kinryk burst into
sobs, crying out the news of the old woman's final
prophecy and the blessed Ma'adrys's first miracle. At
the back of the crowd, the oberyin Bilik surrepti-
tiously wiped his cheeks and called down a curse on
any villager who might dare to pillage the blessed
Ma'adrys's own miserable dwelling in search of relics.
    Overhead, the red-gold Gate of Evramur looked
down impassively upon the wailing villagers, as dis-
tant from their deaths as from their lives, and on the
hillsides the shepherds danced and dreamed.

Chapter One

"WHAT IS THE reason for this delay?" Legate Valdor of
Orakisa slapped the conference table, leaving a
ghostly impression of his splayed palm on the for-
merly spotless surface. The cluster of multicolored
crystal baubles at the base of his official topknot--
each one the mark of a successfully completed diplo-
matic mission--chimed and jangled against each
other. "This is unbearable! A deliberate insult! When
we return, I will file a complaint with the Rec-
lamation. I will not be treated in such a way by a
merew"
    "Father, please." The younger Orakisan at Legate
Valdor's elbow spoke in a voice so burdened with
embarrassment as to be almost inaudible. His own
pale silver topknot was adorned with a single, lonely
crystal pendant small to the point of invisibility. "I
am sure that there is a perfectly logical explanation
for her absence."
    "With respect, I agree with your son, Legate,"
Captain Picard put in. "Ambassador Lelys herself
requested that we call this briefing. She would gain
nothing by delaying it on purpose."
    "Nothing but another chance to remind me
thatre" The legate's voice dropped to angry, incom-
prehensible mutterings. From his place directly across
the table from Valdor, the android Mr. Data observed
the older Orakisan's sulks and grumblings with
marked interest.
    At that moment, the door to the conference room
opened as Dr. Crusher entered, foliowed by a tall,
alien woman of striking height and exotic beauty.
"Sorry to be late, sir," Dr. Crusher said, taking the
chair between the captain's and Counsellor Troi's.
"Ambassador Lelys made it a point to call for me in
person, but just as we were about to leave, I was
unavoidably detained." A mysterious smile flickered
over her lips.
    "Unavoidably?" Captain Picard echoed, regarding
her closely. He preferred his mysteries solved.
    Before Dr. Crusher could reply, the alien woman
spoke up. "Captain Picard, I accept full responsibility
for our lateness. If you must undertake disciplinary
action against anyone for the offense--"
    "Madam Ambassador, I assure you that nothing
was farther from my mind," Picard replied. "I only
wished to knoWre"
    "Good," the Orakisan woman cut in. "Then we can
proceed. Captain, if you please." She wore a gown
that held all the brilliant shades of an Earth sunset,
the sleeves mere wisps of iridescent drapery secured
at wrist and shoulder with sunbursts of faceted gem-
stones, and when she extended one slender hand
bearing an information chip it was with the sinuous
grace of a trained dancer.
    "Certainly, Ambassador." Picard felt a momentary
twinge of irritation at being interrupted, but he
quickly put it aside. He inserted the chip into the
control unit at his fingertips, and immediately a
holographic projection of a gold, blue, green, and
white planet set against a field of stars materialized in
the center of the conference table.
"Ah. Skerris IV," said Mr. Data automatically.
"S'ka'rys," the ambassador corrected him. She
glided to the head of the table where a chair stood
empty at Captain Picard's right hand. Instead of
sitting in it she passed it by in favor of the vacant seat
next to the younger Orakisan male. As soon as she
settled in beside him, he took an intense interest in
his datapad. The crystal pendant in his hair trembled
violently.
    Ambassador Lelys noticed none of this. "I beg your
pardon," she said to Mr. Data. "I did not intend to
make you feel inadequate. I should not have expected
you to know how the name is pronounced in the old
style."
    "Quite the contrary, Ambassador." Mr. Data re-
plied. "In preparation for your arrival aboard the
Enterprise, I thoroughly familiarized myself with Old
Skerrian as a matter of course, as well as all variations
of that language as currently spoken throughout the
Skerrian daughterworlds. As I understand it, it has
become the fashion for the Reclamation colonists on
S'ka'rys to adopt old-style ways as much as possible,
although I must confess I fail to see a practical
purpose." He cocked his head briefly to one side, then
added, "S'ka'rys. I believe that means the mother in
the old language."
    Ambassador Lelys inclined her head in agreement,
a charming smile illuminating her face. Silky hair the
color of a storm-ridden sea swept forward, clusters of
crystal droplets making their own music. Like her
colleagues, she too wore a topknot, but hers was the
merest tuft of hair caught up in a tiny golden ring. She
was not the sort of person who needed to rely on
official symbols to establish her authority. "You are a
credit to the Federation, Mr. Data. I am privileged to
count you among our most valuable resources. With
someone like you helping us, I feel certain that our
mission will succeed."
    "Thank you," the android replied. "However, given
the nature of the problem that your colonists are
facing, I would say that Dr. Beverly Crusher will be a
much more valuable resource than I."
    "Why do I suddenly feel like a med probe?" Dr.
Crusher murmured to Counsellor Troi behind latticed
fingers. The Betazoid declined to comment.
    "Yes, of course," Ambassador Lelys was saying,
turning the power of her smile on Dr. Crusher. "As
soon as I volunteered for this mission, I made it a
point to request transport by the Enterprise, chiefly
because I knew you were assigned to this ship. Your
reputation as a xenobiologist is extraordinary, and we
may well need the extraordinary before we are done. I
can not begin to tell you how unnerved I was when we
were informed that you might not share this voyage
with us."
    "I was attending the Ark conference on Malabar
Station," Dr. Crusher explained. "I received direct
orders from Admiral Mona to return immediately.
Unfortunately, the orders didn't include more than
the barest briefing. I know that there's a health crisis
of major proportions on Skerris IV"mshe didn't even
attempt to pronounce that world's name in the old
styleto"but if that's so, I don't see what we're doing
in this sector, nowhere near the Skerrian system, and
heading farther from it by the minute."

    Ambassador Lelys sighed, her eyes full of sorrow as
she gazed at the holographic projection slowly turning
on the conference table. "How beautiful," she said,
the ornaments in her hair chiming softly. "And how
great a pity that we did not appreciate its beauty soon
enough." She fell into a heavy silence which no one--
not even the impatient Legate Valdormtried to break.
    From his place, Captain Picard, too, regarded the
slowly turning projection of Skerris IV. The story of
that lovely world's ugly fate was a familiar one--far
too familiar--in the scope of universal history. Once
a thriving word, Skerris IV had made great techno-
logical progress, conquering interstellar travel and
seeding countless other worlds with her colonies.
    "What fools we were," said Ambassador Lelys with
a sigh.
    "Fools?" Legate Valdor snapped out the word, his
pale skin darkening with rage. "Is this how you speak
of the Ancestors? Mark me, Ambassador Lelys. Disre-
spect to me is one thing, but disrespect to the Ances-
tors must and will be reported to the--"
    "Very well, Legate," Lelys said with the patience of
a mother dealing with a fractious four-year-old. "Re-
port me with my blessing. You have done little this
entire trip but collect incidents, evidence, and as-
sorted sins I have supposedly committed. By the time
you present the full catalog of my offenses, I will have
retired from the diplomatic service, so by all means,
enjoy yourselfi"
    The legate's fleshy lips pressed together, the dull
orange irises of his eyes expanding until the thin rim
of white surrounding them was no longer visible. He
started to rise from his chair, fists on the table.
    "Father~" The younger male tentatively reached
out to sieze the legate's arm. "Father, Ambassador
Lelys only said the same thing that you and I have
heard many times from the lips of respected Council
members. She speaks within the law. The glories of
the Ancestors are holy, but the follies of the Ancestors
must be acknowledged."
    "A fool's law," Legate Valdor muttered, subsiding.
He jerked his arm away from the younger male.
"Small wonder you know it so well, Hara'el."
    The younger male bowed his head and meekly said,
"Yes, Father."
    "But is it not true, Legate Valdor, that any law that
allows us to extract present wisdom from past errors
is not only valid but essential?" Mr. Data asked. He
received a venomous look from the Orakisan for his
troubies.
    "What are we to learn?" Valdor demanded. "To this
day, no one is certain of precisely what became of
Skerris IV." He pronounced the world's name Federa-
tion style, and gave AmbassadOr Lelys a look that
defied her to correct him.
    "You are quite right, Valdor." Again she rose above
the potential confrontation with her subordinate.
"We do not know the precise chain of events that led
up to the complete annihilation of our motherworld.
For many, it is enough to know that such a disaster
happened, that it did not need to happen, and that we
must strive to ensure that it never happens again. The
death of S'ka'rys was more than the death of a world,
it was the death of knowledge,"
    "Not--not all knowledge, Ambassador," Hara'el
ventured. For this, he was rewarded with one of
Lelys's warmest smiles.
    "Your pardon," she said kindly. "I did ask you to
handle this briefing, didn't I? Yet here I am, in love
with the sound of my own voice." She did not notice
how the color rose up Hara'el's neck when she said
love. "Please proceed."

    Hara'el cleared his throat and fidgeted in his chair,
then stood up and tried to compensate for his nerv-
ousness by adopting a professorial pose. With an
unnecessary gesture at the holograph, he said,
"Orakisa was one of the more recently founded
Skerrian colonies, relatively speaking, and was an
extremely prosperous world from the first. We were
very fortunate on both those counts, since prosperity
allowed our founders the leisure to preserve history;
Otherwise we might have come to believe that we had
no roots beyond Orakisa after S'ka--Skerris IV--
destroyed itself." He, too, used the Federation style
pronunciation after an uneasy sideways glance at his
father "All knowledge of the motherworld--and thus
of our sister colonies--would have been lost."
    "What I don't understand," Dr. Crusher began,
"excuse me for interrupting, but Ambassador Lelys
told me some of this on our way to the conference
room and I didn't quite follow her. What I don't
understand is why Orakisa didn't know of the other
Skerrian colonies until recently."
    "In their wisdom, the Ancestors would have it so,"
Valdor intoned. His expression made it clear that, as
far as he was concerned, that was enough of an
explanation for anyone.
    Ambassador Lelys disagreed. "We can only theorize
from recovered and reconstructed information, but
most likely it was one of our Ancestors' deliberate
policies concerning colonies. As far as possible, new
daughterworlds were kept in ignorance of older ones,
and more established daughterworlds were not in-
formed of new foundations, which was an easier
task."
    "Yes, but why?" Counsellor Troi asked. "What did
the motherworld hope to gainT'
 "Independence." Hara'el spoke up, and most of the
people at the conference table did a double take, as if
they'd forgotten his presence even though he was
standing right in front of them. "If you believe that
your settlement is isolated from all others, if you
don't even know that there are any others, you will
develop self-reliance because to your mind, you have
no other choice."
    "And diversity," Legate Valdor put in. "Nothing
evolves, nothing progresses without diversification,
not even a CUlture. Our Ancestors, in their wisdom,
realized this. If every daughterworld were a clone of
her sisters, then any cataclysm capable of wiping out
one would be able to destroy the rest. But if the
daughterworlds were forced to evolve separately, then
in time of crisis, one colony might have developed the
resources to save her sisters."
    "Except for the fact that no daughterworld was
aware that her sisters even existed," Ambassador
Lelys amended. "I am afraid that our Ancestors'
motives were far less noble: If the daughterworlds
couldn't possibly rely on each other, they would have
to rely on S'ka'rys. Until a colony was secure enough
to be totally self-supporting, there would be no
chance of the motherworld losing control of it."
    Legate Valdor shot out of his seat, the pendants in
his topknot clattering loudly. "I will not allow myself
to be subjected to this--this pollution! You may
defame the Ancestors all you like, Ambassador, but
you can not force me to bear witness to such sacri-
lege." With that, he stormed out of the conference
room, the door hissing shut behind him.
    Hara'el stared after his father's violent departure.
The younger 0rakisan male looked ready to sink into
the floor. Ambassador Lelys patted his arm. "Pro-
ceed," she said.
  "But--but if he's gone how can I?"
    "The purpose of this meeting is purely informa-
tional. All Star fleet personnel crucial to the success of
our mission must have a complete view of the situa-
tion on S'ka'rys. While your father has served Orakisa
capably for many years as a diplomat, he has never
been able to present the facts as they are, without
benefit of emotional coloration. An unfortunate
shortcoming, and probably the reason why he's still a
legate. Since we don't need to reach any sort of
decision or accord at the moment, we don't need
him." She spoke with a cool, logical detachment
worthy of a Vulcan. "Go on with your presentation,
Hara'el."
    Hara'el took a deep breath before obeying his
superior. "As I was saying, Orakisa was one of the last
colonies founded before the fall of Skerris IV. In time,
we came to think of the motherworld as a legend, but
a legend that might have some basis in reality."
  "Atlantis," Captain Picard murmured.
    "What?" Ambassador Lelys's luminous amber eyes
were suddenly on him.
    "A legend of Earth," he explained. "Supposedly all
early cultures were colonies of a superior civilization
that was lost when the continent of Atlantis sank into
the sea."
    "And did any of your people believe that this
Atlantis was more than just a legend?"
    Picard nodded. "Many. Some even mounted diving
expeditions to locate the sunken land. Unfortunately,
most of their discoveries were of dubious scientific
worth. Some legends are merely legends."
    "Ours was not," the ambassador said demurely.
She indicated to Hara'el that he should go on.
    By now the younger male was so ill at ease that he
adopted the terse, thoroughly unemotional delivery of
someone reading aloud from an encyclopedia: "The
first Orakisan expedition to Skerris IV revealed
planet-wide extinction of our founding civilization,
but also that the motherworld was on the path to
ecological recovery. The expedition's report caused a
great stir on Orakisa. Once it was determined that the
legendary motherworld did exist and that it was once
more capable of supporting life, there was a great
movement to reclaim and resettle Skerris IV."
    "I remember reading about the medical aspects of
the Reclamation movement," Dr. Crusher said. "I
can't say I approved of some of the more radical
adaptation procedures your people used."
    "We had no choice," Hara'el responded. "Even
though the motherworld was no longer barren, the
radiation levels were still somewhat heavier than our
people could bear."
    "They could have chosen not to go," Dr. Crusher
pointed out.
    "Out of the question, Dr. Crusher," Lelys said.
"Well, perhaps not so, if viewed from a strictly
practical standpoint, but in the days of the rediscov-
ery and the Reclamation no one on Orakisa was in
a strictly practical mood. The Reclamation was not
a sober, carefully considered undertaking. It was a
crusade. Those who decided to resettle S'ka'rys were
willing to have their bodies genetically altered so that
they and their descendants could survive existing
conditions on Ihe motherworld, even though the
procedure meant that they would be unable to live
anywhere else. As you yourself said, Dr. Crusher, it
was a radical adaptation, a strain that no body could
undergo twice and survive, but the colonists had no
intention of going back. They were determined to take
an irreversible stand. They said that S'ka'rys gave
Orakisa birth and now it was time for Orakisa to give
S'ka'rys rebirth. True, nothing forced our people to
return to the motherworld. Nothing but a dream. But
we will give up much for the sake of dreams."  Dr. Crusher was silent.
    "The Reclamation enjoyed great initial success,"
Hara'el resumed. "The Orakisan crops and stock
animals that the settlers brought with them did better
than expected. They not only flourished, they
acheived nontraumatic coexistence with the native
plant and animal life that had survived the devasta-
tion."
    "Hardly surprising," said Mr. Data. "I assume that
when Orakisa was first settled, the colonists brought
plants and animals from Skerris IV. The Reclamation
settlers no doubt wished to avoid any problems that
might arise from importing truly alien life-forms to
their new home. They must have taken the precaution
of bringing back only the descendants of originally
transplanted stock,"
    "As you say." Hara'el nodded. He was beginning to
lose a measure of his nervousness, and when he spoke
on, he no longer sounded younger than his years.
"The Reclamation was going well. Optimistic reports
from the first comers encouraged more settlers to join
the movement, which in turn made it necessary to
scout out more land that had recovered enough to
support communities. It was during one of these
explorations that they made their most momentous
discovery: They unearthed Miramik, chief city of the
motherworld."
    "And among the ruins of Miramik we found our
history," Lelys said. She made a small, self-effacing
gesture. "I beg you to forgive me, Hara'el; I spoke out
of turn. But the discovery of Miramik is a source of
unpardonable pride for me, since it was my own
brother who led that expedition."
 Hara'el's recently reclaimed self-control vanished
as soon as Lelys addressed him directly. Flustered, he
stammered out, "Why, why, yes--yes, of course it is.
It--it ought to be! Your brotherwthe honor--
perfectly pardonable, any pride you take in--all that
followed." He was making a fool of himself and
judging from the look on his face, he knew it. With a
great effort, he stopped babbling and said, "It would
be only proper for you to speak of it." He sat down
with the air of a man who would not open his mouth
again if his life depended on it. Counsellor Troi gave
him a sympathetic look, but his eyes were resolutely
lowered and it was wasted on him.
    "What we--what my brother's expedition found in
the ruins of Miramik was astonishing," Lelys was
saying. "More than astonishing, a miracle! As they
were investigating the sublevels of an apparently
unimportant structure on the outskirts of the city,
they stumbled across a door almost entirely buried in
rubble. They would have ignored it--they had no
time for more than a cursory exploration--but for the
fact that my brother caught sight of the sign attached
to the wall beside it. He was an academic when he still
lived on Orakisa. He'd studied the written form of the
old tongue as it survived in our records, and the
moment he interpreted the sign, he knew that they
had to get into that room. He was right. The blocked
door guarded a treasure greater than anyone could
have imagined, a government data bank, shielded and
sheltered, almost perfectly preserved, with most of its
information intact and retrievable. It was only an
auxiliary backup unit--the main storage facilities
had been destroyed utterly--but it contained the
official records of all colonies ever seeded from the
motherworld. That was how we learned that we were
not the only child of S'ka'rys. The universe thronged
with her daughters. We had given life back to the
planet that had given life to ours, and we had been
rewarded. Orakisa rejoiced and immediately began
plans to contact our long-lost sisters."
    "It was my privilege to attend one such ceremony of
reunion, when Orakisa reestablished ties with Kikal,"
Counsellor Troi said.
    "We still recall your service with gratitude," Lelys
said. "Kikal is one of the oldest colonies, and her
ways have become very different from ours. Thanks to
you and to the Federation we were able to convince a
world of strangers that they are truly our kin."
    "And to bring that world into the Federation,"
Picard commented, "among others. The discovery of
the S'ka'rys data bank may lack the glamor of King
Tut's tomb, but on a galactic scale it has proven itself
to be infinitely more valuable."
  "King Tut's tomb?" Lelys inquired.
    "The multi-chambered burial site of King Tutankh-
amen, a major archeological find of the early twenti-
eth century," Mr. Data provided. "The discovery of a
virtually undisturbed royal interment belonging to
Earth's ancient Egyptian civilization was an event
which greatly enhanced contemporary knowledge
of---"
    "Thank you, Mr. Data. Ambassador Lelys can
pursue the references in the ship's library for herself if
the subject interests her," Captain Picard interrupted.
He turned to Dr. Crusher. "Unfortunately, the trou-
bles on Skerris IV began soon after the Miramik
find."
    "Tut's curse," Dr. Crusher murmured under her
breath. It was still loud enough to be heard. This time
both Mr. Data and Ambassador Lelys regarded her
quizzically. She smiled briefly and said, "Just a story.
When the archeologists opened Tutankhamen's burial
chamber, some people claimed that their invasion of
the site invoked a curse. Supposedly, when the Egyp-
tian priests sealed the king's tomb, they used magic
spells that would destroy anyone who disturbed their
royal master's eternal rest."
    "And this curse, is it truly just a story?" Lelys
asked.
"Naturally," the doctor replied without hesitation.
Counsellor Troi gave her a knowing look. "Is it?"
she echoed.
    Dr. Crusher colored slightly. "There were a number
of incidents following the discovery of the tomb--
tragedies touching members of the expedition--but
as for hard evidence, well," she shrugged, "people will
believe what they want to believe and interpret facts
to suit their own preconceived ideas. A romantic
would choose to believe in the magic of an ancient
Egyptian curse rather than in mere coincidence."
Before Troi could question her further about her own
views on the subject, she quickly asked, "What hap-
pened on Skerris IV? A medical crisis, I know that
much, but what are the specifics? Did the opening of
the sealed data bank room release some sort of
dormant microbes? We've handled similar cases on
other worlds many times before this. A Federation
medical team should have been able to take care of it
easily."
    Ambassador Lelys shook her head. "We contacted
the Federation as soon as the first problems mani-
fested themselves among the colonists. That was their
initial analysis, soon proved wrong. My brother's
expedition hadn't released any curse out of S'ka'rys's
past. In fact, if we hope to save our motherworld from
a second obliteration of her children, the answer will
Come from the Miramik find."
    She signalled Captain Picard, who touched a con-
trol, altering the projection in the center of the table.
Now Dr. Crusher saw the face of an Orakisan woman.
"My brother's wife, Vi'ar," Lelys said.
    Dr. Crusher studied the ravaged face before her.
�i'ar's hair was dull and brittle, her eyes lusterless.
Orakisan eyes were mostly composed of gloriously
colored iris with only the smallest rim of white, but
this woman's irises had dwindled and paled until it
was almost impossible to see them. Her skin was
muddy gray, like tissue paper stretched over her
bones.
  "How old is she?" the doctor asked.
    "A little younger than I," Lelys replied. "I know it
doesn't seem possible, looking at her, but it's true."
    "Malnutrition," Dr. Crusher concluded. "Starva-
tion induced, I'd say."
    "So." Lelys agreed. "And yet she eats well, plenti-
fully. There is no shortage of food on S'ka'rys."
    "To starve in the midst of plenty..." Dr. Crusher
mused. "A metabolic disorder, then."
    Again Lelys nodded, "Your Federation scientists
concur. For some reason, the alterations necessary to
allow our settlers to return to S'ka'rys had a disas-
trous side effect on their digestive systems. They are
no longer able to extract the nutrients their bodies
need from the crops they raise. Unfortunately, this
effect did not become evident until it was too late,
with too many Orakisans no longer able to live
anywhere but on S'ka'rys." She lowered her voice.
"To say nothing of their children."
    "How--" Dr. Crusher couldn't take her eyes off the
tormented, haggard face of Lelys's young sister-in-
law. "How many have died?"
    "Almost a hundred. Does it matter? Unless our
mission succeeds they are all doomed. None of them
can leave S'ka'rys and live; none of them can remain
on S'ka'rys and survive."
    "And the stock animals? The ones they brought
back to Skerris IV from Orakisa? Have they been
dying off as well?"
    "The beasts don't seem to be affected," Lelys told
her. "The Federation team explained it to us in detail,
but my specialty is diplomacy, not biology. Besides, I
don't believe in questioning luck. The herds have no
trouble metabolizing the native vegetation, which
allows our people to get some nourishment from
eating the animals' meat. It's only a temporary solu-
tion, though. Meat alone can't provide them with all
their nutritional needs, and the animals can't repro-
duce fast enough to keep everyone fed."
    "Couldn't Orakisa send more stock?" Troi sug-
gested.
    "The beasts must first be adapted to bear the higher
radiation levels of S'ka'rys, just as the settlers have
been. The process is time consuming and impractical.
We must find an answer elsewhere or stand by and
watch our motherworld die all over again."
    "But we have found the answer." Hara'el asserted
so unexpectedly that all eyes snapped onto him.
Under this sudden scrutiny, he pushed back into his
chair and meekly added, "Father told me so. He said
that the Federation medical teams on S'ka--Skerris
IV--know what's wrong and have informed our gov-
ernment how to correct it."
    "You have the answer?" Dr. Crusher looked puz-
zled. "Then what--?"
    "An answer is not a solution," Mr. Data com-
mented. "According to the reports that I have assimi-
lated, Federation scientists had little trouble
determining the cause of the Skerrian settlers' prob-
lem. Their bodies fail to produce a particular enzyme
that would permit them to effectively metabolize
plant nutrients. The stock animals suffer no such
inability."
    "I take it that we've already tried synthesizing this
enzyme from the animals?" Dr. Crusher asked.
    "The enzyme in question has a unique, highly
unstable configuration. While it can be synthesized,
the process is complex, inefficient, and does not yield
sufficient quantities to meet the existing demand."
  "What about replication?"
    "That, too, was tried as a matter of course. The
synthesized enzyme broke down under artificial repli-
cation." Although Mr. Data's face seldom revealed
much, for an instant he appeared to wear an expres-
sion that implied, "I could have told them that."
    "But we do have an answer and a solution," Hara'el
insisted. He motioned for Captain Picard to change
the holographic image a third time. Dr. Crusher felt a
whisper of relief, followed by a pang of guilt, when

Vi'ar's face was replaced by a green sprig of vegeta-
tion with wide, sawtoothed leaves and abundant clus-
ters of pink-edged purple flowers.
    "N'vashal. "Lelys stared at the image and breathed
the alien name as if it were a holy thing. "The life of
S'ka'rys, if we find it. And if not..."
    The humble flower turned slowly under their eyes,
carrying the weight of untold lives on its fragile petals.

Chapter Two

"NOWHERE?" COMMANDER RIKER REPEATED, incredu-
lous. "Not on one of the Skerrian colonies?"
    "Not so far as the Orakisans have been able to
find out," Counsellor Troi replied, and sipped her
drink.
    "I don't know why you're so surprised," Dr. Crush-
er put in, running her finger down the side of her
empty glass, tracing patterns in the condensation. The
three of them were sharing a table at Ten Forward,
enjoying each other's company along with the view.
"It's not unheard of for an entire species of plant or
animal to vanish. The original Skerrians destroyed
themselves and most of their planet; they just hap-
pened to destroy the n'vashal plant at the same time."
    "So now it seems they'll be taking their Orakisan
descendants with them too," Riker remarked.
  "Oh, you're an optimist," Dr. Crusher said.
  Riker hastened to defend himselfi "I'm only mak-
ing an assumption based on what you told me. I'd
love to be wrong."
    Troi sighed. "So would the Orakisans. The delega-
tion maintains a mask of hope, but I sense that each
of them is fighting despair in his or her own way.
Legate Valdor uses his anger and resentment against
Ambassador Lelys to distract himself from thinking
about this mission, and how it seems likely to have the
same unlucky end as all the others he has served on
already. His son Hara'el, the junior legate, focuses on
Ambassador Lelys too, although in a more friendly
manner."
    "Friendly doesn't begin to describe it." Dr. Crusher
smiled. "The boy's in love."
    "The boy?" Riker echoed with a little grin. "I met
him when the ambassadorial party first came aboard.
He's an adult male Orakisan."
    "Not when he's anywhere near Ambassador Lelys,"
Dr. Crusher said. "Or when he's near his father, for
that matter. I'd say that Hara'el has some growing up
to do."
 "Is that your considered opinion as a physician?"
 "As a physician, a parent, and a woman."
    "Well, that about covers it." Riker returned his
attention to Troi. "What about the ambassador her-
selD How is she coping with the situation?"
    "Of the three, she appears to be the one most in
control of her feelings, but only on the surface. Her
brother is one of the colonists, he and his family. She
also has a younger sister who underwent the alteration
process before the Orakisans realized what was hap-
pening on Skerris IV. The girl is barely out of child-
hood, and when she was still small, Lelys's family lost
their parents. Lelys herself raised her sister. If she
dies, the ambassador will lose both a sister and a
daughter."
    "Ambassador Lelys never mentioned a sister," Dr.
Crusher said. "Not during the briefing. Not even
when she came to bring me to the conference room.
She always struck me as the friendliest of the three,
very outgoing, eager to make contact outside of
official business. I thought we were friends." She
sounded vaguely disappointed.
    "I am sure that you are friends," Troi reassured her.
"If Lelys didn't tell you about her sister, it's just to
keep from thinking of her. The only reason I know
about the girl is because I consulted the background
records of the Orakisan delegation. Ambassador Lelys
has enjoyed a spectacular career, rising through the
ranks to her present position in barely half the time
Legate Valdor has been in the diplomatic service."
    "So it looks as if Valdor's resentment against Lelys
is more than just a coping device," Riker observed. "I
hope our lovely ambassador knows enough to watch
her back,"
    "She won't have to bother," Dr. Crusher said. "If
this mission fails, she told me that as its leader she'll
be held personally responsible, demoted, andregiven
the severity of the crisismpossibly asked to resign."
  "You're kidding. Isn't that a little severe?"
  "That's the Orakisan way. Reward success and
  make an example of failure. It's no worse than some
  practices we've encountered, and much better than a
  few from our own past. In ancient Babylon, ifa doctor
  failed to cure a patient, they chopped off his hand,
  and if the patient diedw" She allowed Riker and Troi
  to reach the obvious conclusion.
    Riker let out a long, low whistle. "Now that's
severe."
    "If hardly the way to encourage many people to go
into the medical profession," Troi added.."Hmm.
Tut's curse, ancient Babylon, the mysteries of Earth's
past... You are a romantic, Beverly."
    "Just an amateur student of Earth history. I like to
think of it as my small contribution to conservation.
Ideas can become extinct too. So much has been lost,
so many things that we could still learn from." She
was not aware of the rising passion in her voice, but
her friends were. Riker and Troi exchanged a look of
amusement.
    "Another expert diagnosis, Counsellor," he said.
"The patient is definitely an incurable romantic."
    Dr. Crusher made a face at him. "Fine. Guilty as
charged. I'd rather be a romantic than a cynic any
day."
    "Who said I was a cynic?" Riker spread his hands.
"You can be a romantic and practical at the same
time. Nothing in Starfleet regulations against it. Be-
sides, romantics never lose hope. I can't believe that
in all the universe--or at least in all those colonies
Skerris IV founded--there isn't one place where they
still grow n'vashal."
    "I agree with Commander Riker," Troi said. "Ac-
cording to Hara'el, the unearthed data bank con-
tained the complete records of all colonial
expeditions, including the ships' manifests. The set.
tlers took many of their native plants and animals
with them for propagation. There were several listings
of n'vashal seeds included in the agricultural inven-
tory."
    "Most of those colonizing expeditions happened
long ago." Dr. Crusher pushed her glass away. "You
know, when a species becomes extinct, it doesn't
always happen through deliberate destruction. Some
things die out through simple neglect and disuse.
N'vashal was never a staple of the Skerrian diet; it was
only used as a seasoning, in minute quantities, and
then only in certain ethnic dishes. It's likewWell,
have either of you ever heard of a spice called
galingale?" One took at their faces told her that they
hadn't. "It was popular during the Middle Ages,
found in the kitchens of almost every European
nobleman. But nobles were not in the majority.
Galingale was a luxury, and when tastes changed, it
was no longer worth the trouble and expense of
importing it."
    "So you're saying that it became extinct?" Riker
asked.
    "No, just extremely rare. On the other hand, there
was a kind of parsnip called skirret that did die out
entirely because people stopped cultivating it, and a
type of small onion, and a certain breed of English
peas--"
    "And you call yourself an amateur historian?"
Riker teased.
    Dr. Crusher smiled. "Don't be fooled. I didn't even
know there were such things as galingale and skirrets
before I attended the Ark conference. Malabar Sta-
tion has one of the Federation's most comprehensive
archives of plant and animal DNA, and the cloning
facilities--" Her face fell. "It's a shame that they
don't have a sample of n'vashal either. It's the syn-
thetic enzyme that's unstable, not the naturally occur-
ring one found in the plant itself. If we could get our
hands on one living n'vashal plant, we'd have no
trouble producing enough clones to treat the immedi-
ate problem on Skerris IV. Once they recovered their
health, the Reclamation settlers could grow a more
genetically diverse crop and take care of themselves."
    "If we could find that one plant," Troi said sadly.
"The Federation has been helping the Orakisans
contact every colony that carried n'vashal with them
from Skerris IV. The plant couldn't grow on some
worlds, on others it grew, but was destroyed by native
wildlife."
    "And on some it grew unmolested until the colo-
nists decided to cultivate something else instead," Dr.
Crusher finished. "Now there's only one colony left
for them to search: Ashkaar."
    "At the risk of being called a pessimist again, I
don't think much of their chances," Riker said. "I've
seen the navigation specs. Ashkaar is the fourth
planet from a sun that's about as far from Skerris IV
as you can get and still stay in the same quadrant. Do
the Orakisans know whether the colony itself sur-
vived, let alone the n'vashal?"
    "That is what we're going to help them find out,"
Troi answered.
    "Much as I hate saying it, I'm inclined to agree with
Commander Riker on this," Dr. Crusher said. "For a
last chance, Ashkaar really isn't a very good one. I've
been talking to Data about the information taken
from the Miramik find. It was more than just a list of
ships' manifests and colony coordinates, it also con-
tained progress reports received from the individual
settlements. As you said, Ashkaar is the most distant
of the Skerrian daughterworlds, and for good reason:
The colonists who undertook the voyage had some
very definite goals in mind. They were cultural dis-
senters, people who disliked and disapproved of
many elements of life on Skerris IV. It's an old story,
really, wanting to escape, start over, make a new,
simpler life for yourself, for your children."
    "Like the Pilgrims," Riker supplied. Then, seeing
Dr. Crusher's searching look he added, "I'm a bit of
an amateur history buff myself."
    "Or like the Min-hau. The desire to escape a
corrupting cultural influence is not unique to Earth
history," Troi said. "Nor is the desire to put as much
distance between the new settlement and the old, to
avoid the temptation to return and the possibility of
contagion."
    "That was how the Ashkaarian colonists must have
seen it," said Dr. Crusher. "They wanted to keep
communications between their new world and Skerris
IV to the bare minimum. However, the Miramik find
records reveal that it was the policy of the colonial
offrice to demand quarterly reports from all new
settlements. The motherworld liked to keep track of
her daughters. Failure to receive these reports would
set off all sorts of alarms, and an investigative mission
would be dispatched to the silent colony as soon as
possible."
    "Let me guess," Riker said. "No reports from
Ashkaar."
    "There were some at first, all received at the proper
intervals, but then... nothing." Dr. Crusher leaned
her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her
clasped hands. "And then, before anyone could be
sent to discover the reason for the sudden silence, the
war broke out and Skerris IV was destroyed."
    Riker pressed his lips together. "So we're taking the
Orakisan delegation in search of a colony that might
not even exist to look for a plant that might be
extinct." He stood up from the table. "I enjoy being
an optimist, but at times like this it's too much work.
My break's almost over. I have to get back to the
bridge. If you'll excuse me, Doctor, CounseUor." He
made a gallant, if archaic bow and left.
    Dr. Crusher sighed. "It doesn't look very hopeful,
does it?"
    A half smile touched Troi's mouth. "Someone told
me a riddle the other day; it seems appropriate now.
What is the difference between an optimist and a
pessimist?"
    "Does this have anything to do with whether the
glass is half full or half empty?" Troi shook her head.
"All right, then, I give up."
    "The optimist says that this is the best of all
possible worlds. The pessimist agrees. Even if we
believe there is no hope for the mission to Ashkaar,
Beverly, we must still act as if there is."
    "You know I will." Dr. Crusher settled back in her
chair. "Who told you that riddle?"
    "Alexander. He didn't know whether or not he
ought to try it on his father." Troi's smile widened.
"He isn't quite certain if Klingon warriors approve of
riddles."
    Dr. Crusher got a peculiar look on her face. "I can
tell you one thing that Klingon warriors definitely do
not approve of," she muttered. "Oh?"
    Before Counsellor Troi could make further inquir-
ies, Ten Forward resounded with the clear, unmistak-
able tones of the Enterprise's chief of security.
"Doctor!" Lt. Worf boomed, bearing down on the
doctor like a Tauridian thunderdust storm. "I have
been looking for you everywhere. You and I must
talk." He folded his arms across his powerful chest
and glared down at her.
    "Talk?" Dr. Crusher met his scowl with a look of
limpid innocence. "What about?"
    "It is not honorable to feign ignorance." His eyes
narrowed. "I attempted to speak with you about it
earlier, but you were on your way to the conference
room with the Orakisan ambassador. Now we are
both free and we must settle the matter. You will have
to take it back."
    "Take what back?" Counsellor Troi asked, wonder-
ing what Dr. Crusher could have done capable of
angering Lt. Worf this much.
    "The gift." Dr. Crusher looked at the ceiling. "The
one I gave Alexander when I came back from Malabar
Station."
    "A gift?" Troi looked from Dr. Crusher's face to Lt.
Worf's. Despite the Betazoid's inborn talents, both
were unreadable. "What kind of gift?"
    "A highly unsuitable gift, and one that must be
returned at once," Lt. Worf decreed. "I cannot permit
my son to keep it."
    By now Troi was completely at a loss. "Beverly?"
she appealed to the doctor.
    Dr. Crusher rose from her seat. "Lt. Worf, if you
insist that I take back the gift I gave to your son, I'll do
it. However, I think we ought to have Counsellor Troi
present when you tell Alexander about your decision.
He may become upset."
    "He will not!" Lt. Worf was scandalized at the very
thought. "He will understand my reasons and obey.
He does not want such a gift."
    "Then why did he seem so pleased when I gave it to
him?"
    "He wasmhe was only being polite," Worf huffed.
"He did not wish to offend you. Now that courtesy
has been served, you may take the beast away."
  "What beast?" Troi asked.
  "An improper one," Worf maintained.
    "Come with us and see for yourself." Dr. Crusher's
eyes shone with barely concealed mischief.

    In Lt. Worf's quarters, Counsellor Troi brought her
face close to the transparent wall of the cage. "Is that
a tribble? I thought they were extinct." she marvelled
aloud.
    "It's not a tribble," Dr. Crusher told her. "If it were
awake and uncurled you could see its eyes, ears, and
paws. It's a hamster. Dr. P'tann of Vulcan presented a
fascinating paper about them at the Ark conference.
They lived on Earth undiscovered in the wild until the
mid twentieth century, when they first became widely
used laboratory subjects, then popular pets. Of course
there's no longer any call for them in the laboratory,
but if anything, their numbers have increased. Dr,
P'tann used them as a prime example of how biologi-
cal success often defies the rules of logic."
    Troi tilted her head, trying to get a better look at the
dozing creature. "But it's adorable!" she exclaimed.
    Lt. Worf snorted. "I am in complete agreement
with the 'Vulcan. There is no reason for Alexander to
harbor this creature. It is small, it is easily damaged, it
sleeps most of the time, and when it is awake it deals
with its food in an unseemly manner."
    "Hamsters stuff their food in their cheek pouches,"
Dr. Crusher explained for Troi's benefit. "I admit it
can look frightening." She looked at Worf meaning-
fully.
    "It did not frighten me," he said with more heat
than necessary. "At the time, I was concerned that the
creature would ingest too much and explode. In any
case, that is irrelevant. The point is, my son will not
learn anything to advance his training-as a warrior by
tending such a weak and helpless animal. It will be a
needless distraction from his studies. Please remove
it."
    "If you insist," Dr. Crusher said. She picked up the
cage. "And what will you tell Alexander when he
comes home from school?"
    Lt. Worf wore the resolute air of every parent who
has ever determined that he knows what is best for his
offspring. "I will tell him the truth, that you took it
away."
    Dr. Crusher set the cage down again. "That's it?
That's all?"
    Lt. Worf looked surprised. "That is all there is to
say about the matter."
    "No, Lt. Worf, that is not all there is to say. Not
unless you also intend to tell him that I took away his
pet because you told me to do it. As a matter of fact, I
won't remove this hamster until Alexander comes
home and knows what's going on." She took a stance
that broadcast that the only way either she or the
hamster was going to budge was if Worf himself laid
hands on them.
    The Klingon was not happy with this turn of events.
"I fail to see what will be gained by having my son
present. I do not require his consent in this matter."
  "Then you remove the hamster."
    "Very well, I will." Worf picked up the cage and
started for the door.
    "Where will you take it?" Counsellor Troi called
after him.
    "To sick bay," Worf answered. "You heard for
yourself, it was once a laboratory subject. It belongs in
a laboratory."
    Dr. Crusher stepped neatly into Worf's path, block-
ing his way out the door. "Not in my lab," she said.
"Not without Alexander's permission."
    "I told you, I do not require Alexander's permis-
sion to--"
 "But I do and sickbay is my territory."
 "Then I will take it elsewhere."
    "And where might that be?" Dr. Crusher's face
hardened. Although she said nothing, her expression
made it clear that she was thinking of Klingon cuisine
and daring Lt. Worfto deny that he had been thinking
the same thing.
    Counsellor Troi automatically fell into the role of
intermediary in an increasingly tense situation. "Per-
haps it would be best to wait until Alexander returns
from school, Lt. Worf," she suggested. "If your son
will accept your decision as reasonably as you predict,
there will be no harm in waiting."
    "There is no need for waiting," Worf insisted. "He
is my son, and if I say that this animal is not a fit
example for a warrior, then I know what I amw" His
diatribe was interrupted by the chirp of his communi-
cator. In its cage, the hamster burst from its nest of
wood shavings at the unexpected noise. Worfgave the
startled beast a scornful look, set the cage down on a
side table, and touched his badge. "Worf here."
    "Lt. Worf, report to bridge immediately." Captain
Picard's voice came through loud and clear.
    "Aye, sir. Worf out." The Klingon looked from the
cage to Dr. Crusher. "We will settle this later," he
growled, and strode from the room. He was not sure,
but he could have sworn he heard the faint sound of
Dr. Crusher's suppressed laughter before the door
shut behind him.

    "Lt. Worf reporting as ordered, sir." The Klingon's
practiced eye took in the scene awaiting him on the
bridge. All three members of the Orakisan delegation
were present. There was a pervasive air of excitement
about them. Even the normally dour Legate Valdor
seemed tempted to smile.
    "You're just in time, Lt. Worf," Captain Picard said
from the command chair. "I wanted you to be here
for this."
  "For what, sir?
    The captain indicated the scene currently displayed
on the bridge viewscreen. Seven worlds and their
attendant moons orbitted a G-class star. "We have
just entered the Ashkaar system. Ashkaar itself, the
Skerrian colony we came here to contact, is the fourth
world from this system's sun. When cursory long-
range sensor scans of the planet's surface revealed
scattered concentrations of humanoid life-forms, I
had Ensign Kolb open hailing frequencies."
    Worf looked at the Orakisan delegation. Ambassa-
dor Lelys was beaming, her face radiant with hope as
she gazed at the viewscreen. "I assume you received a
response, sir?"
    "Yes. An extremely brief transmission from an
observatory on the main continent. They requested
that we repeat our transmission as soon as they could
notify the gøvernment of our presence. We are pres-
ently waiting to receive the official response from that
government."
    "Signal coming through now, sir," Ensign Kolb
said.
"Put it on screen, Ensign," the captain ordered.
At once the viewscreen was dominated by the
smiling image of a well-fleshed, middle-aged male
Who might have passed for Legate Valdor's distant
cousin. The luminous irises of his eyes were the bright
gold of sunflower petals, and his thinning hair was
pulled into a willow-green plait slung over one shoul-
der like a pet serpent.
    "Greetings, my friends!" he cried, making an all-
embracing gesture of welcome with his plump hands.
"I am Udar Kishrit of the Masra'et. I welcome you
with joy. When we were first informed of your pres-
ence, we could not believe that the gods had seen fit to
grant us such a blessing. It seemed like a dream, and
yet--But there you are. Can you see me all right?"
    "Yes," Picard replied. "I trust you are receiving our
transmission satisfactorily also?"
    Udar Kishrit chuckled. "Yes, yes, praise the Net of
Blessings. You understand, our own system of com-
munications is limited to this world. I did not expect
it to be powerful enough to send or receive off-world
signals so well."
    Ambassador Lelys stepped forward, her face still
alight. "Udar Kishrit, I greet you in the name of
Orakisa, your long-lost sisterworld, like Ashkaar, a
daughter of S'ka'rys."
    "Ashkaar?" Udar Kishrit repeated. His amiable
look collapsed into a frown. "There is no Ashkaar.
This is Ne'elat. Ashkaar is dead."

Chapter Three

COUNSELLOR TROI WATCHED ATTENTIVELY as the fourth
delegation of Ne'elatian children approached the cen-
ter of the vast civic gardens where the ceremony of
welcome was taking place. In their long, white robes,
their carefully braided hair ornamented with silver
starbursts, the young ones were a beautiful and
charming sight. They came forward singing, their
arms laden with flowers, and added these to the
imposing pile of blossoms already mounded at Am-
bassador Lelys's feet.
    "Don't worry, my dear, they are the last," Troi
overheard Udar Kishrit whisper in the ambassador's
ear. "Your visit is a gift to us, and this ceremony is our
gift to you. Our teachers say that one gift must be met
with another or harmony is lost."
    If Lelys responded to this information at all, Troi
could not hear her. The Betazoid shifted her attention
elsewhere, first to her right, where Captain Picard and
Commander Riker completed the ambassador's en-
tourage, then to her left, where the five other members
of the Masra'et--the governing council of Ne'elat--
attended their leader, Udar Kishrit.
    It was as Udar Kishrit had promised. The fourth
group of children was the last body of Ne'elatians to
participate in the formal rites of welcome. As soon as
they were gone, he spoke a few words to officially
conclude the ceremony, then offered Ambassador
Lelys his arm and personally escorted her into the
nearby palace of government. The others followed.
    The palace of government seemed to have been
made of air and light rather than stone. Shining pink
pillars of elfin slenderness soared to support ceilings
that had been painted to resemble spring skies. Tiled
floors offered up scenes of unknown gods casting
golden nets out into the depths of space to snare a
dazzling catch of comets and suns and planets, with
here and there the silvery sliver of a starship like a
minnow tangled in the strands.
    They passed many Ne'elatians in the palace halls,
some hefting scrolls and books and papers, some
carrying piles of thin, inflexible tablets that clattered
together, and others still speaking into hand-held
communication devices. In short, they saw all stripes
and breeds of bureaucrats, hard at work or at least
trying to give that impression. Udar Kishrit and the
other members of the Masra'et paused now and then
to detain one of the scurriers. Always their interview
began with the proud and joyous presentation of
Ambassador Lelys as "she who has given us back the
stars."
    At last they reached a private room where a long,
low table made of transparent crystal gleamed like a
sheet of ice. Backless chairs with high armrests and
overstuffed cushions stood waiting. Udar Kishrit
seated the Orakisan ambassador at what had to be the
place of honor, a gracefully curved indentation on one
of the table's longer sides. Then he and the other
council members took seats facing her. There seemed
to be no formalities now, though as head of the
Masra'et, Udar Kishrit's place was directly opposite
the ambassador's. The representatives of Starfleet
were allowed to choose their own places.
    Either they have called off all ceremony or they have
decided that we are no longer important, Troi mused.
And yet when Udar Kishrit first invited us to the
planetg surface--insisted on it, in fact--he was al-
most too deferential. I've seen this kind of behavior
before. This man has a face for every occasion. She
glanced sidelong at Captain Picard. To judge by his
bearing he had reached the same conclusion as she
concerning Udar Kishrit, and was wary.
    Udar Kishrit himself was seemingly oblivious to
the scrutiny of his character. He leaned across the
table, all goodwill, his whole body transformed into
one giant, ongoing embrace to enfold the ambassador.
"I thank you, gracious lady, for your patience with
our rites," he told her. "I realize that our welcome
must have been tedious for you, but we had no other
choice. All guests are sacred, their coming to be hailed
and honored, and such a guest as yourselfl But now
that we have served the teachings, we can speak freely.
How we have dreamed of this day! It has been too
long in coming. Take no offense, but you come to us
like a creature out of the old legends, a wonderful
impossibility. Until your arrival, we did not know
that such a world as Orakisa existed, seed of our
common mother."
    "And we did not know of Ne'elat's existence ei-
ther," Lelys replied. "Not at all." A dark look crossed
her face like a passing cloud.
"You are troubled," Udar Kishrit said in a most
ingratiating tone. "How can I ease this?"
    "Udar Kishrit, I will not dissemble. We did not
come here seeking our sisterworld for its own sake. If
circumstances had been otherwise, we would have put
off reestablishing contact with you for years yet." In
as few words as possible, Ambassador Lelys went on
to describe the situation on Skerris IV.
    As Lelys spoke, Counsellor Troi could sense the
Orakisan's mounting emotional stress. Her diplomat-
ic training is good, but she has held the mask of
professional neutrality in place for too long. The lives
of all her family depend on her and she knows it, just as
she knows that the n'vashal seeds taken along by the
colonists of Ashkaar are their only hope. But Ashkaar
is dead. The question is, did the seeds die with it?
    Udar Kishrit heard out the ambassador's story, his
face the perfect image of concern. "N'vashal?" he
repeated when she was done. "Ah, my lady, is that all?
How small a thing! You shame us by asking for so
little--you, our beloved kin, who will restore to us the
means to reunite with the stars. I hope you will not
think me impertinent, but if sometime before we part
you would permit me the supreme honor of viewing
the blessed vessel which brought you to usw"
    Ambassador Lelys lowered her eyes. "That is not
for me to say. It is not an Orakisan ship, but a
Starfleet vessel."
    "Not yours?" A tiny crack appeared in Udar Kish-
rit's jovial mask, but was quickly patched away.
    "No Orakisan starship could have brought us here
as swiftly as the Enterprise, and speed was--is of the
essence."
    "Orakisa has long been a valued member of the
United Federation of Planets," Captain Picard said.
"Starfleet has been requested to do whatever possible
to aid their colonists on Skerris IV. We were glad to be
of service."
    "Starfleet. The United Federation of Planets."
Udar Kishrit repeated the names with a childlike awe,
then erupted into fresh smiles. "Ah, so much, so very
much for us to learn! Great things. Our sisterworld
must be powerful indeed if she commands such
servants."
    "Oh no, Udar Kishrit, you mistake me," Ambassa-
dor Lelys said quickly. "The Federation stands ready
to aid and defend all its members, regardless of the
individual planet's importance."
    "Is this so?" The head of the Masra'et considered
this new information, then made a discreet motion
for the council members at either side of him to lean
in. They whispered among themselves for a short
interval, then settled back on their cushions. Udar
Kishrit's expansive smile had spread to his colleagues
like a case of Denebian swamp fever.
    "We rejoice in the good fortune of our sisterworld
to have earned the favor of so mighty a shield as your
Federation. We pray that you will enrich us by de-
scribing how it was you won this prize."
    "Udar Kishrit, I'm afraid you don't understand,"
Picard said. "Orakisa did nothing extraordinary to
earn membership in the Federation. When a world
wishes to join the United Federation of Planets there
are, of course, the proper channels for application,
but these are open to all. If any world should desire
to--"
    "Any world?" The Ne'elatian waved his hand over
the tabletop and a panel irised open to allow a hidden
platform to rise, bearing refreshments. He poured a
thin, blue liquid from a decanter like a giant emerald
and passed walnut-sized silver cups to all present.
However, he made sure to serve the first cup to
Captain Picard. "Even this?"
    "Yes." The captain responded in a guarded
manner.
"But we are so--so primitive, by your standards."
"We have seen a good deal of your city since our
arrival," Picard replied. "I would hardly call it primi-
tive. I confess, I was not expecting to encounter this
level of technology. The surviving records on Skerris
IV indicate that the founders of Ashkaar left to
establish a simpler way of life."
    "That was long ago, Captain," Udar Kishrit said,
abruptly solemn. "I cannot vouch for the intentions
of my ancestors. As to our technology, it would be an
insult to compare it to yours. Your ships sail the stars!
Ours are confined to this system alone."
    "How is that possible?" Commander Riker asked.
"The Skerrians had starships with warp drive. Your
ancestors couldn't have come this far from the home-
world on impulse power; they'd still be in transit."
    Udar Kishrit sipped his drink. "You came here
seeking a world called Ashkaar; Ashkaar is lost. So,
too, the secret of the ship that brought us there, and
from there, here."
 "How did it happen?"
    He nodded to the man on his right. "Meeran Okosa
is our council historian. In harmony, it is his place to
speak of it."
    Meeran Okosa crossed his hands before his chest,
thumbs touching, so that if a light were shone behind
them their shape would look like the shadow of a
dove. Bowing his head over them, he said, "In the
name of the six moral treasures, I will tell it." He
raised his eyes and in a lilting voice recited, "Our
fathers and mothers swam from star to star, seeking
new hope in a new world. Those who had gone before
them from the homeworld saw Ashkaar, fourth
daughter of the blessed sun, and gave it good report.
So our ancestors came after, on the word of the
scouts, and settled there, giving thanks for the kindli-
ness of the climate and the fertile land."
    He paused in the telling, all eyes on him. Not one of
his auditors disturbed the perfect silence of the room
by so much as the clink of a glass being set down on
the sleek tabletop. Meeran Okosa seemed pleased by
such attention and went on:
    "But surfaces deceive and the warmest smile tells
nothing of the heart beneath. Time revealed what the
scouts could not have known: The ground of Ashkaar
shook with the writhings of unquiet spirits, it split
apart the pleasant fields, cast up poisonous vapors,
and in the end drove our fathers and mothers back
into the black sky-sea. In their lone ship they sought
another lafid and found it in the blessed sun's fifth
daughter, which they named Ne'elat, which means the
new sustainer. Ne'elat was no golden land. It wanted
the warmth of Ashkaar, but it also lacked Ashkaar's
evil eruptions. To live here would take work, but our
ancestors did not fear that. What they feared was that
the world we had left would not know what had
become of them. And so our fathers and mothers took
council and said, 'Let us send our starship home again
to tell our kin that we have chosen a different world,
and also to bring us back what aid they can, for we
lost much when we left Ashkaar, and Ne'elat demands
more to sustain us until we have learned her ways.'"
He took a breath and concluded, "So the ship was
sent, and the ship was lost, and with it the homeworld
and all help except what came from the gods." He laid
his hands palms down on the table.
  "You see how it was, Captain Picard." Udar Kishrit
resumed control of the meeting. "When their ship did
not return and when no word came from the home-
world, our ancestors realized that they were truly on
their own. Building a new ship was out of the ques-
tion. They had left S'ka'rys seeking a simpler life, as
you say. No one with the knowledge for building
starships would join such an expedition. Likewise
they lacked the materials and the means to obtain
them. Apart from all this, they had to devote all their
efforts to the more immediate problems of survival on
a hostile world."
    "I'd say they more than succeeded," Captain Pi-
card remarked, sipping his drink. It was tart on the
tongue, though it had an almost honey-like bouquet.
    "A limited success. There are some who say that we
have betrayed the dream of our ancestors." Udar
Kishrit gave Meeran Okosa a look short and sharp as
a dagger blade. "But what choice did we have? A
simpler life requires a kinder land. Could we stand by
and watch our children die from cold and hunger and
sickness when we had the knowledge to prevent it?"
    The council historian snorted scornfully. "You
mouth one of the nine deaths of S'ka'rys, Udar
Kishrit. The teachings recall that our fathers and
mothers left the homeworld precisely because they
were surrounded by too many people speaking the
same evil."
    "Our ancestors were surrounded by some of the
most brilliant minds in the universe," Udar Kishrit
replied hotly. "The teachings themselves speak of the
discoveries and inventions, the pure knowledge that
S'ka'rys brought into the light!"
    "Into the darkness, you mean. The teachings do not
mention S'ka'rys for praise, but to give us warning.
They held themselves too high, the ones our ancestors
fled. Because their hands created ships to sail the
stars, they forgot who had created the stars they
sailed. And in the end, did they not create their own
destruction?" He looked to Ambassador Lelys for
confirmation.
 She bowed her head. "That is so."
    Udar Kishrit made an impatient sound with his
lips. "We are not S'ka'rys, Meeran Okosa, No new
thing comes from our hands without the blessings of
the gods. We have the ceremonies to anchor each
discovery of the mind to the realm of the spirit. We
will not repeat the errors of the past. Neither will we
sacrifice the future."
    But what will you sacrifice to gain the future you
want, Udar Kishrit? Counsellor Troi wondered. Look-
ing at the head of the Masra'et, she felt a distinct chill
trickle down her spine. There was something more to
him than a strong will or the wish to bring his world
out of isolation. When he spoke, she heard the roaring
of a fire, a blaze without limits that would devour
anything that stood between him and his desires.
  Anything... or anyone.
    She forced herself to shake off the warning chill in
time to hear Udar Kishrit say, "I pledge you my word
as head of the Masra'et that we will do everything in
our power to help you in your search. I regret that I
am not familiar with the name of the plant you seek,
but then, I do not pretend to know much about
flowers. There is also the chance that we have another
name for what you call n'vashal. I am certain that our
combined efforts will be rewarded." He rose, and his
fellow council members followed his lead. The meet-
ing was obviously coming to an end.
    Ambassador Lelys and the rest stood as well. "May
it be so, and soon," she said. "Our gratitude to you
would be immeasurable. Our sages too teach that gifts
must be given when gifts are received. If your world
can give us back the lives of our dear ones in peril on
S'ka'rys, then our world will give yours the path to the
stars."
    As they all filed out of the chamber, Riker managed
to draw Counsellor Troi aside. "What's wrong?" he
asked. "I know that look. What did you pick up on in
there?"
      "I am not sure," she answered. "Nothing that will
affect the Orakisan mission."  "But something, yes?"
    "Only that Udar Kishrit can be a very...
determined man."
    "Well, that might be all to the good as far as the
mission's concerned. As soon as he heard about
Starfleet and the Federation he was all ears, eager to
get Ne'elat in. I'll bet he thinks that if his people can
produce some n'vashal, it's a done deal. He'll make
sure they give one hundred ten percent to the search
now."
    "Perhaps." The Betazoid picked up her pace, leav-
ing Riker behind, until she drew level with Udar
Kishrit. The head of the Masra'et was walking be-
tween Captain Picard and Ambassador Lelys, chat-
ting affably with both, offering the full hospitality of
the capital to any and all who might desire it.
    "I will not hear of a refusal," he told Captain
Picard. "A starship is a marvel, but it is a place of
containment. It would be my pleasure, my honor, to
offer your crew the freedom of our city. The teachings
say: The rich man paints his ceiling to resemble
heaven, the poor man steps out of his hut and has
heaven for the asking."
    "A generous offer, Udar Kishrit," Captain Picard
replied. "Thank you. We will consider it."
    "And a beautiful sentiment," Troi said, insinuating
herself between the captain and the chief councilman.
"Although I must say, I have not seen anything
remotely like a hut since our arrival."
    "Dear lady, you are blessed with the second moral
treasure, which is kindness." He gave her an indul-
gent look. "We thank the gods for our prosperity.
That is one of the older teachings, from the days when
our ancestors first came here from Ashkaar." "All of them?"
 Udar Kishrit stopped short. "What?"
    "Before you answered our hail, we scanned your
sun's fourth world for signs of humanoid life. We
found them."
    "That's true," Captain Picard said. "At the time we
didn't pursue the matter, but now that Counsellor
Troi mentions itm"
    "Oh, that." Udar Kishrit burst into peals of laugh-
ter. "They're nothing, nothing at all."
    "Are you saying that there is no life on Ashkaar?
That our sensors picked up a false signal?" Picard
asked. His eyes concealed any hint that he already
knew the true answer to that question. The Enter-
prise's sensors were in perfect working order. If they
detected humanoid life-forms, those life-forms were
there. If Udar Kishrit denied itm
    "No, of course not. There are Ne'elatians living on
Ashkaar. Not many, and some not worthy to be
named. Criminals, mostly, of the more dangerous
sort. I trespass against the sixth moral treasure of
forgiveness when I say this, but I sleep better at night
knowing that there is more than just a wall between
them and me."
    "There seemed to be quite a high number of
readings," Picard pressed, although he gave every
impression of reluctance. "I suppose if we count the
guards that must be stationed there as well..."
  "Ah, I see that you, too, are a master of the second
moral treasure, Captain Picard." Udar Kishrit's eyes
twinkled. "We do not have that many criminals on
Ashkaar. The majority of your readings must be our
military training encampments. The terrain is rough
and the conditions harsh, but that is an advantage
when you wish to produce a good soldier."
    Captain Picard nodded his agreement. By this time,
they had passed through the palace of government
and out into the plaza where the party from the
Enterprise had first materialized on the surface of
Ne'elat. Picard contacted the ship and told the engi-
neer on duty to prepare to beam them back up, but
before he gave the command to energize he told Udar
Kishrit, "With your permission, I think I would like
to take you up on your kind offer of hospitality. How
soon can you accommodate any visitors from my
ship?"
"At once and with joy!" Udar Kishrit exclaimed.
Shortly after, as they were stepping off the trans-
porter platform, Riker turned to Picard and said,
"That was unexpected." "What was?"
 "That decision to turn this into a shore leave."
    Captain Picard turned his head; his eyes met Coun-
sellor Troi's. "I have my reasons," was all he said.

Chapter Four

GEORDI LA FORGE HAD NEVER thought of himself as a
spy. Still, here he was, getting ready to beam down to
the surface of Ne'elat and--there was no other word
for it--spy on the natives. Well, all right, to observe
them. Closely. Captain Picard had been quite specific
about that closely part.
    At least I can't say I'm too surprised by this, the
Enterprise's chief engineer thought as he checked the
readings on the warp drives. (If he had to spend any
significant length of time ashore, first he was going to
make sure he left everything in his division ship-
shape.) I'm no cadet. It's not the first time I've been
handed an assignment that's outside the boundaries of
my original job description. He shrugged. Starfleet
officers were always prepared to do whatever was
required of them as long as it served the greater good
and did not violate regulations.
 True, no one involved had ever come right out and
used the word spying, but how else to describe this
assignment? He wasn't due for shore leave, he had no
training in diplomacy and even less in botany. And if
there's some other field of expertise with any bearing
on the mission to Ashkaar, no one bothered to tell
him about it.
    Ne'elat, he mentally corrected himself. As a colony,
Ashkaar 's gone.
    That was what the Ne'elatians claimed, anyhow,
and the Ne'elatians were the last hope of the Orakisan
colonists on Skerris IV. I'm no more a diplomat than
I'm a spy, Geordi thought, but even I know it's not the
smartest thing to come right out and accuse people of
lying when they've got something you need that badly.
    He checked out a flickering bank of telltales. Not
that there's any proof that the Ne'elatians are lying,
just suspicions.
    He remembered the reaction when Captain Picard
and the others from the first Ne'elatian visit had
reported their findings to a small group of handpicked
crewmembers and the two remaining members of the
Orakisan diplomatic mission in the captain's ready
room. He could still feel Legate Valdor's angry words
burning his ears:
    "So what if there were life-form readings on Ash-
kaar? They are irrelevant! Soldiers and prisoners will
not help us fulfill our mission; Udar Kishrit and the
Masra'et will. You waste my time and yours by
speaking of this when you would do better to join
your resources to theirs in aid of the search for
n'vashal."
    Geordi didn't need to rely on his visor to tell that
Picard was not pleased with the Orakisan's outburst;
he could hear the captain adopt a distinctly more
controlled and formal tone to his reply, as dead a
giveaway as the brightest warning beacon to those
who knew their commander well.
    "We have already attempted to place our own
people side by side with the Ne'elatians whom the
Masra'et members have assigned to the project. Our
offers of help were refused--pleasantly, but firmly."
    "For someone who seems to be so eager to show off
his world, Udar Kishrit's still got plenty of Keep Out
signs posted," Riker commented, his eyes following
the graceful water ballet of the fish in the ornamental
aquarium. Geordi wondered whether the lieutenant's
casual attitude was deliberate, intended to soften the
already hostile atmosphere. "Not in so many words,
but the message is still crystal clear."
    "Perhaps he has something to hide, but perhaps
not. We may be mistaken in how we interpret his
actions," Ambassador Lelys spoke up. "It is plain to
see that Udar Kishrit wants nothing more than to
have Ne'elat taken into the United Federation of
Planets as soon as possible. I believe he is under the
impression that if the Ne'elatians, alone and unaided,
succeed in locating the n'vashal plant, this accom-
plishment will somehow guarantee their immediate
induction."
    "Let him think so, then?' �aldor snapped. "It will
be to our advantage. Would you interfere with some-
thing that could save the lives of our brethren on
Skerris IV?"
    "That is not the point." Geordi was taken aback by
the sudden bite in the Orakisan ambassador's tone.
Lelys had the uncanny ability to change from a
blossom to a blade in an eyeblink. "I have already
conferred with Captain Picard and Counsellor Troi
and we are in agreement. If we cannot trust Udar
Kishrit's honesty about the life-form readings on
Ashkaar, do we dare to trust his promises of help with
our search?"
    "Conferred with them, you say?" Valdor's brows
came together. "You have had secret meetings--
meetings of which I was purposely kept ignorant?"
    In the face of Valdor's indignation, Hara'el at-
tempted to play the peacemaker. "Father, please, it
was no great thing. Ambassador Lelys did not seek to
exclude you--us--from any vital information. By
tradition, as senior representative, she was the only
one of our party whose presence was required at the
first encounter with the Ne'elatians. It was all done
according to strictest protocol. I am sure that this
discussion she had with Captain Picard and Counsel-
1or Troi took place then, while they were on Ne'elat
and we remained here."
    "That is so," Troi confirmed. "Any secrecy touch-
ing our conference was purely accidental, not
planned."
    "Certainly not planned by me." Lelys met Valdor's
hard look with one of her own. It was neither a
defensive statement nor an apology. Privately Geordi
decided that if this confrontation worsened, his mon-
ey would be on the lady.
    Valdor was unmollified. "And yet this is the first I
hear of it! You and I, Ambassador, and my son
Hara'el are a single entity in the eyes of our brethren
on Orakisa. Three voices, one mind; three bodies, one
heart. You know the dictates as well as I do. To keep
anything from us betrays our unity."
    "Nothing has been kept from you." Ambassador
Lelys's eyes took on an icy glitter.
    "Not kept, no, not exactly. But information that is
delayed is almost asm"
"Then you are in agreement with us, Legate Val-
dor." Captain Picard was swift to step into the
widening breach between the Orakisan envoys. "You,
too, understand the importance of bringing the whole
truth of Ne'elat to light."
    Unwilling to surrender so easily, Valdor insisted, "I
still do not see that the Ne'elatians are hiding any-
thing. Not from what you have relayed to us."
    "Perhaps they only seem to be hiding something,"
Hara'el said. "In the same way you believed that
Ambassador Lelys was deliberately--" A curt gesture
from his father stopped Hara'el's words cold. The
silence was deep enough for Geordi to pick up the
faint sigh of the fishtank filter.
    Ambassador Lelys was less easily cowed. "If we are
wrong about Udar Kishrit, we will make amends. But
if the cracked vessel will not hold water, why should
we assume it will hold wine? If he has lied to us about
one thing, why not another? How can we trust that he
will fulfill his promise to find us n'vashal?"
    Valdor laughed contemptuously. "Why would he
want to lie about helping us?"
    "Why would he want to lie about Ashkaar?" Troi
countered.
    The elder Orakisan's face darkened. "What makes
you think he is lying about that?"
    "May I, sir?" Mr. Data turned to Captain Picard
and received permission to speak. "As repeated here,
Udar Kishrit's explanations for the life-form readings
on Ashkaar are not logical. Ne'elat is not overpopu-
lated, therefore if the authorities wished to keep
dangerous criminals in custody far from law-abiding
citizens, they could construct prisons in any of a
number of remote sites on the planet itselfi To trans-
port them to another world is neither convenient,
economical, nor necessary. Moreover, from your de-
scriptions of Ne'elat, it does not seem to suffer from
poverty, ignorance, or intolerance, therefore I would
not expect it to be a particularly lawless society. It is
my theory that were we to inspect the judicial records,
we would find that what prisons the Ne'elatians do
maintain on their world are not filled to capacity."
    "Next I suppose you'll tell us that the Ne'elatians
have no military training outposts on Ashkaar ei-
ther," �aldor sneered.
    His sarcasm had no effect on the android. "It would
surprise me if they did. The Ne'elatians enjoy a
united planetary government of apparent political
stability. They may have a domestic security system
in place, but with no threat of war, they do not need to
tram an army."
    "And what of the possibility of an off-world inva-
sion?" The Orakisan legate acted as smug as if he had
just made the winning move in a game of chess.
    Geordi suppressed a smile. Wrong game to play
with Data if you want to win, Legate Valdor.
    Mr. Data promptly proved the engineer right:
"They also inhabit a remote world of little strategic or
material value, except to themselves. Even supposing
that some alien power wished to invade and conquer
their system, such a power would have to possess
warp drive to reach Ne'elat in the first place. Any
troops trained on Ashkaar would be outmaneuvered
and probably outgunned in short order."
    "In other words, it would make about as much
sense for the Ne'elatians to train troops off-world as it
would for us to maintain a Roman legion," Riker
commented so softly that Geordi wondered whether
he'd been the only one to hear it.
    Having his every argument so casually demolished
sank Valdor even deeper into his usual state of cold-
eyed, smoldering resentment. He said nothing more
for the rest of the debriefing.
    On the other hand, young Hara'el seemed to gain
courage from his father's silence. "We are indebted to
Starfleet for your help in this mission. We will be
guided by your suggestions concerning the reliability
of the Ne'elatians. They are our brethren, but blood is
no guarantee of truth. It will do no harm to investi-
gate any misgivings you might have, especially if you
suspect they might affect the ultimate success of our
quest. I recommend that we give Orakisa's official
approval to whatever plan our allies suggest." He
made an elegant gesture of deference to Captain
Picard.
    "Well said, Hara'el." Ambassador Lelys was the
tender-petalled flower once more. Her approving
smile sent the younger male into a new attack of
agitation, which she ignored. "I concur. Legate Val-
dor, will you join with us?"
    "I will not add my voice until I have heard what
their plan might be," �aldor snarled.
    "We have been given an open invitation to visit
Ne'elat," Captain Picard said. "I suggest that we use
it to our advantage. All of our misgivings can be put to
rest by information, and we can gather that informa-
tion for ourselves, through close and careful observa-
tion of the true state of things on Ne'elat. We will send
several parties of crewmembers to the surface, some
of them instructed to look and listen attentively for
any evidence to 'confirm our suspicions of Udar
Kishrit and the council or--and I hope this will be
the case--to dismiss them entirely." It was shortly
after that that Geordi found himself tapped to be one
such observer.
    "In other words, a spy," he muttered as he wrapped
up his tour of inspection. He shook his head over the
whole situation. Truths, half truths, hidden truths,
lies that were deliberate or accidental or truth wearing
a mask... It was all too complicated for his liking.
Why couldn't people be more straightforward, like
machines?
    That thought brought a fleeting image of his good
friend Data to mind. Geordi smiled. Did the two of
them get along so well because or in spite of the fact
that each, in his own way, had one foot on either side
of the human-machine borderline? There was a saying
in Starfleet that a good engineer understood machines
almost as well as he did people, but that a great
engineer understood people almost as well as he did
machines.
    I've got to get out more, Geordi told himself. Maybe
it ~ past time I started paying more attention to people.
Maybe this shore leave is just what I need after all, no
matter why I'm getting it. I know I won't be a very
good spy, but there ~ no reason I can't explore Ne'elat,
meet someone new, just have a plain, ordinary, good
time. With that resolution in mind, Geordi headed
for the transporter room.

    "Now will you admit we're lost?" Ensign Yee de-
manded. She pointed to the floor-to-ceiling wall pan-
el, a panoramic landscape, every line and shape of it a
carefully inlaid piece of semiprecious stone. It domi-
nated the high-domed chamber where six corridors
intersected. It was not a landmark you could forget,
especially if this was the fourth time you had found it.
"Now will you ask someone for directions?"
    "A Starfleet officer is resourceful," Ensign Blum-
berg countered. "We can find our own way."
    Ensign Yee looked doubtful and dismissed Ensign
Blumberg's words by tunling to Geordi and asking,
"Please, sir, can't we stop one of our hosts and ask
which way to the gardens? The concert's supposed to
start soon and--"
    Geordi restrained the urge to laugh, not at the two
quarreling ensigns, but at himself. Ensign Yee was
right, they were definitely lost and they should have
asked for directions long ago. The government palace
of Ne'elat was like a three-dimensional example of
any sufficiently advanced bureaucracy, a labyrinth to
those uninitiated into the secret plan underlying it all.
    Very well then, he'd ask directions. But from
whom? Geordi glanced around the huge, circular
chamber. Unlike most of the areas in the Ne'elatian
palace of government, this one seemed virtually de-
serted. During the four unsuccessful attempts Geordi
and his party had made trying to find the gardens,
they had passed through corridors and anterooms
where it was almost impossible to get by for all the
Ne'elatians rushing here and there on their own
errands.
    "Wait here," Geordi directed. "I'11 see if I can find
someone who can help us." He started up one of the
six entryways.
    Behind him, he heard Ensign Blumberg declare, "I
can find my own way," followed by the sound of
retreating footsteps. This was in turn followed by
Ensign Yee's loud, heartfelt sigh of resignation, and
then her voice calling, "No, not that way! We just
came out that way! You're going to get yourself lost
even worse than..." More retreating footsteps
reached Geordi's' ears, the rapid beat of Ensign Yee
taking off after Ensign Blumberg.
    Wonderful. Now I've lost them, too, Geordi thought.
We'll probably have to have the ship's sensors locate us
all, one by one, when it's time to go back. Some shore
leave. And some spy I am. I can't even find any
Ne'elatians to ask directions from, let alone to observe.
He shook his head, marvelling over his bad luck.
 That was when he became aware that he was not
alone. The sensors in his visor that served him in lieu
of eyesight touched off an uneasy feeling that he was
being watched. He looked all around, but there was
no one there. The corridor he had chosen to explore
was empty, though there were several doors lining it,
as well as many pillared alcoves made to display an
assortment of Ne'elatian art treasures.
    He considered knocking on one of the closed doors,
in case anyone was in who could help him on his way,
but Blumberg's words echoed in his ears and he
stopped short. It was one thing to ask directions of a
Ne'elatian encountered in the hallway, quite another
to go hunting up a native guide. Geordi couldn't have
explained the difference if anyone had asked him, but
he knew at the gut level that doing the latter was
tantamount to surrendering something very precious
to him. A Starfleet officer was resourceful--took a
healthy pride in being resourceful--but a Starfleet
officer who was blind knew that resourcefulness was
another word for independence, and independence
was the most precious thing he owned.
    As he stood there in the hallway, a cool breeze
brought him the scent of alien flowers. Cautiously he
followed his nose. Maybe I can find the gardens
without asking directions after all, he mused as the
scent grew more distinct. I shouM have thought of this
before I lost Yee and Blumberg. It's getting stronger.
We must're been closer to the gardens than we thought.
The flowery perfume led him on until it reached him
at a sharp angle, from a doorway to his left. Now it
was so intense that he was sure that he was on the
threshold of the palace gardens. He turned and went
through, expecting to feel the sun on his face and to
hear the sounds of the musicians tuning their instru-
ments for the promised concert, an event specially
staged to honor the visiting Starfleet crew.
    Instead he felt the same cool, perfumed breeze and
saw neither gardens nor musicians nor fellow crew-
members, but the startled face of a young Ne'elatian
woman. She wore a plain green robe, and her hair was
hidden by a veil of the same color, its gauzy material
held in place by silver netting. She was very lovely.
    Geordi smiled. "Excuse me, but could you please
tell me how to get to the palace gar--?"
    She dropped to the floor before him, face pressed to
the cold stone, arms extended and crossed above her
head. "Let there be mercy for this one, unworthy as !
am to hear your words, starlord," she said. She
sounded as if she were on the verge of tears or panic
or both.
    Geordi's smile was gone. He squatted down on his
haunches and looked at the woman closely. "I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just lost. I want
to find the palace gardens. Could you please--?"
    She moaned and wrapped her arms over her head,
as if cowering in anticipation of a blow. "Starlord,
forgive me for having displeased you in this or in any
desire you might have." The words were muffled, but
Geordi still managed to hear all she had to say. "My
spirit is still imprisoned by the flesh; its flaws have led
me astray. My glorious teachers warned us that we
would do best to keep to our rooms while you deigned
to walk with them in the undying light of Evramur. I
disobeyed. I heard there was to be music, and there is
no sweeter sound than the celestial songs of Evramur.
My greedy spirit thought it would do no harm to go
secretly to hear it. I should have known that there is
no thing that can be kept secret from the glorious
ones. My sins are many. I admit them freely and give
myself up to any penance necessary, even though it
might be exile from the joys of Evramur." Her slender
shoulders shook ever so slightly as she began to cry.
    Geordi stayed where he was, staring at her, com-
pletely at a loss. At last he reached out his hand and
touched her gently. "Don't cry," he said. "Please."
    She lifted her face, copiously streaked with tears,
and asked, "Is this--is this your will, starlord?"
    "Yes. And also that you stop calling me starlord."
He stood up, giving her a hand to help her rise with
him. "My name is Geordi La Forge. What's yours?"
    The irises of her brilliant turquoise eyes dilated
with a mix of consternation and fear. Then she
ducked her head and said, "I must go." She jerked her
hand from Geordi's grasp and ran away.
    He never knew what possessed him to race after
her, he only knew that he couldn't let her escape him.
Her robes were long and voluminous, hardly the best
thing to wear for efficient running. He caught up with
her easily. As soon as his hand fell on her shoulder,
she hit the ground again, alternately imploring mercy
of the starlord and declaring her unworthiness to
receive it.
    Geordi leaned back against a pillar and slid down it
until he was seated cross-legged beside her. Very
patiently he said, "I think there's been a mistake. I
told you, I'm not a starlord, whatever that is. I'm
Geordi La Forge, chief engineer of the U.S.S. Enter-
prise. You don't have to tell me your name if you don't
want to. I'm sorry, maybe I was out of place asking
that. I don't know the customs here on Ne'elat. I'm
here on shore leave, just visiting your planet, and
there's supposed to be a concert taking place in the
palace gardens. I'd like to hear it. Would it be all right
for you to take me there?" He felt odd, talking to the
back of the young woman's head, but she was so
tightly curled up into a protective ball that it didn't
look as if he would ever get to see her face again.
  Pity, he thought. It's a very beautiful face. He settled
his shoulders more comfortably against the pillar,
ready to wait as long as it took for a reply.
    His patience was rewarded. After a time, the young
woman tilted her head sideways and looked up at him
out of the comer of one eye. He tried his luck at luring
her back into the open with another smile. This time
she raised her head and slowly uncurled her body
until she was seated on her heels, facing him with a
look no longer fearful, but merely uncertain.
    "Ne'elat?" she asked. "Why do you call this place
Ne'elat?"
    Her question took him aback. He'd never had to
explain the name of a planet to one of its own
inhabitants, especially not when he knew that it was
the same name the inhabitants had given that planet
in the first place.
    Maybe she thinks I'm talking about the palace itself
he reasoned. They might have an official name for it,
like the House Adorning Peace on Canis H or the
Talking Lodge on Lamech K She probably thinks I've
confused the name of the government palace with the
name of her planet.
    "I'm not calling this building Ne'elat; I'm talking
about this whole world, "he said. He accompanied his
words with an expansive gesture and hoped he had set
things straight between them.
    "World?" She shrank into herself as she echoed the
word, panic edging back into her voice. "How great is
your realm, stafford, if you can call boundless Evra-
mur no more than a world?"
    Now it was his turn to be bewildered. "What are
you talking about? Evramur? I've heard you use that
name a couple of times already. What's Evramur?"
    She bowed her head reverently and folded her
hands on her bosom in much the same dove-shaped
sign that Meeran Okosa had used when he recited the
saga of lost Ashkaar. "Holy Evramur, blessed Evra-
mur, realm of untold sanctification, Evramur who
shows herself robed in beauty on the evening horizon,
Evramur from whose mouth the breath of life bathes
us, her unworthy children. Here in her bosom our
spirits never hunger, here our lips never thirst, here
we find rest from all labor and know the peace that all
pilgrims seek."
    "You make it sound like... paradise," Geordi
said, and when she shyly asked the meaning of that
alien word, he explained it for her as best he could.
    When he was done, she smiled. "But that is Evra-
mur, your paradise: refuge and rest of the deserving
spirits who have left the flesh, haven to those less
worthy, whose flesh still anchors the spirit, such as I."
    "You--?" Geordi wasn't exactly sure of whether or
not he wanted to ask the next question. He was a little
afraid of the answer he might get. This young woman
was as charming as she was beautiful. Unfortunately,
charm and beauty were no guarantee of sanity. No,
there was no help for it, he gained nothing by willful
ignorance. He had to ask. He had to know. "You think
you're there? In Evramur? You believe you're...
dead?"
    Her laughter brightened his world. "Starlord, you
are gracious. You condescend to tease me. Have I not
said that the flesh still holds me? Of course I am not
dead!" She spread her fingers and held them like a
latticework between them, then said, "But I hope to
be. Is it for that you have come, great starlord? To take
me from the shell of flesh that weighs me down? To
free me at last from tears and sleep and breath?" Her
hands fell to her knees, revealing a face transformed
with holy ecstacy. "Oh yes, it is so! It must be so!
Stafford, take what you have come to take freely, with
all my will! Tears, sleep, breath!"
    She threw herself forward into Geordi's arms and
locked her mouth to his in an impassioned kiss.
    Just before he gave himself up to the sweetness of it,
Geordi had the flicker of a thought: I wonder how I'm
supposed to cover this when I make my report to the
captain? And then: Who cares?

Chapter Five

COUNSELLOR TROI WAS ENJOYING a moment of solitude
in one of the pocket gardens adjacent to the Ne'ela-
tian palace of government when she looked up and
saw Geordi hurrying toward her. She rose from the
intricately carved stone bench and greeted him
warmly. "There you are! We missed you at the con-
cert."
    To her surprise, the ordinarily affable engineer
didn't do her the courtesy of so much as acknowledg-
ing her friendly greeting. "Where can we talk?" he
demanded. "Privately."
    Troi could feel anger, confusion, and urgency radi-
ating from Geordi in almost palpable waves. There
was another emotion there as well, an underlying
current that she could not yet identify. She sat down
again in the shade of a lacy-leafed tree and patted the
bench beside her, saying, "I believe that this place is
private enough."
     Geordi's glance swung quickly from left to right,
 surveying the little garden for possible security
 breaches. Only then did he accept her invitation.
 "You were right," he said grimly. "You and Captain
 Picard and the rest."
     She didn't need to ask about what. It was obvious.
 "You've found proof?." She kept her voice low. He
 nodded. "What is it?"
     "I don't think we should talk about it here," Geordi
 said. "It would be better if I showed you, but I can't
 show you here either. Especially not here."  "We could return to the ship."
    "We'll have to. But first--" He clenched his fists,
briefly enough to release a little of the tension holding
him, long enough for Counsellor Troi to notice. "Can
you do something for me?"  "What do you need?"
      "Go back to the ship now. Tell Captain Picard I'll
be coming aboard soon to make my report."  "To him alone?"
    "No. It's only a secret here. I've found the answer
we were after. He should have everyone involved
present for this."
    Troi regarded him closely. "From the way you are
speaking, I would say that this answer does not ...
flatter our hosts' integrity."
    Again Geordi ignored her words. "One more thing:
Before you inform the captain, speak to Ambassador
Lelys. Tell her to show Ensign Kolb one of her
gowns--nothing fancy, some sort of simple day wear
that we can easily replicate. On my signal, he can use
my communicator as a homing device to beam the
package down and--"
    "Ambassador Lelys is not the sort to whom one
gives such commands," Troi said. "I very much doubt
she'd want to give Ensign Kolb a tour of her ward-
robe. More to the point, what am I to tell her is the
reason for an officer of the Enterprise treating a
person of her rank in such a high-handed manner?"
    "I'm sorry." Geordi's fists tightened again. "I made
it sound like an order, didn't I? But she has to do it."
    "All right" Troi said slowly. "What size is your
'answer'?" She saw by his reaction that she had hit it
precisely. She touched his arm. "Who is she?"
    "That's what I'm still trying to figure out," Geordi
replied, a rueful half smile on his lips.
    "Geordi, whoever or whatever this 'answer' is, we
must tread carefully. If you wish to bring her aboard
the ship undetected, we need to find another way than
by disguising her. Disguises always carry the risk of
discovery. If that were to happen, how would you
explain it to the Ne'elatians? We can't afford a diplo-
matic incident."
      "Well, she won't be able to speak to anyone from
Starfleet while she's here," Geordi maintained.
  "Except you," Troi stated.
    Geordi agreed without saying a word. "If I speak
with her, I can pass on what she tells me, but the
Orakisans will want to hear this straight from the
original source before they'll believe it."
    "Ambassador Lelys would take your word as a
Starfleet officer."
    A breeze stirred the branches overhead, casting a
network of shadows over Geordi's face. "She's not the
one I'm worried about."
    It took no psionic gift to realize who Geordi meant.
"Legate Valdor."
    "You were there, you heard him. If that man
doesn't have an ax to grind--"
    "Legate Valdor is significantly older than Ambassa-
dor Lelys," Troi said. "Despite this, she has surpassed
him as a diplomat and is his superior. He resents
being obliged to obey someone young enough to be
his daughter. Aside from that, I believe he senses that
his son, Hara'el, is attracted to the ambassador and
views this as disloyalty."
    "Okay, then he's got a whole lot of axes," Geordi
opined. "All the more reason to have him hear the
real story about this world firsthand."
    "I agree." Troi thought it over, then said, "I have
it!"
  "What?"
    "This will only work if she is familiar with the
palace."
  "She is."
    "Good. Then have her meet you at the northeast
corner of the grounds, at a place called Bi'amma's
Tower. One of our Ne'elatian hosts has been serving
as my guide; he showed it to me earlier today. We only
viewed it from a distance. No one actually goes to
visit it. My guide told me that the structure is old and
unstable, but allowed to remain unmolested as a
historical monument. That whole sector of the
grounds belongs to the first foundation of the palace."
    "You're assuming that I'll be able to find my way
there too," Geordi said.
    "Easily. The old walls surrounding it are no more
than scattered heaps of stone, and the tower itself is
clearly visible. You can reach it without needing to go
through the palace itself, and," she smiled impishly,
"you will not need to ask directions."
    "Don't be afraid," Captain Picard said, standing
behind one of the chairs in the conference room and
motioning for the girl to take a seat there. "You're
perfectly safe here."
    Geordi looked down at the shivering body pressed
tightly against his own. "It's all right, Ma'adrys," he
whispered. "We're all your friends. Nothing's going to
happen to you." Then, scarcely understanding why
the words escaped him, he added, "I won't let it."
    The girl slowly unburied her face from Geordi's
shoulder and looked around the room. Her gaze
passed over those faces already familiar to her from
the palace--the captain, Troi, Riker, Lelys--lingered
somewhat longer over those new to her--Dr. Crush-
er, Data, Valdor, Hara'el--and came to a dead, eye-
popping halt at Lt. Worf.
    "What is that?" she demanded of Geordi, stepping
out of his embrace to point at the Klingon. Oddly, she
sounded more indignant than afraid. Worfs expres-
sion at being the object of such a rude question was
unreadable.
    Geordi made haste to answer her question and to
complete the introductions. By the time he finished,
she had recovered full self-possession and had taken
the seat Captain Picard offered her. Her eyes were
wide with a lively interest in all the new and alien
things surrounding her, and she met the curious looks
of the others with a steady, unflinching gaze.
    "So, Ma'adrys," Captain Picard said. "Have you
been told where you are?"
    "When I met Geordi at the tower, he told me where
I would be taken," the girl replied calmly. "I did not
believe him. The scroll of the trickster Yaro teaches
that the Lady of the Balances bore a son whose
destiny was to pour lies into one pan of his mother's
blessed scales and undo the peace of the world. He did
this by filling the world with his own children, whom
he sired on mortal women. Less than gods, the
children of Yaro envy us because we have been given
the good teachings that will one day bring back the
joys of Evramur to Iskir. So they use their beauty and
their lies to lead us away from the good teachings."
She shrugged. "In the tower, when Geordi told me
where he was going to take me, I assumed that I had
fallen in with one of Yaro's children, but then the light
came over us and it was too late to flee."  "And now?"
    She looked around the conference room a second
time, considering everything in it from the people to
the furnishings to the contours of the Lamechian
crystal flask and tumbler already set at her place
through someone's thoughtfulness. "Now I am still
not sure. When we first had word of your coming to
holy Evramur, our teachers told us that you were the
starlords, the children of the Six Mothers and the
Three Fathers--although when I was small, I never
heard of the Three Fathers." She made a small,
dismissive gesture. "All teachings are perfect only in
holy Evramur."
    "What is this Evramur you keep mentioning?" the
captain asked.
    "It's her word for paradise," Geordi cut in. "It's
also her word for Ne'elat. The same way Iskir's her
name for Ashkaar," he finished grimly.
    "She is from Ashkaar?" Hara'el half rose from his
place at this news. "How did she escape?"
  "She didn't," Geordi said. "She was taken."
    Valdor studied the girl closely. "She does not look
like a criminal, not a dangerous one."
    "Now I suppose you will say she must be a soldier,"
Lelys remarked.
    The legate snorted. "What I was going to say is that
not all dangerous criminals look the part. Also, that
perhaps Ashkaar serves our Ne'elatian brethren in a
third role as a haven for disordered minds. See, she
does not even know the proper name for her world!"
    "That's hardly a gauge of mental health," Dr.
Crusher said. "The natives of a place don't use the
same name for their home that vistors do--or in-
vaders."
    "Do you mean to say that there were native life-
forms on Ashkaar when the Skerrian colonists first
arrived?" Commander Riker asked.
    "If there were, this girl isn't one of them," Dr.
Crusher replied. "Look at her: She's the image of the
Ne'elatians."
    "Let her speak," Geordi said. He had taken up a
defensive position behind her chair and now he
placed one hand on her shoulder. "Tell them what you
told me, Ma'adrys."
    She looked up at him for a moment before begin-
ning her story. There was no longer any awe or
uncertainty in her eyes, but only the purest trust. Her
smile rivalled Ambassador Lelys's for its power to
charm any who saw it. She reached up to touch his
hand as if it were some talisman, then spoke.
    "My name is Ma'adrys of Kare'al village. My
people like to brag that there is no settlement built
higher up the flanks of the holy mountain than ours,
for we guard the shrine of the Six Mothers at its peak.
My father was a man of the village, dead before I was
born. My mother came from beyond our mountains
and died giving me life. I was raised by the village--
mostly by old Mother Se'ar the deathspeaker."
    A slight cough interrupted her story. Geordi has-
tened to pour her a little water from the crystal flask.
She sniffed it suspiciously, sipped, then continued:
"When I was growing up, I was always curious. I
wanted to know why the village men who went into
the lowland towns came back sick with the dry cough
that killed their children but left them alive. ! wanted
to learn why the winter fevers never seemed to gather
as many spirits for holy Evramur as the spring ones.
Whenever anyone would come to ask Mother Se'ar to
tell them whether their sick kindred would die, I went
along and watched. I saw how there were always
certain signs on the bodies of those poor folk she said
would depart, and that when the same signs were on
the bodies of the rich, they too departed even though
Mother Se'ar claimed they would live. When I spoke
to her of this, she beat me and told me I was wanting
in reverence."
    "Or ready for med school," Dr. Crusher said under
her breath.
    "She was right," Ma'adrys said. "I was flawed in
spirit and it shamed me. More than anything, I
wanted to become an oberyin, to enter the closed
teachings, but when I was old enough for the judging
and the choosing, our own oberyin, Bilik, said that
my pride had made me an unfit vessel, ready to
shatter and spill the precious teachings." She bowed
her head, every eye in the conference room fixed upon
her. "And I proved him right then and there by
accusing him of making a false judgment against me
for his own ends."
    Riker leaned nearer to Dr. Crusher. "Nice guy, this
Bilik."
"What is an oberyin?" Captain Picard asked.
"They are our healers, our teachers, our guides to
the good teachings," Ma'adrys answered. "Each vil-
lage has at least one, and the larger settlements boast
more. They offer the burning leaves, they bless the
fields, the forges, and the kilns, they know the secret
thoughts of water, wind, and fire, and they help us to
walk with the gods."
    "They almost sound like shamans," Dr. Crusher
remarked.
    "It takes long years of study to become an oberyin,"
Ma'adrys went on. This time she was the one to pour
herself a fresh drink and downed it without hesita-
tion. "First, of course, you must come to the notice of
your village oberyin and be found worthy. Sometimes
the choosing comes to you before you know your own
wishes. Bilik is only a little older than I, because he
was only six years old when he was chosen. He never
had to ask for the honor, or be rejected." She sounded
bitter, but quickly realized this and changed her tone
to one of businesslike indifference. "I do not know
how many of them there are in all the settled lands of
Iskir, but I do know that the seat of the Na'am-
Oberyin lies less than a day's journey from Kare'al."
She could not help sounding proud of this.
    "Is the Na'amOberyin their leader?" Commander
Riker wanted to know.
    Ma'adrys looked at him as if he had sprouted
antlers. "How can one alone lead?" she replied. "That
goes against the good teachings. Not even the Lady of
the Balances rules without taking counsel of her
kindred, and who are we to act against the example of
the gods themselves? The Na'amOberyin is a council
of those nine oberyin who hold the highest favor with
the gods."
    Captain Picard nodded. "I see. Go on with your
own story, please."
    Ma'adrys spread her hands. "There is little more to
tell. After I was found unworthy of the high studies,
my life went on as it had before. That is--" She
seemed to be on the point of revealing something, but
then she blushed and said, "Yes, exactly as before. I
lived in the house that had belonged to my father, and
to my mother after he took her in and came to make
her his wife. It was not very big or very solid, but it
was mine. Mostly, though, I stayed with Mother Se'ar,
helping her, sometimes helping our village herbwife,
La'akel. I was unworthy of the closed teachings, but
nothing forbade me to learn what I could elsewhere.
La'akel said that I had good hands for birthings, and
she praised the blend of herbal tea I made to ease a
laboring mother's pain. It was my own invention. I
also found that if you boil the root of the n'shash
plant and mix it with new milk, it helps wounds heal
fast and clean."
    "N'shash?" Ambassador Lelys was all attention.
She produced a small datapad, tapped out a rapid
sequence on the keys, and shoved it in front of
Ma'adrys. "Does it look like this?"
    Ma'adrys drew back from the datapad until Geordi
leaned over her shoulder to whisper a few words of
reassurance. The silence in the conference room be-
came a living presence while the girl studied the
picture of a sample of n'vashal in full bloom. All that
could be heard was the soft hum of the great starship's
systems, the breath of the Enterprise. At last she shook
her head. "Nothing like it. N'shash is a weed that
grows beside our mountain streams. It has no blos-
soms. In fact, I have never seen any plant like this
one." She gazed at Lelys closely. "Why do you ask?"
    "Never mind." The Orakisan ambassador retrieved
her datapad, doing her best to hide her disappoint-
ment.
    Geordi felt Ma'adrys' shoulder stiffen under his
hand. "Do you test me too, starlords?" Her voice was
tense with resentment. "Do you, too, brush aside my
questions to teach me humility? Have I failed again
by seeking to learn too much? I know I am far from
perfect; I am too curious. My teachers often warn me
of this. They say it would be a shame if I could not
master the prying spirit when that is my one remain-
ing flaw."
    "I wouldn't call healthy curiosity a flaw," Dr.
Crusher said.
    "Who are these teachers of yours, Ma'adrys?"
Geordi asked quietly. This was a part of her story he
had not yet heard.
    "The blessed ones who teach all those like me in
Evramur."
    "What do you mean, all those like you?" Captain
Picard leaned forward, intent on her answer.
    "You ask this?" She was only a little surprised. "So
it is a test. Very well, since that is your pleasure,
starlord. The others like me who were brought there,
flesh and spirit. See, we all wear the green robes, to set
us apart from the sacred guardians. It is a great boon,
to be taken into Evramur while still alive, but it is also
a great burden. Although we walk the holy streets and
see many wonders, we may not behold the faces of our
loved ones who came there before us until we have
cast off the final imperfections clinging to our
bodies."
 "What nonsense!" Valdor exclaimed.
    "Legate Valdor, if you will not restrain your tongue
out of simple courtesy for another's beliefs, then keep
silent on my orders," Ambassador Lelys said through
gritted teeth. Her colleague gave her a poisonous look,
but shut his mouth. She turned a pleasant face to
Ma'adrys and said, "You are mistaken, child. We do
not test you and we are not the starlords of your
people's tales. Look about you again. Can you not see
that we spring from many worlds?"
    Ma'adrys once more took in the different faces
ringing the table. "Yeeeesss," she said cautiously.
"And Geordi told me what--who that is and where
he comes from." She nodded in Lt. Worfs direction.
"Many worlds." She pressed the dove-sign to her
chest and bowed to Lelys. "Forgive me. All my life I
was raised to believe that there was only one world,
Iskir, and the holy realm of Evramur, and the star
road of the gods. It is not easy to change the teachings
of a lifetime."
  "Think no more of it," Lelys soothed.
    "Please, Ma'adrys, tell them the rest of your story,"
Geordi said.
    Was it his imagination or was her smile even
warmer now? Geordi felt his heart leap. She was so
beautiful, with a keen, quick mind. As for what she
believed... It doesn't matter, he thought. Whatever
she believes--whatever lies she's been told none of
that matter& Not so long as she knows that I wouM
never lie to her.
    She was speaking again, repeating the same tale
she'd told him earlier, in the palace, in the abandoned
tower: "When Mother Se'ar lay dying, I went to gather
dawnsweets to freshen her house. I climbed the moun-
tain where Avren pastures his flocks, seeking the
flowers, but when I had gathered enough for my needs
there was suddenly a great light all around me, and a
shining messenger stepped out of the light to tell me
that I had been called to holy Evramur. Then he cast a
handful of glittering dust over me and I fell into a
deep sleep. When I awoke, a great lady was bending
over me. She told me that for my virtues I had been
lifted up, flesh and spirit, into Evramur."
    "And you believed this?" �aldor rapped out
harshly, in spite of Lelys's orders for him to keep
silent.
    Ma'adrys regarded him serenely. "Of course not.
How could I? I knew I was not worthy of that highest
blessing. I said so to the lady, but she only laughed
and told me that if I had believed myself worthy to
enter Evramur, I would still be picking flowers in
Avren's meadow."
    "Ma'adrys, you know that this is not Evramur,
don't you?" Captain Picard asked, indicating the
conference room and the wall surrounding it.
    "Oh yes," the girl responded without hesitation.
"Geordi told me that he was going to bring me aboard
a starship. I was not afraid. In Evramur I often saw
pictures of such things. Our teachers told us that they
were the way that the gods brought their children
safely to Iskir when Yaro tried to destroy them." She
paused in thought a moment, then added: "But
Geordi told me that you are not gods, and you tell me
that you are not starlords. You are like me. How, then,
do you come to master such a ship?"
    "I think perhaps that Geordi--Mr. LaForge--
might be the best person to explain that to you," the
captain said with a friendly smile. "Mr. LaForge, why
don't you show our new guest around the Enterprise?
Just a brief tour. It wouldn't do to detain her here too
long. She'll be missed."
    "Yes, sir!" Geordi could hardly contain his enthusi-
astic response to the captain's orders. He gave
Ma'adrys his hand, though the gesture was unneces-
sary, and led her out of the room. She went with him
gladly, only pausing at the door to turn and make a
deep obeisance to the others. Then, with a final,
inquisitive stare at Lt. Worf, she left.
    Commander Riker laid his hands on the table.
"Well, that answers my questions about the
Ne'elatians' honesty," he said. "They lied to us about
Ashkaar, for starters. As for Ma'adrys, why they went
to the trouble of kidnapping her from her own world
and letting her believe she'd been transported to her
idea of heaven--"
    "So she says," Valdor broke in. "You yourself admit
you can see no reason for our Ne'elatian kindred to
do such a thing. Why should they? The girl is igno-
rant, worthless, the expense of bringing her to Ne'elat
is considerable. Why do it?"
    "Then how would you explain her story, Legate
Valdor?" Dr. Crusher asked.
    "She must be insane," the Orakisan answered, his
tone implying that he would accept no other explana-
tion.
"She didn't strike me as irrational," the doctor said.
"Then she is a very clever liar."
"To what purpose, Legate Valdor?" Captain Picard
said. "What does she gain by such a story?"
    "What would the Ne'elatians gain by lying to us
about Ashkaar?" the Orakisan countered smugly.
    "Mr. Data, what's your opinion of the situation?"
Captain Picard asked.
    "I could not give a satifactory analysis at this
point," the android replied. "There are still too few
facts available to make a reliable evaluation."
    "Then we will obtain the facts." Captain Picard
rose from his seat. "Dr. Crusher, go after Mr. La
Forge and the girl. Offer to show her sickbay and give
her a covert examination. If she is from Ashkaar, I
want to know what sort of life-form we're dealing
with."
    "A very fascinating one, judging by Geordi's behav-
ior," Riker murmured to Dr. Crusher. She gave him
one of those 1ooks~ then crisply acknowledged Captain
Picard's order and left.
    "Commander Riker, I want you to assemble a small
Away ~Ieam and beam down to the surface of Ash-
kaar," Picard continued. "Find the village Ma'adrys
comes from and make inquiries--if there is such a
village."
    "Yes, sir." Riker, too, rose to his feet. "I'd like to
take Mr. Data and Counsellor Troi in order to--"
    He was interrupted by a signal from the captain's
communicator. Ensign Blumberg's voice rang out in
the conference room: "A message from Udar Kishrit,
sir."
 "Put it through."
    Now the room filled with the Ne'elatian leader's
plummy tones. "Captain Picard, I apologize for this
intrusion. I was under the impression that you and
our Orakisan brethren were still among us." He
sounded slightly annoyed by this. "I have news for
you."
    "News?" Ambassador Lelys took notice. "You have
found n'vashal!"
    "All, Ambassador!" Udar Kishrit's voice changed;
even without visual contact it was almost possible to
see his sorrowful face. "How I wish--how I pray I
might say that?
    "No." Lelys made a gesture of rejection, refusing to
accept the words that dashed all her hopes. "There
must be some mistake. Your world is not fully settled.
There are parts of it that you can not possibly know."
Her voice rose with her mounting desperation. "I
ask--I beg of you, allow Captain Picard to deploy
Federation technology to explore every last--"
    "My dear, dear Ambassador Lelys, to what good?"
Udar Kishrit asked, all polite regret. "True, our world
is not thickly settled, our knowledge of the native
plant life is far from complete, but that fact has no
bearing on this. N'vashal came here with our ances-
tors. It would not grow anywhere that they did not
plant it, and they could not plant it anywhere that
they did not settle."
    "With respect, Udar Kishrit, you may be mistak-
en," Captain Picard said. "On Earth, the seeds of
many plants are frequently carried to most remote
locations by wind, water, animals--"
    "Carried, yes, Captain Picard. I do not doubt you.
But do they always take root, sprout, thrive? If we
have not found any n'vashal in all our gardens and
ploughlands, or even in the wild places near our
settlements, can we honestly hope to find it growing
freely elsewhere? This is not a gentle world, Captain;
we occupy only the most favorable portions of it. If
the seeds of our ancestors' n'vashal plantings ever did
blow far from here, much as it pains my heart to say
so, I do not think they could have survived. That
is--" A reflective note came into his voice. The
conference room stilled while Udar Kishrit pondered
a wayward thought. Then: "Ah!"
    "What is it?" Lelys clung to the edge of the table as
if to a life raft in a stormy sea. "Tell us!"
    "A chance," Udar Kishrit said. "How good a
chance it may be..."
    "Better than no chance at all. Go on," Captain
Picard directed.
    "The gardens," Udar Kishrit said. "The gardens of
Bovridash. Captain Picard, your ship has scanned our
world, you have seen the mountain chain to the north
of our capital?"
  "Far to the north, yes."
    "When our ancestors left the motherworld, they
came here seeking a simpler life, as you know. Alas,
the demands of our climate led most of us to sacrifice
simplicity in favor of the more comfortable means of
survival. However, once we were well established on
this world, there were some among us who decided
that they wanted to serve our ancestors' original
dream. They went into the mountains and there
founded the community called Bovridash. It is actu-
ally composed of several small enclaves, each dedi-
cated to simplicity and the service of the gods. The
men and women who choose to live there have
dedicated their lives to the preservation of much that
we have set aside as no longer useful. They are our
living history, and proud of it. Their gardens boast
many plants found nowhere else on Ne'elat. I am a
fool for not having thought of this before, and yet it
would not have done much good if I had thought of
it."
 "Why not?"
    "Because as I said, the keepers of Bovridash are
proud of their achievements. They turn from those of
us who lack the strength of spirit to renew our
ancestors' dream. They receive no requests or peti-
tions at second hand. They demand that anyone
desiring their aid come before them in person so that
their virtue may be judged according to the ancient
practices."
    "Then I will go to them at once," Ambassador
Lelys declared.
    This time Udar Kishrit's silence was awkward to
the point of pain.
 "Well?" Lelys demanded. "What is wrong?"
    "The keepers--the keepers of Bovridash will only
accept petitions from the highest. Forgive me, Ambas-
sador, but if you go before them, they will shut their
faces against you."
    "Why? I am the senior official of our embassy
here!"
    "But your presence here depends on the Starfleet
vessel that brought you, and you are not that vessel's
senior official."
    For the first time, Legate Valdor took umbrage for
Lelys rather than against her. "Hmph! And how are
they to know that, tucked away in their mountain
retreat? If Ambassador Lelys tells them she is the
master of this ship, how could they learn otherwise?"
 Udar Kishrit's voice dropped. "The keepers of
Bovridash who preserve our past are always informed
of great events, for the chronicles. As soon as we
established contact with you, we sent word to them. It
would be both rude and foolish to attempt to deceive
them now."
    "There's no need for any deceit," Captain Picard
said. "If my presence is needed to secure the keepers'
cooperation, then I'll go gladly."
    "May you be blessed, Captain Picard!" Udar Kish-
rit fairly sang with relief. "It is not an easy road to
Bovridash, but we will supply you with everything
you might need for the journey."
    "That won't be necessary, Udar Kishrit. Our trans-
porters are quite capable of--"
    "Oh, but you must not use those! It would offend
the keepers. Your transporters may leave you at the
Namlal Gate that begins the pilgrim's way, but from
there I am afraid that you must travel according to the
customs of all petitioners."  "Then so I shall."
  "And so shall I," Ambassador Lelys said.
    "Er," A distant sigh fluttered through the room
before Udar Kishrit said, "Perhaps it might be better
if one of your colleagues accompanied Captain Pi-
card, honored Ambassador. You see, when one takes
the pilgrim's way, it is not accepted custom for males
and females to travel togeth--"
    "Very well, very well, let it be according to your
customs." Lelys looked at her legate. "Valdor, will it
please you to accept--"
    "Ambassador Lelys, please, do not send my fa-
ther!" Hara'el's unexpected exclamation took every-
one by surprise. The younger Orakisan male blushed
at the sudden attention he had drawn to himself, but
went on doggedly, "If the road to Bovridash is as
rigorous as Udar Kishrit claims, I am the better suited
to stand its hardships." He cast a nervous glance at
the stone-faced legate and added: "That is, if you do
not mind, Father."
    "Mind?" Valdor repeated. "Why should I mind? If
these keepers would insult us by refusing to receive
our senior official, then we ought to send them you."
    "Uh, thank you, Father." Hara'el sounded as if he
were not entirely sure whether he had just been
praised or slapped.
    "Excellent, excellent!" Udar Kishrit exclaimed. "I
will dispatch messengers to Bovridash at once, Cap-
tain Picard, so that you may receive the finest of
welcomes. And of course you know that our invita-
tion to your crew still stands."
    "Thank you, Udar Kishrit. They have been enjoy-
ing your hospitality. We are grateful. Picard out." He
cut off communication with the Ne'elatian leader,
then addressed Ambassador Lelys: "I hope that
you're not too upset by these developments?"
    "Rest assured, Captain Picard, if it meant the
difference between the success and failure of our
mission, I would allow these Ne'elatians to do far
worse to me than a simple snub. Besides," she looked
at the three members of the Away Team, "I am sure
that while you and Hara'el are looking after our
interests on Ne'elat, I can find something equally
important to occupy my time."

Chapter Six

"Do you THINK that is Ma'adrys's native village?"
Ambassador Lelys asked as the Away Team trudged
up the steep mountain road.
    "The possibility is excellent, based on the informa-
tion she gave us," Mr. Data replied. "This mountain
range lies in the heart of the settled areas on Ashkaar,
this peak in particular is the tallest, and the village we
are now approaching is the settlement closest to the
summit. There would also appear to be a modest
complex of buildings located even higher up the
mountain, which most likely form the shrine of which
Ma'adrys spoke."
    "At least she is no liar," Ambassador Lelys said
bitterly. "Prisons! Military bases! Those Ne'elatians
must have taken us all for fools. When they apply for
membership in the Federation, I will make it a point
to be there to warn our fellow members against
them."
    "With all due respect, Ambassador, there may be a
perfectly legitimate reason for why the Ne'elatians
tried to mislead us about life on Ashkaar," RAker
pointed out.
 "I do not see what it could be."
    "Nor do I, yet. Whatever it is, it is something we all
hope to learn, in time," Counsellor Troi told her. "But
be aware that even after we discover it, we still might
not be able to understand it."
 "How could we fail to understand?"
    "Often the motivations of an alien culture are not
fully--"
    "Alien culture? That is no alien culture! Ne'elat is
our sisterworld!"
    "A long-lost sister, in terms of time as well as
space," Troi said. "Both are factors that can change
much about a people."
    "Some things are too much a part of us to change.
There is nothing Orakisans despise so much as de-
ceit," Lelys said hotly.
    "And yet was that so for Skerrians as well, or did
your ancestors only come to hate lies so violently
because they had escaped a world that tolerated them,
to its ruin?"
    Lelys pulled her travellet's cape closer around her
neck. "I do not pretend to know all there is to know
about our motherworld's history, and now much of it
is lost to us forever. I must be more concerned with
the present, and that means finding help for our
Reclamation colonists. Lies will not help them."
    "Then let's hope we can find the truth there," RAker
said, nodding toward the village. He stuck out his
hand, inspecting the tint that had colored his skin to
match Ma'adrys's. "Do you think I'll pass for a
native?"
 "The resemblance is remarkable, on a superficial
 level," Mr. Data said.
"Superficial? Oh now that's what we need to hear."
"You are displeased by my evaluation?" The an-
droid looked bemused. "I was referring to the fact
that the lenses we are wearing may simulate the
enlarged irises of the natives' eyes, but the size of the
artificial iris is fixed. It can not adjust to reflect
emotional changes, which is a reaction we have ob-
served to occur in all Skerrian descendents. I do not
think that this will be a problem unless the natives pay
close attention to such details. However if my evalua-
tion of the situation distresses you, Commander,
perhaps I should attempt to dissemble, for the benefit
of morale."
    "No, Data, don't do that. I think we've got all the
lies we can handle right now." Riker got a firmer grasp
on his walking stick and looked up the road. A young
man in a much-soiled tunic was coming down the
same path, preceded by a small herd of animals that
resembled Earth sheep. "On your toes, everyone, here
comes our first audience."

    "Honored guests, the rooms are pleasing to you?"
The innkeeper of the only public accommodations in
Kare'al village rubbed his hands together and beamed
at his newly arrived customers.
    Commander Riker looked up at the slivers of sky
visible through the thatched roof, then down at the
single, sagging bed, the water bucket beside the rick-
ety table holding the washbasin, and the empty bucket
in the corner that was all the room's provision for a
guest's basic needs. Troi and Lelys were already
installed in a similarly appointed chamber at the
other end of the narrow, unlit hall that ran the length
of the inn's upper story. He looked at the innkeeper
and smiled.
 "We couldn't ask for more."
     "Good, good, and I trust that you will also find our
evening meal just as pleasing." "We can hardly wait."
    The innkeeper bustled away, thumping down the
stairway that was little more than a thick ladder
nailed to the wall at a slant. As soon as he was gone,
Riker and Data joined the women in their room.
    "Chalk up another success," Riker reported. "Our
friend the innkeeper had no trouble accepting us for
pilgrims to the shrine."
    "Let us hope that the other villagers will do like-
wise," Ambassador Lelys said. "Back on the road, I
was very much afraid that all our plans were de-
stroyed before they were even begun. That shepherd!
The way he stared at us! And how he stood there
gaping when we asked the way to the shrine of the Six
Mothers, as if he had never heard of such a thing!"
    "There was something peculiar about him," Troi
admitted. "It was as if his mind could not hold on to
our questions long enough to answer them."
    "Strange," said Mr. Data. "My initial reaction was
that he suffered from some advanced form of short-
term memory loss. I have never seen so radical an
example of the affliction. And yet he was just as
obviously holding down a position of responsibility
within his community. He must take good care of his
flock, despite all indications to the contrary, or he
would not have them in his charge at all."
    "Maybe he's not the only one who minds that
flock," Riker suggested. "He could have help, human-
oid or animal, whatever's the local version of a
sheepdog. We just didn't happen to run into his
 partner, that's all." He shrugged. "In any case, we'd
 do better to forget about him and find some villagers
 who can confirm or deny Ma'adrys's story."
     "At least we know that this is her village," Troi said.
 "That is a good start. Let us go downstairs and have
 our evening meal in the taproom. I think we will find
 plenty of the local people there seeking diversion."
     "If they want diversion, we'll give it to them," Riker
 said with a grin. "New faces in a village always do."
    It was as if he'd been granted the gift of prophecy.
The village inn was also the village tavern, the local
magnet for as many work-weary souls as could pay the
price of a drink. There were already several groups of
people occupying the long plank tables in the low-
ceiled, smoky room when Riker and the others came
downstairs.
    He observed the locals carefully before allowing his
party to seat themselves at a vacant table near the
great stone hearth. If men and women on this world
would sooner die than eat or drink in each other's
company, he wouldn't let his teammates reveal them-
selves as interlopers over such an easily determined
detail. He was intensely aware of how little they knew
about the social customs of Ashkaar. All he had to go
on were the facts he knew concerning Orakisan eti-
quette, but he knew better than to rely on using that as
a guide.
    He let out a deep sigh of relief when he finally sank
down onto the hard, split-log bench and noted that
while the locals were slyly studying the newcomers, no
one was gasl~ing, pointing, or muttering in that threat-
ening key that was usually the prolog to many an
Away Team's quick escape via transporter beam. Two
of the younger men present were even smiling, al-
though their friendly overtures were aimed specifi-
cally at Troi and Lelys.
    The Away Team was halfway through their
dinner--a simple but filling meal of bread, soup, a
few slices of well-roasted meat, and some unidentiff-
able root vegetables boiled almost to mush--when
the two would-be swains gathered up their courage
and came over to the table. They stood there awk-
wardly, swaying from side to side like sailors trying to
keep their footing on a storm-tossed deck, until one of
them found his voice.
    "Good evenin', friend," he said, trying to pretend
he was interested in talking to Commander Riker.
"New to Kare'al, are you?"
    Lelys and Troi kept silent. If this young man chose
to speak to Riker ffrst--no matter what his actual
desires were--it could mean that local women were
expected to wait for a male to invite them to join the
conversation.
    Or it could simply mean that this boy is too terrified
of women to risk talking to one, Riker mused.
    "Yes, we only just arrived here this afternoon," the
commander replied affably. He shifted over on the
bench so that the young men could join the table, if
they wished. He didn't have to urge them. They slid
their long legs under the boards in a wink and
promptly made themselves the life of the party.
    "Hoi, Sekol!" the taller of the two called out to the
innkeeper. "Bring us all a pitcher of the old ale, here,
the good stuff. Not every day we have visitors, not in
this season. I'll pay." He leaned over to Mr. Data and
said, "Too early for the shearing, too late for the
hides, and not a single trader's pack beast with you
anyway. What does bring you up our mountain? If you
don't mind my asking."
  "Not at all," Data replied. "Feet."
     "Feet?" The young man's puzzlement broke into a
 loud, raw laugh. He gave the android a hearty slap on
 the back that didn't budge him an inch. "Feet! That's
 a good one! Then if it's a trek you've made of it, you
 needn't say anything more. No shepherds in my
 family, eh, Misik?" He raised one hand, thumb and
 ring-finger touching. It had to be the Ashkaarian
 equivalent of a knowing wink, for his companion
 made the same sign back at him.
     "None at all, V'kal, none at all. So you're pilgrims,
 then?" He began by aiming the question at Lelys but
 lost heart and wound up asking it of Riker.
     "Pilgrims to the shrine, yes," the commander re-
 plied, doing his best not to smile at the shy lads'
 bumbling and fully stalled attempt at flirtation.
   "Which one?"
  V'kal's inquiry took Riker by surprise. "Which--?"
    "We are going to the shrine of the Six Mothers,"
Lelys said demurely. "We know of no other."
    "Oh." V'kal swallowed hard, several times, before
he found his tongue again. "Oh, well, you wouldn't.
Not if you're not from the mountains. And even then,
if you've come any great way."
    "No, that's not right to say, V'kal." Clearly Misik
didn't like to see his friend attracting all the attention,
even though he was doing it so ineptly. "Word went to
the Na'amOberyin the day it happened, sent by our
Bilik his own self, and word came back sanctifying it
not two weeks later. Wherever our vistors come from,
might be their own oberyin brought them word of our
great blessing. Is that what happened, friend?" Like
his companion, Misik tried to address Troi, failed in
short order, and wound up talking to Data.
  "Undoubtedly," Data replied.
    "You know, it really would be best--more sacred,
some might say--if V'kal and I were the ones to guide
you there." Misik lowered his voice, speaking in tones
that were meant to be reverent and dignified but that
came out sounding merely pretentious. "See, every-
one in Kare'al knows that her father was V'kal's third
cousin's brother-in-law, on his stepmother's side."
    "Really?" Riker smiled. "In that case, it would
honor us if you would consent to be our guides. That
is, if it wouldn't be an imposition?"
    "Oh none! None at all!" Misik and V'kal were
falling all over each other, like puppies, in their
eagerness to impress the ladies with their gallantry.
Both spoke at once, a flood of chatter that made it
impossible for the Away Team to distinguish who was
saying what. "The honor'd be ours, friend. Wouldn't
it, Misik?--Oh yes, without doubt, �'kal. Bringing
the first pilgrims to her shrine, but the ground up that
end the village street's rough going, it wouldn't do to
let such fine ladies venture there alone, twist an ankle.
Terrible, that'd be, eh V'kal?--Oh, not to bear think-
ing of, Misik!mAnd then we could escort you on to
the Six Mothers, no trouble, an honor, tomorrow
morning be all right?"
    The young men finally ran out of steam and sat
there grinning. As solemnly as he could manage,
Commander Riker thanked them and accepted their
gracious offer.
    The next morning, before daylight had banished all
the last night's shadows from the streets of Kare'al,
Riker was roused from sleep by the innkeeper's sum-
mons. Sekol came into the room bearing a jug of hot
water in one hand, a tray laden with small bowls of
fresh milk and a platter of steaming rolls in the other.
    "They're here for you, sir," he said, setting down
his burdens on the one small table. "The fellows from
last night, Misik and V'kal. Nice boys, they are, good
family, not well-to-do but well meaning."
  Riker sat up in bed. Beside him, Mr. Data contin-
ued to feign sleep. "Well, isn't that always the better
of the two?" he remarked pleasantly. "My friends and
I were just saying last night, before we retired, that
one of the best benefits of making a pilgrimage--
besides the spiritual, of course--is getting to meet
new people."
    "Your friends, honored sir?" The innkeeper
coughed discreetly into his fist. "Then the ladies are
no kin to you by blood or marriage?"
    I never thought I'd actually say this to anyone, Riker
thought. "We're just good friends." A moment later,
he felt like giving himself a good, swift kick for not
having taken the opening Sekot had offered and
claiming the women as distant cousins. He said a
silent prayer that the Ashkaarians wouldn't consider
their travel arrangements to be scandalous or--worse
yet--suspicious.
    "Ahhh." Judging by Sekol's placid reaction, there
was nothing unusual or improper about mixed-sex
groups of pilgrims with no ties beyond simple com-
panionship. Either the Ashkaarians in general as-
sumed that the sacred nature of such excursions
would keep the pilgrims' minds on holy things, or else
the innkeeper in particular had decided that it
wouldn't be smart to antagonize his paying guests by
questioning their morals.
    Riker swung his feet to the floor. "Speaking of the
ladies, have they been woken up too? If not, someone
ought to do it. It wouldn't be polite to keep our guides
waiting downstairs."
    "That's been seen to, good sir," Sekol reassured
him. "I had my little girl Shisha bring 'em their
breakfast and all they'll need for the morning rites."
He sniffed the air and smiled with satisfaction. "There
they go."
    Riker sniffed too. The pungent aroma of spicy,
bitter smoke reached him. Morning rites, he thought
uneasily. It smells like they're burning incense in the
other room. Are Data and I supposed to be doing
something like that too? He glanced at the table.
Nothing there but wash water and breakfast, nothing
for us to use in any kind of ritual. I hope. Unless we're
supposed to do something with the milk and bread. He
saw that the innkeeper wasn't making any attempt to
leave--was in fact deliberately loitering, his eyes fixed
on Riker. Is he waiting for me to do something? What?
Uh-oh. All right, let g stay calm. If he calls me on this, I
can always explain that we do things differently in the
lowlands. If he buys that--
    Purposefully, Riker got up and walked over to the
breakfast tray. He raised one bowl of milk in what he
hoped looked like a reverent manner, and let a few
drops fall to the ground.
    "Oh, let me see to that, sir!" The innkeeper
dropped to his knees, whipping a rag out of his apron
belt, and mopped up the spill quickly. "No harm
done, no harm at all."
    So much for that, Riker thought. He decided to take
the direct approach. "Is there something on your
mind, innkeeper?"
    "Well..." Sekol looked ill at ease. He stood there
twisting his apron in his large, square hands, then
coughed again and said, "I don't like to say, being as
how they are of good family and all, and it's only that
they're young and in high spirits. You must remember
what it's like, being young?"
    Remember what it's like? Oh, thanks a lot, Sekol,
Riker thought. Maybe I ought to get rid of this beard
after all. Aloud he asked, "Are you talking about
V'kal and Misik?"
    "They're good lads, truly," Sekol insisted. "Onlym
Well, even if the ladies aren't your kin, perhaps you
ought to let them know that no matter what those two
say, there's no holy decree that says only two folk may
enter Ma'adrys's shrine at a time, and that with the
door closed after 'em. And there's nothing yet been
laid down by the Na'amOberyin about the proper
rites for honoring her in her own shrine, so if they try
telling those good ladies the same fleece-mouthed
story they handed my younger sister about how a kiss
in Ma'adrys's shrine means a rich husband within the
year, just see to it that those rascals get a clout in the
ear for their pains!" The innkeeper gave one final
chuff of righteous indignation and barrelled out of the
room. Riker waited until he heard the man's footsteps
clumping down the stairs before he enjoyed a good
laugh.

    "He told you, eh?" V'kal scratched his head sheep-
ishly and toed the dirt outside the rundown hovel at
the uppermost edge of the village.
  "Can you blame him?" Riker said.
    "That bit with his sister, yeh." The two natives
nodded, looking more embarrassed by the minute.
Misik cleared his throat and asked, "S'pose it
wouldn't do to tell you that she was the one came up
with the whole story when he caught us up here?"
    Riker patted him on the back. "Why don't we say
no more about it, instead? I understand. I was young
myself, once." He caught the look Counsellor Troi
was giving him and shrugged.
    "This does not look like any of the shrines we have
seen in our travels," Troi said, stepping forward to
examine the humble structure.
 It was a hut like many others in the village, the
dwelling places of the poor. Sekol's ramshackle inn
was a palace next to those, and they in turn were
mansions when compared to this. It stood so far
removed from its nearest neighbor that it seemed as if
the very houses of Kare'al village had agreed tO shun
it for its poverty. And yet, though the daub walls were
so worn that their timber underpinnings were show-
ing through in many places, the beaten earth thresh-
old was strewn with flowers, cakes, clay images, and
even a few pieces of jewelry.
    "Oh, it don't look like much now, that's true,"
�'kal admitted. "But it will, in time. There's plans
made already to do proper honor to the saintly
Ma'adrys as soon as we've got the means to do it. It's
not every village has one of its own taken up, flesh and
spirit, to Evramur," he ended proudly. "Did you know her?" Lelys asked.
    "Know her?" Misik echoed. "Why, we grew up
together! All that time, and who would've thought it?
A saint for our playmate!"
    "A saint you pushed in the brook," V'kal reminded
him.
    Misik glowered at him. "And a saint you used to
call more thick witted than a shepherd!"
    "Friends, that doesn't matter now." Riker stepped
in to patch things up before it all degenerated into
pointless bickering. "I'm sure that she forgot about it
long ago."
    "So she would." Misik nodded vigorously. "She
could scarcely ascend to Evramur with a load of
resentment in her heart, and over trifles. Patience and
forgiveness, that's the best road to bliss, according to
the good teachings."
    "Kindness, too," V'kal put in. "No one kinder than
Ma'adrys, while she lived among us. Always helping
 Mother Se'ar, always there to help nurse anyone
 ailing, always with her eyes high. She should have
 been made an oberyin. Pardon me for saying so, but
 Bilik did wrong to prevent her, and there's not a soul
 in Kare'al but knows why he really did it."
  "Bilik?" Troi pretended ignorance to draw him out.
     "Our oberyin. He's got a house just a little ways
 down the road from here."
    "He was in love with her, that's what," Misik
declared. "He knew that if he let her become an
oberyin, she'd have to go off for the training. Then,
when she was done, the Na'amOberyin would send
her to care for some other village, who knows where?"
    "Yeh, they'd never let two trained oberyin live in a
village this small," V'kal said. "So he said she wasn't
good enough for the training, hoping that she'd stay
put and marry him instead. I guess he knows better
now! The gods will find their own."
  "May we enter the shrine?" Troi asked.
    "Please. Only not all at once." V'kal caught Riker's
warning look and grinned. "Only because it's so small
and cramped inside, that's why. You go on and look.
Misik and me, we'll wait out here."
    The interior of Ma'adrys's abandoned home was
even less prepossessing than the outside. There were
no windows and no chimneyed fireplace. A ring of
stones in the middle of the floor contained a shallow
layer of ashes. The smoke from any fire kindled in that
primitive hearth could only escape through the soot-
caked hole in the roof. The bed was nothing more
than a heap of straw stuffed into some coarse sacking.
A wooden chest against one wall displayed an ar-
rangement of crude clay figures surrounding what
looked like a small, round hand mirror.
 Mr. Data drew his fingers over the mirror's surface,
then over the top of the chest. He studied the dust
smearing his fingertips with close interest and began
to pick up and examine the items on the chest one by
one.
    "Nothing's been touched since she was taken,"
V'kal piped up from the doorway. "That's why it's all
so dirty in there. You mustn't think she kept it so.
Always neat, she was. My mother said that it was a
miracle she knew enough to keep a tidy house, grow-
ing up so wild as she--"
    A loud slap rang out and V'kal's face disappeared
from the doorway. "Don't you dare go spreading such
lies about me, you worthless creature!" The entrance
to Ma'adrys's hut filled with the stocky figure of a
formidable older woman. "I never said one thing
against holy Ma'adrys, so don't you try saying ! did!
Wasn't I always first to give her something decent to
wear? Didn't I feed her at our very table more times
than anyone?"
    She stopped ranting long enough to peep into the
hut and give the startled Away Team an ingratiating
smile. "Your pardon, honored visitors. I was just
looking for this ungrateful child of mine and Sekol
told me he'd come up here to show you the blessed
house where she once lived among us. I was so pleased
to hear that he was turning his mind to holy things, I
couldn't keep from following after to hear him speak
to you of Kare'al's saintly daughter."
    She glanced to one side, probably at her son, and
the sunny smile ducked behind a black cloud. "And
what do I hear? Blasphemy! Lies! Speaking ill of his
own mother at the very doorstep of her house!" Her
hand shot out of sight, but judging by V'kal's yelp of
pain she had him by the ear, at best. "Everyone knows
that Ma'adrys favors mothers, that even now she's
 laying all our prayers before the holy Six in Evramur.
 It's because her own mama was taken her from her at
 her birth."
     She let go of her wayward son and clasped her
 hands together, the image of piety. "Poor woman, she
 wasn't in her right mind. That's the only explanation
 any of us could find for the way she talked, denying
 the gods, clamoring for someone to take her to see the
 Na'amOberyin, spouting nonsense. Begging your par-
 don, but I'd wager that even in the lowlands you
 wouldn't allow such license."
  "Never." Counsellor Troi lowered her eyes.
    "Oh! Did such a blasphemer come from our low-
lands?" Ambassador Lelys looked devastated by the
possibility. "We are shamed." She grabbed Data's
hands away from the few pitiful objects atop the
wooden chest and exclaimed, "We must do something
to atone for it!"
    "There, there, dear, don't take it to heart." V'kal's
mother forced her way into the already crowded hut
and put her arms around Lelys. "There's no saying
where that poor woman came from. Stakis, that was
her name. One day she was simply here, in Kare'al,
dressed all peculiar and talking so very strange,
ordering us to take her to the Na'amOberyin. Their
holy place is only a day's journey from here, you
know," she preened.
    "Ordered you?" Lelys made a sound of disapprov-
al. "The very idea! I cannot speak for all the lowlands,
but in our village we do not conduct ourselves like
that."
    "Well, I never said you did." V'kal's mother sniffed
and pointedly released Lelys from her embrace. "All
we knew was that no self-respecting mountain woman
would act so, so we just assumed she was from
downslope, where the earth still shakes, sometimes.
They say that when that happens, there's great cracks
open up and evil vapors come out that leave people
touched in the head. Anyway, no one would help
her--we'd hardly go near her if we could avoid it--so
she took off, swearing she'd find her own way there.
Maybe she would've, too, if she hadn't taken a mis-
step on the road and broken her foot.
    "It was N'mar found her, him as became
Ma'adrys's father. He brought her back here, to his
own house, and looked after her when no one else
would, and listened to her ravings kindly. He was a
gentle spirit, and he healed her of most of her mad-
ness. When they were wed, she went through all the
rites just as quiet and biddable as if she'd been one of
our own. A shame he died without ever seeing his
daughter born. That was a hard winter; there was a lot
of sickness in the village, and not enough healthy
hands to bury the dead, let alone tend the ailing.
N'mar said he would go over the mountain to ask the
Na'amOberyin for aid, but his luck ran dry. He was
caught in a snowslide, poor fellow. I remember how
my good man heard the rumble and went out to see
and found N'mar with both his legs broke under him
but still with the living." She paused for breath and
sighed.
    "Mother, that's all ancient history," came V'kal's
thin protest from outside. "Our visitors don't care
about--"
    "HushY" his mother snapped. She looked Troi
steadily in the eye and said, "Would you have me tell
this through to the end or not? No offense taken if you
say no, I swear it by the Lady of the Balance."
    Counsellor Troi opened her mouth to answer. Of
course she would say yes. The information this wom-
an was giving both confirmed and supplemented what
they already knew, clear evidence that Ma'adrys had
not lied to them about her origins. Yet before she
could reply, she sensed a strange presence at the
borders of her mind, a faint but distinct force that
seemed to demand that she say: "We would love to
hear what you have to say more than anything."
  Now where did that come from? Troi mused.
  "There, you see?" V'kal's mother yelled trium-
  phantly out the door. Having settled her son's hash to
  her satisfaction, she resumed her tale. "They brought
  N'mar home and set his legs, but there was an unclean
  spirit got into his body--one of Yaro's cursed
  children--and no healing came. I've seen the like
  many times, too many times." She shook her head
  sadly. "Mother Se'ar was summoned. She took one
  look at the darkened flesh and said what all of us
  already knew. Death came soon after."
    "And Ma'drys's mother, Stakis, you say she died in
childbirth?" Lelys asked.
    "That she did," V'kal's mother said stoutly. "When
her man died, her madness was reborn. She raged at
everyone who'd listen, saying how he hadn't needed
to die of his hurt, how where she came from they had
the power to drive out the flesh-rot that took him. As
if that were possible! All Iskir knows that every scrap
of healing lore on this world is in the keeping of the
Na'amOberyin. When N'mar had his accident, anoth-
er man set out to finish his mercy errand and the
Mothers blessed him with success. He brought back
one of the Na'amOberyin who saw to the cure of our
village sickness but who couldn't do a thing for
N'mar. Later on, when Stakis died, there were some
who said that it was a judgment on her for blasphem-
ing the Balance, all that talk of how N'mar didn't
need to die when the gods had decided he must.
Hmph! A bunch of laundry-day flapjaws, the lot of
them. I'd like to be there when the Balance tilts their
way, for speaking ill of the blessed Ma'adrys's mother
like that."
    "Dad says you will be," V'kal shouted from what
sounded like a safe distance, "seeing as how you were
the first to say it served Stakis right! And all because
you thought he was casting eyes after her!"
    "Yaro take you, you nasty little--" There was a
great gust of air that rushed back into the hut as
V'kal's mother took off after her unfilial child.
    Commander Riker leaned against the doorjamb,
watching them race away down the road. Misik, too,
had fled, either for friendship's sake or because he
knew that V'kal's mother wasn't too picky about who
paid the price for her embarrassment before the
visitors. The offerings great and small on the thresh-
old had been trampled. "There's.one woman I'd hate
to have mad at me," he remarked. He turned to face
the others in the hut. "There's no room for doubt
now. The Ne'elatians lied about this planet. The
question is, why?"
    "The people of Ashkaar seem to have clung to the
ideals of their ancestors," Lelys said. "They lead a
simple life, farming, herding, some basic crafts and
industries. Could it be that their existence is a living
reproach to the Ne'elatians for having fallen short of
their ancestors' dream? To speak of Ashkaar as it truly
is would be to shame themselves."
    "If that were true, then they would have concealed
the existence of Bovridash as well," Mr. Data said.
"According to Udar Kishrit, the members of that
community also live in accordance with the ideals of
the first Skerrian colonists and this did not seem to
disturb him."
  "Then what could the Ne'elatians possibly have to
gain by concealing these people from us?" Troi asked.
"It is almost as if they were guarding a treasure."
    "What treasure?" Lelys demanded, flinging her
arms wide. "The Ne'elatians have better food, better
clothing, better transportation, better medicine,
everything better than the Ashkaarians! Why guard a
secret treasurehouse when all the gold is already in
your own pockets?"
    Commander Riker folded his arms. "That's what
we're going to find out, and I can't think of a better
place to start looking for answers than back at the
inn."
    "Sir," interjected Mr. Data. "I may have found an
answer already,"
    Riker raised one eyebrow quizzically. "You can
explain why the Ne'elatians lied to us?"
    "I did not say that I had the answer, sir. I merely
said that I had an answer, although it is to a question
that none of us has yet asked."
  "And that question would be?"
    "Where Ma'adrys's mother came from." The an-
droid held up the little circular hand mirror and
turned it so that it caught the light from the smoke-
hole. The silvery surface sparkled for an instant, then
began to crackle. Riker and the rest stared in fascina-
tion as pinpoints of multicolored brilliance radiated
out from the center of the disc. These joined into
wavy lines as the crackling became a low, intense
buzzing, then a deep hum. Data cupped his other
hand over the mirror and the noise cut off dead.
When he revealed it again, it was just a mirror.
    "A partially solar-powered communication device
of some sophistication," he said. "Unfortunately its
alternate power source has been badly drained over
the years. Naturally it did not activate without my
intervention." He turned it over so that they could all
see the designs decorating its reverse side. What
looked like a wreath of many different flowers could
also look like an array of delicately fashioned control
keys to the properly trained eye.
 Riker looked at Data. "Ne'elat?"
 "Affermative."

Chapter Seven

IN THE PRIVACY OF HIS CHAMBER above the taproom,
Commander Riker touched his communicator and as
quietly as possible said, "Riker to Enterprise."
  "Enterprise. Worf here."
    "Lt. Worf, is the captain there? We've got a lot to
report."
    "Captain Picard is still on the surface of Ne'elat.
His last message said that he and the Orakisan
emissary Hara'el were raaking good time even though
they were traveling by pack animal and that the last
gateway before the community of Bovridash was
already in sight."
 "Can you relay our findings to him?"
    "Negative, sir. At this point, he and Hara'el
must have entered the last gateway, which means
he has temporarily surrendered his communicator
to the guards. According to Mr. La Forge, no high-
tech artifacts are permitted beyond the last gate-
way and all travel from that point on must be on
foot."
    "Since when is Mr. La Forge an expert on Ne'ela-
tian customs?"
    "Before the captain left, he determined that it
would look extremely suspicious if all of the Enter-
prise's most prominent officers suddenly disappeared
from the Ne'elatian government palace. Dr. Crusher
and myself have taken it in turns to visit, but our
duties aboard the Enterprise prevent us from spend-
ing much time on the planer's surface. In the absence
of a crisis in Engineering, Mr. La Forge suggested that
he would be the logical choice to accompany Legate
Valdor as our permanent representative on Ne'elat."
  "I'11 bet he did." Riker smiled.
    In the pause that followed, Riker could almost
picture the perplexed look on Lt. Worfs face. The
Klingon officer did not pay a lot of attention to the
subtler clues of budding affection in others. "Anyway,
let me tell you what we've learned here so far."
    When Riker finished giving his report, Lt. Worf
asked, "What about the plant the Orakisans need?
Have you encountered any living samples of it there?"
    "Negative," Riker said, glum. "Since this world was
the original Skerrian settlement in this system, we had
hopes, but it doesn't look good. N'vashal's not a
staple crop; if they had it growing anywhere, they'd
cultivate it in an herb garden. Ambassador Lelys has
already made it her business to become friendly with
the local women. You'd be surprised how much
information you can gather about native plant life
when you talk to the people who use it in their daily
cooking."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Of course, Kare'al village is only one settlement,"
Riker went on. "And there's still the possibility that
Captain Picard and Hara'el will have some luck in
Bovridash. How soon do you think you might hear
from them?"
    "I do not know. I only hope it will be soon. The
situation on Skerris IV is fast approaching critical."
    Riker didn't want to ask but knew he had to:
"Fatalities?"
    "Yes, sir. Ambassador Lelys's brother was among
them."
    Riker was silent for a long, heavy moment, then
said, "I'll tell her. Riker out."
    He cut off transmission to the ship, and before
hiding his communicator under his pilgrim's robes
made sure that it was still adjusted to give silent
notification of any incoming messages. No matter
how convincing the Away Team's resemblance to
native Ashkaarians was, one high-pitched beep from a
concealed communicator would put an end to all
their carefully devised disguises. Having taken care of
this, he went downstairs to the taproom.
    Here he found Mr. Data at one of the tables, the
center of a small group of villagers--V'kal and Misik
among them--who were watching avidly while the
android played some sort of board game against a
local challenger. The board and the gaming pieces
were unfamiliar to Riker, but clearly it hadn't taken
Data long to familiarize himself with them. As he
watched, the android tipped over two of the pieces on
the board, moved a blue wooden disc next to a red
ceramic triangle, and announced, "Bikbik." His op-
ponent stared at the board, sighed, and added another
white pebble to the pile already standing at the
android's elbow. The crowd cheered.
    Riker took this opportunity to tap Data on the
shoulder and ask, "Where are Troi and Lelys?"
"They are both outside near the well with the other
women."
    "Where'd you think they'd be, at this hour?" Misik
joshed. "Come all this way on a pilgrimage and
neglect the evening rites?"
    Riker covered quickly. "I'm sorry, I must have lost
track of the time. Will you excuse me?" He ducked
out of the inn.
    The well stood in the little walled courtyard just
outside the stables. There were benches all around the
walls, every one occupied by village children and
elders. The women, including Troi and Lelys, ringed
the well, all of them holding small ceramic cups. Thin
wiggles of fragrant smoke rose from the cups to the
night sky.
    Bava, the innkeeper's wife, led the ritual. She was a
fat, squat, homely woman, but a regal dignity clung to
her as she intoned the ceremonial words. "We open
the Gate of Evramur to prayer," she said solemnly,
lifting up her cup of incense in both hands and slowly
moving it from right to left.
    "We open the Gate of Evramur to prayer," the
other women repeated, their actions mirroring hers.
    "We open the hearts of Iskir to peace." Now Bava
moved the cup in a circle before her face.
    "We open the hearts of Iskir to peace." Many
circles were traced with sweet smoke while the chil-
dren stared like owls and the elders sat nodding
approval.
    Commander Riker pressed himself against the sta-
ble wall, unwilling to disturb the rite, unsure whether
or not his presence would offend. His love of Earth
history was bound to a love of the old mythologies as
well. More than a few of those were cautionary tales
of men who had witnessed things they were not
supposed to see, and who were destroyed in a variety
of unpleasant ways for their daring.
    The women were singing, their voices melding into
alien harmonies. Riker watched with admiration as
Troi and Lelys pretended to join in. At last the song
ended and Bava made a sign to the others to follow
her. She led them in single file to the courtyard trough
where she stooped, took a handful of water, and
poured it into her cup. The remaining incense died
with a final burst of smoke and she placed the cup on
a waiting tray held by one of the older girls present.
The other women did likewise. When the last cup was
extinguished, the gathering broke up into smaller
groups, some going back into the taproom, some
leaving the inn, some lingering for gossip and
laughter.
    The children, as if freed from a spell, broke from
their benches and ran around like mad things, shout-
ing and squabbling happily. Some of them crowded
around Troi and Lelys, still fascinated by the sight of
anyone new to the village, but in a very little while
most of them drifted back over to one of the benches
by the wall. It was a stone bench, unlike its wooden
mates, and it was placed under a beautifully trained
climbing vine. The old man who sat there had the
most tranquil expression Riker had ever seen. He
waited patiently-for the little ones to settle at his feet.
    The group of children that had formed around Troi
and Lelys were plainly torn between the desire to join
their playmates and the yearning to linger in the
company of the visitors. The old man waved at them.
"My stories are for all, good ladies," he said. "You
would honor me by your presence."
    Troi answered his invitation with a dazzling smile.
"We'd love to!" She and Lelys hurried forward to take
their places on the ground, but the old man patted the
stone bench to either side of him, his eyes twinkling.
    "I tell my stories to our children freely, but pretty
ladies must pay the price of sitting beside me." His
glance flashed across the courtyard to where Com-
mander Riker lingered in the shadows. "You, too,
may join us if you like, friend, but you'll have to find
your own bench."
    "That would be my honor," Riker said amiably,
accepting.
    When he was sure of his audience, the old man
leaned back against the vine-draped wall and lifted
one gnarled hand to the stars. "Long and long ago, in
the times after the Lady of the Balances had poured
out the stars from one pan and the children of the
stars from the other, there came a day when she called
all the children to her and said, 'There is strife among
you. I have heard your shouts of anger and your cries
of pain. Why do you quarrel? Why do you raise your
hands against your brothers and sisters?'
    "No one answered. They were afraid to speak. They
knew they had done wrong, but even though they had
fought among themselves and made the stars weep
with their wickedness, they would do anything rather
than lie before the Lady."
    One of the smallest children there shyly touched the
old man's knee. "But the Lady knows everything,"
the child said. "She'd know if someone lied to her. ls
that why they didn't try?"
    The old man patted the boy's head gently. "In those
days the Lady walked with the children of the stars.
They did not know that she was any different from
them, only that she was more beautiful and that she
could make wondrous things. They did not suspect
what if they lied to her, she would know. They did not
even try to lie to her because when she made them,
she formed their bones of truth and their flesh of
honor. To destroy the truth would be to destroy
themselves."
    Riker looked over and saw Lelys nodding approval.
For her, at least, here was more proof of the Ashkaar-
ians' kinship with Orakisa.
    "After a time," the old man went on with his tale,
"someone did speak. It was Rika'an, the first man, the
one whose spirit the Lady first poured from the
blessed Balances. He bowed before the Lady and he
said, 'We fight because there are too many of us too
close. We quarrel because we cannot take a step
without treading on the feet of our neighbors.' Be-
cause, you see, m those times all the children of the
stars inhabited only a single world."
    "We still do," the boy spoke up. He had gained
courage from his previous question and was no longer
quite so shy.
    "Yes, yes, now. But this was long ago, before the
flames of Yaro made the stars weep for all their
vanished children." The old man's eyes darkened
when he spoke of this, and he made a warding-off sign
over the child's head before going on with his story.
    "Then the Lady laughed. 'Why do you all live like
this, then?' she asked Rika'an. 'Why do you cling to
one world when I have filled the sky with stars and
wreathed the stars with worlds and formed the worlds
with beauty?' So Rika'an called to the other children
of the stars and they built great silver ships and set
them upon the seas of night and sailed away--"
    "--and came to IskirI" the boy cried eagerly,
bouncing in place.
    "Very good." The old man was pleased, though
some of the other children gave the child hard looks
for putting himself forward so boldly. "But remem-
ber, it was only Rika'an's own ship that landed here.
The others scattered to the farthest stars, never to be
heard of any more. The good teachings say that Yaro,
in his envy, sent fire after them and wiped them from
the worlds and the stars and the sky. Only Rika'an's
ship survived."
 "Why didn't the Lady stop Yaro from--"
    Before the boy could ask yet another question, the
girl seated beside him gave him a hard shove and
exclaimed, "Oh, shut up, Herri! I want to hear Grand-
father's story, not your stupid questions."
    Little Herri sprang to his feet, tears starting in his
eyes. "I hate you, Shomia! You're mean! I wish you
were dead/" He spun around and ran away, sobbing,
but before he could go five steps, Lelys swept him up
in her arms, seated him firmly on her lap, and dried
his tears.
    "You know that you do not mean such ill wishes,
child," she crooned. "And I think that Shomia knows
better than to speak so rudely to you when all you did
was ask a question." She looked meaningfully at
Shomia, who colored deeply and stared at her hands.
    "The only foolish question is the one that is asked
to shame another," the old man decreed. He turned to
Riker and said, "Honored visitor, why don't you give
the boy his answer?"
    Me? A hard knot clenched in Riker's belly. I don't
know the answer. I don't know how their stories go. I
don't-- Then he felt the tension leave him as realiza-
tion dawned. But it k the same question children have
asked forever: Why does an all-powerful force for good
allow evil to exist?
    He looked kindly at the sniffling child in Lelys's lap
and said, "The Lady knows that sometimes bad
things must happen along with good ones so that the
Balances may stand even." He looked up at the old
man and added, "I'm afraid I haven't explained it
very well, but that's the way I was taught it."
    "And well taught." The storyteller seemed satisfied.
"When the children of the stars stepped out onto the
good land," he went on, "they discovered that Yaro
had been busy here as well. Though the land was rich
and the harvests plentiful, Yaro set his blade deep in
the rocks and made them shake and crack. Fire and
smoke streamed from the earth, fields became valleys,
valleys swallowed mountains, and everywhere the
people were afraid. Many of them came to Rika'an
and begged him to take them away in the silver ship,
but he refused. 'This is the land where the Lady's
hand has placed us,' he told them. 'We must stay here,
so that if she seeks us, she will know where to find
US.'"
    "Urn--" The little boy named Herri stirred in
Lelys's lap. He looked as if he wanted to say some-
thing, but just then Shomia broke into a loud fit of
coughing. Herri gave a start. "I wasn't going to say
anything, Shomia, honest!" he cried.
    Shomia paid no attention to him. Instead, she
clambered to her feet, still coughing, and ran out of
the courtyard.
    "I thought she was going to tell me to shut up
again," Herri said in a small voice.
    "But she did not, see? Now go on, child," Lelys
urged him. "You are free to speak."
    "Well," he nibbled his lip, "I think Rika'an was
wrong. The Lady knows everything, so why wouldn't
she know where to find us even if we went all the way
across the sky?"
    "You're right, Herd," the old man said. "And
Rika'an was right too, but for a different reason. This
is the land where the Lady placed us, she who is
mother to the Six Mothers and whose blessed Bal-
ances hold us all. She brought us here for a reason,
though it is a reason we can never hope to know
without being raised to the realm of the gods them-
selves. We must accept her wisdom even if we cannot
understand it."
    A warm, dry breeze stirred the vine leaves over the
old man's head, bringing with it the last trace of the
smoke from the vanished incense cups. He coughed as
if a wisp of it had tickled his throat, then spoke on.
"Even though Rika'an spoke well, the people were
still afraid and still they begged him to take them
away in the silver ship. At last he lost patience with
them and said, 'Go, then! Take the silver ship and be
gone!' And so they did go, more than half the people
who first came to Iskir. They stepped into the silver
ship and sailed away across the seas of night and were
never seen again.
    "When the true people who were faithful to the
Lady's judgments came to ask Rika'an what had
become of the silver ship, he told them, 'Wait until
nightfall and I will show you.' And when the darkness
came and the moons rose bright, he pointed to a new
light in the sky, a blazing disc the color of hearthfire,
and said, 'Yaro's fire has consumed the silver ship and
all who sailed in her. See there where it burns eter-
nally! That is their punishment for having denied the
wisdom of the Lady.' But he was smiling when he said
it, and his true thoughts were That is theirpunishment
for having ignored my words.t The people saw the fiery
disc and feared it more than the shifting ground or the
rumbling mountains."
    The younger children, too, trembled with fear to
hear this part of the tale, though the older ones did
not, having heard it many times before. A little boy,
far smaller than Herri, began to snivel. The sudden
bleat of a sheep from a nearby pen startled him into
full tears and he had to be taken away by his older
brother. The old man clucked his tongue sympatheti-
cally, but he looked pleased that his words had had
such effect.
    "The Lady, who knows all things, knew what
Rika'an had told her people and it troubled her," he
said. "She worried that because of Rika'an's words,
the true people would come to serve her out of fear,
not out of love. So she herself stepped down onto a
high place and there she birthed the Six Mothers, one
by one, and one by one she told them, 'Heal my
children of their fears.'
    "The First Mother took the shape of fire and
plunged into the cracks that Yaro had made in the
world and tamed the rocks so that they would be more
peaceable.
    "The Second Mother took the shape of smoke and
blew over the faces of the people and sent them into a
deep sleep where there was no fear.
    "The Third Mother took the shape of a dream and
entered Rika'an's sleep and told him, 'Those who joy
in the punishments of others will suffer a worse
punishment. Teach your people to grieve and to pray
for their lost kindred, as you will grieve and pray for
them all the rest of your life.'"
    A fresh cough shook the old man's shoulders, but he
fought it down. "The Fourth Mother took the shape
of many dreams 'and entered the sleep of all the
people and told them, 'When you wake, you will no
longer fear the fiery mouth in the sky. That is not the
silver ship that carried away your kindred. It is the
Gate of Evramur, a holy realm where their spirits live
in peace and where your spirts will find them some
day.'
    "The Fifth Mother took the shape of Rika'an, the
first man, and from that one shape made many, all
alike. When the people woke up, there was a great
darkness over the land. Their eyes could not see any
farther ahead than a child can toss a rock. Then the
many shapes of Rika'an said, 'I will lead you to a
better place, where the soil is not as generous but
where the ground lies still.' So the people all went in
many different directions, in many different groups,
each group believing that they alone were following
the first man."
    The old man stopped and took a dark red leaf out of
the pouch at his belt. He rubbed it in a leisurely way
across his few remaining teeth until they turned a pale
pink. A scent like lemons filled the courtyard while
the children fidgeted, waiting for him to resume his
story.
    Riker took notice of the red leaf. Not n'vashal, that's
for sure, he thought, disappointed. He debated wheth-
er he wouldn't do better to go back into the taproom.
Data might be wondering what had become of them.
Even worse, Data might still be contentedly playing
that alien board game and beating all comers. I
shouM've tom him to lose once in a while. A winning
streak that long isn't normal for anyone but him. It'll
draw attention to us, and that~ something we don't
need. He decided to go check on the android.
    "Honored visitor, where are you going?" the old
man asked. "I know that you've heard this tale many
times, from childhood on, but I'd hoped you would
find our mountain version different enough to amuse
you."
    "I'm sorry. It's not the story or how you're telling
it. It's just that I remembered something important
that I have to--"
    "Won't you wait for the end?" The old man's eyes
fixed themselves on Riker's.
"Of course I will," the commander heard himself
say, and he sat back down hard on the wooden bench,
blinking as if someone had just roused him from a
daydream.
    The old man gave him a warm smile. "Now while
all of this had been happening," he said, "the Sixth
Mother was still suckling at the Lady's breast. She was
the youngest, and the Lady did not want to let her go.
'All is well with my people,' she told the Sixth Mother.
'There is no healing left for you to bring them.'
    "But the Sixth Mother watched the people of Iskir,
and she saw that despite all that her sisters had done
for them, they were still sick at heart for their lost
kindred. There were even some of them who had
banded together to build themselves a new silver ship,
so that they could sail after their kindred and discover
whether they were truly gone forever or only wander-
ing lost over the seas of night.
    "The Sixth Mother saw the silver ship that was
being built at the bottom of the Great Break, which
was the place where Yaro's blade had first cut open
the heart of Iskir. She saw it and she knew what she
must do if she was to save the true people.
    "Then the Sixth Mother took the shape of a dark
mist, ugly and foul smelling, the kind that seeps up
out of the earth in the places where Yaro's blade
marks have never fully healed. She drifted over the
surface of the world, over all the sleeping people, and
when they awoke'they had forgotten very much. They
had forgotten so much that to this day we do not
know all that was forgotten, but this we know: They
had forgotten the art of building the silver ship. They
had even forgotten where it lay, for everyone knows
that it lies at the bottom of the Great Break, but in all
Iskir no one knows where the Great Break lies.
    "So the darkness lay over us for many ages, until
the Lady chose to lift us from our ignorance to all
this!" The old man spread his arms wide, happily
embracing his world. "For all these blessings, let us be
content." He brought his hands together over his
chest in what might have been Ma'adrys's dove sign
but which his age-twisted fingers transformed into a
spider.
    The story was done, and done in time for the
children to hear their mothers calling them home to
bed. Little Herri slid off Lelys's lap, complaining
bitterly, "That's always the way it happens! Doesn't
matter what story Grandfather tells, it always takes
the whole time between the end of the evening ritual
and bed!"
    "Oh my, it does?" Lelys and the old man exchanged
a conspiratorial look over the top of the child's head.
    The courtyard emptied out quickly after that.
Mothers and fathers and older siblings came to claim
the children too young to find their own way home in
the dark. An elderly woman showed up, rubbed her
cheek tenderly against the storyteller's, and the pair of
them went off arm in arm. Soon the only people left
behind were Troi, Riker, and Lelys.
    Riker stared at the Orakisan ambassador, dreading
the news he had to give her. Better get it over with, he
thought. He started toward her, but Counsellor Troi
intervened.
 "What happened to you?" she asked.
    "You're going to have to be more specific than
that," he teased.
    "You know what I mean. You wanted to leave
before the old man had finished telling the story.
Something was bothering you deeply, a thought that
became an urgent reason for going back into the
taproom."
    "I'd left Data playing one of the local games.
Winning, of course. I thought it'd be smart to step
inside and suggest he throw a match or three, in the
name of helping us all stay inconspicuous."  "Why didn't you do it, then?"
    The simple question left Riker at a loss. Yes, why
didn't I? "I... don't know. I wanted to hear the
whole of the old man's story. After all, it's the
Ashkaarians' own version of what happened when
they settled this world. But you were here. You
could've told me anything I missed."
    "I had something similar happen to me when we
visited Ma'adrys's old house," Troi said. "V'kal's
mother was telling us about the girl's family history.
She asked me whether I wanted to hear the rest of it
and I said yes."
    "Well, there's nothing strange about that. We all
wanted that information."
    "But I did not simply say yes. I implored her to go
on. I spoke as if it were the most important thing in
my life to hear what she had to say."
    "Hmm." Riker stroked his beard. "I think I re-
member that. You were almost gushing at that
woman."
"Not something I do, as a rule," Troi said crisply.
"No, it isn't." Her regarded her speculatively. "You
think the Ashkaarians have some kind of psionic
powers, then?"
    Troi pursed her lips. "I am not sure. It was there,
but it was so faint, I might be wrong."
    "We both might be. Maybe it's nothing more than
two very strong personalities at work, nothing psionic
behind it at all. You know, my mother used to tell me
about an uncle of hers. He liked to tell her long,
pointless stories about his hunting trips. He told the
same ones over and over and over again and somehow
she always found herself sitting there and listening.
She said that when she knew he was coming to visit,
she'd make up a dozen plausible excuses to let her
escape. Once she even fixed it so one of her friends
would call to rescue her with some phony emergency,
but it never worked. He'd start up the stories, she'd
try one of her excuses, he'd listen to her politely, he'd
even tell her that he understood how it was with young
people and it was fine with him if she went/But she
didn't go~ Not once. Not even when her friend made
the fake emergency call to help her out. She actually
heard herself telling the friend one of the excuses
she'd prepared to use on her uncle. Then she went
right back, sat down, and listened to him tell the one
about the possum that got away for, oh, maybe the
fifty-third time." Riker wore a look of grudging ad-
miration for the great-uncle he'd never known. "Now
that's what I call a strong personality."
    "What is a possum?" Lelys asked. The Orakisan
had joined them in the course of Riker's story.
    He looked at her without answering. He knew that
there was no sense in putting off the bad news he had
to tell her, though he wished with all his heart there
were. No, not putting it off, he corrected himself.
Changing it. Turning back the clock, giving her brother
a little more time if that wouM do any good, in the long
run.
    "Ambassador Lelys, there's something I need to tell
you."

Chapter Eight

THE PEACE OF THE ASHKAARIAN NIGHT was torn by the
jagged sound of a woman's grief-stricken scream. The
door of the inn flew open and a horde of people
poured out, eyes wide, to hear the heartbroken wail.
"Dead! Dead! Oh no, it can't be, please, no/"
    "Dead?" Ambassador Lelys repeated softly. She
stared at Commander Riker, tears trickling from her
eyes, her word the echo of the unknown woman
whose wild cries had roused the whole inn.
    "I'm sorry." It'was all he could say, all that anyone
could ever say at such a time, and never enough. "If
there's anything we can--"
    She turned her back on him, pressing her hands
together. "Not now. Not--" The anonymous Ashka-
arian woman howled her grief into the night again,
and Ambassador Lelys seized hold of the sound as a
desperately needed diversion from her own sorrow.
"Listen! Do you hear that cry? We had better go and
see what it means." She started after the surging
crowd, in a daze of sorrow, as if Riker had never told
her that her brother was dead.
    "Wait." Counsellor Troi laid restraining hands on
her, drawing her back. "Go inside. Whatever is hap-
pening now, you are in no state to get involved."
    "Let me go." The ambassador shook her head
stubbornly. "I am all right. I will mourn my brother
afterward." She broke away from Troi and raced after
the people. Troi and Riker exchanged a look and
followed her.
    The woman whose screams had brought all the inn
and most of the village out into the streets of Kare'al
stood bathed in icy moonlight, her face turned to the
sky. In her arms she held a blanket-wrapped bundle.
A corner of the blanket fell away to reveal a thin face,
pale in death.
 Troi drew in a sharp breath. "Shomia."
    Beside her, Ambassador Lelys was shaking her head
again, rapidly, like a dog trying to get dry. "The girlm
Impossible. We just saw her less than an hour ago,
alive, well, running--"
    The innkeeper himself approached the sobbing
mother of the dead child. "What happened?" He
touched the woman's shoulder carefully, as if a heavi-
er touch would shatter her like glass.
    "She went with me to the evening rites and stayed
for the storytelling," Shomia's mother said, her voice
hoarse and strange. "I couldn't stay. I had the mend-
ing waiting for me. I didn't want her to stay either.
She had a cough these past three days--just a little
dry onewand I was worried. But she pleaded so!"
The woman cuddled her daughter's body dose. "She
loved the stories."
    A man stepped out of the shadows leading a small
boy by the hand and holding an even smaller girl on
his shoulder. He looked haggard, his eyes burning.
"She came home saying her head hurt," he said. "She
wouldn't eat or drink. She said she only wanted to lie
down. We didn't even notice when she climbed the
ladder to the children's sleeping loft. When I took our
son up to bed, I saw her lying on her mattress fully
clothed. I wanted to wake her, to tell her to put on her
nightgown, but--" He bit his lip to keep from saying
the words, as if his silence would have the power to
undo the dreadful thing that had happened tonight.
His whole body began to shiver.
    The little boy stared up at his father, more fright-
ened by what he saw now than by his sister's death or
his mother's screams. He wrenched his hand free of
his father's grip and put it to his mouth. He looked as
if he were about to cry, but he didn't.
 He coughed.

    Riker paced the length of his room in a cold, tightly
contained rage. He could feel his insides being eaten
up by anger, made worse by the certainty that there
was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He was a
Starfleet officer; he had seen many deaths. Most of
them weren't half as peaceful as Shomia's. Her par-
ents hadn't even been aware of the moment when she
slipped away. Almost every people he'd encountered,
with the exception of the Klingons, agreed that a
peaceful death was a blessing.
    He knew all this. None of it soothed his spirit, and
so he paced the room, hagridden.
    Well out of Riker's way, Mr. Data sat studying the
Ne'elatian artifact that he had carried away with him
from Ma'adrys's hut. With the aid of a few fine tools
he had brought along, the android had no trouble
persuading the antique device to yield up its secrets.
 "Fascinating," he remarked.
    "What?" Glad for any diversion, Riker was at the
android's elbow in two strides.
    "I believe I have repaired this device, sir," Data
replied, holding the silvery disc at eye level. "Of
course we cannot hope for it to be fully functional
without its original power source, but that only affects
its interplanetary communication capabilities."
  "Interplanetary?"
    "With a sufficiently strong self-contained power
source augmented by the device's solar collector, this
unit should in theory be able to transmit messages
from Ashkaar to Ne'elat. It would definitely be able to
transmit from the surface of Ashkaar to a vessel
orbiting this world. That is its primary function, at
any rate."
    "I take it that it has others?" Now Riker was
studying the object as intently as was the android.
    "Without a doubt. The design and array of its
interior components suggest that it could also trans-
mit a strong distress signal as well as a heat ray of
limited power. However, here is one function that I
think you will find most interesting." He used one of
his slenderest tools to flip open a minuscule panel on
top of the disc, then tweaked a sliver of metal near the
center of the opened device. Immediately the room
crackled with the sound of a woman's voice.
    "... at heart. I do not know how we can justify
what we have... these people. I have seen how they
perform... rites with reverence, how... old tales
and give the gods true worship. Father, if you hear
this... why I can never come back to Ne'elat. I will
not consent... drink their souls, lead them deeper
into darkness... death... turn myself into an agent
of lies!"
    Data tweaked the sliver a second time and the voice
stopped. "The quality of the recording has degener-
ated with time, but I think it can be salvaged."
  "Is there more?" Riker asked.
  "Quite probably. Shall I play it?"
    "Any danger of losing the recording once it's
played?"
    "I do not believe so, but I can take the appropriate
measures to capture and save the information. This is
not a very sophisticated device. I would characterize
it as part of an explorer's basic kit, suitable for field
work in any of a number of the sciences, such as
anthropology, for instance."
    "You think the Ne'elatians have been sending their
scientists to study the Ashkaarians in secret?"
    "There is no doubt that any Ne'elatian presence
here was intended to be secret," Data responded.
"However, I do not yet have sufficient information to
judge whether the purpose of such a presence was
strictly academic. The young woman who made this
recording speaks of drinking souls, leading others
deeper into darkness, and being herself an agent of
lies. None of this sounds particularly scientific to
me."
    "Come with me," Riker said, heading for the door.
"I want the others to hear all of this."

    Troi and Lelys sat on the edge of their bed staring at
the device in Mr. Data's hand. Riker stood behind the
android, leaning against the wall, jaw set, eyes steely.
They had all just heard a ghost talk, bringing them a
message from the past that had left them incapable of
immediate speech. The stillness in the room was
absolute.
 Mr. Data calmly closed the little panel on the back
of the disc and asked, "Would you like me to play it
again?"
    Troi shook her head. "Not now, thank you." She
still looked stunned by what she had heard. "All those
years," she said, half to herself. "Incredible."
    "They are not our kin." Ambassador Lelys spoke so
abruptly, so fiercely, that all eyes snapped onto her.
"They cannot be our kin. What are they, these Ne'ela-
tian creatures who claim to be descended from the
blood of S'ka'rys?" She hunched over, her hands in
fists on her knees. "I wish we had never learned of
their existence!"
    Mr. Data regarded her inquisitively. "I fail to
understand why this recording has provoked such
strong reactions. It does not strike me as inflammato-
ry, nor even particularly informative. Any facts it
contains are obscured by the young woman's emo-
tional outbursts."
    Riker closed weary eyes and pinched the bridge of
his nose. The hour was late, but apart from that he felt
drained by the events of the night, not least of them
the words he had just heard. "What we have here, Mr.
Data, is a multifunctional device that belonged to the
woman who the villagers here knew as Stakis but who
identifies herself at the end of this message as Isata
Kish of Ne'elat."
"That I understand. What I do not see is--"
"She didn't come here as a scientist or an emmis-
sary or even just a curiosity seeker. She came as a spy.
We've all heard the same story from different sources,
all about how both these worlds came to be settled,
how all contact between them was lost, if it ever
existed in the first place. What we didn't know until
now was what happened after Ne'elat rediscovered
space travel and came back here."
     "That is another thing I do not understand," the
 android said. "Both worlds were settled at the same
 time by the same people. Why did Ne'elat enjoy such
 accelerated technological progress while Ashkaar ap-
 parently stood still?"
     "The answer may lie in the story we heard this
 evening," Troi suggested. "Do you remember the part
 about the Sixth Mother?"
    "She became a foul-smelling mist that rose up out
of the ground and stole the people's memories," Riker
answered. "Probably a reference to the fumes they
must have endured in the more geologically unstable
areas."
    "Prolonged exposure to the substances contained in
certain cthonic emanations can cause extensive brain
damage, which in turn could account for widespread
memory loss in a given population, among other
effects," Data observed. "That is the best evaluation I
can make, given the fact that the sole source of
pertinent information is folk tradition rather than
scientific record."
    "So, a time of darkness," Lelys reflected. "All the
old arts and sciences stolen from their minds as if
they had never existed. The Ashkaarians had to
remake their world." Her eyes glittered angrily. "This
only makes the sins of Ne'elat all the worse."
  "Sins?" Mr. Data repeated.
    "The Ne'elatians lost none of the old knowledge
that had accompanied them here from Skerris IV,"
Troi said. "By their own admission, after they sub-
dued the harsher environmental conditions of their
new world, they were free to make as much technolog-
ical progress as their own abilities allowed."
    "In other words, no need to lose time reinventing
the wheel," Riker put in. "The Ne'elatians remem-
bered as much Skerrian technology as their parents
and grandparents had brought with them, they just
didn't have the means to reproduce it all right away."
    "But there was another memory their ancestors
brought along that the Ne'elatians did not want to
reproduce," Troi said. "They were not aware of it
immediately. They spent many generations simply
trying to establish themselves on their new home-
world, but in time, as their civilization made more
and more rapid progress, someone must have remem-
bered it."
    "Remembered it in an accursed hour," Lelys said
through gritted teeth. "It was their own fault that they
had turned from the gods! You heard what Isata Kish
said as well as I. The Ne'elatians worshipped only
what they could see, touch, compel to make their lives
more comfortable. And once they had their comfort,
they wondered why their lives were barren." Bitter-
ness twisted her mouth. "An evil hour, when they
remembered how things had been on S'ka'rys and
realized that they had remade their new world on the
same cold model as the old."
    "It would have been worse if they had not recog-
nized their error," Troi said, seeking to ease Lelys's
mind. "Otherwise Ne'elat might have come to the
same violent end as Skerris IV."
    "Better if they had," the Orakisan spat. Suddenly
all her rage dissolved and she buried her face in her
hands. "No, that is untrue. Oh, listen to how I speak,
wishing destruction on them! They have sinned horri-
bly against their Ashkaarian kindred, and I sin against
them by my words. To desire the death of a whole
world!"
    Troi put one arm around the sobbing Orakisan.
"The Ashkaarians worship the Lady of the Balances.
It can be a very difficult thing for any people to
balance the things of science against the things of the
spirit, but it is necessary. The Ne'elatians realized this
in time. Too many other peoples never do. It is only
unfortunate that they reached this realization at the
same time that they rediscovered their surviving
kindred on Ashkaar. They had two choices: to remake
their spiritual life by seeking it within themselves--
not a thing quickly or easily donemor to take what
was already there on Ashkaar. You spoke against them
so fiercely just now because they chose the easier way,
and because you fear that their choice reflects badly
on you, their distant kin."
    Ambassador Lelys first shook her head no, then
paused and sighed. "I wish it were not so. I wish I had
the power to change it."
    "According to what you are saying, the Ne'elatians
adopted the Ashkaarian's religious practices," Data
said. "Why do you regard this as improper?"
    "Because they did not adopt, they stole," Lelys
exclaimed. "They came here in secret and took the
trappings of this people's faith without the sub-
stance."
    "The Ne'elatians go through the motions of Ashka-
arian rites, but they don't really know much about the
underlying beliefs," Riker added. "They've been play-
acting at something that's sacred to another people."
  "This is offensive?" Data asked.
  "This is vile," Lelys said.
  "Ah." The android did not seem to be convinced.
    "Why do you doubt her, Mr. Data?" Troi asked
him.
    "The Ashkaarians are ignorant of the existence of
the Ne'elatians. They are certainly ignorant of the fact
that the Ne'elatians have appropriated their religious
practices, whether frivolously or sincerely. If they do
not know of the offense, how can they be offended?
And if they are not offended, what actual harm have
the Ne'elatians done to them?"
    "Aren't you forgetting something?" Riker nodded
toward the silvery device still cradled in the android's
palm. "Isata Kish wasn't sent here just to observe the
Ashkaarians and borrow a few more rituals for her
people." He reached over and touched the replay
control. The device hummed briefly, then brought
back Isata Kish's words:
    "I have left the village where I was supposed...
will not kidnap the man! I... seen his invention
and... preliminary reports... correct. He has
discovered... form of unrefined... or explosive.
Even if we were seeking to intervene in the name...
maintaining peace for... would still be wrong. I
refuse. Let another of our agents tell... he is ascend-
ing to Evramur in the flesh! I... no longer. ! would
choke on the lie. Better... save what is left of your
souls! Do you...--lieve that we can keep them
ignorant forever? That we... stop progress by steal-
ing away any... scientific minds among them?" The
recording crackled with a scornful noise. "Why don't
we bring them to Bovridash and breed them for
religion... way we breed beasts for meat? But I
would be afraid that you... the Masra'et would take
my... seriously."
    Riker touched the unit again, silencing it. "Now do
you see?" he asked Data.
     "I believe so. It would seem that the Ne'elatians
 have done the Ashkaarians significant harm after all."
     "First they steal what they please of the Ashkaar-
 ians' beliefs, then they steal their brightest minds."
 Ambassador Lelys held herself stiff, fighting for self-
 control over rage. "They think that if the Ashkaarians
 make any technological progress, they will lose their
 faith, simply because that was how it happened on
 Ne'elat."
    "Isata Kish was obviously one of the agents in place
stationed here to be on the lookout for any natives
who might turn out to be this world's answer to da
Vinci, Pasteur, Galileo," Riker said. "Once a Ne'ela-
tian agent spotted someone like that, it wasn't hard to
whisk them away, and no one here would get suspi-
cious. The first agents were probably the ones who
planted all the stories about how these living saints
were carried off to Evramur. Who'd ever question it?"
    "None," Lelys said. "That would be blasphemy,
and none would want to. The village that produces a
saint gains fame, prestige, and attracts many pil-
p~rims."
    Troi sighed. "We can at least be thankful that the
Ne'elatians did not simply kill the Ashkaarians they
carried off. To someone born and raised here, Ne'elat
must indeed look like paradise."
    "I am unfamiliar with everything that the term
paradise implies," Data said. "However I would
suggest that a situation based on deliberate lies could
not be a true paradise. A very attractive and comfort-
able prison, perhaps, but not a paradise."
    Ambassador Lelys stood up, a dangerous light in
her eyes. "This situation is an atrocity, an injustice
that has gone on for far too long. It is intolerable. I
will endure it no more." Her glance swept their faces.
"I am well aware that as Starfleet officers you are
restrained from direct intervention here as well as on
Ne'elat. I am not. As soon as it has been determined
whether or not these worlds have preserved the plant
our colonists need so desperately, I will make all this
public. More, I will lay the case before a Federation
tribunal! I will--"
 A commotion from the hallway reached them, the
sound of lumbering feet followed by a wild pounding
at the door across the hall, Riker and Data's room.
"Help, oh help us!" It was Sekol, the innkeeper, and
he sounded like a man without hope.
    Riker rushed to the door of the women's room and
threw it open. "We're here. What is it?"
    If the vistors had transgressed against any local
custom by having both sexes closeted in one room,
Sekol was past caring about such things. His pallor
was one step removed from a dead man's. Sweat
spangled his brow and his eyes were dark with terror.
"There are more deaths," he gasped. "Old Maskan,
who told the stories, he's gone, and his poor wife with
him! B'ist the tanner, he and his two sons, all of them
strong and healthy this morning, dead, and his wife
sounds three breaths away from the grave herselfl Not
a house in all Kare'al but someone's fallen ill of this
curse. Oh, honored guests, flee) Save yourselves! You
did not make a pilgrimage to find your deaths." He
leaned against the doorjamb, gasping.
    Riker supported him, helped him into the room,
lowered him to sit on the edge of the bed beside Troi.
The Betazoid stroked the innkeeper's hand. "A pil-
grimage is more than walking from one shrine to the
next just to look at piles of stone," she said. "We will
stay."

Chapter Nine

"THERE," SAID DR. CRUSHER, closing the wooden box.
"That's the last of it."
    Lt. Worfpicked up the packed box and asked, "Did
you make sure to remove anything that might look
suspicious to the natives?"
    "The only possible way the locals could catch on is
if they don't use glass containers for medicines. Other
than that, these supplies look as if they'd fit right into
any healer's kit in a 1ow-tech, agrarian civilization like
Ashkaar."
    "If the supplies you are sending to the Away Team
are no different from what the Ashkaarians already
have, what is the point?" the Klingon asked.
    Dr. Crusher smiled. "I said they look like what they
already have. I promise you, these medicines are
much stronger and more effective than any native
remedies."
 Lt. Worfs expression grew even sterner than usual.

"I do not like this. Starfleet regulations dearly prohib-
it us from interfering with--"
    "I obey the Prime Directive as scrupulously as
anyone aboard this ship, Lt. Worf," Dr. Crusher cut
in. "It's not the easiest thing in the world to do.
Sometimes it goes contrary to all my instincts as a
doctor, but I obey it. However in this case, I'm not the
one performing direct medical intervention among
the natives. Ambassador Lelys is the one who ordered
this delivery. There's no reason for me to deny a
special envoy access to what are fairly basic medical
supplies. What she intends to do with them once she
receives them--" Dr. Crusher shrugged,
    "I do not approve of your reasoning, Dr. Crusher,"
Lt. Worf said severely. "It is clear that she intends to
use them to help the Ashkaarians. If she needed
medical attention herself, she could have returned to
the ship."
    "I did point that out to her when she first communi-
cated her request via Commander Riker. She refused
on the grounds that if we were to transport her aboard
the Enterprise now, her abrupt departure would cast
suspicion on the remaining members of the Away
Team. That, in turn, would endanger their mission."
Dr. Crusher made a gesture of helplessness that was
purely for show. "What else could I do?"
    "You are a resourceful person, Dr. Crusher," Worf
responded. "You could have found any number of
alternate solutions to this situation, if that had been
what you wanted."
    "You sound as if it annoys you that I didn't," Dr.
Crusher said, giving him a canny look.
    "It does not... annoy me," Worf replied in a way
that as good as said that it did, but that he'd sooner
die than admit it. "I merely think that such behavior
sets a bad example."
    "What sort of behavior? And for whom am I set-
ting this bad example?" Dr. Crusher maintained a
calm expression. "Your son, perhaps? Lt. Worf, this is
not about Ashkaar, is it." It wasn't a question. She
knew very well what was on the Klingon's mind.
"We've been over this time and again. Look, if you
don't want him to have that hamster, why don't you
just take it away from him? Why keep hinting at
the subject every time we speak? I already told
you, I'm not going to go to Alexander and tell him
that I've changed my mind and that I'm taking back
his pet."
    "Do you know what he named the beast?" Worf's
eyes narrowed. "Fido. What sort of a name is that for
a young Klingon warrior's companion?"
    "Uh." Dr. Crusher swallowed her mirth. "A very
good name, actually. It means faithful, but it isn't a
name that's usually given to, um, hamsters. He didn't
happen to get the idea from Mr. Data, by any
chance?"
  Worf stared at her. "How did you know?"
    Dr. Crusher thought of the tabby-striped pet cat
that the android had named Spot. "Oh, just a lucky
guess."
    "All the beast does is sleep and eat and run around
in that accursed wire wheel. I have taken the wheel to
Engineering for adjustment several times and it still
squeaks."
    "Well, there you are, then. That's a suitable lesson
for a future Klingon warrior to learn. Owning a
hamster will teach Alexander how to endure persis-
tent mental torture," Dr. Crusher said brightly.
    "A lesson that will only be of use to him should
anyone ever give his son a hamster." Worf wheeled
about and strode out of sickbay. Dr. Crusher did him
the courtesy of waiting until the door hissed shut
behind him before she gave way to laughter.

    The shimmer of a transporter beam cut through the
poorly thatched roof of Sekol's inn, depositing the
wooden box of medical supplies at Ambassador
Lelys's feet. The Orakisan flung herself on the pack-
age as soon as it was solid and began distributing the
contents to Riker and Data. She had a reed basket
beside her, which she filled with a double portion of
the supplies before rising to her feet and straightening
her pilgrim's robes.
    "There. I will take these to Counsellor Troi in the
village. You two would do well to slip your shares into
the keeping of the healer downstairs."
    Commander Riker looked doubtful. "Ambassador
Lelys, your heart's in the right place, but this is too
risky. The village healer doesn't have the training of
the local oberyin, but she taught herself her skill by
being observant. She probably knows what's in her
own kit down to the last bottle, and besides, she'll
notice that the color of some of these powders is
radically different from what she's been using to try
and bring down the fever."
    "The fever, the cough, all the symptoms that are
killing these people," Lelys muttered. "The sickness
itself that keeps on killing them while their healer and
their oberyin try in vain to stop it. With what? Herbs
that give a little relief but do nothing more than make
the dying easier--herbs and prayers."
    "They do appear to take a great deal of comfort
from their religious observances," Mr. Data re-
marked. "Their conception of the link between their
world and the afterlife--"
 "Evramur," Lelys said bitterly. "A promise of
paradise while their children die. Die needlessly! You
yourself said that this disease could be prevented by a
simple vaccine."
    "It does bear a striking similarity to certain historic
Earth ailments that were effectively eradicated by
widespread innoculation programs," Data admitted.
    "It bears an even more striking resemblance to
Talossa fever," Lelys said. "A sickness that we on
Orakisa know."
    "I am not surprised to hear that," Data said. "Since
Orakisans and Ashkaarians are in effect the same
people, it is to be expected that your common ances-
tors would have transported the same microbes with
them when they left Skerris IV."
    "If you know this ailment for what it is, maybe you
could help the local healer use the most effective
means to cure it," Riker suggested.
    "If I knew that, I would," Lelys replied. "But there
is no one left on Orakisa who has ever had to treat
Talossa fever. I was immunized against it when I was
an infant; all our children are. Our scientists believe
that soon it will be extinct." Her eyes blazed as she
added, "Do you think the Ne'elatians allow their
children to die of something so simply prevented?"
    "I can't defend what the Ne'elatians have done
here," Riker said. "They've held the progress of an
entire culture hostage to their own wants."
    "Then do not help them further by holding back
something that might help their victims." Lelys
jerked a small vial of medicine out of her basket and
thrust it inches from Riker's face. "Say whatever you
must to make the healer use this."
    Riker took out one of the vials that he had already
hidden inside his robes and contemplated it. "I sup-
pose I could say that we brought our own medicines
with us for our journey and that this is what they use
for fevers in our home village."
    "Good, good." Lelys nodded. Suddenly her whole
face lit up. "Ah! But I have an idea that is even better.
If it works, we will not even need to persuade the
healer or the oberyin to use this." She turned the vial
in her fingers. "They will not dare to refuse! Com-
mander Riker, will you allow Mr. Data to accompany
me?"
 "Where are you going?"
 "To make a miracle."

    The downstairs portion of the inn was no longer the
jolly taproom of only a few days ago. The trestle tables
and even some of the benches had been converted to
sickbeds, with a few set aside to hold the rudimentary
equipment of those who tried to heal the sick, or at
least attempted to bring some comfort to their dying.
    Mr. Data noted the way in which the villagers had
mobilized to deal with the illness. To judge by their
methods--efficient in spite of how primitive they
were--this was a situation that they had faced many
times before. He was particularly impressed by their
establishment of the makeshift hospital in Sekol's inn.
They were doing their best to segregate the sick from
the well. As for how effective this would be in the long
run, he had his doubts. The illness had spread rapidly
since Shomia's death. Few homes could boast that not
one of their occupants had been touched by the
disease. When he consulted his memory, it revealed
that most other ailments analogous to Talossa fever
were at their most communicable before symptoms
manifested. The time to separate the sick from the
well was before anyone seemed to be sick.
  It was far too late for that now, even if the Ashkaar-
ians could have diagnosed the disease before it mani-
fested. Shomia had been one of many children
crowded around the storyteller's feet that fateful
night. The illness had gone home with every one of
them.
    As he and Lelys passed through the bustling
taproom-turned-medical-ward, someone hailed him.
It was the innkeeper's son, Kinryk. The lad stood at
one end of a bench where a body lay very still, its face
covered over with a square of blue cloth. "Hoi! Give
us a hand. Got to get this one out of here. No more we
can do for him."
    "Certainly." The android turned to Lelys and said,
"I will not be long."
"Hurry," she replied, and walked out of the inn.
Mr. Data was true to his word. It didn't take him
long to help Kinryk remove the body to the large
storeroom behind the bar. Like the taproom, this
place, too, had been converted to another use. A table
cut the room in half. Before the table stood four
young men, their faces pinched and grave. They
stepped aside to allow Kinryk and Data to place the
body on the board, then one of them arranged six
small clay figurines around it. These were the images
of the Six Mothers, all lovingly made and glazed, their
long, full skirts swept forward to form cups where
mounds of incense now smoldered. The atmosphere
in the storeroom was thick with fragrant smoke whose
scent effectively masked the smell of death.
    Behind the table stood a fifth man, hardly older
than the others. He wore dark robes of blue and
brown embroidered with silver thread, and in his left
hand he held a ball that seemed to have been woven of
brightly colored feathers. His right hand removed the
blue cloth covering the face of the dead and dropped
it into a brazier beside him. Between the heat of the
brazier and the smoke of the six incense holders it was
almost impossible to breathe in the storeroom. Sweat
streaked the faces of the four attendants, but the man
behind the table remained untouched, cool, focussed
only on the task before him. He raised the feather ball
and chanted for the dead. Throughout all the rite,
Kinryk stood with his arms crossed over his chest and
his head tilted back, eyes on the bare ceiling beams or
perhaps on something beyond them. Mr. Data ob-
served him and imitated his pose exactly.
    When the chanting was done, the man set aside the
feather ball, reached under the table into a basket,
and produced a strip of white cloth with which he
bound the dead man's eyes. This accomplished, he
nodded to his four assistants, who carried the body
out past Data and Kinryk. The innkeeper's son went
up to the empty table and bowed.
  "Your blessing, Bilik oberyin," he said.
    "Given with joy." The village oberyin cupped
Kinryk's face with his hands and released him. His
expression did not match his words, but his lack of
joy was more than understandable.
    The blessing received, Kinryk ducked out of the
storeroom as Mr. Data went up to the table. The
android knew the value of maintaining the Away
Team's masquerade. If he rushed off, back to the
Ambassador, without doing as Kinryk had done, he
risked discovery for them all. Lelys would have to
wait a short while longer.
    "Your blessing, Bilik oberyin," he said, mimicking
Kinryk.
    The oberyin took Data's face in his hands as he had
done for the innkeeper's son, but he did not repeat the
words of the blessing right away. Instead he gazed into
the android's eyes and said, "You are one of the
pilgrims. Be welcome. A hard welcome, I fear, but
what the Lady holds in her sacred Balances is often
hidden from our sight. They tell me that you and your
friends have been helping us in this time of trial. For
that you have our thanks and my special blessing,
given with joy. May you have no cause to regret your
goodness of heart." This said, he let Data go.
    The android didn't know whether or not he was
expected to thank the oberyin for his blessing. He
settled for making a second bow before leaving the
storeroom. Outside the inn, he found Lelys in deep
conversation with the innkeeper's wife. The two
women were seated on a bench set against the inn
wall. Between them, his small body crumpled with
misery, the child Herri wept.
    "mrnust eat," the innkeeper's wife was saying. She
tried to put her arm around the boy, but he jerked
away.
    "Yes, listen to Bava," Lelys urged. "You must not
allow yourself to weaken. You will fall ill."
    "I wish I would!" the child wailed. "I wish I'd get
sick and die and be taken up to Evramur with
Shomia! But I won't go there. I can't. Not even the
Sixth Mother would speak for me. This is all my fault.
I got mad at Shomia and I told her I wished she'd die,
and she did, axtd now everyone else is dying too,
and--and--and--" He broke into fresh sobs.
    Lelys took the boy into her arms. "Hush, child,
hush," she said, stroking his hair. "None of this is
your doing. Was this the first time you ever ill-wished
anyone? I do not think so. And yet no evil times came
after those ill wishes, did they? Did they?" she in-
sisted, making him look up at her.
 "N--no," he admitted, gulping down the tears.
    "There, then. You see? Not your fault at all. Now do
not make a hard time harder by letting your strength
go and falling ill too. We have enough sick ones to
tend already. Eat something so that you can help the
others to get well."
    The boy stared into her face for a while, then
nodded solemnly. He made Lelys a brief, awkward
sign of respect and turned to the innkeeper's wife.
"I'm sorry. I'll eat now."
    "Good child." Beaming, the woman led him away.
Lelys watched them go before addressing the pa-
tiently waiting android.
    "Was it necessary for that poor boy to believe he
was the cause of all this?" she demanded. "His
mother is already among the dead, Bava told me, and
his father is ailing. She has taken charge of him and
his siblings until this is over, this--this epidemic of
stupidity/He may survive, but his childhood is dead,
lost forever. Needlessly!" She looked up into the sky
with a scowl on her face that could kill. Though it was
still daylight and the bright disc of Ne'elat was not
visible, there was no question as to the object of her
rage.
    "If we wish to help these people, I would suggest
that we implement whatever plan it is that you have in
mind as soon as possible," Mr. Data said.
    "Yes, of course." Lelys composed herself and
picked up the basket that she had left under the
bench. "Let us go." She led the way up the village
street.
    The path leading through the center of Kare'al to
the upland slopes of the mountain was no longer the
busy, lively route it had been just days ago, when
V'kal and Misik first conducted the Away Team to
Ma'adrys's old house. No housewives chatted with
their neighbors while they peeled vegetables for the
evening meal, no children played in the dirt, no doors
stood open to welcome friends and release the rich
scents of homely cooking. The street was deserted, the
doors all shut, the only sounds the muffled echo of
sobbing or prayer, the only scents the burning of
incense and the sour reek of sickness.
    "Now listen to me," Lelys told Data, anger driving
any attempt at diplomacy out of her words. "When
we get there, I want you to cause some sort of a
distraction for me."
    "I will do my best," the android replied. "But
where is 'there'?"
    "We are returning to the shrine these people have
made of Ma'adrys's house," she replied. "If no one is
nearby, I will not need you to do anything. But if
someone is there, watch me closely and when I signal
you, draw their attention away from me."
    "Understood." Data saw no need to question Lelys
further.
    They continued up the track. Ma'adrys's house
came into view, and with it the fence of crudely
hacked saplings and thin rope that had sprung up
around it. There was a narrow gap in the fence,
guarded by a knot of three stone-eyed men. All of
them were armed with cudgels and looked ready to
pick a fight even if no one wanted one. Two more of
their number Walked along the inside of the fence,
patrolling the newly established perimeter. Behind
them, just inside the gateway, sat a man who looked
as if his presence among so much brawn and sullen-
ness was a mistake. He was garbed much like the lad
that the Away Team had first encountered on the road
to Kare'al, with the same bland, amiable, vacant
expression. He sat with a shepherd's crook and a
broad-brimmed hat on the grass beside him, playing
happily as a child with a herd of carved wooden
sheep.
    The other men sat up and took notice as Lelys and
Data approached. The Orakisan ambassador paused a
little before the gateway, surveyed the fence, then
tried to pass through as if there was nothing out of the
ordinary going on. The largest of the men stepped
directly into her path, his arms outstretched to bar her
way.
    Lelys's eyes flashed. "What does this mean?" she
demanded. "Why is the way to holy Ma'adrys's shrine
blocked?"
    "Not blocked, honored visitor, not like that at all,"
the man said. He sounded sincerely apologetic, but he
didn't move an inch.
    "Indeed?" Mr. Data was perceptibly intrigued by
this situation. "If that is so, perhaps you are not aware
that you are blocking it at this very moment?"
    "It's like this," the man said. "What with the
sickness and all, folk have been flocking here half out
of their minds with fear and worry. The hut was
packed tight as a fleece bale for days until Bilik
oberyin gave the word that we was to come up here
and keep things, uh, orderly. Terrible things folk do
when they're afraid. Terrible things." He shook his
heavy head. "You realize that one of the people who
came here to pray for holy Ma'adrys to save their
family went and--"
    A second man gave his comrade a hearty jab with
his elbow and growled, "Don't you go talking like that
before visitors about our own, M'kin. Could be
there's another reason why it vanished."
    Mr. Data opened his eyes wide in inquiry. "Why,
what vanished?"
    The second guard made a disgusted sound and gave
the first man a dirty look. "That's done it. Might's
well tell him." He glowered at Data. "Then you can go
running back downslope to your own people and tell
them that we're all a bunch of thieves in Kare'al
village. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"'
    "No, I cannot say that I would," Data admitted
honestly. "What has been stolen?"
    "One of the relics," the guard named M'kin said.
"A mirror that Ma'adrys had from her mother. That's
what La'akel the herbwife said, anyhow. It was mostly
her that tidied up the place after Ma'adrys was took
up. She knew what was in there and what wasn't."
    "Shame. Just a shame," a third man spoke up. "All
the time since she's been gone off to Evramur and
nothing of her's touched, except to keep the dust off.
Free entry to her place for all. That's how it used to
be, how it ought to be, and now this!"
    By this time, one of the men walking the fence line
had reached the gateway, overheard the conversation,
and wanted to add his mite to it. "Well, could be
whoever took it'll fetch it back after this hard time's
over and done. Maybe it was a woman hoping that the
touch of it would save her babies' lives. Can't really
blame her for that." He continued on his way around
the fence.
    "So you see," M'kin concluded, "we're here to
make sure no more of that sort of thing happens. If
you want to visit the holy place, Avren there'll take
you up. He's a shepherd, but there's no harm in him."
    At the sound of his name, the childlike man looked
up and waved at the visitors, then got to his feet and
tried to make a present of one of his toy sheep to Mr.
Data. The android accepted the gift and stood hold-
ing it as if it were about to bite him.
    "There now, Avren, take back your toy," M'kin
said in a kindly voice. He took the sheep from Mr.
Data and shoved it back into the shepherd's hands.
"You know you'll only be crying after it if he keeps
it."
    "You can have one of my real sheep, if you want,"
Avren told the android. "Symo's watching 'em for me
'til I can go back up the mountain, then I'll watch his
when it's his turn to help here. We're going to get a big
bag of sweetcakes, after."
    "Thank you, but I already have a pet," Mr. Data
told him.
    While this was going on, Lelys discreetly whispered
in the second guard's ear, "Does he really take care of
sheep?"
    The man seemed nonplussed by her question.
"Why shouldn't he? That's what we have our shep-
herds do."
 "But he seems so--so helpless."
    "I grant you, he's simpler than most of'em, but he's
not really one of our own. He come up over our
mountain past Six Mothers' shrine from the seaward
side years and years ago. He didn't have too big a herd
with him when he come--it'd do your heart good to
see how they've prospered since--and he said he
didn't recollect his old village's name. Well, with
shepherds that happens more'n you'd think, espe-
cially after the midsummer rites. They're simple-
minded and memories run out of their minds like
water through a sieve, but they do raise up the herds
fine, and those of their sons who don't go through
their initiation rites grow up the same in mind as you
or I."
    "Are they all like him?" Lelys stared at Avren, who
was now trying to coax his toy sheep to graze on the
cockade of brown, lacy, dried flowers pinned to his
wide-brimmed hat.
The second guard nodded. "All. Some folk like to
make sport of'em, but they do their job and they can
do other jobs as well if you explain the how of it to 'em
plain enough. Bilik oberyin says that the shepherds
are a living reminder of how it used to be for all of us,
in the times of the Sixth Mother, and how we should
be kind and grateful to 'era instead of teasing, but
some peoplere" He shrugged. "My sister married a
Shepherd for her second husband and she's happier
with him than she ever was with the first, and he was a
merchant.'"
    "You two go on ahead up to Ma'adrys's shrine with
Avren," M'kin urged, standing aside to let Data and
Lelys inside the fence. "He knows what's in the hut
now down to the last spoon and he knows to tally up
everything that's there after you've made your prayers
and left. Not that I'm saying you're likely to take
anything," he added quickly.
    "I can promise you that we will take nothing that is
there now," Mr. Data assured him as he fell into step
behind their beaming shepherd guide.
    When they were about halfway between the house
and the gateway, Lelys scampered up the slope to tug
at Mr. Data's sleeve. "This will be easier than I
hoped," she said. "He can be our witness." She
nodded at Avren, who was striding along ahead of
them, singing a tuneless song at the top of his lungs
and playing toss-~ind-catch with one of his toy sheep.
"Witness to what?" Data asked.
    "The miracle I've got planned. He has taken a
liking to you. All you will have to do once we are
inside the house is start talking to him while I pretend
to pray. The last time we were in there, I saw a basket
in one corner of the room. That is where I will kneel
and while you keep him occupied, I will drop the
medicine vials from my basket into that one."
    "Ah." Data nodded his comprehension. "You will
then pretend to discover them there?"
    "A miracle," Lelys aliitreed. "A gift sent by
Ma'adrys herself to her people in their time of need.
No one will question it and no one will balk at using
it."
    "I see. What I do not understand is how what you
are doing is so very different from what the
Ne'elatians 'do.!'
    "What?" There was no measuring Lelys's shocked
indignation. She stopped stock still, staring open-
mouthed at the android. "You dare compare me to
them? To those--those soul-drinkers?"
    "They pretend to follow the Ashkaarians' faith
because they cannot spare the time to explor9 their
own spirits, and they deceive them when it suits their
ends. You are going to pray at this shrine as if you
share the Ashkaarians' faith as well, and you will also
deceive them because it suits your purposes."
    '7 will save their lives. The Ne'elatians do not care
whether these people live or die."
    "There does appear to be a difference in your
motivations,". Data admitted. "I hope I have not
offended you. I only wished to have it made clear to
me."
    "Honored vistors?" Avren stood on the threshold
of Ma'adrys's hut, gazing earnestly back at his
charges. "Will you come?"
    "Coming!" Lelys called to him. "There was a
pebble in my shoe." As they hastened up the path and
into the hut, she whispered to Data, "You I can
forgive; the Ne'elatians, never." She east a wary
glance at Avren, but the shepherd seemed to be
indifferent to the conference presently taking place
between the two visitors. As soon as they had entered
the hut, he sat himself down with his back to the
doorjamb and began playing with his toy sheep once
more.
    "The daughterworlds of S'ka'rys are banding to-
gether to form a confederacy," Lelys went on in a low,
intense voice. "Each newly rediscovered world is
admitted on the word of the envoys sent to establish
contact. I swear by all I hold holy, Ne'elat will never
be admitted to the confederacy. Let them twist in the
dark for what they have done here."
    "What if Legate Valdor and Hara'el overrule your
decision?" Data whispered.
    "It will not matter. My people only acknowledge
three voices together as binding, or voices grouped in
threes. One vote over or under the chosen number can
bar any action. And I say to you, my voice will bar
Ne'elat forever."
"But suppose that Captain Picard and Hara'elm"
"--find n'vashal on Ne'elat? I will still refuse them
entry. I will not contaminate our newly reunited
sisters with their evil. And if they refuse to give us
n'vashal unless we admit them, then I will recom-
mend to my superiors that we come here and take--"
    "This is for you, pretty guest." Avren was suddenly
standing between them, smiling his vacant smile,
offering one of his toys to Lelys. "If you can't think of
how you want to pray, watch this sheep until you can.
That's how I help myself remember the things I want
to pray for: I watch my sheep until it all comes back
into my mind."
    "Thank you, Avren, but"--Lelys exchanged a look
with Data--"I already have a pet too."
    "Ohhhh. Well, I'll go sit over there, then, and you
pray. Ma'adrys will listen. I'm here. She likes me. She
went up to Evramur from my meadow," he finished
proudly, and went back to his place in the doorway.
    "He is very quiet when he wants to be," Mr. Data
observed, eying the shepherd. "I did not hear him
approach. Perhaps we would do better not to discuss
your hostilities toward Ne'elat until we are back at the
inn."
    "No harm was done," Lelys declared. "Look at the
poor thing. He would never guess what we are talking
about. Now go to him and stand ready." She turned to
the corner where Ma'adrys's abandoned basket stood
and knelt before it.

    "Congratulations, Ambassador Lelys," Command-
er Riker said. "Your plan was an unqualified success."
He leaned back against the closed door of the
women's room, pleased to be the bearer of good news.
"The fever's broken in every case where the herbwife
and the oberyin used the medicines you planted."
    "Please, Commander Riker, I can't take credit for a
miracle." The Orakisan ambassador returned his
smile. She stretched her arms over her head and
yawned. "Though I suppose we can all take credit for
lending these people a hand in their time of need.
When I return to Orakisa, I will commend you and
the rest of the Away Team to my superiors for your
humanitarian efforts here, among our distant kin."
  "No need for that," Riker replied.
    "And I will take full responsibility before Captain
Picard for having introduced the medicines to the
Ashkaarians."
    "Thanks, but there's no need for that either. It's
done. If there are any consequences to be accepted,
I'll take them. It was in a good cause." He sighed
wearily. "I'm glad we've broken the back of this
epidemic so quickly. Now we can get back to our
initial mission. I only hope--" He didn't finish the
thought. Hope of finding n'vashal was too closely tied
up with the possibility of failure. So many dead ends,
and so many lives in the balance--
    The Orakisan ambassador understood without his
having to say another word. "Commander Riker, the
Ashkaarians revere the Lady of the Balances, the
keeper of harmony. They believe that in all deeds,
there is weight to sway the Lady's scales for good or
evil. What we have just done for them has dropped
the balance of life in our favor. If prayers of thanks-
giving for their lives and their children's lives carry
any weight at all, this Lady of theirs must surely give
us the lives of my people in payment, to restore the
balance of the universe."
    "You sound as ready as the Ne'elatians to adopt the
Ashkaarians' faith," Riker remarked.
     Lelys's face darkened. "If I do, I will do it from my
heart, in truth, not merely for show." "I meant no offense, Ambassador."
    As suddenly as it had come, her scowl was gone.
"None taken. I apologize, Commander. We are all
tired, and fatigue often makes me short tempered. But
with the sickness stemmed, we can resume our initial
purpose here, as you say. Let us take our success
against the fever as a favorable omen, one that prom-
ises us the swift, equally successful conclusion to our
search."
    "If I had a glass, I'd drink to that with you," Riker
said affably.
    "Why should we not go downstairs and see if Sekol
can provide us with some refreshment, then?" Lelys
suggested. "The inn is no longer a hospital ward;
business is nearly back to normal."
    Riker bowed and offered the Orakisan his arm. "At
your service."
    They left the room in high spirits, despite how tired
they both felt. The heavy door dosed behind them,
sealing the chamber in silence for the space of half a
dozen breaths. A scrabbling sound came at the win-
dow. The little casement, cracked open just enough to
admit the fresh, cold mountain air, now swung back
outwards on its hinges and a tall, thin body slipped
inside.
    Avren the shepherd stood in the space between the
two narrow beds, breathing hard after his exertions
and brushing off the plaster dust that still clung to his
clothes. He no longer wore the bland, empty expres-
sion of a simpleton, and he had left his shepherd's hat
and crook behind him on the small outthrust roof just
under the chamber window where he had lain hidden,
listening, all this time.
    His eyes were keen and alert, sweeping over the
little room with the cool, searching gaze of a hunting
hawk. When he caught his breath after the wriggle and
scramble through the little window, he flung himself
down on his belly to ferret around under the beds,
examining every stick of furniture and every comer of
the room closely.
    His search turned up nothing, but his disheartened
look lasted only an instant. A slow smile spread itself
across his features. He reached into the pouch at his
belt and drew out a device that was almost identical
to the mirror-like object of Ma'adrys's mother. "Udar
Kishrit," he said, his voice low and terse. "Urgent.
Immediate response required."
    The device hummed briefly, then stilled. In the
time it took to count to five, Udar Kishrit's voice
emanated from the glimmering circle. "Yes, Avren.
What is it? This isn't the agreed-on time for your
report.'"
    "I know that. I have information that I believe
you'd do well to have immediately. I'm in one of their
rooms at the inn and--"
    "In one of their rooms?" The head of Ne'elat's
council repeated the agent's words, stunned. "You
fool, get out of there before you're discovered!"
    Avren chuckled. "What would they discover? Just
another poor, half-witted shepherd who wandered
somewhere he wasn't supposed to be because he
didn't know any better. I'm safe enough from them."
He didn't bother hiding his contempt.
    "You're too smug by half, Avren. Too smug and too
daring. One day someone is going to teach you the
difference between courage and folly." Udar Kishrit
sounded as if he would relish giving the agent a lesson
or two himself. "All right, make your report. Quickly.
If they walk in on you in communication with me, I
doubt they'll still think of you as just another empty-
headed shepherd."
    Briefly and rapidly, Avren relayed all that he had
witnessed and overheard: Lelys's ploy at the shrine to
Ma'adrys, her conversation with Data, and the words
she'd just exchanged with Riker. "In short," he con-
cluded, "the Orakisan ambassador is not very kindly
disposed to us at the moment, and her word will be
enough to kill any chance we have of renewed contact
and commerce beyond this star system."
    "Through the Skerrian union, yes, but there would
still be the Federation." Udar Kishrit mulled this
over, then added, "But the Federation would never
provide us with the full measure of technological aid
we want. Some, yes, but what we desire they would
view as undue interference in our culture."
"Even if we tell them that we don't see it that way?"
"The Federation has its paths and policies, and no
doubt its reasons for them. I have been speaking with
this Mr. La Forge on the subject, and his words
confirm my suspicions. On the other hand, the union
of Skerrian daughterworlds would be much more
forthcoming about helping one of their long-lost
sisters regain the stars."
    "Not if Ambassador Lelys has her say," Avren
commented.
    "Which is why," Udar Kishrit said distinctly, "you
must make sure that she does not."

Chapter Ten

GEORDIE KNEW That HE WOULD find her in the garden.
That was where he always found her, whenever he was
able to absent himself from his duties as the Enter-
prise's senior representative to the Ne'elatian govern-
ment. As Captain Picard had told him, it was a purely
ceremonial appointment. While the captain and
Hara'el pursued the Orakisan delegation's quest for
the elusive n'vashal plant in the settled hinterlands of
this world, someone from the ship had to stay in the
capital to show the flag. Besides, Geordi's presence
had a secondary purpose. As long as someone of his
rank from the ship was present at all the fetes and
festivals the Ne'elatian government was staging in
honor of their starfaring guests, it was unlikely that
anyone would comment on the absence of certain
others.
    In other words, Geordi was a distraction, a sop to
the Masra'et to prevent their wondering why they had
not seen Commander Riker or Counsellor Troi or
Ambassador Lelys lately. He knew this; it didn't
bother him in the least. He couldn't have asked for an
assignment that suited him more.
    "Ma'adrys?" He knew her favorite spot in the
gardens, the place where they always contrived to
meet at least once a day. It was one of the smaller
enclosed spaces, a bower where a narrow stream
trickled over smooth brown stones, where only the
most fragrant native plants bloomed between high
walls of prickly hedge. At the head of the stream,
presiding over the heap of stones from which the
waters bubbled up, was a statue of a robed and
crowned woman holding a pair of scales. Unlike the
old Earth images of Justice, this lady did not carry her
balances by the centerpiece, but supported the pans of
the scales in her cupped hands. The power to tilt them
one way or the other didn't depend on the weights
tossed into either pan, but solely on her will.
    This was where Ma'adrys waited always for him,
sitting on the tender grass beside the stream's source,
flowers in her hair. This was where he found her today
also, yet seeing her there, her face greeting him with
joy, was just as sweet a shock to his heart as it had
been the first time they had met in this little garden.
    Why does it always surprise me? he wondered. I
ought to know by now that she~ going to be here. She's
always here for me. She knows my agenda of official
appearances before I do, sometimes, and adjusts her
own schedule accordingly. Why can't I take it for
granted that she'll be here waiting every time I come
seeking her?
    And in the instant before she raced into his arms
and kissed him, he knew the answer. This was love,
and love was something he could never take for
granted, never accept as anything less than a con-
stantly renewing miracle.
    They lingered in each other's embrace for a time,
then reluctantly parted. Although they had never yet
been surprised by any interloper stumbling across one
of their trysts, they were both conscious of that
possibility. The gardens were open to all who lived or
worked within the governmental palace, and to any
visitors who could thread the maze of paths and
hedge-lined walkways. While it was true that they
might enjoy perfect privacy if they met at the old
tower, there was too great a chance that someone
would notice them going to the ruin daily. People
would talk. They both agreed that it was better, safer
in the long run, to keep this sweet place for their
meetings.
"I missed you," Geordi told Ma'adrys, smiling.
"Truly? It has been less than a day. Did you not see
me this morning at the rite to awaken the dawnlight? I
was graciously permitted to carry the basin of rainwa-
ter." There was more than a little tang of bitterness to
her words when she spoke of her part in the ceremo-
ny, and Geordi noticed.
    "What's wrong?" He brushed a lock of her bright
hair away from her face tenderly.
    "On Ashkaar, the dawnlight awakening is for maid-
ens only, and for boys who have not yet received their
knot of manhood. The girls perform the rite on the
days of earth, the boys on the days of water. But
here--" She made a disgusted face. "Here they all
take partmboys and girls, men and women. They mix
the words of the earth-day chants with the water-day
songs. They give the leader's part to anyone they wish
to honor, as if it were a--a prize at a wrestling bout
instead of a holy thing. Today was an earth day, but
the rite was led by an ancient husk of a man. I know
him; he is one of the most prosperous, powerful
businessmen in the city. The rumors say he has been
using his power to speak out against a new tax the
Masra'et wishes to establish, so they called on him to
lead the dawnlight ritual, hoping that the honor of it
would soften him. They have taken what should be an
offering to the gods and turned it into a bribe."
    "IraI'm sorry. Maybe they don't know any better.
Maybe if you asked to speak with Udar Kishritm"
Geordi wanted to soothe her, to charm that hard look
from her eyes. He tried to take her back into his arms,
but she pushed him away.
    "And tell him what? That I know what he and all
the rest like him have been doing to my people, to my
world? He would only laugh. I have no power to harm
him, and if I persist enough to annoy him, what do
you think would become of me then?"
    Geordi pulled her to him and held her close. "I
won't let anyone hurt you."
    If he hoped his assurances would make everything
all right, he was wrong. Ma'adrys tensed in his
embrace, then shrugged free. "Do you think I fear
only for my own safety? That is unimportant. I would
sacrifice it in an instant if I thought it would put an
end to what these people have been doing to my
world, my home! When I think of how they deceived
mere" Her face darkened with anger, her hands
became fists.
    Geordi's hands closed over hers. "What the
Ne'elatians did to youmwhat they've been doing to
your peoplemthat can't be changed. It's past. We can
only hope to change the future."
    "Will we?" Her expression became one of eager-
ness, of hope. "Oh Geordi, what you've told me of
your world, of all the worlds you've seen, of the
Federation--so many wonders, so much power." She
grew thoughtful. Her gaze strayed from his face to the
softly chuckling garden stream. "The power to fight
so many wrongs. Surely once we tell them what has
been happening here, the Federation will do some-
thing to punish Udar Kishrit and the rest. They will
not allow this injustice to continue. They will send
more of your starships here to enforce a righteous
judgment against Ne'elat!"
    Geordi took a deep breath, on the verge of explain-
ing the limitations binding all Starfleet interventions.
He let it out again, the words unsaid. Why try? Not
now. Now was not the time. Ma'adrys would never
understand. It wasn't that she lacked the intelligence
to understand; she was exceptionally bright. That
same keen mind he had come to admire was the
reason she had been stolen away from her people.
Such a mind might carry within it the seeds of
technological advancement for Ashkaar, and that was
something the Ne'elatians wanted to prevent. No,
there was no question that Ma'adrys was capable of
understanding anything he chose to explain to her. It
was her potential reaction to the Prime Directive that
made him apprehensive and hesitant.
    She wants to hear that her people will get justice, he
thought. She won't care about Starfleet rules and
regulations. There~ nothing she can do to change
them, any more than she couM hope to change the way
the Ne'elatians have been robbing her people all this
time, so why add to her frustration?
    And so he took another breath instead, drawing the
sweet scent of the bower greenery deep into his lungs,
and said, "Some day I'd like to show you all the
worlds I've seen. The Ne'elatians took you from your
home against your will, but--but do you think you
could ever leave Ashkaar willingly? With me?"
    Now Ma'adrys put her arms around his neck and
smiled up at him. "More than willingly, my love."

    Counsellor Troi did not sleep well that night. Some-
thing was troubling her, an impression that clung to
the shadows on the far side of conscious thought. It
was only a vague impression, nothing she could
pinpoint or put a name to, yet its presence nagged at
her and refused to be set aside. It was a feeling that
had been with her almost from the moment the Away
Team had come among the Ashkaarians of this vil-
lage, a feeling that there was something about these
people.
    Something... but what? she pondered. The specif-
ics eluded her abilities, like a mysterious shape
glimpsed out of the corner of one eye that vanished
when you tried to look at it directly. It left her feeling
somehow off balance, a sensation she didn't relish at
all. For a time she had been able to put her discomfort
aside, in the frantic days of the sickness sweeping the
village, but now that the crisis had been dealt with,
the disturbing sensation was back again, stronger than
ever.
    I must rest, she told herself, turning over on the
coarse mattress covering, hearing the dried grasses
inside the ticking rustling and crunching under her. I
can focus on this properly in the morning, but not if I
am exhausted. She willed herself to relax and soon it
seemed as though sleep would come.
    Just as she was drifting off, she thought she heard
footsteps in the room she shared with Ambassador
Lelys. She sat up in bed suddenly, peering all around
her into the dark. The door was open, and in the
meager light she saw first, two shapes outlined in the
doorway, then that the Orakisan ambassador was also
awake and alarmed by this unlooked-for intrusion.
    "Who is there?" Lelys demanded angrily. "What is
the meaningw"
    One of the shapes raised a hand and the words died
on Lelys's lips. Troi started up from her bed, but the
hand now swept toward her and she felt a wall of
complete blackness slam against her eyes. She crum-
pled back against the mattress and knew nothing
more until she awoke to daylight and Commander
Riker's concerned face.
    "--you all right?" he was asking. She nodded. Her
head felt strangely heavy; any movement came with
effort. She wanted to tell him what had happened,
even though she could find no explanation for it, but
her tongue was like wood and the words jerked from
her mouth. Little by little she shook off the sensation
of fetters, words and movement returning to her own
command more and more easily. It was only then that
her eyes fell on the other bed in the room.
  "Where is the ambassador?" she asked.
    "We were hoping you could tell us that," Riker
replied. "You said there were two intruders here last
night, but if they kidnapped her, there's no sign of a
struggle."
    "Perhaps she was asleep at the time of her abduc-
tion," Mr. Data suggested.
    Troi shook her head. "No, she was awake. She was
the one who challenged them." She got up and went
over to the foot of the other bed where a many-layered
rectangle of cloth lay. When she picked it up, it
unfurled in her hands. "This is her nightdress," she
said. "It seems as if she not only changed into her day
clothes but even took the time to fold this."
  "So, not exactly an abduction after all," Riker
remarked. He turned to the android. "The question
is, where is she now?"
    "That will not be too difficult to answer." Mr. Data
reached into his robe and consulted his tricorder.
"Her vital signs are clear and easily traceable. She
appears to have left the village, but she has not gone
far. I believe we will find her in the grazing meadows
just above Ma'adrys's abandoned house."
    "But why?" Troi asked. "Why would she go will-
ingly with whomever it was who came into our room
last night?"
      "That will not be too difficult to answer either, once
we find her," Data replied. He was wrong.
    "Ambassador Lelys?" Troi was the first to spot her.
The tricorder had functioned perfectly, leading the
Away Team out of the village and up the mountain-
side to an isolated clump of trees. Here they found a
little stream bubbling over smooth stones, threading
its way down to the village, and here too they found
the Orakisan ambassador. She sat on the green bank,
dabbling her bare feet in the water. She was singing to
herself happily and seemed to be completely oblivious
to their approach. "Ambassador/"
    Lelys turned her head lazily at the sound of Troi's
shout. A slow, dreamy smile edged across her face.
"Look what I found," she said, holding out her hand.
A bright gold leaf rested on her palm. She bent over
and set it on the surface of the water, sending it sailing
down the stream. She clapped her hands and laughed
out loud to watch it twirl and bob on the swift
current.
    Troi sank to her knees beside the Orakisan and
seized her shoulders. "Ambassador, what is wrong?"
    Lelys only laughed again and shrugged free of Troi's
grasp. "Nothing is wrong. I am so happy. So many
children, so many daughters of our beloved mother-
world S'ka'rys! Each blooms with beauty, each re-
turns to our mother in peace, and the most beautiful
of these is Ne'elat. Soon we will all be reunited in
love."
    "Ne'elat?" Troi echoed. "But you were angry with
the Ne'elatians for what they have done to Ashkaar.
You said you would oppose--"
    A frown flitted over the ambassador's face as she
glanced at Troi, a look as poisonous as it was brief.
"What is a family divided? I will oppose nothing.
Ne'elat must become one of our confederacy. I will
give all my effort to this cause."
    Troi stood up and drew Riker aside. Lelys paid no
attention to their private conference, gladly returning
her attention to sending a fresh armada of leaves
sailing down the stream. "Something is very wrong,"
Troi murmured.
    "No argument. I'd almost say she's been brain-
washed, only how? This world doesn't have any
devices capable of turning out results this complete
this fast."
    "Devices... I wonderre" Troi cut short her mus-
ings to declare: "We must return to the ship. Dr.
Crusher should examine her."  "Agreed."
    They went back to the stream. By now Lelys was
sprawled on her belly, avidly watching Mr. Data fold
the fallen leaves into more seaworthy shapes before he
sent them on their way for her amusement.
    "Ambassadorre" Riker extended one hand, mean-
ing to help the Orakisan to her feet. The other hand
slipped inside his robe to touch his communicator.
"Riker to Enterprise. Stand by to beam up a party
of---"
    "No!" Lelys rolled onto her back and lashed out at
Riker's shin with her foot. Reflexively he jumped out
of range just as she leaped up and dashed deeper into
the shelter of the little grove. Troi pursued her.
    "Ambassador, please. We must go back to the
ship," she insisted. "Something happened to you last
night. Something that has affected your mind. You
must come with us. Dr. Crusher can help you." She
groped for Lelys's arm.
    The ambassador slapped her hand away, scowling
ferociously. "Do not touch me! Demons! Demonst
Keep away from me! Help me, someone! Help me!"
Her voice rose to a shriek as she pressed her back
protectively against the trunk of a great tree.
    All at once the grove seemed to teem with people. A
group of five men armed with heavy wooden staffs
and a few sharp-edged farming tools burst through the
trees behind Lelys as a second, larger crowd came
swarming up the mountain. The shepherd Avren and
the village oberyin Bilik were in the lead.
    "See? See?" Avren gestured wildly at the Away
Team. "It is so. It is just like what the holy Ma'adrys
told me in my dream! See? They are the ones, the evil
ones who brought the sickness to us. Even one of their
own accuses them! They are not travelers, they are
demons, the living spirits of sickness. Only that one is
safe"~he pointed at Lelys--"because holy Ma'adrys
has made her her voice and saved her. If we do not
capture them, the sickness will return and we will all
die!"
    The men didn't need a second telling. They charged
the Away Team from both sides. Mr. Data calmly
stepped into the path of the upslope group. He
reached up into the trees overhead and tore off a
heavy limb to use against the assault of their staffs. He
fought with that mechanical precision peculiar to
him, a cool and efficient style of combat completely
free of any emotion except the need to get the job
done. With the first blow he struck, he disarmed his
attacker and with the second rendered the man un-
conscious. Stooping under the wildly aimed swing of
the next man's staff, he picked up his initial oppo-
nent's abandoned weapon.
    "Commander? Here," he called crisply as he tossed
Riker the staff.
    "Thanks, Data." Riker snatched it in midair and
set himself ready to meet the mob from below. He
fought with a little less detachment than the android.
Jaw set, he went into a waiting stance, ready to hold
his ground or leap forward to meet the first man to
come against him. His eyes narrowed, evaluating the
onrushing crowd. They were making a lot of noise and
there was no question that they outnumbered the
Away Team, but they were farmers, not fighters, and
some of them were drained from the recent illness in
the village. He took a step forward, muttering the old
saw, "The best defense..."
    He was right. They were no fighters. The first man
to reach him carried a hoe and flailed it at Riker as if
the commander were a cat that needed shooing off a
table. Riker stepped under the sweep of the hoe
handle, came up too close for the man to take another
swing at him, and drove his elbow hard into his
opponent's side. The man's breath left him in a rush
and he staggered. Riker had no trouble knocking the
sense from him with a light tap of his staff. He went
down.
    Upslope, Data was almost free of his attackers. The
village men lay sprawled at his feet, unconscious or
groaning, except for one who had watched his com-
rades meet their fate and was now hanging back,
reluctant to test his own questionable battle skills
against the android's.
    Mr. Data regarded him with that alert, speculative
expression he always wore when confronting new
phenomena and said, "I wish you would come closer.
Then I could eliminate you from this part of the
combat and be of greater help elsewhere."
    "Ah." The man nodded once, then turned on his
heel and ran away as fast as his feet and the slope
would allow. Mr. Data observed his retreat, bemused,
then shrugged it off for future analysis and went to
Commander Riker's aid.
    Throughout the battle, Counsellor Troi had not
been idle. Her hands were full elsewhere, trying to lay
hold of and restrain Ambassador Lelys. The Orakisan
tried to elude her, slipping between the trees, back-
tracking, always trying to break away and reach the
spot where Bilik and Avren stood waiting. The ober-
yin and the shepherd did not take part in the fight, but
watched its progress closely. From the corner of her
eye, Troi thought she glimpsed a sly, gloating look on
Avren's face, an expression completely at odds with
the shepherd's supposed simplemindedness.
    A mask, she thought as she placed herself between
Lelys and those two for what felt like the fiftieth time.
A carefully cultivated illusion. But why?
    She had no chance to think more about it. At that
moment, the remnants of the group harrying the
Away Team seemed to reach the same conclusion as
the lone villager who had fled combat with Data
alone. They were falling back, slowly at first, then
more and more decisively. Avren saw this, and his
hand closed convulsively on the oberyin's wrist. He
whispered urgently in Bilik's ear.
    Bilik nodded and shook off the shepherd's grip.
With all the dignity of his office around him, he strode
majestically up the slope to face Riker. He carried no
visible weapon and his hands were extended, palms
forward, in what might have been a gesture of peace.
    When he was no more than five paces away from
Riker, he brought his hands together in a clap that
echoed up and down the mountain. Riker's mouth
gaped, the staff fell from his hands and rolled away
down the hill. A dull film crept across his eyes and he
stood immobile, as if that one crisp sound had been
some sort of magic spell to turn a man to stone,
    That is it! Troi thought, staring at Riker's frozen
body. That is what I have been sensing here, among
these people: Compulsion! That is their power. Not too
strong in most of them, but in the oberyin, oh yes, it is
strong in that one. I wouM not be surprised to learn it is
strong in all like him. And yet, it is not boundless. I
sense some limits. Still, a useful power for a leader.
Her exultation in having at last put a name to the
problem that had troubled her so long was muted by
her horror at what had befallen Riker.
    Even as she came to understand Bilik's power, the
oberyin was giving orders to the villagers to seize the
helpless Starfleet officer. Seeing their spiritual leader
in apparent control of the situation gave them new
zeal. Those still standing rushed to obey, and those
who had been only stunned in combat revived amaz-
ingly and surged to their feet to aid their fellows.
    Mr. Data fought on, holding them off. It was only a
matter of time before their numbers overwhelmed
him, but this did not seem to suit either Avren or
Bilik. Again the shepherd tugged at the oberyin's
robes and again the oberyin stepped forward, hands
raised in that deceptively peaceable gesture. The
villagers fell away, giving him a clear path to Data. He
was smiling as he brought his hands together in that
limb-freezing clap.
    His smile vanished when his intended victim stood
unaffected by what must be the most impressive
weapon in the oberyin's weird arsenal. "De--
demon!" Bilik's voice trembled as he pointed one
shaking finger at the impassive android. "These are
demons!" He backed off quickly.
    "Mr. Data, get us out of here," Troi called. She
pounced on the elusive ambassador and held her
firmly. She was fleetingly surprised when Lelys did
not struggle, but the immediate need for escape didn't
let her dwell on this too long.
    "A strategic retreat might be in our best interest,"
Data agreed. The villagers had been just as shocked as
their spiritual leader by his apparent immunity to the
oberyin's power of compulsion, but this same power
still affected them. Bilik was shouting orders, and the
men were bound to obey, despite their fears. Some
laid hands on Riker, others closed in on Troi and
Lelys. In the confusion, the Orakisan ambassador
broke away from Troi. There was something in her
hand, something she flung far into the trees.
    Data was not concerned with this. There was no
need for Counsellor Troi to keep hold of Ambassador
Lelys in order to effect their return to the ship. He
held his ground, keeping his own assailants at bay
while he pulled out his communicator and crisply
said, "Data to Enterprise. Four to beam up. Use
communicators to determine our coordinates and
energize on my signal. Energize."
    Troi heard him give the order. She saw his body
waver as the transporter beam locked onto it. Riker's
figure, too, shimmered and was gone, leaving an
empty space where a small knot of horrified and
astounded village men clustered, dumbstruck.
  Four to beam up... and she was still here.
  "Demon!"
    She turned to see Ambassador Lelys leering at her
in triumph. Her hand darted inside her robe, to the
place where she had hidden her communicator. It was
gone. There was no need to wonder what had become
of it. The ambassador was still here as well, despite
the orders Data had given the ship. It was an easy
thing to tear off a communicator and throw it away.
Lelys had done it while pretending surrender.
    As the villagers closed in to take her prisoner, Troi
heard Avren laugh.

Chapter Eleven

FORTHE FIRST TIME in her career as one of Star-
fleet's most promising young Security officers, Ensign
Lori Wolf was at a loss for how to handle a situation.
When Lt. Worf had summoned her to his quarters,
she had assumed it was something to do with the
mission currently staging on Ashkaar. She counted it
as a favorable signmperhaps an unofficial recogni-
tion of her accomplishments--that she was one of the
few lower ranking shipboard personnel informed of
the Away Team's purpose. Perhaps the summons to
Lt. Worf's quarters meant that she was to be dis-
patched to the planer's surface as well and her superi-
or offacer wished to relay the command as discreetly
as possible. As Lt. Worf had often instructed his
people, discretion was a major part of Security, and
Ensign Wolf had a formidable reputation for discre-
tion.
  She was going to need it, as she discovered when Lt.
Worf told her the real reason why he had invited her
to his quarters.
    "Um," she remarked. Under the circumstances, um
was pretty much about all she could think of to say.
That is, it was all she could think of to say and still
maintain her reputation for discretion. In her most
private thoughts she knew that what she really wanted
to say--and discretion be damned--was more along
the lines of: "Have you gone completely out of your
mind7 Sir."
    "What did you say, Ensign Wolf?." the Ktingon
demanded. His words boomed so loudly that for an
instant Lori wondered whether she'd actually been
indiscreet (to say nothing of suicidal) enough to have
voiced her true feelings aloud.
    "Um, I believe I said urn, sir." She tried to main-
tain eye contact, but every one of her finely trained
survival instincts urged her to put her eyes to better
use elsewhere, seek an escape route from the room
and use it ASAP. Unfortunately, Lt. Worf and a large
table stood between her and the only available exit.
    "Is that all you have to say for yourself?." Worf
asked. As a rule, it was hard to tell when a Klingon
was scowling, but somehow he managed to convey the
impression that his brow was even more seamed and
furrowed than usual.
    "Well--well, I do want to thank you for this--this,
er, honor, but I can't accept."
    "Of course you can!" Lt. Worf would stand for no
contradiction.
    "It's just that I don'tmI don't see what--" She
took a deep breath and blurted out, "I don't see what
I've done to deserve this." And she pointed to the
tank on the large table between them where Alexan-
der's hamster lay curled up in its nest, peacefully
asleep.
    "Ensign Wolf, you surprise me." (Lori realized that
her superior officer was now trying to sound jolly. It
was not the sort of emotion that Klingons wore well.)
"Your record is stainless, exemplary! You are an
inspiration to us all. Official recognition of your
efforts is all very well and good, but meritorious
performance should be rewarded by more tangible
means as well. You have more than earned an honor
of this magnitude."
    To Ensign Wolffs ears, Lt. Worf's words made it
sound as if this unlooked-for gift originated with
Starfleet. "Are you sure, sir? That is, maybe it's
supposed to be for you. You've done much more than
I have to deserve this award." She eyed the tank
askance and added, "Wolf, Worf, you can see how
easy it would be to confuse our names, especially at
the bureaucratic level. I honestly think thatre"
    Lt. Worf rested his knuckles on the tabletop, leaned
across the hamster's tank, and thrust his face less than
an inch from Lori's. "Take the beast away. Take it
away now, and I will see to it that you receive a
commendation." "But--"
 "And extra shore leave."
 "Butre"
    "But what?" he roared. "Do you dare to want
more?"
    "I wantmI want to return to my post, sir," the
much-beleaguered ensign replied.
    Lt. Worf sighed and backed off. "Ensign Wolf, I
wish you would rethink your decision. This creature
was given to my son Alexander by Dr. Crusher in a
moment of improperly considered generosity. I have
attempted to make her see that it is not a suitable
companion for the boy, but she can be... stubborn.
She will not take it back. If you will take this beast for
your own pet then I will be in your debt always. This
is not something I promise lightly. A warrior's honor
demands that he hold fast to all his obligations."
    Ensign Wolf could hardly believe what she was
hearing. Lt. Worf in my debt? That does call for a
second thought. Or three. Still...
    Lori had heard all the ancient "red shirt" jokes, the
old jibes about how easily expendable Security per-
sonnel were, and she didn't think they were funny.
She hadn't reached her present position by leaping
first and looking afterwards. Surely Lt. Worf would
never give her a dangerous animal, but there was no
harm in asking a few preliminary questions. She
examined the creature in the tank. Born and raised on
Alamo Station at the very fringes of the Beta Quad-
rant, she had never seen a hamster before, so of course
her first question was:
  "It's a tribble, isn't it, sir?"
    Lt. Worf quickly corrected that understandable
misconception.
    "A hamster, sir? What, precisely, is hamming and
what action, if any, should I take if the animal starts
to do it?"
    The Klingon took a deep, slow breath and ex-
plained a few more details of Fido's natural history,
gleaned from Alexander's impromptu lectures on the
subject. The boy was delighted with his exotic pet and
had set himself to absorb all available information
that the ship's computer could provide about the
beast. Not for the first time, Worf felt a pang of
conscience over how his son would react when he
found the animal gone.
    I am doing what is best for my son, in the long run,
he reminded himself. That is never an easy task, but it
is a necessary one. With this reassurance in mind, he
renewed his attention to Ensign Wolf. "Well? Will you
take it?"
    "Sir, it may not be my place to ask this but... does
your son know you're doing this?"
    That infernal question again! He could not lie. "No,
he does not. However, that is of no consequence. I
have made the decision: The animal goes. All that
remains to be settled is whether you will take it or if I
must find someone else to perform this service for me.
Well?" Again the impression of a scowl, a very fierce
one.
    Lori was neither a coward nor a fool. Although the
sight of an angry, impatient Klingon was enough to
give her a momentary start, she quickly recovered
enough to think over her options with a calm mind.
While the notion of having her superior officer in her
debt was appealing, her own sense of honor rebelled
at the idea of taking away a child's pet without the
child's knowledge or consent.
    When you were with Security, there was one lesson
you learned in a hurry: Try to find more than one way
out of a tight spot or become the punchline to yet
another joke about Security personnel. Lori Wolf
wasn't about to sacrifice either her principles or her
superior's good will. She saw a another way out and
she took it.
  "Sir, I'll be happy to take this animal--"
  "Ah!"
      "--as soon as I can determine beyond the shadow
of a doubt that it's harmless."  Worf glowered at her.
    "Sir, perhaps you've forgotten I don't live alone. I
have a family. I'm certainly not afraid for myself, but
I can't ask them to share living space with an alien
creature that for all we know might be--"
    "But this creature is innocuous!" Worfprotested. "I
have seen Rigelian narJapuddings with more spunk!
Why do you think I do not want my son to keep such a
thing? All aspects of the life of a young warrior must
present some sort of challenge. What manner of
challenge is there in owning this--this--" He groped
for a word of sufficient scope to convey the utterly
peaceful, unaggressive, bland, and boringly safe na-
ture of the hamster. He couldn't find one, and so
instead he flipped away the top of the tank and
scooped up the creature itself, intending to persuade
Ensign Wolf by way of solid evidence.
  "Gnnnnggghh!"
    The evidence was not solid but the hamster's teeth
were. Rudely roused from sleep, swooped down upon
from above, lifted high into the air, all of the little
creature's instincts for self-preservation kicked in at
once, along with a good portion of its nasty temper. A
gnawer by nature, the hamster had formidable, chisel-
like incisors in both upper and lower jaws, and it
knew how to use them. It bit deep, it bit hard, and it
bit for keeps.
    The hamster had a vicious bite, but Lt. Worf could
bear pain as well as any Klingon warrior. Gritting his
teeth, he tried to remove the beast by flicking it from
his impaled finger, only to encounter yet another
unguessed quality of Alexander's pet: It knew how to
hold on. Though Worf whipped his assaulted hand
sharply back and forth, the hamster set its teeth still
more firmly in the Klingon's flesh, closed its eyes, and
refused to let go.
    "Hold still, sir. I'll help you!" Ensign Wolf shouted.
For an instant her hand dropped to her phaser until
she realized just how ridiculous a solution that would
be.
  "Father/"
    Worf froze in mid-fling. His son Alexander stood in
the doorway to their quarters, staring at him with a
mixture of surprise and horror. The boy rushed
forward and cupped his hands around the determined
hamster. Perhaps it was the familiar scent of its
master, perhaps it was the promise of the immediate
feeding which always seemed to follow its master's
arrival, or perhaps it was just the convictionmheld
even by hamsters--that enough was enough. For
whatever reason, the little creature released its hold
on Worf's finger and dropped docilely into Alexan-
der's hands.
    "What were you doing with Fido?" Alexander
demanded.
    "Er, if you'll excuse me, sirre" Ensign Wolf de-
cided that this would be her golden opportunity to
leave. Domestic incidents were touchy things, even
for a trained Starfleet Security officer, but when it was
a domestic incident within a Klingon family, in that
case, the best place to be was far, far away.
    "Ensign Wolff" The sound of Lt. Worf barking her
name had the same effect as if someone had yanked
her back by an invisible rope. She stopped dead in her
tracks and turned around slowly. Her superior officer
was standing beside his son, studying his savaged
finger. Fido had done a thorough job of minor may-
hem. The finger was bleeding profusely and was
already beginning to swell up. The Klingon's face
betrayed not even the shadow of pain, though the
wounded finger must have been throbbing. Instead he
regarded it with an expression that could only be
described as...
    Bemused:? Lori pursed her lips. I don't think I've
ever seen a Klingon looking bemused. And I don't
think I ever want to do it again.
  "Yes, sir?" she responded.
     "Ensign Wolf, you will tell my son why I asked you
 to come here."
  "Sir, are you--"
     "Tell him." There was no mistaking that tone. It
 implied that nothing but the whole truth would be
 acceptable. Taking a deep breath, Lori informed
 Alexander of Lt. Worfs failed attempt to give her the
 hamster. There was no describing the expression on
 the boy's face when he turned to his father.
    "Did you?" Alexander asked. "Did you really try to
give away Fido?"
    "Do not question the honor of Ensign Wolf; she
does not lie. I did all that she reports I did." Worfhad
a few basic first aid supplies in his quarters. During
Lori's explanation he had brought these out and was
now applying a bandage to his bleeding finger, one
that would do well enough until he could get himself
to sickbay. "I had my reasons. I did not believe that
this... hamster was a fit companion for you. It
seemed to be meek and lazy, a bad example." He tied
off the bandage and added, "I was wrong. It is my
duty to raise you in the way of the warrior, but I
betray that duty by acting behind your back. I sought
to avoid the unpleasantness of a confrontation with
you over possession of the animal. One who tries to
hide from small disputes may fight bravely in great
battles, but such actions diminish his honor. The size
of the conflict does not determine the true warrior."
    "Neither does the size of the warrior," Ensign Wolf
remarked to herself.
    "What did you say, Ensign?" Worf demanded, his
eyes flashing.
    "I only meant, well--" She gestured at the hamster,
now happily creeping from one of Alexander's hands
to the other, whiskers twitching and small pink nose
wiggling avidly. "It may be pretty small, but pound
for pound that's some fighter you've got there, Alex-
ander," she said.
    "It is brave, spirited, strong, and ferocious, a warri-
or beast," Lt. Worf agreed. "And as such, it is a more
than suitable companion for my son. I regret having
underestimated it."
    "You know what they say, sir," Lori reminded him.
"Appearances can be deceiving."
    "Then it is our duty to make certain that no one
else is ever deceived as to the true worth of this
creature," Worf declared. "We will give it a more
fitting name than"--he made a face--"Fido. It is a
warrior beast and it shall bear a warrior's name! I call
it batth-ghobbogh-ylH." He made an elegant gesture
over the hamster's head with his uninjured hand, then
announced, "Now I will go to sickbay."
    Ensign Wolf looked at Alexander. "What kind of
name is that for a hamster? It's bigger than the whole
animal."
    "It means Tribble-who-battles-with-honor," Alex-
ander explained, stroking his pet's tiny head with his
thumb. "I liked Fido better, but at least Father won't
mind my keeping him any more."
    Tribble-who-battles-with-honor gave a happy little
sigh, then burped.

When Lt. Worf arrived in sickbay he learned that
his injured finger would have to wait.
    "Ah. You are here already, sir. Very good." Mr.
Data stepped forward to intercept the Klingon. "Has
Dr. Crusher explained the situation or did she merely
urge you to come as quickly as possible?"
    "What situation?" Worf demanded, the hamster's
bite immediately forgotten. "What are you doing
back aboard? Where is the rest of the Away Team?"
His eyes swept sickbay, spied Riker's body stretched
out at one of the diagnostic stations. Dr. Crusher was
working over him, her face a study in tension and
perplexity. "What has happened to the commander?"
    In his usually concise manner, Mr. Data explained
the fate that had befallen the Away Team on Ashkaar.
In conclusion he remarked, "I would theorize that
there is some level of psionic capability in the native
population, more strongly developed in a few select
individuals than in the general population."
    "Psionics?" Worf repeated. He had encountered
numerous examples of mental powers both in his
studies at the Academy as well as firsthand, during his
career with Starfleet. Yet in spite of his familiarity
with such phenomena, he still found them disquieting
and, somehow unnatural, even in those close to him.
"What kind? Do the Ashkaarians possess broad-
spectrum psionic abilities orw"
    "I do not think that they do, sir," Mr. Data replied.
"From what I have observed, I would say that their
capabilities are limited but effective, and concen-
trated in the field of mental compulsion. You can see
for yourself the effects of this power at its most potent
in Commander Riker. He is still immobilized under
the influence of a psychic attack, despite the fact that
our encounter took place some time ago."
    Lt. Worf studied the face of his felled shipmate.
Riker's eyes stared up into nothingness, his expres-
sion blank. The Klingon tried to lift one of Riker's
arms, expecting it to be limp, and instead encoun-
tered a good deal of resistance. His eyes met Dr.
Crusher's. "What is your prognosis?"
    "He'll recover," she replied. "Unfortunately I can't
give you any estimate of how long that will take. His
mind has received the equivalent of a substantial
physical blow. I can't gauge the strength of it any
more than I can estimate his own ability to recuperate
from this type of assault."
    "And the others?" Worf looked back to Data. "Are
they, too, in this state?"
    "I have reason to believe that Counsellor Troi has
not been similarly affected, but that would be only
because the Ashkaarians saw no need for it, already
having Ambassador Lelys well under their control."
    "Yes, you told me how she aided them." Lt. Worf
was grim. "Captain Picard must be notified and I feel
it is my responsibility to do so. Permission requested
to beam down to the planet." The android nodded.
"Permission granted Mr. Worf." Without another
word, the Klingon strode from the room.

    The gardens of Bovridash were lovely, a refuge
from the world's clamor, an inspiration to the poets of
a dozen generations of Ne'elat. His body freed from
the constraints of a Starfleet officer's uniform, clad in
the loose, flowing robes of the bovereem, Captain
Picard admired his surroundings. As he walked the
gardens' winding paths of crushed stone and shell,
breathing in their thousand perfumes, he wished that
he could have come here to enjoy their beauty in
peace, without the spectre of a dying world hovering
at his back.
    So much beauty... and so useless. He and young
Hara'el had searched the library of the great spiritual
center, questioned the bovereem--as the local priest-
hood styled themselves--searched the sanctuary
grounds plant by plant, all with as little success. A few
of the older bovereem had heard of n'vashal--that
was something--but Picard knew that many people
back on Earth had also heard of the philosopher's
stone, the fountain of youth, and pixie dust. They told
him old folktales--some brought all the way from
Skerris IVmin which the poor farmer's clever daugh-
ter tucked a sprig of n'vashal into her bosom for luck
and went on to make her fortune, but the plant itself
remained elusive.
    Picard picked a cluster of lacy orange flowers from
a bush and let their spicy fragrance fill his mind. Such
a little thing, a single plant. Fertile worlds like Ne'elat
and Orakisa and Earth all teemed with green growth
of infinite variety. What did it matter if one lone kind
were destroyed or allowed to perish? What would be
the harm?
      What would be the harm? Let them ask the dying
colonists of Skerris IV.  "Captain Picard?"
    He wheeled around at the sound of his name,
startled out of his joyless contemplation. "Hara'el, I
didn't hear you come up behind me."
    The young Orakisan looked sheepish. "I apologize.
I have been practising walking the way the bovereem
do. They do not make a sound, even when they're
walking over gravel. They call it drinking silence from
the earth."
    Picard could not help but smile. He had come to
know the junior ambassador better since their arrival
in Bovridash, and he genuinely liked him. Hara'el was
dedicated and hardworking. He regarded every dead
end in their search for some trace of n'vashal as a
personal defeat. Given how quiet and meek he acted
when in his father's presence aboard the Enterprise, it
was surprising to find so much fire and determination
in the young Orakisan. "What will they teach you
next?" Picard asked him jovially. "The power of
invisibility?"
    It was a lighthearted jest, but Hara'el's face fell.
"That is something I could teach them. There have
been many times during this mission, Captain Picard,
when I have wondered whether I exist at all, so
thoroughly have I been ignored."
    "What do you mean?" Picard was concerned. "If
their has been a problem with one of my crew..."
    "Not any of your people," Hare'el answered.
"Mine. My father told me before we undertook this
mission that I was to remember my place and expect
no preferential treatment from him. He has kept true
to his word." There was a fugitive note of bitterness in
the young Orakisan's voice. "I was prepared to toler-
ate that. But Ambassador Lelys--It is as if I were not
even a part of our mission in her eyes. I may not have
her level of professional experience, but I would not
even be here if our superiors did not feel I had
mastered the diplomat's art. What will it take to make
her see that?" He sighed.
    He wants more than her professional notice, Picard
thought, regarding Hara'el's slumped shoulders. He
turned his right hand palm upward, took the little
spray of blossom he had picked, wedged it between his
fingers, and held it out so that the sun shone full and
bright upon it. "Hara'el, what do you see in my
hand?"
 "What did you say?" The Orakisan was bewildered.
    "What do you see in my hand?" Picard repeated
patiently.
    "I see... that orange flower. I think the bovereem
call it va'n'kast, but perhaps I am not remembering it
correctly."
 "Is that all you see?"
"I... yes?" Hara'el no longer sounded sure.
"Then what is this?" Picard pointed to where the
feathery blossom cast an equally feathery shadow
against the lined skin of his palm.
 "But that--that is only the plant's shadow."
    "And what are you and all your diplomatic training
when you stand with your father?" Picard asked
gently. "If you can't see this flower's shadow, how can
you expect Ambassador Lelys to see you?"
Hara'el frowned. "You insult me, Captain Picard."
"I tell you what I've observed. No insult is meant.
Perhaps I shouldn't speak so frankly, but this place
seems to be conducive to washing away all the layers
of protocol, leaving nothing but honesty behind. I've
seen how you act when you're with your father. I've
heard you agree with him or keep silent rather than
contradict him, and I've wondered whether two
adults could be in such perfect accord on every
possible point under discussion."
  "I do not always echo my father!"
    "Don't you?" It was not said as a challenge, but as
an invitation for the young man to look inward and
find an honest answer.
    Hara'el opened his mouth to snap back a reply, but
none came. A thread of thoughtfulness crossed his
brow. He brought his lips together and stood there for
a few breaths, considering what Picard had said. At
last he spoke. "Is that it? Is that truly why she treats
me so?"
    "I can't say so for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised.
Hara'el, I'm not telling you to attract her attention by
deliberately contradicting Legate Valdor. That would
be as foolish and as childish as always agreeing with
him. I'm asking you to remember your own
principles--yours, not your father's--to find your
own standards, to know your own boundaries and
then to take a stand only when they need to be
defended. No, on second thought I'm not asking this
of you, I'm only suggesting it."
    Hara'el nodded slowly. "As you... suggest, Cap-
tain Picard, I will do. Do you know that when I was at
school I was a noteworthy debater? Do not think me
vain, but I not only won awards, often I brought my
opponents around to share my point of view. Then I
entered the diplomatic service and was placed under
my father and everything changed. I was no longer the
champion of my class; I was only a little boy again,
with Father always there to point out the countless
mistakes I made on every case assigned me. It never
mattered whether the outcome of our mission was
favorablemhe never mentioned thataonly the errors
I had made that might have cost us success."
    "Sometimes it's difficult for a parent to see his child
grow up," Picard said. "It's even more difficult when
that child has chosen the parent's career for his own
and might someday outshine him. It makes him
afraid, and frightened people strike out at what fright-
ens them even if it's something that they love."
    "Do you think that is why my father treats me so?"
Hara'el asked earnestly. "Because he is afraid of me?"
He sounded as if he could never believe such a thing.
    "Whatever his actions, whatever his reasons, he
can't treat you as less than you are unless you submit
to it. If you speaka"
 "Captain! Captain!"
    Picard and Hara'el turned their heads sharply at the
summons and saw one of the bovereem hastening
toward them on the path. He was a portly man, above
middle age, and he puffed audibly as he neared them,
a piece of paper clutched in his fist. When he reached
them he was panting too hard to speak, and so he
handed over the paper without explanation.
    Picard read the message, his face rapidly tightening
with anger. "When did you receive this?" he de-
manded.
    "No more than a day ago," the Ne'elatian replied,
still catching his breath. "It was urgent, they said, so it
was sent here from the final gateway by our fastest
couriers. Is there--" The sight of Captain Picard's
grim expression gave him pause. "Is there to be any
answer?"
    Picard said nothing, the message a wad of utterly
crushed paper in his hand. With a curt bow, he
marched toward the main sanctuary building where
his Starfleet uniform awaited.
    The Ne'elatian watched him go, then looked at
Hara'el and said, "No answer, then?"
    "I think he is going to deliver it himself," the
Orakisan replied, a trifle uneasily, and hurried to join
him.

Chapter Twelve

GEORDI LET OUT A LOW, long whistle of astonishment.
"Psionic powers?" he asked, echoing the portion of
Mr. Data's report he had just heard. Beside him at the
briefing room conference table, Legate Valdor and his
son exchanged a look of surprise and speculation.
    "Apparently so," Lt. Worf commented. "In ordi-
nary circumstances it would be easy to rescue Coun-
sellor Troi and Ambassador Lelys in a straightforward
manner, but given this new factor, I would recom-
mend a well considered strategy. We do not know the
extent of the Ashkaarians' mental capabilities. We
would not wish to give them more hostages than they
presently control."
    At the head of the conference table, Captain Picard
rose to his feet. "Your point is well taken, Mr. Worf,
but I strongly dislike the idea of remaining here, doing
nothing, knowing nothing of what has happened to
our people on Ashkaar."
    "So do I," Hara'el put in, a bit more loudly than
usual. "We must act immediately for Ambassador
Lelys's safety." He might have said more, but a scowl
from his father made his face color brightly and he
subsided.
    "Sir, personally I would also most certainly prefer a
course of immediate action, but it would be irrespon-
sible of me to recommend it," Worf said. "Command-
er Riker is still in sickbay, his condition unchanged.
We are not dealing with a minor threat as far as the
Ashkaarians' powers are concerned. We must not act
rashly."
    "If only Counsellor Troi still had her communica-
tor." Picard smacked his palm with his fist. "Mr. La
Forge, do you think you could get a reading on their
life-signs and use that for a transporter fix?"
    "With respect, sir, I tried that as soon as I found out
why I'd been recalled to the Enterprise. The readings
I've picked up from the planet's surface are indistinct.
Either there are disruptive atmospheric factors at
work or this is some sort of mental static linked to the
Ashkaarian population, sort of a psionic smoke-
screen effect."
  "A deliberate one?" Legate Valdor asked.
    Geordi shook his head. "Highly unlikely, sir. If it
were deliberate it would come from a focussed source,
one I could pinpoint. As I said, it could just be
atmospheric."
    "So much we don't know," Picard muttered. "So
much we must know before we can do anything."
    "Permission to speak, sir," Data said. Picard nod-
ded curtly. "The chief source of conflict lies in the
relations between Ashkaar and Ne'elat. These two
worlds have been existing in a kind of spiritual
parasitism for ages. We have proof that the
Ne'elatians have been keeping the Ashkaarians in an
artificially backward state for their own purposes. As
a result of this enforced primitivism, the Ashkaarians
view all aliens as either angels or, in the case of the
Away Team, demons. If we can reestablish normal
relations between the sisterworlds, the Ashkaarians
will learn that the Ne'elatians are no more angels than
Counsellor Troi and Ambassador Lelys are demons,
and will release them accordingly."
    "An interesting plan, Mr. Data," Captain Picard
said, resuming his seat and leaning forward intently.
"Unfortunately it is also an unacceptable one under
the terms of the Prime Directive."
    "Is it, sir?" Geordi said. "If we reveal the
Ne'elatians' role in controlling the history of Ashkaar,
that would be a violation of the Prime Directive, but
if the Ne'elatians themselves decide to make amends,
it would violate the Prime Directive if we tried to stop
them."
    Legate Valdor made a disgusted sound. "This is
futile. Why would the Ne'elatians want to change a
system that has served them well for so long?"
    "Sometimes you do not know what you truly want
until someone else suggests it," Lt. Worf said in a
voice that vouched for the Klingon's special powers of
persuasion.
    "And how would you propose we initiate this
course of action?" Picard asked the table in general.
"I needn't remind you that we haven't got an unlim-
ited amount of time."
    "Confrontation, sir," Geordi said. "Immediate
confrontation. The Ne'elatians have been able to
exploit the Ashkaarians without a second thought
because they don't have to face the people they're
hurting. There's a girl on Ne'elat--" He paused,
feeling the sweet catch at his heart that was always
there whenever he thought of Ma'adrys. "You know
her--the Ashkaarian who was stolen from her people
because she had the potential to help them advance
beyond the point where the Ne'elatians wanted them
to stay. There've been others like her over the years,
but she's the first who knows she hasn't been carried
off to paradise. Bring her aboard and have hertestify
before the Masra'et. When your actions only produce
a mass of faceless victims, it's easy to pretend they
don't exist. That all changes when you've got to look
into the eyes of an individual you've wronged."
    "Let's hope it changes things for the better, Mr.
La Forge," Captain Picard remarked. He was older
than Geordi and unable to share the engineer's opti-
mism fully. Still, it would be worth a try. "But why
have the confrontation take place here? Why not on
Ne'elat, as long as all parties concerned are already
there?"
    Geordi's smile was anything but naive. "The Enter-
prise is neutral ground. More important, the
Ne'elatians have never seen anything like it. They've
been controlling the Ashkaarians for ages by virtue of
their technological superiority. They understand pow-
er, they respect it, and they'll be more likely to pay
attention to any... suggestions we might have to
offer concerning their future relations with Ashkaar."
Captain Picard nodded, then said, "Make it so."

    Ma'adrys gazed around the transporter room as
she permitted Geordi to help her off the pad. "The
wonder is still here, my love," she said, smiling. "It
does not matter that I have seen these marvels before;
they are forever fresh to me."
    "You'll grow used to them in time," Geordi said.
"After you've lived here while--" He stopped, taken
aback by his own audacity. It was the first time he had
ever spoken to Ma'adrys about what was in his heart
for their future.
    To his relief he saw that his words had pleased her.
"Could such things come to be?" she asked softly. "It
would give me so much joy, so very much if--" She
bit her lower lip and looked away from him. "But no. I
will not hope. I will not dream. I knew dreams when I
was young, and they were all snatched away from
me."
    "When you were young?" Geordi laughed and took
her into his arms. "You're not exactly a crone,
Ma'adrys, and I promise you, this is one dream that
won't be taken from you if I have anything to say
about it." He kissed her, briefly but tenderly, then
said, "Come. They'll be waiting for you."
    She hung back a little. "What must I say? What
must I tell them?"
    "Tell the Masra'et what you know of your home-
world, of your life, of how their interference affected
you and all your family, your neighbors, your friends.
By now they've heard Mr. Data's report about what
the Away Team discovered of life on Ashkaar, but
your words will more than confirm his. They need a
good dose of truth, Ma'adrys. Give it to them."
    "Yes." The uncertainty was gone from her face. Her
eyes reflected a sudden, hard look of determination.
"Yes, they do."
    The members of the Masra'et were all ranged along
one side of the conference table when Geordi brought
Ma'adrys in. They looked grim, and more than a few
of them were giving Mr. Data hard stares. The an-
droid was just completing his report of conditions on
Ashkaar with the capture of Troi and Lelys, making
special mention of the shepherd Avren's role in the
proceedings. Data was never one to color the facts.
The Ne'elatians could no longer pretend that their
interference there was a harmless thing, yet they did
not appear to feel remorse, only resentment.
    The Masra'et were not the only ones at the confer-
ence table. Legate Valdor was seated to Udar Kishrit's
right, his son Hara'el beside him. He was deep in
whispered conversation with the Ne'elatian headman,
a close counsel that he broke off abruptly when
Geordi and Ma'adrys entered. Captain Picard headed
the table as always, Mr. Data at the far end of the
board, with Lt. Worf standing ready to oversee that
the proceedings remained orderly, if not civil.
    Is it my imagination or did Udar Kishrit just do a
double take when he saw Ma'adrys? Geordi wondered.
He tried to focus on the Ne'elatian's face, but the
moment had passed, if it had ever happened at all. He
shrugged it off, escorted Ma'adrys to the lone seat
opposite the Orakisan embassy and the Masra'et, and
took his place behind her. He was confident that once
his beloved spoke, telling firsthand of all the harm
that Ne'elat's misguided use of Ashkaar had done, her
revelations would so move the Masra'et that they
would immediately move to right the old wrongs.
They might be able to convince themselves to doubt
Data's word, but they won't be able to put hers aside so
easily. He caught himself smiling over how simple it
would be.
    He was a man in love; all problems seemed to have
a simple answer for him. But Udar Kishrit and the
Masra'et were not in love with Ma'adrys, as Geordi
soon discovered.
    "--think this means anything to us?" Udar Kish-
rit's lip curled. If Ma'adrys's appearance had ever had
any unsettling effect on him, it was well and truly
gone now. He regarded the Ashkaarian girl with
disdain.
    "Are you denying any of what she has said?"
Captain Picard asked.
    "No," Udar Kishrit replied. "Why should we? The
Ashkaarians are barbarians--"
"The Ashkaarians have had no other choice."
"Bah!" Udar Kishrit waved Picard's statement
aside. "It is in their nature. The volcanic activity on
their planet releases atmospheric gasses that forever
bridle their mental development."
    "Those conditions no longer apply," Picard coun-
tered. "I've had my chief medical officer examine this
woman." He gestured at Ma'adrys. "She found her
intelligence to be equal to that of any of our own
people."
    "That does not speak very highly of your people,
then, does it?" Udar Kishrit drawled. His fellow
counsellors chuckled.
    Captain Picard took a deep breath. "I must remind
you that what you have done to the Ashkaarians will
be made known," he said carefully. "Any aspirations
your world has for joining the Federation will be
considered accordingly."
    For an instant, Udar Kishrit blanched. Then he
recovered himself and gave a short, dry laugh. "You
may work to exclude us from the Federation if you
like. You have that power. But you have no say over
how we choose to conduct our lives. How we have
always conducted them and how we will continue to
conduct them," he added deliberately, showing his
teeth in what should have been a smile.
    Picard met him glare for glare. "You have seen the
Enterprise, "he said. "Are you so certain that we have
no say?"
    The other members of the Masra'et drew in their
breath and began to chatter anxiously among them-
selves. They had indeed seen much of the
Enterprise--Picard had taken pains to offer them a
tour of the ship's most impressive features while the
rest of the crew still stationed on Ne'elat were being
transported home again--and they knew that here
was power not to be trifled with. They had no way of
knowing that the Prime Direct/ve--
    "--forbids you to do anything," Udar Kishrit said
triumphantly. To Worf's consternation, the Ne'elatian
laughed aloud and added, "My good friend and
brother, Legate Valdor, has told me much. If you bar
us from your Federation, we shall simply have to
content ourselves with membership among the union
of Skerrian daughterworlds."
    "Legate Valdor?" Captain Picard turned a blazing
look on Hara'el's father. "Haven't you been listening
to Mr. Data's report, to this young woman's testimo-
ny? How can you approve of what these people have
done? How can you willingly admit them to the
Skerrian union? Your own Ambassador Lelys would
neverre"
    "What Ambassador Lelys would and would not do
concerning Ne'elat no longer matters at all." Valdor
cut him off coldly. "I have been listening, Captain
Picard. Have you? Your own man reports that Ambas-
sador Lelys has undergone a sudden and complete
behavioral change. In plain terms, she has lost her
mind, become-incompetent to carry out her official
duties."
    "I beg your pardon, Legate Valdor," Mr. Data
spoke up. "To the best of my knowledge, Ambassador
Lelys's condition is not permanent and was brought
about by the Ashkaarians'--"
    "Impossible." Valdor folded his arms. "The honor-
able leader of the Masra'et himself has just said that
the Ashkaarians are mere barbarians. How could they
even dream of exerting mind control over our ambas-
sador?"
    "You have the testimony of a Starfleet officer,"
Picard said.
    "I prefer the opinion of one of my own lost broth-
ers," Valdor replied. He reached into his tunic and
took out a small device which he placed on the table
and covered with his palm. "I hereby record on behalf
of the Orakisan mission that Ambassador Lelys hav-
ing become mentally unfit, as witnessed by Com-
mander Data of the Enterprise, she is to be declared
incompetent and her vote in any subsequent ambas-
sadorial decisions to be rendered null and void. The
requisite vote of three will be therefore reduced to a
vote of two, according to emergency procedures. In
approval of which I and our junior representative in
the field, Hara'el, do here give ourre"
    A younger hand slammed down atop the recording
device. Hara'el's voice shook only slightly as he said,
"I give nothing."
    "Do you dare?" Valdor's thundered out, filling the
conference room. "Do you dare to defy me?" By
reflex, Hara'el quailed and looked away. As he averted
his eyes from his father's outraged stare, the younger
Orakisan glanced toward the head of the table. Picard
caught his eye. Very subtly the captain of the Enter-
prise turned one hand palm upwards on the table and
with the other mimed the plucking of a flower's
shadow.
    Hara'el's spine stiffened. He looked his father in the
eye and decreed, "If you make this statement part of
our official record for this mission, I swear that I will
use my vote to block any decision of yours, first of all
this move to disenfranchise Ambassador Lelys. I say
that we must see her condition for ourselves."
  "And how will we do that?" �aldor snapped.
    "That will be our job," Captain Picard said, rising
to his feet. "Gentlemen of the Masra'et, if you will
follow Mr. La Forge to the transporter room, you will
be returned to your own world as soon as--"
    "Not so fast, Captain Picard." Udar Kishrit, too,
was on his feet. "My people and I have some unfin-
ished business to discuss with Legate Valdor. That is,
if you do not propose to interfere?" He raised one
eyebrow in a manner intended to provoke.
    Picard did not react to the taunt. "Naturally you
are welcome to remain aboard the Enterprise, Udar
Kishrit. In fact, I would prefer it if you did. When we
recover Ambassador Lelys, perhaps her testimony
will help you change your mind about Ne'elat's con-
tinued role in Ashkaarian life."
    "If it pleases you to think so." Udar Kishrit in-
clined his head slightly, then he and the rest of the
Masra'et accompanied Legate Valdor from the room,
Hara'el trailing reluctantly after.
    As soon as they had gone, Picard swung into action.
"Mr. Data, you will head the rescue mission to
Ashkaar. You are familiar with the territory and you
seem to be proof against their mental powers."
    "Indeed, sir," the android agreed. "I believe that
they found my resistance to be most disconcerting.
Shall I select the rest of the mission personnel?"
    Before Picard could give his approval, Ma'adrys
spoke up. "My lord Captain Picard, let me go with
him."
    "Young woman, that must be out of the question,"
Picard said gently. "This is a Starfleet mission. Only
Starfleet personnel can--"
    "But I know the territory far better than anyone,"
she protested. "Kare'al is--was--my home. Besides,
you do not wish to save your people by violence, do
you?"
"I would prefer to avoid an armed confrontation, if
possible," Picard admitted.
    "Then you must send me! I heard the last part of
his report." She pointed at Data. "There is something
important that I know, something that will turn the
villagers from blindly following the word of the
shepherd Avren. He is no shepherd. He is not even
one of our own. I should have realized it long ago. He
never took part in the sh'vala, the shepherds' rite,
with our village herders. He claimed that in his native
village the shepherds performed sh'vala privately, so
no one ever saw him do it. For all we knew, he
never--"
    "He never did what?" Picard broke in, puzzled.
"Why is this sh'vala so significant?"
    "Because it is a religious rite all shepherds perform
to consecrate the safety of their flocks to the Moth-
ers," Ma'adrys said. "They gather together and drink
a special herbal brew, a sacred drink that makes
them--Well, there are certain jokes we have always
made about shepherds, how slow of wit they are, how
thick headed, but they never mind. They have chosen
their state--it comes from drinking the sacred
brew--as an act of faith in the Mothers. By making
themselves like children, they give over the welfare of
their flocks to the Mothers' own keeping, a sacred
trust. That was why I was even more awestruck when
it was he who told me I had been chosen to ascend to
Evramur. Simple Avren, no longer speaking like a
halfwit, but like a holy messenger! Oh, no wonder I
went meekly with him," she finished bitterly.
    "I think I follow you," Picard said. "So because this
Avren was never seen to share the sacred drink with
the other shepherds of your village--"
    "--my fellow villagers will more readily believe it
when I tell them he is not what he says, but a deceiver
of the worst sort. They will couple what I tell them to
what they themselves know of him and--"
    "Sir, permission to accompany Mr. Data and
Ma'adrys," Geordi said.
    "Mr. La Forge, I have not yet given permission to
Ma'adrys to accompany Mr. Data, let alone the pair
of you," Picard pointed out.
    "With all due respect, sir, Ma'adrys's presence on
this mission is vital. It's the one way left to recover
Counsellor Troi and Ambassador Lelys without our
resorting to a showdown. Imagine the effect it will
have on the Ashkaarians when they see Ma'adrys
again. You heard Mr. Data: She's a legend among
them, one who's ascended to paradise alive! They
wouldn't dare not listen to her."
    "A compelling argument for her presence. But as
for yours--"
    "Sir, I'm willing to bet that they've never seen one
of these." Geordi grinned and tapped his visor. "Plus,
I can scare up a few high-tech tricks that'll convince
them to cooperate. You know, like the old Earth
adventure stories where the explorer flashes a ciga-
rette lighter and the locals think it's magic? Smoke
and mirrors, sir, good old smoke and mirrors."
    Captain Picard was both impressed and a little
bemused by Geordi's idea. "There are times, Mr. La
Forge, when I wonder whether you've missed your
calling. With your flair for the dramatic, perhaps you
should have been an actor rather than an engineer."
    "There's only one thing wrong with that arrange-
ment, sir," Geordi replied. "There's not much call for
actors on the Enterprise."

Chapter Thirteen

THE CAVE WHERE TROI AND LELYS were kept prisoner
was dry, which was about all that could be said for it.
Otherwise it was chilly and reeked of sheep-tallow
candles. When their guards kindled a fire nearer to the
entrance to keep off the night cold, more than half the
smoke seemed to flood the cave and almost none of
the heat.
    Even the daylight hours were cold this far up the
mountain. Troi wrapped a thin blanket more snugly
around Lelys's shoulders, then sighed when it slipped
off because the Orakisan ambassador made no move
to hold onto it. Lelys sat leaning against the cave
wall, just as the false shepherd Avren had left her
when the women had first been brought to this cell.
Sometimes, when sunlight stole into the cave, she
pointed in childish delight at the play of shadows over
the rock, but mostly she sat there in silence, smiling at
nothing.
     From time to time, Troi tried to rouse the ambassa-
 dor from her abstracted state, but all attempts at
 contact, physical or mental, failed. Still Troi per-
 sisted, talking to Lelys even though she knew better
 than to expect a rational answer.
     "Here, hold this," she directed, kneeling to replace
 the blanket. "You will catch cold if you do not--" A
 sudden commotion from the cave mouth caught her
 ear. She glanced at the guards. They were alert, wary.
 They must have heard it too. She straightened, her
 bones aching from the cold, and took a few tentative
 steps toward the light.
    Always when she had approached the cave mouth
before this, the guards had met her while she still
stood within the shadows of the entryway and urged
her back with terse commands and the more solid
arguments of their weapons. They carried the Ash-
kaarian equivalent of pitchforks, and the long, sharp
tines were a glittering threat that Troi wisely chose to
heed. This time, though, some strange spell had fallen
over her warders. They stood like slabs of marble,
their faces a study in dumb amazement and heart-
shaking fear. They made no move to block her when
she passed between them and out into the sunshine.
    A crowd of Ashkaarians was trekking up the moun-
tain, singing, shouting, and waving makeshift ban-
ners, but that wasn't the sight that had paralyzed the
guards. Troi herself gasped aloud when she saw who
was leading the mob. Torrents of red sparks leaping
from the palm of one hand, Geordi La Forge tossed
whirling silver pinwheels from the other. They arced
above his head and linked themselves together to
create the shape of a laughing girl wearing wings that
were flowers. Her grass-green hair streamed out and
tumbled down over the crowd, becoming a waterfall
where fish leaped and jewel-eyed insects danced
above the spray.
    Immediately behind him walked the girl Ma'adrys
and Mr. Data. The spray from the illusory waterfall
wafted over Ma'adrys's head like a luminous canopy.
She still wore her simple green robes from Ne'elat,
but now there was an otherworldly glow about them.
Tiny lights like captive fireflies winked here and there
in her hair, and the silver netting gave off random rays
of piercing brightness.
    Watching carefully, Troi noticed how the glow and
the lights faded in and out depending on how near or
far the girl was from Geordi. A hole-clip! Troi realized.
He must have a miniature hole-clip projector hidden
on him somewhere.
    The image of the flower-winged girl reappeared and
came to rest before the cave mouth where it made a
pretty curtsey to Troi. The guards took one last look,
dropped their weapons, and dashed away farther up
the mountain. Troi walked past the projection of the
sylph and greeted Geordi with a sotto voce, "Nice
touch. Where is it?"
    "Up my sleeve." he replied just as softly. "Not a
very original hiding place, but--" He shrugged and
smiled briefly, for her eyes alone.
    Ma'adrys touched his arm. "Is all well?" she asked
urgently.
    "Sshhh," he cautioned. "Don't let them see you
looking anxious." He nodded to where the villagers,
led by Bilik oberyin, stood a respectful and prudent
distance from Ma'adrys and her otherworldly escort.
"Remember: You're in command. You're supposed to
make them feel uneasy. Ask--nomdemand to have
the other captive brought to you."
  Ma'adrys nodded and followed Geordi's lead. The
girl carried herself as if she'd been born to give orders.
The villagers scurried to obey, rushing into the cave
and bringing Lelys out to join the others. The Oraki-
san ambassador looked all around her, smiling like a
happy child on holiday.
    "The captives have been returned to us, as the
starlords decreed it must be. The Balance stands
ready to be restored. Now, let justice be served!"
Ma'adrys cried.
    "Justice or vengeance?" Bilik asked. The oberyin
glowered at Ma'adrys, who returned his hard look
proudly, without flinching.
    "Do you question me, Bilik oberyin?" she chal-
lenged. "Or do you question the teachings of holy
Evramur itself?." Her words sent the villagers into a
panic of renewed songs and prayers. Some of the
brawnier men in the crowd began muttering among
themselves, giving the oberyin dark looks that prom-
ised whose side they'd take in a confrontation be-
tween him and Ma'adrys. Bilik noted this, pursed his
lips, bowed his submission to the girl, and led the way
back down the mountain without another word.
    Leadership, intelligence, and courage, Troi mused.
No wonder the Ne'elatians spirited her away. She could
be very dangerous to them. And she is.
    The oberyin conducted the crowd to a modest
house that stood well removed from any other habita-
tion, even the rough hillside huts of the shepherds.
Even at a distance, Troi could hear the sounds of a
struggle coming from within the little dwelling.
    "Sounds like Houdini's still safe," Geordi re-
marked. "'These people know how to tie knots that
stay."
 "Who?" Troi asked.
 "Avren, the so-called shepherd. When we first
showed up, he tried to turn the people against us the
way he did with your group. He might've succeeded
too, if Bilik had helped him."
    "Bilik was ready enough to attack us," Troi said.
"Why did he refuse this time?"
    "He didn't refuse, he didn't do anything. One look
at Ma'adrys and it was like he'd had his own mental
powers turned back against himself. He froze. That
gave us time to throw the whole fireworks show, and
time for Ma'adrys to make the villagers believe that
the real 'evil spirit' among them is Avren. When
Ma'adrys gave the word they grabbed him, hogtied
him, and left him tucked away safe in Bilik's house
there while we came to fetch you and Ambassador
Lelys."
    They were nearer the oberyin's house now, and Troi
noted a change in the temper of the crowd. Their first
flush of religious awe was fading, replaced by a darker,
more dangerous emotion. There was a cold, angry
purpose impelling them toward the sound of Avren's
useless struggles against his bonds. She knew what it
meant and she was afraid.
    "Geordi." She clutched his arm urgently. "We must
hold them back, we must do something. They'll
kill--"
    Even as she spoke, the crowd was gathering fury.
Bilik, too, noticed this and redoubled his pace so that
he was the first to reach the door. "Wait!" he eorn-
manded, spreading his arms wide to bar the way.
"This man is not yours to touch."
    "So you say," came a sarcastic voice from the
crowd. "Why's that?"
  "In with him, are you?" came another.
  "Yes, why else would you stand up for him!"
  "Evil spirits are known for their fine promises.
What'd he promise you, Bilik oberyin? That you'd get
your girl back? Well, there she stands, but not in any
state for the likes of you to touch!"
    "Lead us wrong, make us lay hands on innocent
folk. If the judgment of Evramur falls on our backs
it'll be all your doing! You and your pacts with Yaro's
own!"
    "Stop!" Ma'adrys stepped forward to place herself
between Bilik and the snarling mob. "Have you
learned nothing?" she demanded of her fellow villag-
ers. "Does the Lady of the Balances look kindly on
killing?"
    "That one in there has violated the sacred bal-
ance!" someone in the crowd shouted. "To destroy
him is to restore it! To kill him is to serve the Lady?
    "To kill him is to destroy yourselves!" Ma'adrys
shouted back. "You speak from ignorance and fear. I
speak from knowledge. Have I not walked the white
ways of Evramur? Have I not learned the true nature
of that place you call holy?" The crowd fell back a
little, muttering.
    Troi tapped Data's wrist discreetly and whispered,
"What has she told them of Ne'elat?"
    "She has not yet revealed to them that it is merely
their sisterworld," Data replied. "However, neither
has she confirmed that it is the spirit-home they
believe it to be."
    "I have returned to help you, my people," Ma'adrys
continued. "I cannot allow you to do that which will
harm your souls beyond hope. Avren has deceived us
for a long time. Yes, he must be punished for it, but
there are many punishments. Give him to us and go in
peace to your homes." Her gesture included Geordi
and Data. "I promise that he will receive true jus-
tice."
    The villagers conferred together, then ebbed back
down the mountainside toward Kare'al. They went
reluctantly, with many backward glances. Geordi
surreptitiously touched the cuff of his uniform and a
wall of fiery thorns sprang up to veil Bilik's house and
encourage them on their way. It worked. One look at
this fresh illusion and they ran like startled sheep.
    "Now what, Ma'adrys?" the oberyin asked wearily.
"Will you punish me along with Avren, you and your
starlords?"
    "Is that how well you know me, Bilik?" Ma'adrys
replied. "We were once to be paired."
    Troi's eyes widened in surprise. Then she heard
Geordi suck in his breath sharply. So I am not the
only one to whom this is news. Ma 'adrys and Bilik. She
couldn't help giving Geordi a sympathetic look. If he
saw it, he didn't acknowledge it at all.
    "We were," Bilik was saying. "Until you let foolish
thoughts touch you!"
    "How foolish was it of me to want to become an
oberyin like you? You were the feel, Bilik. You could
not allow me to make a trial of my powers before the
Na'amOberyin, to stand or fall on my own merits.
You had to speak against me to them so that you
could have me to yourself." She looked at him with
eyes that held more sorrow than anger. "What do you
have of me now?"
    He turned away from her. "He told me I might have
you back again," he said. "He swore that if I helped
him overcome the evil ones in our midst"--he cast a
guilty glance at Troi and Lelys--"you would return to
me from Evramur. And you have come back, but not
to me." He dared to look back at her with the ghost of
hope in his eyes. "Have you?"
  Geordi took a step forward and rested his arm on
Ma'adrys's shoulder. The oberyin saw how matters
stood even before Ma'adrys told him, "No, Bilik. Not
to yOU."
    Bilik's face twisted into a look of naked rage that he
turned toward the house where Avren still waited.
"This is his fault. You can speak to the others of the
divine judgment he will face in Evramur, but I will
not listen! If I cannot have you, I no longer care what
becomes of me, body or soul. If ! have lost you, he will
lose his life!"
    Bilik spun around and plunged into his house.
Moving even before the others could react, Mr. Data
dashed after him. Counsellor Troi burst in just in time
to see the android wresting a knife from the oberyin's
hand while a bound and helpless Avren squirmed on
the floor between them.
    Even disarmed, Bilik refused to surrender. He
threw himself on the false shepherd and grabbed the
man by the throat, roaring accusations and shaking
him so violently that for a moment Troi couldn't tell
whether he wanted to kill Avren by strangulation or
by snapping his neck.
    Data broke Bilik's grip easily and pulled the pant-
ing oberyin to his feet. "Given the circumstances, I
believe it would be wise to remove the prisoner from
the premises," he remarked, keeping Bilik a safe
distance away from Avren.
    Avren was more than ready to agree. "Get me out of
here now," he begged. "He's gone crazy."
    "And where do you suggest we take you?" Troi
asked. "Back to the village?"
    "By the Fathers, not that! They're ready to skin me
alive."
    "No more than you deserve," Bilik spat. "What a
fool I was to heed you, Avren! All that I wantwall
that I ever wanted--was to have Ma'adrys for my
wife. I have lost any chance of that, all because of you
and your foul trickeries. Illusions, all. Illusions that
led me to believe you were a messenger of the gods!
And now my beloved, my faith, perhaps my soul as
well are all lost, thanks to you." He leaned against the
stone wall and slumped down, beaten and broken.
    "Bilik." Ma'adrys was kneeling beside him, her
arms around him. It was a simple gesture, such as one
friend might offer another in need, but Troi saw that it
struck Geordi like a blow to the heart.
    "Let's get him out of here," the engineer said
tersely, nodding at Avren. He didn't wait for the
others to help, but slit the ropes binding his feet, set
one hand under his elbow, and hustled the Ne'elatian
agent out of the oberyin's house.
    "Thanks," Avren said when they were in the free
air.
     "You can thank me best by explaining what you've
been doing here on Ashkaar for--how many years?"
  "What, just me? Or the rest of us?"
  "Your record will do for a start."
    "And for whose benefit will I be making this
explanation?"
    "Your own. They say confession's good for the
soul."
    "The soul." Avren shook his head. "I never cared
much about all that. Leave it to the bovereem, that's
what I always said. Still, a job's a job, and I'm damned
good at this one. You won't find a better agent on
Ashkaar than me. I was the one who came up with the
shepherd dodge. Before that, we mostly had to do our
observations from hiding. That's a pretty lonely life.
No wonder so many of us went--well, crazy."
    "What do you mean?" Troi asked. She was seated
with Ambassador Lelys on a stone bench built right
into the side of the oberyin's house. The Orakisan
held a leaf in her hand and was tracing its outline
against her palm over and over again.
    "What would you call it when an agent throws over
his life's work, gives up the game cold, takes to the
land just as if he was born one of these Ashkaarian
savages, and his last message to the Masra'et isn't fit
to be repeated? Crazy, that's what."
    "And what your people have been doing to the
Ashkaarians is sane?" Geordi asked severely. "Maybe
the Masra'et could do with a few more honest mes-
sages from agents who've come to their senses."
    Avren snorted. "Honest death sentence, you
mean." He saw Troi's inquiring look and added,
"Well, what do you think they do when one of their
agents goes native on them? Just let them run off free?
Oh, yes! That makes sense."
    Mr. Data cocked his head. "Sarcasm. Interesting,
but unenlightening."
    "Oh, it's enlightenment you want?" Avren drawled.
"When I was sent here to replace the last agent that
went over the lip, my first assignment was to find her
and take her out of the picture before she said
anything that could hurt our operations. I'll say this
much for the Masra'et, they don't play favorites. It
didn't matter whose daughter she was, she was dan-
gerous and she needed to be eliminated."
    "So you killed her," Geordi said, biting off the
words.
    Avren gave him an uneasy look, as if his response
might bring reprisal. "No," he said carefully. "I didn't
need to bother. By the time I caught up with her, she
was dead already. Childbirth. Talk about going na-
tive! No need for her to die of something like that if
she'd had the sense to stay Ne'elatian, but that didn't
suit her. Not old Udar Kishrit's girl, no. Just as
stubborn as her father, she was, and look where it got
her!"
    "Udar Kishrit's--" Geordi's lips moved over
Avren's words. "Mr. Data, can I see you a moment?"
He walked briskly away from the bound Ne'elatian
agent and didn't stop until he was well up the moun-
tain. Data and Troi traded a baffled look before the
android went after him.
    Geordi stood with his back to a lone tree, tall and
prickle-branched as an Earth pine, when Data over-
took him. "She's been telling me things, Data," he
said.
 "She?"
    "Ma'adrys. Ever since I met her on Ne'elat, lots of
things. But this was one thing she never told me."
    "I do not believe that she was aware of this,
Geordi," Data said.
    "Not aware? Not aware that she and Bilik were
going to be... paired?"
    "Ah. I thought that you were referring to the fact
that she is the grandchild of the head of the Masra'et.
The timing is certainly right."
    "Time." Geordi drew the word out. "Too much
time. Too many years of injustice. It's got to end,
Data."
    "I am in agreement with you in theory, Geordi,
although I admit I am not very sanguine as to any
immediate change taking place. Of course the opti-
mum modification in the status quo would be for the
Ne'elatians to admit their past faults and take the first
steps toward establishing cultural equality with their
sisterworld."
    "Wouldn't that be nice," Geordi muttered. "Start-
ing with some simple medical help."
 "Indeed." Data had learned to perceive sarcasm,
but he still failed to pick up on the subtle shadings of
voice that denoted cynicism. "But it will not happen.
The Ne'elatians have no reason to end the present
state of affairs. Even if Ma'adrys succeeds in making
her people understand how they have been used by
Ne'elat, the situation will not improve. The Ashkaar-
ians may decline to share their spiritual goods with
the Ne'elatians, but a boycott of that nature will not
in any way harm the Ne'elatians."
    "How can a whole world claim to hunger after
things of the spirit and refuse to see that what they're
doing to get them is simply wrong?" Geordi drove his
fist back against the tree trunk. A light sprinkling of
needles showered over the two officers.
    "I do not know," Data said, brushing the spicy
forage from his shoulders. "Perhaps not all
Ne'elatians are to blame. They may not be aware of
what their leaders have been doing."
    "Maybe we should make them aware of it, then. If
enough of them object, the Masra'et will have no
choice but to--"
    "That, too, is not a very practical solution,
Geordi," Data said. "For one thing, the uncertainty of
effective results is too great. For another, it would be
impossible for us to undertake such a project without
violating the Prime Directive."
    "I know, I know." Geordi's sigh blended with the
mountain breeze that stirred the branches overhead.
He glanced back toward the house. "They're still
inside. I wonder what they're saying." A bittersweet
smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. "Does
eavesdropping violate the Prime Directive, Data?"
    The android's head made a tiny, speculative jerk to
one side. "A joke?"
"Yes, a joke." Geordi slumped a bit against the tree.
"I guess it's always easier to go through the motions
of a hundred rituals instead of just doing what's
right."
    "Very few groups of sentient beings in the known
universe agree on what is the right thing to do, in the
moral or ethical sense," Data remarked. "Fewer still
are willing to do the so-called right thing for its own
sake. They are generally motivated by some form of
personal reward, real or implied, actual or spiri-
tual."
    The android's forthright analysis jolted Geordi out
of his dispirited state. "Don't tell me you're turning
into a cynic, Data."
    "I am merely presenting my personal observa-
tions," Data replied. "The Ferengi are motivated to
action by profit, the Klingons by honor, but the
Ne'elatians have nothing to motivate them to correct
their past offenses against Ashkaar. They do not even
view their actions as offensive, since offense can only
occur between equals. They have made it quite clear
that they find the Ashkaarians so technologically and
culturally backward that there is not the remotest
chance of equality between the two worlds."
    Geordi's chin lifted. "That's it!" he cried, snapping
his fingers.
"Is it?" Data inquired mildly.
"EqualityIno--superiority! The one thing the
Ashkaarians have that the Ne'elatians don't! And it's
something the Masra'et will understand right away:
Power."
    "Geordi, I do not see what sort of military advan-
tage the Ashkaarians have over the Ne'elatians. They
have not even recovered the technology to manufac-
ture simple firearms."
 "They don't need to." Geordi glanced back at the
oberyin's house. Bilik and Ma'adrys were just coming
out. The oberyin looked downcast but resigned, even
though the girl held his hand. Geordi was so caught
up in his own revelation that he forgot to feel the least
twinge of jealousy. He ran toward them, happily
shouting Ma'adrys's name.

Chapter Fourteen

"No," MA'ADRYS SAID, her eyes burning. And again,
louder, "No. I refuse to obey what I do not under-
stand. I have been deceived too often. I am no longer
a fool who goes blindly where others command."
    "Ma'adrys, please, you know I'd never ask you to
do anything wrong, anything that would hurt you,"
Geordi pleaded. He stood with her on the far sido of
Bilik's house, out of earshot of the oberyin and the
others. "I thought you trusted me."
    "And I thought you respected me," Ma'adrys shot
back. "To tell me that I must do this thing--or
anything!--and ask no questions, that is not respect.
Am I still a child? Am I still ignorant in your eyes?"
She wrapped her arms around herself and bitterly
added, "Not even Bilik ever spoke to me so when he
tried to turn me from becoming an oberyin. This is
not love."
 "Ma'adrys!" Geordi tried to take her into his arms,
but she shrugged him off and turned her back on him.
"Ma'adrys, please, hear me out. I've found a way to
make everything right between your world and
Ne'elat, a plan that will force the Ne'etatians to see
that the Ashkaarians are worthy of treatment as
equals."
    "Force?" she echoed hopefully. "Then all that you
have told me of the law your people follow, the one
that prevents you from interfering in the ways of other
worlds, it can be set aside'?"
    Geordi grasped her shoulders and compelled her to
look at him. "All right, maybe force isn't the right
word. It can't be. I'm a Starfleet officer. I can't
intervene in relations between Ashkaar and Ne'elat,
but that doesn't mean I don't see that something has
to be done to reestablish equality of your worlds, if
only so that Ashkaar can benefit from Ne'elatian
medical knowledge. If my plan succeeds, the sister-
worlds will come together on their own."
    "But why all this secrecy?" Ma'adrys demanded.
"Why do you not suspend this law of yours only for a
little while, until all is set right between Iskir and the
false ones, and act? I have seen your ship. You have
great power. You could make the false ones undo the
evil of ages instantly, easily!"
    "It wouldn't be easy, Ma'adrys," Geordi said. "It
would be impossible. Don't you think I want to better
things for your people as quickly as can be? But if Im
if any Starfleet officer ever did use the power of
Federation technology at will, where would it end? We
can't remake the universe to suit our personal ideas of
right and wrong. If we did, we'd soon be no better
than Ne'elat."
    Her look was as cold as the wind that suddenly
swept down the mountainside. "So you choose the
path of deceit instead."
    "I choose the path of guidance. The Masra'et of
Ne'elat have seen how superior our technology is to
theirs. We could force them to treat your people the
way we think they should be treated, but for how
long? We couldn't stay here playing moral watchdog
forever. The Ne'elatians would always resent us, and
they'd soon find a way to take it out on Ashkaar. But if
they choose to change on their own, without ever
suspecting our role in that decision, it can only profit
everyone concerned. That is why the need for secrecy,
my love."
    "Lies," Ma'adrys said sullenly, lowering her head.
"I am tired of so many lies. I heard the wise ones
teach of blessed Evramur, only to discover it was all a
lie. I heard you speak of love to me, then hear you say
that you cannot trust my discretion."
    "That's not what I said and you know it." Geordi
raised her chin and kissed her tenderly, quickly,
before she could jerk away. "My love for you is no lie,
and neither is Evramur, not if you believe. The lie is
that Ne'elat is Evramur. Do you see the difference?"
    "I see that it is a fine plan, to make Ne'elat treat us
as equals, when you refuse to treat me with any
measure of equality," Ma'adrys replied, shrugging
him off. "Do you even consider doing so? You are no
starlord, but you come from worlds as far advanced
above Ne'elat as Ne'elat dreams itself above Iskir. If
we are barbarians to Ne'elat, how much less wemI
must be to you!" She walked away from him, up the
slope to where a small patch of white flowers starred
the grass.
    Geordi sighed and followed, his feet crushing fra-
grance from the tiny blossoms until he overtook her
and laid hold of her arm. "If you won't listen, how can
you understand? Look, Ma'adrys, the members of the
Masra'et are on board the Enterprise right now, but I
don't know how much longer they'll stay there. Bilik
and Data have to travel overland to the seat of the
Na'amOberyinaless than a day's journey, but it still
takes time. For my plan to succeed, we need to bring
the Masra'et and the Na'amOberyin face to face, the
sooner the better. Can't you be satisfied with that for
an explanation? Won't you go back to Bilik and tell
him that you no longer object, that he shouldathat
he must do what I've asked him?"
    Ma'adrys's face turned stony. A second time she
cast off his touch. "Your explanation is next to none,"
she told him. "Perhaps you do not know how great a
thing it is that you have asked Bilik to do for you, for
your... plan. Once and only once in a lifetime, each
oberyin of Iskir may appear before the Na'amOberyin
and ask that they--the nine most powerful oberyin of
Iskir--grant a request, with no questions asked and
no explanation given."
    "I know," Geordi said. "I know because you told
me all about it. Why do you imagine I thought to ask
it of Bilik?"
    "But what have you asked of him? What exactly?"
Ma'adrys insisted. "Is it worth squandering the one
unconditional request he can ever make of them?"
  "I think it is."
    "And that must be enough for me as well, eh?" For
the first time since Geordi had known her, Ma'adrys
spoke to him harshly, her sweet face twisted into a
sneer. "Very well. I will give you what you ask of me,
starlord. How can a simple savage of Iskir ever hope
to fathom wisdom such as yours? I will urge Bilik to
follow your commands and never ask why."
    "Ma'adrys, you're overreact--" It was no good
trying to make her see reason; she did not stay to hear.
She was gone, vanished back around the house to
where the others waited. By the time Geordi caught
up to her, she was telling Bilik in no uncertain terms
that he must follow the starlord's instructions to the
letter.
    Bilik did not look ready to comply, despite the new
awe he felt in Ma'adrys's presence. He looked from
Ma'adrys, whose bared teeth looked a little too fierce
to be called a smile, to Geordi, and there were a
hundred unspoken doubts in that single look. "Do
you know what you ask of me, starlord?" he said
slowly. "The Na'amOberyin possess such powers that
when they unite their minds they can compel whole
cities to march into the sea! The a'dyem--the boon
we lesser oberyin may have from our supreme council
only once while we live--was set in place to be an
everlasting reminder to them that they are still the
servants of the people, for all their power."
    "Fascinating," Data remarked. "If the Na'am-
Oberyin are masters of so much mental power, why
do they submit to the a'dyem at all?"
    Bilik stared at Data as though the android had
begun to bark like a dog. "They do so because they
must." He reached into his robes and pulled out a
small gray medallion on a length of braided leather.
"At the testing that takes place whenever one of the
Na'amOberyin dies and a new one must be chosen,
the winner of the competition fills a token like this
with a measure of his own power. On his ascension,
the disc is then melded to his brow, to be a sign of his
perpetual service to the people. All oberyin carry one
until the day we seek the a'dyem, but for the Na'am-
Oberyin this token becomes part of them until the day
they die."
    "May IT' Counsellor Troi extended a hand for the
medallion. Bilik passed it to her with some misgiving.
She studied it for a time, then returned it to him and
said, "Interesting. It feels almost like a kind of...
storage battery. The Na'amOberyin answer to each
lesser oberyin because they must, and they must
because they placed some of their own superior power
of compulsion in these tokens."
    "I think I understand," Geordi said. "If the
Na'amOberyin combine their powers, they're too
strong for anyone but themselves to control, but to be
allowed to be a part of that united power they first
have to surrender a little of that self-control to the
other oberyin. Checks and balances."
    Bilik frowned. "I do not know what you are saying,
lord, but if you mock us--"
    "Not at all," Geordi reassured him. "We respect
you, Bilik oberyin, and we want to understand your
ways."
    "Then do you understand what it is you ask of
me?" he countered. "To call upon my a'dyem!"
    "Maybe the Na'amOberyin won't see it that way,"
Geordi said. "All I want is for you to take my
comrade here"--he indicated Mr. Dataw"to the
Na'amOberyin and have them grant him an audience.
I only want you to call in the a'dyem if there's no
other way to get their cooperation."
    "It does not seem to be so great a thing," Bilik
admitted, stroking his chin. "And yet, his appearance
is such that--" He shook his head. "How shall I
explain him to my betters? Will they see him as a
messenger of great good or greater evil?"
    "The only important thing is that they see him,"
Geordi stressed. "Tell them--tell them he's a good-
will ambassador from--"
    "Goodwill," Bilik interrupted. "But whose?
Ma'adrys told me much about you, lord. I no longer
know what to believe. What are you, in truth? Or is
the truth something I will ever know? So much has
changed, so much I once believed in. Evramur. After
Ma'adrys was taken from us, I used to comfort myself
with the thought that even though her going tore my
heart, at least she was happy, blessed to walk the holy
ways of paradise. Now she has told me that the refuge
of all departed spirits is only another ball of dirt and
stone. Is this message the goodwill your ambassador
will offer the Na'amOberyin?"
    Geordi saw the very real spiritual anguish in Bilik's
eyes and it called up an answering pang in his own
spirit. Faith could move mountains, but doubt could
send them crumbling down into a handful of sand. He
searched himself for answers he might offer Bilik and
found none. The oberyin would have to find his own
answers. All that he could say was, "Trust me." It was
feeble, but it was the best he had.
    Bilik gave him a hard, measuring look. Then,
without another word, he gestured for Data to follow
him and set his feet on the uphill path. Before the
android could fall into step behind, Geordi detained
him and whispered, "When you get there and Bilik's
presented you to the council, I want you to excuse
yourself for just a little while. Find somewhere pri-
vate, signal the ship, then stand by." "For further instructions?"
    "For a package." Geordi smiled faintly. "Special
delivery. It wouldn't be a goodwill mission without a
few gifts for your hosts, now would it?"
     "If you say so, I will assume that is the case." With
that, Data turned and set out to catch up with Bilik.
  "Gifts?" Troi asked. "What gifts?"
    But Geordi had already touched his comm badge
and told the ship that there were four to beam up. The
air shimmered around them and they were gone.
    "Feeling better, Ambassador?" Lt. Riker leaned
over the med station where Lelys lay blinking as if she
had just awoken from a deep sleep.
    The Orakisan touched her temples gingerly with
her fingertips. "What... happened to me?"
    Dr. Crusher came to stand on the other side of the
ambassador's bed. "The simplest way I can describe it
for you is that you were the victim of a series of neural
overrides from an external source, although we're still
working on an explanation for how they were trans-
mitted."
    "Please, do not bother on my account." Lelys
closed her eyes and looked pained. "It makes my head
ache."
    "That's the normal aftereffect of the stimulant I
administered," the doctor said. "It took some time
for me to find one that would remove the overrides
without adversely affecting your normal mental proc-
esses."
    "Good thing for you she had a guinea pig to test it
out on first." Riker grinned.
    "I remember everything." Lelys sounded surprised
by her own admission. "It was terrible. It was as if I
had no control over myself. They made me into a
child again, a helpless child!"
    "You're lucky they didn't just immobilize you,"
Riker said. "I felt like I was turned to wood, trapped
in my own body."
    The ambassador sat up slowly and turned her head
as if working kinks out of her neck. "Better to be
trapped in the body than in the mind. There will be
grave consequences when I confront the ones respon-
sible for this outrage."
    "I'm afraid that you'll need to put aside your own
grievances for the moment," Riker said. "You're
wanted in the briefing room." He slipped one hand
under the ambassador's elbow and helped her stand,
then escorted her out of sickbay and through the
corridors of the Enterprise.
    "Ambassador Lelys! ! am so pleased to see you well
once more." Ham'el hurried forward to greet his
superior, but there was more than a colleague's con-
cern in his manner. He took her hand in both of his, a
gesture that took her by surprise. "Are you fully
recovered?" he asked.
    "I am." It was his turn to be surprised when she did
not pull her hand out of his gentle hold. She nodded
toward the closed door of the briefing room. "Who is
in there? The Masra'et? I have some words for them."
    "They are there, and my father too." Hara'el's joy
in seeing Lelys once more faded as he added, "We
have had more news from S'ka'rys. More dead and
more near death."
    "We have failed them," Lelys said, but with more
heat than sorrow. "There is nothing we can do for our
kin on S'ka'rys. We cannot create a plant that has
vanished from the universe. But we will do some good
here before we return home." Her eyes darted to the
briefing room. "Is the witness within?"
    "Witness?" It was clear that Hara'el had no idea
what Lelys meant.
    Just then a low murmur of voices came from
farther down the corridor and Geordi appeared,
accompanied by Ma'adrys and Avren. The Ne'elatian
agent looked decidedly uneasy, ready to jump out of
his shabby shepherd's garb at the slightest sound. His
hands were no longer bound, and he clutched and
fidgeted with the wide brim of his hat so energetically
that he was leaving a faint trail of dust behind him
from the cockade of dried flowers in the band.
    "Sorry we're late," Geordi said to the ambassador.
"We wanted to be sure you were fully recovered and
able to see this. Avren here has agreed to testify."
    "Has he?" Lelys was openly skeptical. "Does it not
strike you as strange that this person, who worked so
hard to maintain the evil on Ashkaar, is now so
willing to help end it?"
    "I'm not up to any dirty tricks, if that's what's
bothering you," Avren said.
  "So noble, so suddenly?" Lelys mocked him.
    He shrugged off her scorn. "I never pretended to be
doing anything but my job. That's over now. So much
for my disguise. I got off Ashkaar with my skin in one
piece, I'm not fool enough to risk it a second time, but
what about my comrades? Just because the Ashkaar-
ians are savages doesn't mean they're stupid. They've
got the wind up now, and they'll be looking for spies.
The Masra'et's got to withdraw us all now."  "Will they?"
    "Ha! Not likely, left to themselves. It's not their
reverend necks that're at risk. Well, I'm not trusting
the lives of my friends to luck and the mercy of the
Masra'et. I'm doing my part now so that those old
birds don't have any choice but to recall every Ne'ela-
tian agent on Ashkaar." He jammed his hat down
hard on his head, releasing another sprinkling of dust
and dried flowers. "Let's do this."
    Geordi stepped to one side of the door. "After you,
Madam Ambassador," he told Lelys with a courtly
bow. The Orakisan ambassador and Hara'el entered,
followed by Ma'adrys and Avren. Geordi heard the
sharp, startled gasps that welcomed the Ne'elatian
agent, and smiled.
    "It's working," he murmured to himself. It's got to
work, he thought.
    Just as he was about to go into the briefing room,
his comm badge beeped. "La Forge here."
    Lt. Worf's voice hailed him. "Mr. La Forge, we have
just received a communication from Mr. Data on
Ashkaar. It was extremely short. He said that he had
arrived and was awaiting further instructions and
the... special delivery. When I attempted to ques-
tion him he only said that he did not have the time for
a lengthy interview and that you would know what he
meant."
  "Thank you, Mr. Worf, I do. La Forge out."
    In the transporter room Geordi set the previously
prepared package on the pad, then touched his corem
badge. "La Forge to Data."
    "Data here." The android's voice came through
hardly louder than a whisper. "Where is the
package?"
  "Coming. Where are you?"
    "Just outside the chamber where the Na'am-
Oberyin hold their audiences. This is not a very large
building, Geordi. The audience chamber is the build-
ing, in effect. I have managed to find what appears to
be a closet, but I cannot stay hidden here long. I
suggest we proceed."
    "Right. I'm beaming down the package to your
coordinates. When it gets there I want you to open it
and distribute the contents to the Na'amOberyin and
Bilik."
 "What are the contents?"
    "Comm badges. Tell them whatever it takes, as long
as they put them on, then signal me when it's done."
    There was a short silence on Mr. Data's end of the
conversation, and then: "Is it your intent to transport
the entire Na'amOberyin aboard the Enterprise?"
 "Yes."
 "Ah. For what purpose?"
    "To confront the Masra'et. Each is the supreme
political body on their respective worlds. They have
to meet if this is ever going to be settled."
    "I do not know if this is a wise course of action at
the present moment, Geordi," Data said. "When
Bilik brought me into the presence of the council, he
did not limit his remarks to my introduction. He has
repeated everything that Ma'adrys told him about the
true nature of the world they call Evramur."
  "And they believed him?"
    "He prefaced his recital with what I assume to be a
sacred oath of inviolable honesty. To judge by the
reactions of the Na'amOberyin, they accept every-
thing he tells them as the unquestionable truth, and
they are not happy. I do not think it prudent to bring
aboard so significant a number of angered and hostile
individuals. It is difficult to gauge any danger they
might present. They all wear loose-fitting robes that
make it impossible to determine whether or not they
are carrying weapons."
  "They're angry at Ne'elat, not us."
      "They are angry at Ne'elat and you," Data cor-
rected him.  "Me?"
    "Bilik spoke rather eloquently of the manner in
which Ashkaar has been deceived for so long by off-
world agents.-He made no attempt to differentiate
between the Ne'elatians and us, you in particular."
    "Yes, it would be me in particular," Geordi mut-
tered, thinking of Ma'adrys and what she had once
meant to Bilik.
    "When I left the audience chamber, I overheard
two of the council members pondering whether my
intentions, too, were to be trusted."
  "You'd better do what you can to bring them
around. We need them to trust you just long enough
to put on those comm badges. Signal when it's done
and I'll beam you aboard first. La Forge out." He
pulled the transporter switch, watched as the package
of comm badges flickered away, then settled back to
wait.

    In the briefing room, things were not going well. No
matter where Captain Picard looked, he saw faces
contorted by fury. Only his crewmembers--
Counsellor Troi, Commander Riker, and Mr. Data--
seemed immune to the storm of rage whirling through
the room. Regarding Data, Picard idly wished that the
android had been present from the beginning of this
confrontation. Mr. Data could never be anything but
the voice of pure reason, and that sometimes had a
calming effect on more emotional beings.
    But Data had arrived uncharacteristically late, and
he left no time for Picard to request an explanation.
By then the hostilities were well out into the open.
The air crackled with the ranting voices of
Ne'elatians, Orakisans, and the sole Ashkaarian,
Ma'adrys, each trying to shout down the others. It
was no use trying to restore order at this point.
Tempers had risen too high, too many hard truths had
been spoken. The disputants had not yet resorted to
physical violence, but from where Picard sat it looked
as if it were only a matter of time. He touched his
badge. "Security to the briefing room, on the double."
    Mr. Worf responded to the summons personally,
accompanied by two of his staff. They entered just as
Udar Kishrit was about to lunge across the table for
Avren's throat. The Ne'elatian agent backed away fast
and bumped into the Klingon. It was rather like
stumbling into a solidly mortared brick wall.
 "Ow!" Avren's hat was knocked to the floor. He
stood there rubbing the back of his head and glower-
ing at Worf.
    Worf had no time for apologies. His eyes swept the
tumult and he thundered out a single word: "Sit!"
One look at the Klingon and they sat. Quickly.
    However, even with the contenders under some
control, it didn't take them long to start bellowing at
each other again.
    "Lies!" Udar Kishrit pounded the table with his
fist. "We are brought here to be assaulted by lies! Who
is this fraud you have dug out of the muck to insult
us?" He jabbed his finger at Avren.
    The false shepherd ignored the slur. "You were glad
enough to see me when I first came in," he said. "It
was only when I opened my mouth and told the truth
that you wanted to pretend you'd never laid eyes on
me before. Well, it won't work. I can prove you know
me." He reached into his pouch and brought out the
same small device with which he had contacted the
Masra'et about the problem of the Away Team's
presence on Ashkaar. "There are more than a few
recordings of your voice and image right here. I
always keep copies of communications. That way no
one can make me take the blame for executing orders
you would prefer to deny later."
    "Your lies have nothing to do with any orders we
ever gave you," Udar Kishrit growled. "They have all
been uttered here, before these witnesses. To accuse
my daughter of disloyalty! To claim she turned against
her own people! She was proud and honored to serve
Ne'elat. She gave her life for us! May you pay forever
for hurling such filth against a dead girl's reputation.
Isata Kish was twice the agent you will ever be, a hero
among heroes. Her loss will always tear my heart. I
am consoled only by the knowledge that she died in
the performance of her duty to Ne'elat."
     "She died in childbirth," Avren shot back. "The
 child herself is here." He pointed at Ma'adrys. "Don't
 you have eyes? Or don't you remember your own
 daughter's face? I knew Isata Kish when we were both
 in training, and the resemblance--"  "Bah."
    "Udar Kishrit," Counsellor Troi said softly, "The
Away Team discovered certain artifacts in Ma'adrys's
house that were of Ne'elatian origin. She said that
they had belonged to her mother. One was a commu-
nications device. We have every reason to believe that
this young woman is your grandchild."
    "Your beliefs are your own," he replied haughtily.
"Keep them to yourselves."
    "What is the use of all this?" Legate Valdor broke
in. "Why do you harass these people with such
nonsense? What does it matter if this girl is anything
to Udar Kishrit?"
    "It matters to me," Udar Kishrit said, his voice
cold. "The very idea that my daughter could lower
herself to breed with an Ashkaarian! Savages and
primitives, all of them."
    "And who keeps us so?" Ma'adrys cried, springing
from her chair. "It offends you to believe that your
daughter took my father for her mate? I find it a worse
affront that my father, an honest man, ever mingled
his blood with one of you--you heshkatti!"
    Udar Kishrit's upper lip curled. "And what would
that happen to be?"
    Mr. Data was quick to provide the answer. "The
Ashkaarian heshkatti is a mythological creature, rath-
er like a cross between two legendary monsters from
Earth, the vampire and the harpy. It drinks the
dreams of its sleeping victims and fouls their homes
with its droppings."
 "How dare you!" Udar Kishrit bellowed.
"Mr. Data," Captain Picard murmured, "I don't
think Udar Kishrit actually wanted to know that."
"But sir, he did ask--" the puzzled android began.
"I will bear no more of this," Udar Kishrit an-
nounced, rising to his feet. "We will bear no more.
Captain Picard, we wish to return to Ne'elat at once."
    "Then go!" Ambassador Lelys spat. "The sooner
we see the last of you, the better. Does it shame you to
acknowledge Ma'adrys as your daughter's child? It
shames us a hundred times more to claim you as any
relation to Orakisa! You will never be a part of our
sisterworld alliance while ! have a voice. Ne'elat will
remain the blighted backwater of the galaxy that it
deserves to be."
    "Speak for yourself, Ambassador," Legate �aldor
snarled. "Would you cast aside a whole world of our
kin for petty spite?"
    "Spite! You are a fine one to lecture me on spite,
Valdor," she retorted. "I have heard how you con-
nived against me."
    "You are mad." Valdor sniffed as if Lelys's anger
were a trifle to be disregarded. "Your mind has been
affected by your captivity among the Ashkaarian
savages. I will report this unfortunate lapse to our
superiors when we return to Orakisa. It may be that
they will take it into account when they evaluate the
reasons why this mission has failed so dismally, but if
not--"
    "Settle your quarrels on your own time," Udar
Kishrit snapped at his onetime ally. "We will not be
delayed here any longer. Captain Picard!"
    "Yes, yes." Picard rose from the table slowly. He
had weathered enough unfriendly parleys in the
course of his career to know when it was useless to try
forcing the issue at hand. Despite the fact that the
Masra'et had been made to hear damning testimony
not only from Ma'adrys but from one of their own
agents in place, they refused to admit themselves or
their ancestors guilty of any wrongdoing on Ashkaar.
"We will transport you back to Ne'elat at once." He
touched his comm badge. "Transporter room, pre-
pare to--"
    The briefing room door hissed open. Udar Kishrit
and the rest of the Masra'et gasped and backed away
as nine fiery-eyed men, their long, dark robes as
wildly disarrayed as their beards, poured into the
already crowded chamber.
    "They have come!" Ma'adrys exclaimed, half in
fear, half in awe. She arranged her hands in a gesture
of deepest reverence and bowed low. "Gracious mas-
ters, be welcome to our--"
    The words of greeting died on her lips. While she
had been speaking, the door had opened a second
time.
 "Geordi!" she cried.
    Even with his arms pinioned behind him and
Bilik's dagger at his throat, Geordi managed a sheep-
ish smile. "Hello, Ma'adrys. This isn't going the way I
planned it at all."
Chapter Fifteen

LT. WORF ACTED WITH the speed of a Klingon warrior
and the skill of one of Starfleet's most highly trained
Security officers. Bilik might have his dagger to
Geordi's throat, but Worf was confident that even
unarmed he could deflect the blade and free his
crewmate before the oberyin knew what hit him. He
leaped into action--
  --and turned into ice.
    "Exactly like what happened to me," Commander
Riker murmured to a stunned Captain Picard.
    "Enough power to iramobilize a Klingon," Picard
marveled under his breath.
    "I don't think our friend with the dagger's doing it
alone," Riker observed. He nodded discreetly at the
nine members of the Na'amOberyin who were staring
at Worf with intense concentration. "If they can hold
Worf, we'd better not make any sudden moves or
they'll do the same to us."
    "Agreed." Picard raised his voice and addressed
the invaders. "Whoever you are, I promise you that
you are in no danger here if you have come in peace."
    "It was not our idea to come here," Bilik replied,
his jaw set. "We were swept from our world unwill-
ingly, just as so many of our own people were stolen
by those children of Yaro before this." He shot a
venemous look at the trembling Ne'elatians.
    "It was not my idea to bring you here, either,"
Picard said. "But since you are here, I give you my
word as a Starfeet officer that while you are on board
the Enterprise, you have nothing to fear from us.
Release my men and I will see that you are returned to
your homeworld immediately."
    Bilik made no move to lower the dagger. "We know
nothing of the worth of your word. Why should we
trust you?"
    "I assure you--" Without thinking, Picard rose
from his seat, intending to approach the hostile
oberyin peaceably. He had taken perhaps three steps
toward Bilik when he felt his limbs begin to go
numb. He took the hint. "There is no need for that,"
he remarked softly. When he backtracked and sat
down again, the shadow of paralysis left him. "We can
talk like this, at a distance, if that is what you prefer."
    "What is this nonsense?" Udar Kishrit's voice
boomed. He gave Picard a contemptuous look. "Is
your Federation made of such spineless stuff that you
treat savages as if they were civilized beings?" He
started for Bilik, and whether his hand was raised to
deal the oberyin a blow or merely in a dramatic
gesture, only he knew.
    "Hold them, my masters!" Bilik cried. "Hold them
all!" At those words, a shiver seemed to run through
every non-Ashkaarian in the briefing room. This was
a different sort of immobility than that which held
Worf fast.
    "My legs! What have they done to my legs?" one
panic-stricken member of the Masra'et cried.
    "And mine, curse you!" another shouted at the
Ashkaarians. "Release us at once, or--" He reached
for the flimsy dagger at his belt. It was a poor cousin
to the businesslike blade Bilik held under Geordi's
chin, most likely intended just for show and ceremo-
ny, but the Ashkaarians did not see it that way. To
them, the intent of attack was as good as the act. One
of them raised his hand and the belligerent Ne'elatian
suddenly found his arms made as useless as his legs.
    As for Udar Kishrit, he appeared to be struggling
with an invisible assailant, one who first pushed his
arms down to his sides, then forced him back into his
place by inches, the Ne'elatian headman bawling his
indignation all the while.
    As further bellows of outrage arose from Legate
Valdor and the members of the Masra'et, it became
apparent that their vocal capabilities remained un-
touched by the power of the Na'amOberyin. It was,
Picard reflected, like being held captive in a wizard's
lair, surrounded by semi-animate statues. Loud ones.
    The one exception to the selective paralysis upon
them was Mr. Data. Whether it was Bilik alone or the
powers of the nine combined with his, the android
remained unaffected. However, when he attempted to
rise from his place at the conference table, Bilik
uttered a warning hiss and twitched his dagger ever so
slightly against Geordi's skin, just enough to draw a
thin trickle of blood.
    "Bilik, no.r' Ma'adrys cried, and stretched out her
hands.
    "Stay back," Bilik commanded. "For the safety of
your own spirit, Ma'adrys, keep away from this de-
mon. You have been led astray by these false ones for
too long. You are too tender hearted, and Yaro's
children speak with words of honey and voices of
sweet song."
    "Geordi is no demon," Ma'adrys said staunchly.
"It is you who have been led astray by Yaro if you
think that. How much farther down the dark road will
you follow?"
    "Is such precaution necessary, Bilik oberyin?"
asked one of the other nine dark-robed Ashkaarians,
eying Geordi. His beard was copiously streaked with
gray and covered most of his chest. A silver sigil
pinned to his robe marked him out among his peers.
"If it is as Ma'adrys says, can you not release this
captive?"
    "I would not trust him, Nish na'am," Bilik snarled.
"He is deceit itself."
    "Nish na'am!" Captain Picard's powerful voice
drew every eye to him. "Mr. La Forge is a Starfleet
officer and I am his commander. Have Bilik oberyin
release him and you have my word as well as his that
he will offer you no opposition."
    Nish na'am appeared to consider the captain's
words. "Perhaps this one is right, Bilik oberyin," he
said. "This chamber is already thick with the nets of
holding and can contain precious little more. Trust is
well named as the fifth moral treasure. A word well
given can restrain an army. Besides," he peered
closely at the immobilized Klingon, "you, too, know
how strong this one was to resist us. Even now--"
    "They are all the children of lies, Nish na'am,"
Bilik said hastily. "We can not be too careful. What
do they know or care about the six moral treasures?
Trust none of them."
    "Not even me, Bilik?" Ma'adrys glared at him.
"Not even when I speak hari'imash in his name?"
    The alien word brought a great silence down upon
the Ashkaarians in the room. The color fled from
Bilik's face and the hand holding the knife to Geordi's
throat slowly fell to his side, though Geordi himself
still remained unable to take a single step away from
his captor. "Do you, Ma'adrys?" Bilik asked in a
voice hardly louder than a whisper.  "Willingly."
  "But I never intended to kill--"
    "Silence." Nish na'am raised his hands. The silver
sigil on his robes seemed to glow with his power to
command. "Intentions are blown seed pods. She has
spoken hari'imash and spoken it willingly. The sacri-
fice is offered, made, accepted. So let it be. Release
him."
    Reluctantly, Bilik stepped away from his prisoner.
Geordi shook himself like a wet dog, as if casting off
the remnants of some old spell out of ancient fairy
tales. Ma'adrys gave a glad little cry and rushed into
his arms. She took a piece of folded cloth from her
sleeve and used it to dab the slim cut Bilik's knife had
left in Geordi's flesh. Watching her tenderness, the
oberyin turned away, shamefaced.
    "Bilik oberyin! Attend us!" Nish ha'am spoke
sharply. "Your inattention robs us all of our present
advantage." The graybeard turned a piercing look on
Captain Picard. "You are the one who rules here? Are
you starlord or Child of Yaro?"
    "I am Jean-Luc Picard, captain of this ship," Picard
replied evenly. "And that is all."
    His response left the na'am somewhat puzzled. He
made another try. "Do you side with the Balance or
against it?"
  "We side with a peaceful resolution of differences."
    "Differences," the graybeard repeated. "And atroc-
ities? Are these, too, merely differences to you? Bilik
oberyin came before us to speak of many secrets, long
buried. Injustice has been done to our people. What
do you know of this? Much? Little? Nothing?"
    "We know as much and more than you about the
situation that has developed between Ashkaar and
Ne'elat, Nish ha'am," Picard said. "We would rejoice
to see things made right between the two worlds."
    "And our dead? The loved ones we have lost so
needlessly for so long. Where is their rejoicing?"
    Counsellot Troi spoke up, her voice soft and per-
suasive. "We cannot hope to undo the past, Nish
na'am. Act for the sake of the living, not the dead, and
look to the future."
    "The future will be no different from the past, can
be no different, unless these deceivers admit their
offenses against us," the ha'am said coldly.
"When the sun falls," Udar Kishrit snarled.
"Udar Kishrit, think about what you're saying,"
Picard said. "I have walked in the sacred precincts of
Bovridash and heard your bovereem expound the
teachings. If you worship the holy beauty of the
Balance, how can you leave a debt unpaid?"
    "What debt? I pay all my debts, Captain Picard.
You insult me," Udar Kishrit replied, his mouth hard.
    "Not this debt. For centuries the spiritual health of
your people has flourished at the expense of the
physical well-being of the Ashkaarians, your kindred.
For ages you've chosen to take from them, but now
you face a glorious opportunity, the chance to give, to
pay back some small measure of all that you'vere"
    "Enough!" Udar Kishrit's face was livid. "What is
this talk of debts to be repaid? Debts are contracted
between equals! Hear me now and hear me well
Captain Picard: If we have taken the teachings of
these savages for our own, it is because the gods gave
us that power. Will you challenge the wisdom of the
gods? If we had not done so, Ne'elat might have
become like the old homeworld, lost because its
people could worship nothing that was not the work
of their hands."
    "Do you hear your own words, Udar Kishrit?"
Counsellor Troi asked softly. "If you think of the
Ashkaarians as savages, why do you come to them for
spiritual guidance?"
    Udar Kishrit made an impatient sound. "You twist
my words. I know only one truth, that if we have
saved and preserved the advances of Ne'elat at the
price of a dozen Ashkaars, we have done well."
    "Saved the advances of Ne'elat, but for whom?"
Troi murmured.
    "Not for such as they, if that is what you mean."
Udar Kishrit lifted his head proudly.
    "You are such as they, you fool!" Ambassador Lelys
shouted. "One stem, many flowers, but all sprung
from the same seed."
    "I might say the same of your people and mine as
well," the head of the Masra'et returned coldly. "Yet
you would turn your back on us too, without a second
thought. You would deny us the stars."
    Lelys's gesture embraced the Ashkaarians. "You
would deny these people, your brothers, life itselfl"
    "And you, shiplord?" Nish na'am studied Captain
Picard's face. "In your eyes, that have seen much, are
we savages?"
  "No," Picard replied. "By no means."
    "Why do you say so when this... illspeaker"--he
nodded at Udar Kishrit--"seems so convinced that
we are? What makes a savage, shiplord? Blind selfish-
ness? Casual brutality? Indifference to anyone whose
life is not linked to his own closely enough? Or
even"--With icy determination and a gaze whose
meaning could not be mistaken, he looked deliber-
ately from Udar Kishrit to Ma'adrys and back
again--"to one whose is?"
    "How dare you!" Udar Kishrit struggled against the
invisible bonds that held him. Nish na'am's eyes
narrowed, and the gaze of every member of the
Na'amOberyin focussed on the enraged leader of the
Masra'et. Udar Kishrit's eyes went wide as he tried to
force more words of indignation from his mouth and
could not. Nish na'am allowed himself a small, satis-
fied smile.
    Suddenly, a guttural sound escaped Lt. WoWs lips.
The Klingon's outstretched hand flexed ever so
slightly. The Na'amOberyin wheeled as if their bodies
were controlled by a single puppeteer, their faces
transformed to masks of almost incandescent intensi-
ty. If Worf had been turned to ice before, now he was
stone.
    Not so Udar Kishrit. In the instant that the
Na'amOberyin reclaimed control over Worf, he
sprang back to full mobility. The ceremonial dagger at
his belt flashed up as he drew it and threw himself at
the nearest of the Ashkaarians.
    "So." Nish ha'am touched his silver sigil and
laughed. "It has teeth, this many-headed monster."
He spoke slowly, like a man with all the time in the
world. Indeed, it seemed as if at his word time had
slowed to the oozing pace of honey dripping heavy
from the comb.
    Udar Kishrit still moved, but sluggishly, his feet too
weighty to carry him forward, his body swaying in an
eerie dance. His free hand rose to meet the hand
holding the dagger above his head until he grasped the
blade with both. Then gradually, oh so very languidly,
the blade descended, subtly changing course as it
drifted down, until the leader of the Masra'et stared
helplessly as he himself stood ready to plunge the
glittering point into his own trembling belly.
    At once, the other members of the Masra'et were
siezed by the same uncanny power of animation and
drew their daggers. Some laid the edges to their
throats, some aimed the blades for their hearts, one
terrified elder looked down the length of steel that
awaited only another unspoken command so that it
might jab deep into his eye.
    "Nish na'am, stop this! Stop it at once!" Captain
Picard slammed his fists against the tabletop. "Re-
lease these men immediately!"
    "They will be released when they, too, have spoken
hari'imash," Nish n'am said grimly. "They will utter
their most sacred bond to give our people all the
knowledge, all the wonders that they now hoard from
us, to give us back lives for the lives that have--"
    "Never," Udar Kishrit rasped. "Do you think you
frighten us with these tricks, these cheap deceptions?
You want us to believe that you have unlimited
power? I see through such lies. You cannot hold us
forever! There are limits to your power, I feel them,
and I swear that when your hold over me slips, your
life will end."
    "If"mNish ha'am held up one monitory fingerm
"your life has not ended first." He slashed his finger
left, then right, and Udar Kishrit's dagger darted away
from his belly only to fly back again.
    "What do they hope to gain by this?" Avren won-
dered aloud. "I know the Masra'et. Even if they do
give their word to share out our knowledge with
Ashkaar, what's to stop 'era from reneging once their
skins are safe?"
  "But if they speak hari'imash--" Ma'adrys began,
her eyes wide. "To break that oath is to court utter
destruction, soul and heart!"
    Avren dismissed her words with a snort. "Maybe
we're one blood, but we're still two worlds. Your
holiest vow is just words to them." He indicated the
captive members of the Masra'et. "They'll mouth it
and forget it, and how will you folk enforce any
promises they make if they don't decide to keep 'em?
Grow wings and fly to Evramur?"
    Ma'adrys lowered her head and clenched her
hands. "Do not profane what is still holy to us just to
prove how witty you are, Avren. Ne'elat is not Evra-
mur. It is as far removed from paradise as mud from
wine."
    "Is what this one says true?" Nish na'am inquired,
leaning near. "Are these children of Yaro so debased
that they would break their sacred word?"
    "Do not fear that we will break any promises we
make to you," Udar Kishrit rumbled, breathing hard.
"We would sooner give our word to the lowest worm
that creeps through garden mold than to you. If you
will kill us for it, then do so and be done!"
    "If that is what you desire." Nish na'am's eyes
turned to slits of stone. He raised his hand.
    "Nish na'am, no." Having submitted to the
Na'amOberyin earlier, Captain Picard was not now
restrained by any measure of their coercive power. He
was on his feet, one hand on the na'am's arm, before
anyone could stop him. As he tightened his grip, he
thought he felt a vague probing in his mind, and for
an instant his hold slackened, but only for an instant.
The tentative mental intruder pulled back, leaving
him untouched.
    Almost as if it's already got more than it can
handle, he thought.
    Aloud he said, "If you kill these men, you will be no
better than they. You will have destroyed not only
your sacred Balance but all hope of ever seeing it
restored between your two worlds.,:
    "And what would you have us do then, shiplord?"
Nish na'am spoke bitterly. "Let them go free of debt,
free of blame? Return to our world and watch our
people's lives be blown away like ash whenever a
sickness strikes, even when it is a sickness that these
illspeakers could have cured or prevented? No, ship-
lord. We have tasted enough of our own deaths. Let us
share this much with them even if they refuse to share
with us." He twisted his arm from Picard's grasp and
raised his hand once more.
    "Stop!" Ma'adrys stood with her arms wrapped
tightly around Udar Kishrit, her body wedged be-
tween his and the dagger. "Kill him and you kill me."
    "Ma'adrys, what are you doing?" Bilik exclaimed.
"Get out of the way!"
    "No!" Ma'adrys was adamant, "On Iskir, we de-
fend our own. He is blood of my blood, even if he will
deny it. I cannot allow him to die."
    "Girl, do not be a fool," Udar Kishrit hissed.
"Look at their eyes. They will not hesitate to kill you
if they want to kill me."
    "Then so be it!" Ma'adrys tossed back her head and
looked him in the eye. "I am not afraid to face death if
it is for the sake of my family."
    "Stubborn," Avren murmured. "Just like her
grandfather. If that doesn't convince the old man--"
    "Step aside, Ma'adrys," Nish na'am commanded.
"The illspeaker speaks truly, for once. The
Ne'elatians have run up a tally of needless death for
our people. It is past time we began to even the score."
    "He is one of my people," Ma'adrys maintained.
"And what you seek to do here to him, to all of them,
is wrong. It is as the shiplord says, it makes you no
better than they!"
    "This does not concern any but we of Iskir," Nish
na'am said, his voice like steel. "You have chosen,
Ma'adrys. Live with your choice and die with it." He
raised his hand to the silver sigil.
    "No.t" Bilik's cry rocked the briefing chamber. Pi-
card thought he felt something, something invisible,
intangible yet present. As to what that something
might be--
    With a war shout in his own tongue, Lt. Worf
sprang forward, free of the unseen bonds that the
combined forces of Bilik and the Na'amOberyin had
laid upon him. One open-handed blow and Nish
na'am sprawled on the floor, stunned. The removal of
the Na'amOberyin's most powerful member effec-
tively hamstrung the others. Without Nish na'am they
could no more hope to retain control over the
Masra'et and the rest than they could keep Worf their
prisoner without Bilik's help. A communal sigh of
relief swept through the chamber as the Masra'et
regained self-mastery and let their daggers drop.
    As Mr. Data hastened to remove the dazed Nish
na'am from the room--and so from any further
possibility that the Na'amOberyin would take radical
action against the Ne'elatians--Worfand his Security
people saw to the others. Without their leader, the
Na'amOberyin seemed harmless.
    Harmless... or only dazed for the moment by
what's happened here, Captain Picard thought. If they
recover and regroup--
    He gave Lt. Worf a significant look. The Klingon
nodded and barked orders to his subordinates who
drew phasers, set them on stun, and covered their
prisoners.
  "Think that'll do any real good if they decide to
make a fight of it, sir?" Commander Riker whispered.
"Any one of them could freeze Worfs people in a
wink."
    "Agreed, but not Worf. I don't think they relish the
thought of angering him any further," Picard replie&
Riker looked at the fearful way that the remaining
Na'amOberyin kept glancing at the Klingon and had
to concede that his commanding officer was right. The
situation was under control... so far.
     Legate Valdor observed the proceedings with a
 smug demeanor. "Good. At least we are done with
 that rabble."
    "This is not over, Valdor," Lelys said vehemently.
"Nothing is settled."
    "Nothing needs to be settled," he replied disdain-
fully. "You have been given a firsthand demonstration
of the vindictive, uncivilized behavior of the Ashkaar-
ians, yet you still expect the Ne'elatians to change
their minds and deal with them as if they were
rational, sensible--"
      "Rational?" Udar Kishrit repeated thoughtfully.
    "Sensible?" He looked at Ma'adrys. "How sensible
was what you did for me, child?"
The girl shrugged. "I cannot say. I do not know."
"No, you would not know, would you." The leader
of the Masra'et fell into pensive silence for a little
while, then slowly extended his hand to Ma'adrys.
Gently he placed his arm around her shoulder. The
girl gazed up at him, misgiving in her eyes, but his
warm smile reassured her. Tentatively she returned
his embrace. "Since I have been brought aboard this
ship, I have seen and heard much in a very little
time," he said. "So many new things that even now I
find difficult to comprehend, to accept, and yet--"
  "Why do you need to accept anything but what you
have just seen?" Legate Valdor cut in. "These
savages--"
    "Are they?" Udar Kishrit spoke like a man newly
woken from a dream that carried the appearance of
reality. "I don't think I can believe that any more,
but--but I hardly know what to believe beyond what
I have just experienced." He hugged Ma'adrys tighter.
"Of all those here present today, this child has the
greatest account to settle with us for what our treat-
ment of her world has cost her. She should have
placed her hand on the hilt of the dagger and driven it
deep. Instead she placed her own life between the
blade and mine. Was that the act of a barbarian? Of a
vengeful savage?" His features set with a new resolve.
"I say no."
    "You say that because she is your grandchild!" one
of the other members of the Masra'et challenged.
    "I do not, Rak Ti'ask." Udar Kishrit drew himself
up tall and wrapped his dignity around himself and
Ma'adrys. "She is my daughter's child, I admit it now
before you all, but that was never enough to sway me.
She is more than the blood that bore her. Can a world
that raises up such people be called uncivilized?
Perhaps its people lack the technology we possess, the
knowledge that might have been theirs but for our
repeated intervention, but that can change. That must
change, and we must help it."
    A great muttering went up from almost every
alien delegation in the briefing room. Robbed of his
former ally, Legate Valdor smoldered. Among the
Ne'etatians, Rak Ti'ask continued to voice his objec-
tions to any accord with Ashkaar. Other members of
the Masra'et questioned Ma'adrys closely, some evi-
dently pleased by her responses, others less so.
  One of the latter spoke up: "Even if we are to offer
Ashkaar technological equality, how are we to do it? I
am willing to grant that they are not savages, but are
they ready to master all we have to teach them?"
    "Some are," Ma'adrys said, speaking more out of
blind conviction than hard facts.
    "Are they?" Hara'el asked. "And what about the
rest?"
    "Are you still only your father's echo, Hara'el?"
Lelys accused him. "Do you, too, believe these people
are no more than ignorant savages?"
    A marked change came over Hara'eUs otherwise
pleasant features. He scowled so intently at Lelys that
she paled. "With respect, my lady ambassador, that
was unworthy of you. You wrong me. I speak of a very
real possibility, that immediate technological equality
would be the destruction, not the salvation of Ash-
kaar."
  Valdor snorted. "What nonsense!"
    "On the contrary, Hara'el has a valid point, Legate
Valdor, Ambassador Lelys," Captain Picard said.
"On Earth we have a saying that equates technology
with magic, if that technology is far enough beyond
the understanding or experience of ordinary people. I
myself have seen more than one old story where an
explorer, captured by primitive tribesmen, becomes
their god by showing them the great magic he can
perform with something as simple as a cigarette
lighter."
 "A what?" Counsellor Troi inquired.
    Picard smiled briefly. "An antique fire-making de-
vice, small enough to conceal in the palm of your
hand. Think of what that must have looked like to
people for whom fire-making was long, hard labor!
How will the devices Ne'elat brings to Ashkaar be
received if not as miracle machines? And then, what if
some unprincipled personmNe'elati'an or perhaps an
Ashkaarian who proves to be a quick study--chooses
to take advantage of the people's fear? No, the Ash-
kaarians will only be comfortable with higher technol-
ogy if they are able to develop it for themselves, not
have it handed to them."
    "And how are we to do that, shiplord?" one of the
Na'amOberyin demanded. "I have not seen the world
these illspeakers come from, yet I can imagine the
wonders they command. See, before us stands one of
their number who walked among us for years!" He
pointed at Avren, who had recovered his fallen hat
and was once more twiddling the brim. "How did he
come to our world if not by one of their own vessels?
If even now they can sail from world to world, how
can we ever hope to equal their accomplishments on
our own?" His fellow council members set up a hum
of angry agreement.
    "Their accomplishments stem from the same root
as will your own," Hara'el said confidently. "You are
no less intelligent than they, and some among you are
capable of greatness."
    "That's for certain," Avren said. "Those were the
ones we plucked away." The glares of the Masra'et
compelled him to add, "Well, it's true! If she had had
a head full of air instead of a mind full of curiosity, I'd
never have stolen her off to Evr--Ne'elat." He indi-
cated Ma'adrys.
"Maybe that's the answer," Geordi mused aloud.
"What did you say, Mr. La Forge?" Picard asked.
"I was just thinking, the Ashkaarians who are still
on Ne'elat--they've seen Ne'elatian technology up
close, grown accustomed to it. If we could repatriate
them, no one on Ashkaar would be all that surprised
if they brought back a few... souvenirs."
    "And what's to stop them from setting themselves
up as their people's new gods?"
    "You know, sir, no one who's handled a magician's
props ever sees his show with quite the same degree of
belief afterward," Riker remarked:
  "I trust you'll explain that, COmmander?"
    "My suggestion is that we make sure the Ashkaar-
ians see where their new technology comes from, or
will come from once they develop it for themselves.
Their repatriated friends and relatives are a start, but
remember, we're not making them an outright gift.
We're going to give them"mHis boyish grin lit up his
face--"a kit. Build your own advanced technology,
some assembly required."
  "A kit?" Geordi repeated.
    "A kit that's a clue. The Ashkaarians and the
Ne'elatians came here together, one people on one
starship. That was the same ship that kept up commu-
nications between the two worlds until it was lost.
What do you think would happen if somehow the
wreckage of that starship could be 'found' on Ash-
kaar?"
    "Commander, are you proposing that we create this
convenient wreckage? Starfleet regulationsw"
    "We wouldn't create it," Riker said. "They would."
He smiled at the massed members of the Masra'et.
    "It might work," Udar Kishrit admitted. He looked
at Ma'adrys. "And with you and the others there to
help your people see that these devices are no great
magic, my child, but things that they can come to
understand, re-create, build for themselves, then giv-
en timere"
    "But my people cannot wait to reinvent all the work
of your healers, Grandfather," Ma'adrys said. "That
help we need now."
    "And if the healers we send use their skills to make
your people worship them? Child, we are all frail
beings, too ready to take the easy way. I confess my
own guilt there. I have offended against your people
because I despised them, thought them lesser beings
than myself. It is a fault for which I will atone with
what power I have in the years left me. I have harmed
Ashkaar; I cannot allow others to do the same."
    "Harm? I think not. Not if you recruit your healers
from one source." Captain Picard steepled his fingers.
"Bovridash."
    "The holy place?" Rak Ti'ask feigned laughter.
"Are you suggesting we send our blessed bovereem
into the Ashkaarian wilderness? For what?"
    "For healing," Picard answered mildly. "All man-
ner of healing. Who better to make amends than the
bovereem, who have devoted their lives to the pursuit
of righteousness? Who better to pass on the medical
knowledge of Ne'elat than they? They could begin by
teaching the oberyin new skills, instruct them in the
making of new remedies and preventatives. The ober-
yin could in turn pass this on to the people of
Ashkaar."
    "Do you think it worth the risk?" Udar Kishrit
asked, clearly interested.
    "I spent time in Bovridash, Udar Kishrit," Picard
said, "and I came to know many of the bovereem. I
think that their integrity is strong, and I know that
they regard justice as a holy duty, linked to the
keeping of the Balance. I also realize that they are as
fallible as any of us, but if you were careful about
screening the ones who were picked to travel to
Ashkaar, you would have no worries about their
presence doing any harm."
    "Then that is a risk worth taking," Ma'adrys main-
tained.
    "That is a risk you must take, Udar Kishrit,"
Ambassador Lelys declared. "We came here on a
mission to save lives. We have failed our own colo-
nists, but I will not stand by and let more lives be lost
over the vague possibility of Ne'elatian healers setting
themselves up as false gods."
    "Do not trouble yourself over that, Ambassador,"
Rak Ti'ask said. "It will never happen because we will
never consent to it."
    "Speak for yourself, Rak Ti'ask," Udar Kishrit
spat.
    "I do," the younger man responded with an ugly
gleam in his eye. "For myself and for enough votes to
forbid this absurdity from ever coming to pass."
    "Turn your backs on Ashkaar and we turn our backs
on you," Lelys cried.
    "Exclude us from your union if you will," Rak
Ti'ask said. "It would have been sweet to regain the
secret of interstellar flight as a gift, but with enough
time we can discover it on our own. When that day
comes, we will come after you and take our rightful
place among our sisterworlds. And I assure you, we
will come with long memories."
    "Are you threatening us?" Lelys demanded, and
with that the room erupted into warring camps,
everyone arguing at once, at the top of their lungs.
Some members of the Masra'et sided with Udar
Kishrit, others with Rak Ti'ask, others still tried to
garner further information from what had become a
shouting match rather than a reasoned discussion.
Some of the Na'amOberyin let it be known that they
would have nothing to do with anything that came
from Ne'elat, others argued that their chief duty was
the welfare of their people. Threats flew, and harsh
names. It was only with the greatest difficulty that
Captain Picard--with much help from Lt. Woff--
reasserted control.
  "In the circumstances" he boomed, then realized
that he had raised his voice to be heard over an
argument that was no longer going on. In more
tranquil tones he repeated, "In the circumstances I
believe it would be better if the Ne'elatian delegation
retired to reach some sort of internal accord before we
proceed any farther."
    "That seems... reasonable," Rak Ti'ask said, al-
most reluctantly.
"Very much so," Udar Kishrit concurred.
"Shiplord, I think it would be a good idea if the
honored Na'amOberyin might also have some time
apart," Ma'adrys said. "I wish to speak with them, if
they will permit it, so that they may begin to under-
stand the true nature of Ne'elat."
    "Sir," Counsellot Troi put in before Picard could
reply, "I, too, think this would be wise. I am willing to
accompany them as facilitator, and to reintroduce
Nish na'am into the group."
 "By all means, Counsellot," Picard said.
    "We, too, should be part of these discussions,"
Ambassador Lelys said. "Legate Valdor, I think it
would be best if you were our representative among
the Ne'elatians. I will attend the Ashkaarians, and as
for Hara'el--"
    "I will accompany my father," Hara'el spoke up.
There was no mistaking his intention to stand with
his father as equal, not shadow, in the counsels of
Ne'elat.
    "Then that's settled." Picard stood up. "Com-
mander Riker, please conduct the Masra'et to an
appropriate meeting room. Counsellor Troi, do the
same for the Na'amOberyin. Report your progress to
me within two hours, when it is my sincere hope we
can reconvene this meeting under more civil condi-
tions. Dismissed." He left the briefing room, his own
departure followed in swift succession by the Ash-
kaarian and Ne'elatian delegations and all Starfleet
personnel except Geordi and Lt. Worf.
    Geordi stared wistfully at the door through which
Ma'adrys had just departed. "Nothing for us to do
now but wait," he said.
"You have no other duties?" Worf asked tersely.
Geordi touched the thready wound that Bilik's
dagger had left on his neck. "Well, I suppose I do have
business in sickbay." He, too, left.
    Now the only persons remaining in the so recently
crowded briefing room were Lt. Worf, Bilik, and
Avren. The Klingon regarded the men suspiciously.
"And you?" he asked. "Why have you not gone with
your own people?"
    "I don't think my people are in any hurry to see me
just yet," Avren said with a note of self mockery in his
voice.
    "Nor are mine," Bilik mumbled, his head bent.
Here was no irony turned inward, but only purest
misery. "She hates me now. Why did it have to
happen? Our lives were simple, they had direction, we
could have lived happily if only we had been left
alone. But no." His head came up suddenly and there
was a dangerous light in his eyes. "This all began
when she was first stolen away from Iskir. Stolen by
you.t You will pay for my sorrow!" He launched
himself bare-handed at Avren and siezed the false
shepherd by the neck, trying to choke the life out of
him.
    Lt. Worf was not about to stand aside and witness
such goings-on. It was laughably easy for him to
intervene, separating the two. "You," he informed
Bilik, "will go with your own people. You have done
nothing to inspire hostility in the Na'amOberyin, and
the girl Ma'adrys is too intelligent to allow her
personal feelings for you to interfere with more im-
portant matters. And you--" He turned to Avren.
    "Themthe Masra'et really won't behave as intelli-
gently as Ma'adrys," the Ne'elatian agent said, rub-
bing his assaulted throat. "If you force me to attend
their meeting, nothing will get done except maybe the
passing of a resolution to skin me alive."
    Worf sighed. "Very well. Then you will come with
me."
    "Yes, sir," said Avren meekly, and still fidgeting
with the edge of his hat, he trailed after the Klingon.

Chapter Sixteen

"A WHAT?" AVREN ASKED, fascinated by the little
animal in the tank.
    "A hamster," Lt. Worf answered absently, dis-
tracted by the fact that he was having no luck whatso-
ever finding the item that he sought, a small figurine
of Vulcan origin, one of the few art objects he had
found worthy of owning. "It belongs to my son,
Alexander."
    "Really." Avren peered at the small ball of fur more
closely. "I think it's dead."
    "It is not dead, it is asleep. It sleeps much, conserv-
ing its strength for battle." Worf snapped out his
reply. He was fast approaching the end of his pa-
tience. He didn't like being frustrated in this manner,
and with warped logic he was beginning to blame his
inability to find the elusive figurine on Avren.
    Why did I have to bring him with me to my quarters?
he thought ferociously. He is no help, and he persists
in diverting my attention. I should have placed him in
the custody of Ensign Fougner when the call came fiom
Alexander. She was just passing by us in the corridor
when he contacted me. Better still, I should have tom
Alexander that he shouM know better than to interrupt
my work merely because he had forgotten to bring that
object to school with him today. He yanked open a
cabinet door with particular violence and there, on a
shelf, the Vulcan figurine glimmered at him in austere
elegance. At once he felt better, and his thoughts grew
milder accordingly.
    Ah, but the boy did promise to show this to his
classmates as part of their lesson, and he couM not
hope to leave the schoolroom to fetch it himself. He
strove to keep his word in the only way possible. He did
well. Smiling with fatherly pride, Worf took down the
figurine and turned to inform Avren that they could
leave now.
    "What are you doing with batlh-ghobbogh-ylH?"
Worf bellowed.
    "Ai!" Avren jumped at the Klingon's roar, sending
the heroically named hamster flying. Fortunately for
the beast, Avren had excellent reflexes. Tribble-wh~
battles-with-honor took only a short flight before the
false shepherd clapped his hands around him once
more. Fortunately for Avren, the hamster was still
half asleep on re-entry and neglected to bite him.
"Don't do that," he told Worf irritably.
    Worf snatched the hamster from Avren's hands
without deigning to respond. He replaced the creature
in its tank, with only the slightest wince of pain
crossing his face to indicate that his luck was not so
good as Avren's. He considered his nipped finger and
said, "It is a dangerous beast when aroused. I should
have let you learn the hard way."
"That little fluffball, dangerous?" Avren laughed
until Worf silenced him with a single look.
    "I, too, made that mistake. It may not look danger-
ous, but looks deceive. I should not need to teach that
to one of your profession."
    "Point taken. Let me see that. I know a little about
healing," Avren said, trying to make Worf permit him
to examine the minor wound. Worf was less than
cooperative, snatching his hand away from Avren
indignantly. "Huh. Suit yourself. I know more than a
few good herbal remedies, and I always carry my
medicines with me." He grinned, snatching up his
wide-brimmed shepherd's hat from a table and turn-
ing it so that Worf could see the little bunch of dried
vegetation attached to the band. "See? Most of this is
shepherd's herb, the stuff they use to brew up their
ritual drink, but I carry a few other simples here. The
difference is, these are useful. All shepherd's herb is
good for is dulling the wits. Now a little pinch of this
leaf moistened with water will stop bleeding quick as
you--"
    "I prefer to use our own shipboard medical facili-
ties," Worf said gruffly.
    "Ah. Well, I can't argue with that." Avren dropped
the hat back onto the table just as the door hissed
open.
    "Father?" Alexander entered WorCs quarters and
looked inquisitively at their Ne'elatian visitor.
    "Alexander, what are you doing here? You ought to
be in school."
    "I told the teacher that you'd be bringing the
figurine, but when you didn't come I was given
permission to return to quarters and bring it myself."
    "I could not find it immediately," Worf said gruffly.
"There it is, on the table beside batlh-gobbogh-yIH's
tank."
    "So you are the master of that ferocious brute,"
Avren said, trying to keep a straight face. "I wanted to
pet it, but your father seems to be afraid that the
creature will tear my throat out as soon as look at
me."
    Alexander gave Avren one of those looks all chil-
dren reserve for adults they think are just insane
enough to be interesting. "He does bite," the boy
acknowledged, "but not always." He reached into the
tank and set the hamster down on the table. Immedi-
ately batlh-gobbogh-yIH scuttled onto the shepherd's
hat and began to waddle around the brim.
    "If you had a pair of them, we could make a fortune
betting on the races," Avren said. He chuckled when
the little animal found the bunch of dried flowers
adoming the hatband and began avidly nibbling and
stuffing them into its cheek pouches.
    He stopped laughing when the hamster fell over on
its side, black eyes staring at nothing.
    "He's dead{" Alexander cried. "Father, Fido's
dead!"
    "batlh-gobbogh-ylH," Worf corrected his son auto-
matically as he scooped up the still little form. Hands
that had the strength to shatter bone handled the tiny
creature with amazing delicacy and care. One finger
lay lightly against the furry side until--
    "He is not dead," Worf announced. "He is still
breathing."
    "What's wrong with him?" Alexander asked plain-
tively, for the moment forgetting that he was a young
Klingon warrior-to-be.
    "I--I don't know what to say," Avren stammered,
frantic over what had happened. "I assure you, none
of those plants are poisonous."
    "Not to you," Worf said. "You had no business
allowing my son's companion to ingest them."
    "I swear, I didn't think any of them would harm
him! I think the poor creature must've eaten some of
the shepherd's herb. It's stupefied him the same as it
does the Ashkaarians."
    "Father, please can't we do something for him?"
Alexander pleaded. "Maybe Dr. Crusher could help
him."
    Lt. Worf began to say, "It is not appropriate to
trouble Dr. Crusher with a sick hamster," but before
he had uttered the fourth word he saw the tragic look
in his son's eyes. "It is not--Oh, very well," he said at
last, and with the dazed batlh-gobbogh-ylH in one
hand and the hangdog Avren lagging after, he led the
way to sickbay.

    Dr. Crusher examined her extraordinary patient
with as much professional efficiency as she could
muster without bursting into laughter. The hamster
lay on its back, all four paws curled up, a vacant,
amiable expression on its face. "Almost as if it's
smiling at me," she observed aloud.
    The hamster's whiskers twitched into a lopsided
expression that was very like a drunken grin and a
minuscule spasm shook its body.
    "I do believe he's got the hiccups," Dr. Crusher
opined. She looked up at a very worried Alexander,
"What have you been feeding him?" "I didn't do it," Alexander said.
    "I'm afraid it was me." Avren stepped forward,
fiddling with his hatbrim. "I didn't do it on purpose,
though. The plant isn't poisonous to Ashkaarians.
Even the sheep eat it with no ill effects, though it does
slow them down pretty much if they find a big patch
of it on the mountain. If I'd known it would hurt the
animal--,'
 "You'll be happy to know that you haven't poi-
soned Alexander's hamstor," Dr. Crusher reassured
him. "But you have gotten him drunk as a lord."
    "Drunk as a what?" Avren was puzzled by the alien
figure of speech.
    "What I'd like to know," Dr. Crusher continued,
"is where you got the plant you say you fed him. You
don't appear to be carrying anything with you."
    "Oh. That. Well, you see, it's like this." Avren
plucked the sprig of dried vegetation from his hat-
band and held it out for Dr. Crusher's inspection. He
was explaining the properties of the various healing
herbs with the enthusiasm of someone who enjoys
hearing himself talk, but he was doing it for the
benefit of an inattentive audience.
    Dr. Crusher wasn't listening to Avren run on. Her
attention was elsewhere as she studied the dried
bouquet very closely, with a scientist's rapt concen-
tration. One by one she separated the species com-
prising Avren's modest frippery on the examination
station in front of her. Worf observed the process with
both interest and perplexity. The individual samples
of dried herb all looked pretty much the same to him.
    Not so to Dr. Crusher. When she had gotten them
all separated she selected one bunch in particular and
held it up for more painstaking scrutiny. "That's the
one the creature got a hold of," Avren said, eager to be
heard. "Shepherd's herb, that's the stuff."
    Dr. Crusher broke off one of the tiny branchlets of
the plant, placed it in a clear slipcase, and dropped it
into sickbay's specialized analytical unit. "Computer,
DNA of sample submitted, evaluate," she directed,
gazing intently at the display screen set into the wall
above the input port.
    "Working," came the disembodied voice of the
ship's computer. There was a brief silence, followed
by a detailed breakdown of the sample's genetic
makeup, all of this accompanied by a video display
showing the plant in its natural state. Dr. Crusher
stared, then motioned for Avren to join her.
    "Is that what your shepherd's herb looks like in the
wild?" she demanded. There was so strong an under-
current of urgency in her voice that the Ne'elatian
agent found it hard to do more than nod assent. Dr.
Crusher took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then
touched her comm badge. "Crusher to Picard. We've
found n'vashal."

    As second in command, Riker was the logical
choice to oversee the reconvened meeting of the
Ashkaarian, Ne'elatian, and Orakisan factions in the
briefing room. While he had never been one to shy
away from a challenge, the manifest level of silent
animosity still contained within those four walls
made him wish that Captain Picard would join them
soon, or at least Lt. Worf. For the moment there were
no raised voices, no more threats, and yet the latent
potential for further angry outbursts haunted the
room.
    They're all being so cursed polite about this, Riker
thought uneasily. It's not natural. If Rak Ti'ask ~ smile
were any more forced, his teeth would shatter.
    "Your plan for the introduction of higher technolo-
gy to Ashkaar is certainly worth consideration," Rak
Ti'ask was saying to Hara'el smoothly. "And I swear
to you that we have considered it. Udar Kishrit was
most eloquent." He flashed his false smile at Udar
Kishrit, who glowered back.
 If looks could kill... Riker thought.
    Rak Ti'ask ignored his leader's deadly scowl and
continued. "We have put this to an official vote, and
his arguments have persuaded three of our number to
join their votes to his for initiating the mission to
Ashkaar."
    "Four out of six vote for the plan?" Riker asked
hopefully. "Then that means you'll be going ahead
with--"
    "Alas, no." Rak Ti'ask's sigh was even less sincere
than his smile, if that were possible. "It is written in
ordinances of our people that a voice of three is
needed to affirm any decision of the council." 
 "As with ourselves," Nish na'am said.
    "With us as well." Hara'el blinked in mild amaze-
ment to discover this common thread still running
strong through Skerrian daughterworlds so long kept
apart.
    "Do not feign compliance, Rak Ti'ask!" Udar Kish-
tit shouted. "You well know that it was your vote that
destroyed the accord!"
  "Was it?" Rak Ti'ask inquired mildly.
    "You are opposed to making restitution to Ashkaar,
yet when the tally was called, you voted aye. Do not
deny it!"
    "I would not deny it for the world," the younger
Ne'elatian purred. "Three votes would have been
enough to pass the resolution, even though three
stood against it, for the affirming voice is always more
pleasing to the Lady of the Balance than the dissent-
ing one. And so I cast my vote in favor of bringing the
Ashkaarian savages up to our level because that was
the best, the only way to assure that it would never
come to pass."
    "Rak Ti'ask, I urge you to reconsider," Counsellot
Troi said from her place beside Nish na'am. "The
situation between Ashkaar and Ne'elat has changed
irrevocably. Your worlds are no longer unknown and
forgotten. The Federation will be watching what you
do next, as will the union of Skerrian daughterworlds.
What are you afraid of?. That the Ashkaarians harbor
a grudge and will act on it against you? There is no
need to fear that. Ma'adrys shares her grandfather's
gift for eloquence. She has convinced the Na'am-
Oberyin to put aside their past grievances against
Ne'elat for the sake of their people's future. They are
your people, too, Rak Ti'ask!"
    "I am willing to concede as much," he replied
indifferently. "But they can afford to be magnani-
mous. The Orakisan's proposal is entirely to their
advantage!"
    "As the past was entirely to yours," Troi reminded
him. "If you refuse to change your vote, you will only
be adding to past wrongs."
    "Ah!" Rak Ti'ask assumed a look of mock distress.
"I never thought of it that way. But, oh dear. Lovely
lady, you tell me that the situation between Ne'elat
and Ashkaar has changed irrevocably. It is with more
regret than you can begin to imagine that I tell you
that an official vote of the Masra'et is just as irrevo-
cable."
    "Regret, my foot," Riker muttered to Data. "Either
Rak Ti'ask learns to act more credibly, or he's going
to get applauded where it'll do him some good."
    "I believe that such unorthodox action would count
as a violation of the Prime Directive," the android
whispered back.
 "Yes, but it'd be worth it."
    "You speak too glibly, Rak Ti'ask," Udar Kishrit
said. "As a member of the Masra'et you are entitled to
use your vote as you think best, but to drag the Lady's
holy name into your games, pretending you act exclu-
sively in her service, this is vile. When we return, I
will speak of this to the people. They will not dissent
when you are removed from the council and I appoint
another in your place."
    Rak Ti'ask dropped his arrogant mask abruptly at
Udar Kishrit's words. "You would not," he said, his
voice shaking.
    "I would. I will. That much lies within my power
and you know it. Perhaps we have been wrong to limit
the Masra'et to six souls if this is the harm one alone
can do. The Ashkaarian council holds nine. The rule
of three would still be possible and it would take far
more than a single schemer to topple our hopes for a
future truly blessed by the Lady."
    "Udar Kishrit, can you do such a thing?" Geordi
asked. "Just... appoint new members of the
Masra'et?"
    "I am the head of the Masra'et until my death or
the people's petition. I am free to re-form it if that
seems necessary. Our records teach that in ages past,
there were times when the number of its members
rose or fell, depending on the population of Ne'elat
and following the judgment of its leader. Only the
bovereem could intervene."
    "So then, if the vote of a member of the Masra'et is
irrevocable and you have the power to bring new
members into the Masra'et..." Geordi grinned and
said no more.
    Udar Kishrit looked at the ship's chief engineer as
if the man had spouted gibberish. Then by degrees he
understood the idea that Geordi meant to give him,
but could not elaborate out loud. "You," Udar Kishrit
said, pointing to Nish na'am. "You shall join the
Masra'et of Ne'elat and add your voice to the vote
concerning Ashkaar."
    "You would have this... of me?" Nish na'am
asked. "But we are of different worlds!"
"And yet one people, as even your foes admit."
Kdar Kishrit spared a cold look for Rak Ti'ask. "If
you and the Orakisan ambassador will add your
voices to those already favoring the planw"
    "Never!" Rak Ti'ask shouted, his face taut with
rage. "If you open the doors of the Masra'et to off-
worlders, you cut your own throat, Udar Kishrit, and
I will rejoice to watch it happen."
    "They dwell off-world, but they are still our kin.
The bovereem will also sayw"
    But what the bovereem might say was drowned out
in the uproar that ensued. Once again, everyone in the
briefing room was trying to be heard at once. Riker
leaned back in his chair wearily.
    "I just love family reunions," he commented to
Data.
    "Do you?" The android glanced from one angry
face to the next. "Why?"
    Riker sighed. "Never mind." He was about to
summon Security to the briefing room when the door
slid open and Captain Picard came in, closely fol-
lowed by Dr. Crusher, Lt. Worf, and Avren.
    This time the sight alone of the Klingon was enough
to tone down the general clamor, but when Dr.
Crusher laid her sample of dried herbs on the confer-
ence table and made her report, backing up her
conclusions with the aid of the table's holographic
projector, the room fell completely silent. Ne'elatians,
Orakisans, Ashkaarians, and Enterprise crewmem-
bers could only stare wordlessly at the miraculous
find.
    "N'vashal," Commander Riker marvelled softly,
contemplating the brittle, brown sprig rather than the
projected image of the green, blossoming plant. "We
must've seen this a hundred times on Ashkaar. How
could we have missed it?"
 "I am afraid that you exaggerate, Commander,"
Mr. Data said. "We saw the plant in question on
approximately fifteen separate occasions, including
our first introduction to Avren. However we were
unaware that n'vashal has a radically different appear-
ance in its dessicated form from when it is fresh and
growing. We failed to make a proper identification
because we had only the growing plant template as a
basis for comparison."
    "As you said, my friend," Avren remarked jovially
to Worf. "Appearances deceive."
    Worf, cradling Alexander's hamster in his hand, did
not care for Ne'elatian agent's joviality. "I am not
your friend."
    "N'vashal!" Ambassador Lelys was wildly elated,
and it showed plainly on her face. "Then we have
succeeded. S'ka'rys will live again!" She turned to
Nish na'am, who was seated between herself and
Ma'adrys, and spontaneously clasped the Ashkaar-
ian's hand with joy. "We will contact our superiors at
once with the news, and as the duly designated!
representatives of the Orakisan government we can
invoke emergency powers to effect an independent
trade agreement with you. We can also grant you
instant membership in the union of--' ~
    "We can, but will we, Ambassador?" Legate �aldor
said. He folded his arms across his chest. "You speak
without consulting your associates, you are presump-
tuous. I will not allow my voice to feed your au-
dacity."
 "You would sacrifice the lives of our colonists just
to teach me a lesson?" Lelys was incredulous. "We
need this trade agreement with Ashkaar, and we need
it now!"
    "To obtain a plant that grows wild on that rude
planet's surface? It belongs to no one. We could just
take it."
    "No, Father, we could not." Hara'el stood up and
looked down on Legate Valdor. There was no anger in
his eyes, but only sadness. "Do you hear your own
words? We will simply take what we desire from
Ashkaar, with or without their consent, merely be-
cause we can? No. That has been done to them
already, and for too long."
    "Boy, you speak of things you do not understand,"
�aldor growled.
    "Do you not yet accept the fact that I am a boy no
more? And I understand too well. Your heart is bitter,
Father, because Lelys holds the title of ambassador
which you feel should be yours by right, by merit.
That will never be, not while you allow your own
desires to distort your vision of our mission's pur-
pose."
    "What do you know of such matters?" Valdor
muttered, looking away from his son.
    "I know that if you do not join your voice with
Ambassador Lelys's and mine to give something back
to Ashkaar, you are unworthy of the greatest teaching
I ever received: A good ambassador serves the power
of peace, not the power of his own pride."
    "And who filled your head with that precious
thought?" Valdor spat.
Hara'el lowered his voice. "You did, Father."
Avren cleared his throat. "You know, it strikes me
that I could be of a little service on the side of peace
myself. I know where there are plenty of patches of
shepherd's herb--I mean n'vashal--in my little part
of Ashkaar. It's not all that easy to stumble across in
the wild. Shy, I suppose." He grinned. "It likes gullies
and out-of-the-way spots with more shade than sun
and just the right combination of cold and wet. I'd
like to volunteer to help lead harvesting expeditions,
and I can lend a hand to the propagation of more
n'vashal, too."
    "You would do this, Avren?" Udar Kishrit regarded
his erstwhile adversary with the beginnings of a
grudging respect.
    "It's the least I can do." Avren shrugged. "Can't
exactly go back to my old line of work, now can I?"
    "Well, Rak Ti'ask?" Counsellor Troi inquired gen-
tly. "Ashkaar will soon no longer be the barbarous
world you think it is. Orakisa and the other Skerrian
daughterworlds will see to that. They will come
bearing gifts, new technology, medical aid, all in
exchange for what only Ashkaar can provide. In time
they will teach the Ashkaarians that their world has
even more resources to offer in trade than only
n'vashal. The power of Ashkaar will grow. They will
remember their friends... and their adversaries.
Which would you have Ne'elat be?"
 Rak Ti'ask took a deep breath. "Udar Kishrit," he
said, "although we cannot undo the defeat of the ~!
Orakisan's proposal, could we not take another vote
on a--a somewhat different proposal along those
same lines?"
 Udar Kishrit smiled. "We can."                 ~
    "I wonder how different this second proposal's
going to be?" Riker remarked to Captain Picard.
    "Different enough to satisfy protocol," Picard re-
plied. "It appears that the contrary members of the
Masra'et are more than willing to assume a benevo-
lent role regarding their neighbors, as long as it is to
their own advantage. Plus ca change..."
    "The more it changes, the more it stays the same?"
Riker raised one eyebrow, amused. "I don't think
anything's going to stay the same for Ashkaar."

Epilogue

"HEY, WORF, WHO'S YOUR DRINKING BUDDY?" Guinan
asked, leaning across the bar to set a glass of prune
juice down in front of the Klingon.
    "He is called batlh-ghobbogh-ylH," Worf replied,
sliding a dish of peanuts closer to the hamster. "He
has done much to earn a reward for his services t~
Starfleet." Tribble-who-battles-with-honor had recov-
ered from his exposure to n'vashal, scented the pea-
nuts, and plunged into them nose first, stuffing them
into his pouches until his cheeks bulged out sideways
wider than his plump hindquarters.
    Guinan gave a low whistle of admiration. "Now
that's ugly."
    "It does not need to be attractive; it is practical, as is
any truly great warrior," Worf explained, respectfully
patting batlh-ghobbogh-ylH with a caution bred of
many bites. "By enlarging its cheeks with supplies it
not only carries more than enough provisions for any
military campaign, it also makes itself fearful to
behold, a terror to its enemies."
    "Military campaign," Guinan repeated. "A terror
to its enemies?" The terror in question sat up on its
haunches and boldly twitched its whiskers at Guinan.
She pursed her lips. "And they say you Klingons don't
have a sense of humor."
    "We do not need one," Worf averred, and set the
sated hamster on his shoulder where the beast began
to alternately groom himself and nibble on Worfs
hair.
    "Ooooookay." Guinan turned away, rolling her
eyes, and surveyed the rest of her customers. There
weren't all that many; things were fairly quiet in the
bar at the moment. Besides Worf there were about
three people from Security and a couple of Science
personnel.
    Then she noticed the couple at the most secluded
table the bar could offer. It was Geordi La Forge and
that Ashkaarian girl--what was her name?--oh yes,
Ma'adrys. She looked like another person entirely
now that she had put aside those flowing robes she
used to wear. Instead she was clad in a serviceable
jumpsuit rather like the Starfleet uniform, trim fitting
and about as unremarkable. Her hair was pulled back
and secured in a bun worn low at the back of her
head, bringing out more of the beauty in her face.
    "You do like it?" she asked Geordi, eyes shining.
She seemed half afraid to hear his answer.
    "Of course I do," he said, doing his best to cheer
her. He clasped his hand over hers on the tabletop
between them. "You're always the prettiest woman in
the room, no matter how you wear your hair."
    "Oh." Ma'adrys sounded a little disappointed. She
pulled her hand out from under his and smoothed
back a wayward wisp of hair that wasn't there at all.
"Ambassador Lelys suggested this style. She said that
as Iskir's first envoy to Orakisa and S'ka'rys, I should
try to look more mature."
    "Once you open your mouth and start speaking, no
one will doubt your rightness for the job and no one
will look twice at your hairstyle."
    Despite this heartfelt reassurance, Ma'adrys bowed
her head and folded her hands in her lap. Her mood
troubled Geordi--her worries had always been his--
and his chief desire was to discover the cause of her
unhappiness and put an end to it. He leaned forward,
reached out, and stroked her cheek lightly with his
fingertips. "Ma'adrys. Dearest Ma'adrys, what's
wrong? Tell me. Please."
    The Ashkaarian gift jerked her chin up. There were
tears misting her eyes. "Oh Geordi, I am so afraid!"
    "There's nothing to fear. Ambassador Lelys will
take the best care of you, and so will Hara'el. Look, I
know you're all going to be put aboard a different
starship in a couple of hours, but it'll be all right. It's
necessary. The Marcus is one of the fastest ships in
the fleet and the first shipment of n'vashal has ~t&~
reach Skerris IV without delay. The Enterprise has
been called elsewhere; we can't take you."
    "No, no, that is not it at all." Ma'adrys shook her
head, forlorn. "I do not go alone, Geordi. Bilik
oberyin comes too."
    "Bilik?" This was news to Geordi, news he didn't
like. "Why? The Orakisans wanted only one Ashkaar-
ian envoy, you."
    "Where I go, he must go, though in truth and by
right it ought to be that where he goes, I stay."
    "No," Geordi said, and again, "Why? This doesn't
make any sense. What there once was between you
two is finished. You were never actually married to
him, were you?" He needed to hear her answer, and
he feared it.
    "Not that," she replied, and he breathed again.
"What binds us now does not come from the years
before I was taken up to Ne'elat. This is new.
Geordi... when Bilik held you captive, when he laid
his knife to your throat, I was afraid. I thought he
would kill you and so I--I spoke hari'imash, the oath
of life for life, mine given to him in exchange for
yours."
"What? But he can't hold you to that, can he?"
"To speak hari'imash is an ancient oath. If I do not
honor it--" The tears spilled over, but her expression
twisted from woe to anger before they fell. "Oh, why
must I be bound by such a thing? It is ancient, a
barbarous custom, and must I destroy my life for the
sake something so--so antiquated? So outmoded? A
relic of our long ignorance? It shames me to think that
we still nurture such archaic ways. To speak
hari'imash is like--the evening tale-tellings with the
village children. Why must they gather to hear some
elder recount the old lore when they could simply be
taught to read it for themselves, like civilized
people?"
    "But Ma'adrys, you told me how much you used to
enjoy the evening gathering, how much you learned
from hearing the elders make the tales come alive
for--" Geordi began.
    She brushed his arguments aside. "Such things
belong to the Iskir that was, not to the world that will
be. No. Not Iskir. That name is as primitive as
hari'imash itself. I will call my world by its proper
name: Ashkaar."
    "Proper? According to whom?" Geordi laid his
hand palm upward on the tabletop, waiting for hers to
come to him while he spoke on. "Listen to yourself,
Ma'adrys. What are you saying? That the culture that
produced you, and Bilik, and a spiritual life so rich
it's nurtured two worlds is worthless?" "I never--"
    "Maybe what you've promised Bilik is too much.
Maybe hari'imash will have no place in the Iskir of
the future. But you can deal with it some other way
than by turning your back on everything that's made
you who you are."
    "Who am I now, thanks to my oath?" Ma'adrys
asked bitterly. "Bilik's toy."
    "If that were true, would you still be your world's
first envoy to Orakisa? Bilik would have said some-
thing, made some objection, backed it with your oath.
Many things have changed since he tried to prevent
you from becoming an oberyin in your own right.
Hek changed. Trust me, my love, he's too wise to
think of you as his property."
    Ma'adrys placed her hand in Geordi's and
squeezed tight. "He had better not," she said fiercely.
    "That's the Ma'adrys I know. Strong, proud, and--
well, sometimes a little bit scary, but I still love you."
Geordi smiled and cupped her face with his o thcr~ ~
hand, bringing her near enough for a lingering kiss.
    "I will come back," Ma'adrys said staunchly when
their lips parted. "No matter how long it takes, I will
come back to you, my beloved, my starlord. This, too,
I swear."
    Geordi's comm badge chirruped before he could
respond. "La Forge here."
    "Mr. La Forge, the Marcus is within transporter
range," Captain Picard's voice informed him. "All
members of the Orakisan party should report to the
transporter room immediately."
  "Yes, sir. La Forge out." He touched the badge a
second time, then took Ma'adrys's hands in his. "It's
time."
    "You will not take me to the transporter room?"
she asked.
    "I'm afraid I can't. There's something I must attend
to, a malfunction in--It would take too long to
explain." He turned his head abruptly and noticed Lt.
Worf at the bar. The Klingon was engaged in a losing
tug-of-war with the hamster, which had decided it
wanted to add a lock of Worl% hair to the booty
already swelling its cheek pouches. "Wolff. Over
here!"
  "Yes, Geordi?" Worf loomed over the couple.
    "Would you escort Ma'adrys to the transporter
room? If it's not too much trouble."
    "I know what trouble is," Worf remarked crypti-
cally, still tugging at the determined hamster. To
Ma'adrys he said, "If you would come with me."
    Ma'adrys stood. "Goodbye, Geordi. I will see you
again." This time the tears fell freely.
    "Goodbye, Ma'adrys," Geordi said. He did not
rise, or make any move to hold her one last time.
Instead he bent his head and remained where he was
until the last echo of her footsteps vanished from the
room. Only then did he get up and go to the bar.
    Guinan put a drink in front of him. "I didn't order
this."
    "And you wouldn't if you knew what was in it," she
retorted. "Drink it anyway."
    Geordi shrugged, drained the glass at a gulp, and
shuddered. "Well, you sure told me the truth about
that."
    "Truth's the specialty of the house," Guinan said.
"Not that there's much call for it, but still..." She
picked up the dish of peanuts that batlh-gobbogh-yIH
had pawed over and dumped it. "You know she's not
coming back, don't you." It wasn't meant to be a
question.
    "That's not what she said," Geordi replied auto-
matically. There wasn't a lot of faith behind his
words, but he had to say them anyway.
    "She's going to be traveling with him. That oberyin,
Bilik, the one she used to have some kind of under-
standing with. First on board the Marcus, then on
Orakisa, Skerris IV, wherever her new duties as an
envoy take her, he'll be there too. A face she knows, a
voice from home, someone who shares the same
memories, someone familiar to turn to in a strange
place ....
 "She said she'd come back," Geordi repeated.
 "Yes," Guinan agreed. "That's what she said."
 Geordi sighed. "She won't, will she?"
    Guinan was silent for a moment, then she snapped
her fingers against the side of Geordi's empty glass so
that it rang with a single, pure, musical note. "Anoth-
er? On the house."
    "I could've made her stay," Geordi said, ignoring
the invitation. "I had the chance. I could've told her
she was right about that whole hari'imash thing, that
she didn't need to honor an outworn tradition.
she shouldn't even give it lip service. Why stop there? ú
I could've told her to let someone else be the first
Ashkaarian representative to Orakisa, someone older,
someone with more experience, an oberyinwBilik
oberyin. Why not? That would've gotten him out of
the way permanently. I could've said somethingw
anything--to keep her here with me. She would've
listened. She loves me. Why didn't I say it?"
    Guinan refilled Geordi's glass unasked and pushed
it toward him. "Because you love her," she said
quietly. "And because you knew that Ashkaar needs
her."
    Geordi's fingers linked around the glass, but he
made no move to raise it. "I need her, too," he said,
his voice hoarse. "I need her, and I let her go. Why,
Guinan? Why?"
    "Sometimes a man doesn't understand how much
love is in him, Geordi, until he lets it go," Guinan
said. "I can't say if that's any consolation for you,
though. Maybe you should think of it like this: I've
known a whole lot of people in my life who've given
up the world for love, but you, Geordi La Forge--
you're the first I've met who's ever found the great-
ness of heart to give up love for the sake of a world."