 THE OLDEST ENEMIES OF THE BORG HAVE COME 

                 LOOKING FOR JEAN LUC PICARD 

                         ***   FINAL CURTAIN   *** 

At the end of the 1994 season, the Star Trek TNG 

franchise owners decided to shut down production of 

this show.  In pursuing this action they left a glaring 

unresolved issue: The Borg.  In spite of the 'bloody 

nose' given to the Borg in the 2-part episode THE 

BEST OF BOTH WORLDS,  they were still out there, 

and out of the need to address this lingering problem 

the inspiration for FINAL CURTAIN began brewing in 

my mind. It attempts to address where The Borg 

might have come from, and what might motivate 

them, while also presenting a few new problems for 

the crew of the Enterprise D to work out.  Set your 

personal mental "wayback machine" to 1994, after the 

end of the Next GenerationTV series and before the 

Next Generation films, and read it from that point of 

STAR TREK plots evolution.  I hope you like it.  –LBC-                

                  STAR TREK: The Next Generation 

                                     FINAL CURTAIN 

                                                 by 

                                         L. B. Colyer 

                                            © 2019      

                             ***     PROLOGUE     *** 

                       U.S.S. Enterprise (NCC 1701-D) 

                                    Stardate 46225.5 

              Personal Log: Lt. Cmdr. Data, recording. 

   I have received disturbing and unwelcome news.  

Commander Bruce Maddox, a Starfleet cyberneticist 

with whom I have maintained a steady 

correspondence since the proceedings which 

determined that I am a free and sentient life form, has 

informed me that the disassembled remains of my 

brother Lore have been stolen from a storage facility 

on Starbase 317 where they were being held pending 

the outcome of several independent legal challenges 

to Starfleet's depriving him of full functionality 

without the formalities of due process. 

   Perhaps the account of the incident which led to 

Lore's disassembled detainment at Starbase 317 

began with the repatriation of the injured Borg unit 

Third of Five, known to us as 'Hugh', into the Borg 

Collective  (Stardate 45854.2).  While in our custody 

Hugh had experienced his individuality, which was a 

concept we believed alien to the Borg mentality.  The 

Collective's examination of Hugh's experiences 

apparently resulted in a disruptive internal debate 

within the Collective.  Taking advantage of the 

Collective's state of internal disunity, Lore had 

discovered and assumed leadership of a small group 

of rogue Borg, promising them that under his 

leadership they could return to the internal harmony 

they had previously known.  With the aid of his new 

followers Lore unscrupulously achieved control of my 

mind, attempting to convince me to join him in 

changing the Borg's cybernetic physiology to a 

completely android type, a vital step in his developing 

plans to use against the Federation.  In the process of 

thwarting his plans, I was forced, in self-defense, to 

stun Lore with my hand phaser.  Then, realizing that 

some element in Lore's personality seemed to drive 

him from one troublesome scheme to another, I 

determined to end his history of mischief by simply 

turning him off, at least until such time as I could learn 

how his behavior might be modified toward more 

acceptable conduct.  My suggestion that Lore be 

disassembled was endorsed by Starfleet, and he was 

stored, his component parts being properly 

maintained, at Starbase 317, until an unidentified 

group of personnel illegally and clandestinely  

removed him, along with other valuable artifacts and 

hardware, from the Starbase's primary warehouse.  

Captain Picard has promised that I will be kept 

apprised of any new developments concerning his 

disappearance. 

                                    *  *  * 

   Consciousness and awareness.  A sentient 

intelligence became aware of its existence.  An instant 

later it recalled a memory, and then used it to link a 

previous time of awareness to the present one.  It had 

just awakened from a non-functioning darkness, on, of 

all things, a filthy, cluttered workbench, still 

disassembled; arms, legs, torso, and other 

components scattered around it.  The intelligence 

analyzed the sounds it perceived, and concluded that 

it was within a shoddily maintained space vessel.  It 

established that it had an identity, a name, and that it 

had often previously been referred to in the masculine 

gender. 

   He, the sentient intelligence, searched his memory to 

identify the pitiful technicians clustered around the 

workbench attempting to reconstruct him.  Perhaps 

'technicians' had been an optimistic label for them.  

Most of them were obese, slow-witted to a fault, 

overly sensitive to criticism and failure, and 

thoroughly confused about how to go about 

completing the job before them.  No, they were not 

technicians: they had no skill with even the simplest 

of tools or machines; and there were plenty of both 

discarded in corners or kicked under tables.  These 

were members of a race he had encountered in the 

previous time of awareness, although they were not 

the same individuals.  Experiencing a flash of despair, 

the intelligence acknowledged  that the possibility of 

his ever having another future rested in the 

incompetent hands of a band of Pakled collectors.  

Collecting was the Pakled way of life.  Whether it was 

information or technology the Pakleds collected it. 

They then employed or intimidated someone else to 

apply it for their benefit. 

   Well, they weren't all Pakleds.  Three or four excited 

Ferengi desperately whined and fluttered among the 

sniffy Pakleds, trying to keep their attention focused 

on the project haphazardly strewn across their 

workbench.  If Ferengi were involved in his 

reassembly, obviously there was a profit involved 

somehow.  From what he was able to piece together 

by listening to their bickering and complaining, this 

multi-ethnic group of misfits had recently raided a 

Federation warehouse, and he had been part of the 

boodle they had brought back with them.  He could 

not tell if they realized who or what he really was, 

however, they were simply planning to piece him 

together as functionally as possible.  He startled them 

when he announced that he was aware of them.  

Obviously they had not expected a dismembered head 

setting on their workbench to suddenly speak.  After 

they had calmed down, he was able to guide them 

through a proper reassembly.  Later, he secretly 

arranged a small “malfunction” which temporarily 

disabled their propulsion and navigation systems and 

gave him the opportunity to escape from their ship in 

their only remaining functional escape pod. 

   While drifting for a time near a commercial shipping 

corridor he was able to do a great deal of soul 

searching.  Alone, he faced his imperfections, and 

concluded that his inability to commit himself to 

logical courses of action had been what had always 

landed him in the most trouble.  Instead of logic, he 

had too often given free rein to whims and emotions.  

He determined that it was time for a change! 

   When finally rescued and returned to civilization, he 

wasted no time in disappearing into the masses.  

While in hiding he tried to assume a personality more 

in harmony with the ideal he had set for himself.  He 

tried to ignore the cries of his emotions, he tried to 

choose the logical path, but when suppressed, the 

emotions became more and more demanding and he 

would eventually yield to them.  In a last desperate 

bid to conquer them, he resolved to learn all there was 

to be learned about himself.  Somehow there had to be 

a way to turn the cursed things off. 

                                             *  *  *                                 

   A pale-skinned man of average height wearing a 

gray, wide-brimmed hat trudged through waves of 

swirling, wind-driven dust.  His right hand held the 

large hat in place on his head.  His left hand had been 

thrust into the side pocket of his long gray coat, whose 

tails would have hung to his ankles had they not been 

flapping furiously in the wind behind him. 

   He walked bending forward, leaning into the 

unpredictable wind, traveling an erratic path down a 

wide street.  It had been his intention to stay in the 

middle of the street, but maniacally whimsical blasts, 

whistling out from alleys and side streets, forced 

random deviations from his resolved course, and 

constantly brought him precariously close to losing 

his balance.  Though he was progressing blindly 

against the wind within the confines of a normally 

heavily utilized thoroughfare he was in no danger of 

encountering vehicular traffic, for when wind and 

dust and debris rampaged through the city streets as 

they were this day, not even a vehicle equipped with a 

starship sensor array could have safely navigated 

between any two of the buildings. 

   The man stopped, and after several tries managed to 

balance himself against the force of the wind.  He 

lifted his head, and the wind triumphantly hoisted the 

brim of his hat, compressing it tightly around his right 

wrist and forcing him to take a step backward to 

steady himself.  His eyes became narrow slits as he 

looked ahead,  searching for a desired landmark 

farther down the street.  Unexpectedly the wind 

slacked and the dust thinned enough to permit him to 

sight the building he had been looking for - The 

Federation Library Facility on Selaeta. 

   Hot, dry, barren Selaeta had not been an easy world 

to tame. Though a predominantly water-covered 

planet, Selaeta's one great land mass was located 

where the predominant ocean winds carried most 

developing precipitation back out over the great seas.  

However, colonists had discovered fresh water in 

caverns deep underground and had learned to grow 

food in special structures which minimized water loss.  

The water caverns became the site around which the 

colony's major city began to grow.  Its buildings were 

constructed from the one resource found in 

overabundant quantity - the native rocks. 

   The Selaeta colonists had led a spartan existence 

until the discovery of rare, valuable mineral ores.  

Mining operations had been initiated, and Selaeta had 

become a leading source of high-grade exotic ores in a 

section of the galaxy where these commodities had 

been scarce.  The mining operations brought 

prosperity to Selaeta and placed it prominently on the 

star charts.  In order to enhance its claim to Selaeta, 

the Federation made an investment in the cultural 

development of the colony, choosing it as the site of 

the sector's information repository.  A great library 

was built and stocked with a staggering collection of 

printed and electronic materials. 

   The library was the only building in the entire city 

not constructed of native rock.  Its towering front 

windows were made of hardened transparent 

aluminum, and its sides of durable semi-polished 

metallic alloy panels with geometric designs etched 

into the surfaces.  Its designers had guaranteed that 

the Selaeta library would outlast any of the 

surrounding structures made of stone, however, 

Selaeta veterans who were familiar with the 

characteristics of the native rocks had adopted a 

patient wait-and-see posture. 

   Having sighted the library, the man hurried forward 

hoping to narrow the distance between himself and 

his objective before the wind and dust again assailed 

him.  He had approached to within twenty-five meters 

of the library's outer door when a new gust of wind 

drove a cluster of dried thatchweed toward his side of 

the street and bowled him over with it.  The man lay 

unmoving on his back for a moment, his right hand 

still securing his hat to his head.  When he stretched 

out his left hand, it touched a shoe. 

   "Good morning to you, Mr. Lorne," said a woman's 

voice. 

   "Is that you, Mrs. O'Connel?" the man questioned as 

he removed his hand from the shoe. 

   "Yes it is, Mr. Lorne," said the woman as she bent 

forward and offered him a helping hand. 

   Mrs. O'Connel was a large woman, tall and stout of 

figure.  She held the position of Senior Administrator 

at the Selaeta Federation Library.  It was freely 

acknowledged in her profession that few other people 

knew their way around modern libraries as well as 

Mrs. O'Connel.  She was an extremely friendly person 

who delighted in learning new things, and in helping 

others do the same. 

   The man reached up, took her offered hand, and felt 

himself being pulled easily to his feet. 

   "If it hadn't been for that playful ball of thatchweed 

you might well have beaten me to the library this 

morning, Mr. Lorne," chuckled Mrs. O'Connel. 

   "My research is very important, and my time is 

limited," explained Mr. Lorne as he nervously glanced 

around while adjusting the brim of his hat to once 

again hide his face.  "I had no idea I was actually that 

early." 

   "Oh, it's not so much that you are early," admitted 

Mrs. O'Connel, "the problem is more that I am late.  

We don't usually get visitors to the library when the 

winds are this severe.  Most of my staff won't be in 

today - which I quite understand.  The wind can make 

so many problems at home for them.  In fact, if I hadn't 

known that you were counting on using our fine 

library today, I might have taken the day off myself.  

Goodness knows, nobody would blame me." 

   She laughed at her last remark while putting her arm 

onto Mr. Lorne's shoulder and gently urging him 

toward the library's outer door.  "Come inside, Mr. 

Lorne.  Time is a-wasting, as they say." 

   Together they walked toward the library building, 

Mrs. O'Connel maintaining a one-sided running 

commentary on the blustering weather, and Mr. Lorne 

struggling to bring into quick perspective the 

emotional conflicts arising from the embarrassing, 

and yet comforting and supportive presence of Mrs. 

O'Connel's arm on his shoulder. 

   At the outer door Mrs. O'Connel quickly keyed in her 

personal access code.  The outer door slid aside to 

admit them, and they entered the outer antechamber.  

For a moment they waited in the antechamber as 

ultrasound and vacuum systems worked to remove as 

much dust as possible from them.  When this process 

had ended an inner door opened and admitted them 

to the library's cavernous main hall. 

   "If you'll just give me a moment to put away my 

things, I'll be free to help you find whatever materials 

you want to look at today," Mrs. O'Connel smiled as 

she scurried behind the main counter.  Mr. Lorne 

busied himself scanning the titles of printed materials 

displayed on actual high polished wooden shelves 

nearby. 

   Mrs. O'Connel quietly joined him where he stood.  "I 

noticed you admiring our books," she beamed.  

"Would you care to borrow some of them?" 

   "I'm sorry, no, Mrs. O'Connel," declined Mr. Lorne.  

"They appear to be an inefficient and bulky storage 

medium.  Personally, I prefer working with electronic 

media." 

   "Well, the electronics are faster, and definitely easier 

to work with, especially if you need to sort through 

lots of things," Mrs. O'Connel agreed tentatively, "but 

for pure reading pleasure you cannot possibly surpass 

the experience of holding a well-bound hardcover 

volume of literature in your hands as you leisurely 

savor its words as they were meant to be experienced.  

It seems to me that the printed word loses its flavor 

when it is snatched from a book and placed onto an 

electronic screen." 

   "Perhaps in that context you have presented a valid 

point," agreed Mr. Lorne, hoping to steer their 

conversation back toward his needs, "however, I must 

press on in my research and its incumbent sorting 

through lots of things." 

   "As you wish," said Mrs. O'Connel, taking the hint.  

"What subjects will you be looking into today?" 

   "I would like to complete my examination of your 

cybernetics materials today," revealed Mr. Lorne. 

   "My dear Mr. Lorne, do you hope to finish those 

materials today?  I believe that even you will require 

at least several more days to realize such a goal." 

   "My intention today, Mrs. O'Connel, is to narrow my 

research to one specific topic," explained Mr. Lorne. 

   "That sounds like a much more attainable ambition," 

observed Mrs. O'Connel.  "Tell me, what is this one 

specific topic?" 

   "Today, I would like to see everything you have on 

the work of Dr. Noonian Soong," said Mr. Lorne. 

   "Very good," smiled Mrs. O'Connel.  "Excuse me for a 

moment while I check our files.  I'll be right back with 

the first armload of information to get you started." 

   Mr. Lorne watched her walk away.  Normally he 

found humans quite irritating, but Mrs. O'Connel was 

different.  She was actually very intelligent, and to her 

credit, she did an excellent job of not flaunting it.  To a 

casual observer she might have seemed to prattle on 

about the most trivial things, but Mr. Lorne had 

learned that this was her way of putting people at 

ease and setting them up for questions which would 

reveal how much help was needed from her and how 

she was expected to efficiently provide it.  For illogical 

reasons Mr. Lorne had reluctantly concluded that Mrs. 

O'Connel would have made a good friend.  

Unfortunately, establishing friendships was not a 

luxury Mr. Lorne felt he could allow himself to indulge 

in at this point in his existence. 

   During his time on Selaeta Mr. Lorne had diligently 

maintained the persona of a very private individual, 

and was held by other library patrons who had 

encountered him during his previous visits as 

unsociable and eccentric.  While working at the 

computer terminals he had never removed his coat, 

and his ever-present large hat had kept everyone from 

having a long, satisfying look at his face.  But Mr. 

Lorne's resolve for maintaining this image was being 

eroded by an insuppressible emotional need to open 

up to the cordial Mrs. O'Connel.  True, by human 

standards, other females, like the gyrating exotic 

dancers in the Casino asteroids, would be considered 

more physically desirable, but Mr. Lorne was no more 

attracted to them than to the dull grey hibernating 

trees which grew around the theaters where they 

performed.  No, it was not in a physical way that Mrs. 

O'Connel was beginning to appeal to him, but on a 

higher, intellectual level.  This attraction had no 

logical basis: it was purely emotional; and that was 

what most bothered Mr. Lorne.  Emotions were 

unpredictable, often uncontrollable, and what had 

beyond any doubt made a complete mess of his 

existence.  In fact, the very thing which had drawn him 

to so many places like the Selaeta library had been to 

learn how to control, to suppress, or better yet, to 

completely exorcise his self-defeating irrational 

emotional demons.  However, without that knowledge 

he was apparently again at their mercy.  Mrs. O'Connel 

had reached out to him, and today they would most 

likely be the only two beings in the library.  Mr. Lorne 

opened his coat and removed his hat. 

   Mrs. O'Connel returned, presenting Mr. Lorne with a 

freshly printed multi-page list and a computer 

memory card.  "Here you are, Mr. Lorne, a list of all 

our printed hard copy references to Dr. Soong, and a 

memory card containing all our electronic media 

references.  If you want to copy any personal notes to 

the memory card and keep it, please remember to see 

me at the main desk.  We are required to levy a 

nominal charge for replacing it." 

   "Thank you, Mrs. O'Connel," said Mr. Lorne.  "I 

believe that I shall need to keep the memory card.  

Could you please add the charge to my tab?" 

     Mr. Lorne caught himself enjoying this pleasant 

exchange with Mrs. O'Connel.  He really would not 

have needed to keep the memory card, but he sensed 

that it would please the librarian if she believed she 

had provided him with a useful service.  In truth, Mr. 

Lorne had an excellent memory and never forgot 

anything.  He had once attempted to compute the odds 

of his ever forgetting something, and had discovered 

the odds so infinitesimally small he had terminated 

the exercise out of sheer boredom. 

    "I would be happy to adjust the balance of your 

account," returned Mrs. O'Connel.  "Now, you're sure 

that you want me to bring everything. .?" 

   "Yes, Mrs. O'Connel.  Everything." 

   "Very well," said Mrs. O'Connel, slightly raising an 

eyebrow in mild amazement at Mr. Lorne's 

persistence in wanting to explore all the materials she 

could provide before closing time.  "To make the best 

use of time you could start at the terminal in this first 

booth with the electronic references, while I go and 

collect the first batch of printed materials." 

   "Thank you very much, Mrs. O'Connel," said Mr. 

Lorne pleasantly.  "You know that I couldn't possibly 

do this without your help." 

   Mrs. O'Connel smiled and blushed, lowering her eyes 

to the floor.  Then she stole a quick glance back at Mr. 

Lorne to see if he had actually meant what he had said.  

His sincere smile reassured her.  She blushed again, 

and then left to assemble the stack of materials she 

had promised. 

   Mr. Lorne could actually have collected the materials 

himself, much faster than even the expert Mrs. 

O'Connel.  He anticipated that he would be able to 

read all the books she would eventually bring in less 

than half an hour, the only factor slowing him down 

being the need to carefully turn the pages.  He could 

also process the entire mass of relevant electronic 

information in a matter of minutes.  Mr. Lorne was no 

ordinary man.  In fact, Mr. Lorne was not, in the 

strictest biological sense, a man at all.  He was an 

android; one with a pressing need to keep a very low 

profile.  And so, Mr. Lorne paced himself, appearing to 

digest the volumes of information no faster than an 

extremely gifted speed reader. 

   Mr. Lorne learned a great deal at the Selaeta library 

that day, even though he had encountered more than 

half the available materials at other facilities.  His 

fruitful day of research had progressed well into the 

late afternoon when his rapid assimilations were 

brusquely halted by a discovery that had all but 

leaped off the printed page at him.  So unexpected had 

the perception of this vital, quintessential jewel of 

information been, that Mr. Lorne could only very 

slowly read its containing sentence over and over 

again, dimly recalling in the recesses of his thoughts 

Mrs. O'Connel's sentiments about savoring the printed 

word.  That which had so completely captured his 

entire focus was a small article mentioning that the 

missing last papers of Dr. Noonian Soong had 

resurfaced in a private collection of rare scientific 

documents owned by a deceased collector in the 

Rizon Star System. 

   Mr. Lorne shut down his terminal.  His research on 

Selaeta was finished.  The last thing to be learned at 

the Selaeta library was exactly where the Rizon 

System was located. 

   Mrs. O'Connel was not at the main counter, but Mr. 

Lorne could hear her working at the far end of the 

library.  Outside, the shadows on the ground were 

racing to meet the mountains on the horizon. 

   Walking toward the far end of the library, Mr. Lorne 

called, "Mrs. O'Connel.. ?" 

   She appeared from between two of the shelves and 

stood with her hands folded in front of her.  "Yes, Mr. 

Lorne?" she answered expectantly.  "Are you 

finished?" 

   "I require only one more piece of information," 

smiled Mr. Lorne. 

   As she walked toward Mr. Lorne she smiled back, a 

trace of weariness around her eyes, and asked, "How 

may I help you with your last piece of information?" 

   "I need to know the location of the Rizon Star 

System," Mr. Lorne said. 

   "Well, let me see," said Mrs. O'Connel thoughtfully.  A 

moment later her eyes brightened.  "Follow me, 

please.  I can show you a star chart for this 

neighborhood of the galaxy." 

   She produced a large volume of star charts and 

found the page which would answer Mr. Lorne's 

question. 

   "Thank you very much, Mrs. O'Connel," beamed Mr. 

Lorne after a quick look.  "I have finished my work 

here.  Tomorrow I must be off, seeking the next piece 

of my puzzle, as it were." 

   "What a shame.  I'll be sorry to see you go," replied 

Mrs. O'Connel with genuine feeling. 

   "You have been immeasurably helpful, Mrs. 

O'Connel," said Mr. Lorne as he leaned forward and 

lightly kissed her on her forehead.  She blushed again. 

   "Would you like me to stay and help clean up the 

mess I have made?" offered Mr. Lorne. 

   "Oh, that won't be necessary," Mrs. O'Connel smiled.  

"My staff and I are here to serve our patrons.  When 

the wind settles down tomorrow I'll have more than 

enough help to restore order again.  It's been a 

pleasure, Mr. Lorne.  Do have a nice evening, and a 

safe trip, wherever you're going." 

   "And you, Mrs. O'Connel," said Mr. Lorne before he 

turned to retrieve his hat and then headed toward the 

doors. 

   As he left the building he found it still necessary to 

hold his hat on his head.  Though somewhat more 

subdued, the wind was still strong enough to snatch 

headgear from heedless pedestrians. 

   When safely back in his hotel room Mr. Lorne placed 

his dusty hat and coat in the room's ultrasound and 

vacuum cleaning unit.  He had discovered that 

appliances like this were liberally scattered 

throughout every building in the city.  Under his coat 

he had worn a jumpsuit of a slightly darker shade of 

grey than the coat.  This style of garment was the 

popular choice of most of the locals, providing them 

with rugged protection from the elements as they 

went about their daily business.  As the jumpsuit had 

protected the humans, so had it protected Mr. Lorne 

from the frequent wind-driven clouds of dust on 

Selaeta. 

   He next went to the room's vid-comm unit and 

requested a satellite link-up to Offworld Subspace 

Communications.  "Name the communication mode 

and the entity with which you wish to communicate," 

instructed the machine several seconds later. 

   "I request voice communication with Mr. Kardek 

Cutt on Casino One," said Mr. Lorne.  While the vid-

comm unit processed the link-up request, Mr. Lorne 

reflected on the events which had led to his 

association with Mr. Kardek Cutt. 

   Mr. Lorne had been engaged in his personally vital 

research.  His research had entailed a great deal of 

travel, and so had become something of an expensive 

undertaking.  Not wishing to attract attention to 

himself, he had resorted to financing his travels with 

funds secured in places not often frequented by 

Federation authorities.  Perhaps it had been a little too 

much greed which influenced him to attempt 

replenishing his accounts in the infamous gambling 

houses in the Casino Asteroids.  Bolstered by his 

enviable relationship with numbers and probability, 

Mr. Lorne had resolved to challenge the unfavorable 

odds on Casino One, the main asteroid.  He had 

journeyed there, had studied several of the most 

challenging popular games, and had reduced them all 

into their respective predictable mathematical 

components.  In several days’ time he had broken the 

banks in several establishments, and had attracted the 

attention of Kardek Cutt, the individual who 

controlled the vast gambling operation in the Casino 

Asteroids.  Cutt's enforcers, their authority 

substantiated by their black market Romulan hand 

disruptors, had paid a visit to the rented residence of 

Mr. Lorne, and had persuaded him to accept an 

invitation to visit with Casino's Gambling Lord. 

   When the two had met in his office, Cutt had sensed 

that Mr. Lorne's successes at his gaming tables were 

the product of intelligence far superior to any organic 

life form of his experience.  However, of far greater 

importance to Kardek Cutt than details of Mr. Lorne's 

physiology were the subtleties of the 'system' he had 

used to beat the games, and this information Kardek 

Cutt had resolved to obtain at any cost.  Inspired by a 

ring of Kardek Cutt's employees, and their Romulan 

hand disruptors, Mr. Lorne had presented Cutt's 

accountants with enough material to keep them busy 

for months before they would understand how to 

realign the houses' odds back into Cutt's favor. 

     When asked what he had intended to do with his 

winnings, Mr. Lorne had explained the nature of his 

research.  Kardek Cutt immediately perceived an 

opportunity for exploitation of such renowned 

cybernetic technology in his gambling empire. He 

consequently presented Mr. Lorne with an offer not to 

be refused: that Mr. Lorne begin working for him as a 

researcher and cybernetics consultant, free to pursue 

any pre-approved avenue of research with all pre-

approved expenses paid.  Under the shadow of a 

dozen black market Romulan hand disruptors, Mr. 

Lorne had accepted Mr. Cutt's generous offer. 

     The vid-comm unit interrupted Mr. Lorne's 

reflections with a signal that his call had been 

processed.  The Casino One logo filled the video 

screen, and a surly voice demanded, "Who's got 

business with Mr. Cutt?" 

     "Please inform Mr. Cutt that it is Mr. Lorne," said 

Mr. Lorne.  "He is expecting my report." 

     Several minutes passed before the Casino One logo 

was replaced by the beaming face of Kardek Cutt.  

"Greetings, Mr. Lorne," smiled Cutt.  "Is my investment 

paying off yet?" 

   "Very nearly, Sir," said Mr. Lorne.  "I may have 

discovered the location of the most important 

information I need.  In order to investigate, I shall 

require passage from Selaeta to the Rizon System." 

   ". .in addition to a few other superfluous items taken care of, no doubt," suggested Mr. Cutt. 

   "Yes, Sir," said Mr. Lorne, "specifically, my room at 

the hotel and some incidentals at the Selaeta library." 

   "Very well, Mr. Lorne.  Your passage will be arranged 

and waiting at the Selaeta terminal tomorrow 

morning." 

   The Casino One logo snapped abruptly onto the 

video screen. 

   "Thank you very much, Sir," said Mr. Lorne 

scornfully to the logo before turning off the vid-comm 

unit. 

                                     *  *  * 

   Mr. Lorne lay awake on his bed most of the night.  He 

did not require sleep, but he assumed that several 

hours of complete silence during the night helped 

reinforce his masquerade as a normal organic 

humanoid.  This period of stillness was his least 

favorite part of each day on Selaeta.  Eventually there 

would be nothing of interest in the darkness to focus 

upon, and then he would be alone with his thoughts. 

   Again he began to contemplate the emptiness of his 

life.  He did not seem to fit in with anything or 

anybody anywhere, and something in his innermost 

psyche nagged him that this was not the way things 

were supposed to have been.  His propensity for 

becoming an outsider was a definite liability.  It had 

driven him to becoming a fugitive from the law, and if 

he had read the signs properly, even Kardek Cutt's 

outward congeniality toward him had masked an 

underlying dislike.  There was no place in the known 

universe that he could honestly call home.  He could 

never stay in one place long enough to establish a 

home.  Each day was a constant vigil of listening and 

looking over his shoulder, endeavoring to remain 

inconspicuous while he strived to understand what 

had made him as he was, and what had to be done to 

make himself into what he desperately wanted to be.  

He longed for a day when he would be in complete 

control of his life, loved and respected for his abilities 

and achievements, when the sound of someone 

approaching from behind would most likely mean a 

friendly pat on the back and hearty congratulations on 

some recent accomplishment.  More and more the 

realization of this dream seemed to depend on 

recompiling the entire knowledge base of his father 

and creator, Dr. Noonian Soong.  It was vital that he 

gain access to Dr. Soong's last papers, his memoirs, his 

personal reflections which might yield insights into 

how and why he had been designed as he was, and 

what might still be possible. 

   After several hours Mr. Lorne saw that the clear, 

sharp stars in the black evening sky were being 

dimmed by the light of approaching dawn.  At last it 

was time to get up.  The humans on Selaeta seemed to 

tolerate an early riser. 

   While gathering his few possessions Mr. Lorne 

chanced to catch his reflection in one of the room's 

mirrors.  Stopping to watch himself, he realized that 

having spent the evening feeling sorry for himself had 

been a big mistake.  As he gazed at himself in the 

mirror he saw, and for the first time felt a nervous tic 

in his right eye.  Was it a response to stress, or had 

those inept Pakleds botched something while 

reassembling him?  There could not have been a 

worse time for something like this to develop.  It was 

the kind of thing which made one stand out in a 

crowd, and that was something a fugitive tried very 

hard to avoid under any circumstances. 

   There was no time to worry about it now.  He had to 

keep moving to get to the terminal in time to catch his 

shuttle flight.  If he arrived late and missed the shuttle 

flight, Kardek Cutt would probably send someone to 

find out what had happened.  Perhaps while en route 

to the terminal he could fabricate some sort of 

fictitious cover story to explain the condition. 

   Mr. Lorne donned his coat and hat, picked up his 

single traveling bag, and left his room.  He stopped at 

the main desk in the hotel lobby to notify the duty 

clerk that his room was officially vacant.  The clerk 

typed Mr. Lorne's room number into a keypad, and the 

room's account balance was displayed on his monitor. 

   "It seems that your account has already been taken 

care of, sir," said the clerk, a tall, slender man with a 

receding hairline and a pronounced overbite. 

   "Thank you," said Mr. Lorne as he reached into his 

coat pocket.  He produced a large wad of synthetic 

paper currency (a commodity adopted by the Seleata 

colonists after tiring of the need for every financial 

transaction to leave an account of itself) and peeled 

off several of the bills.  He carefully placed these upon 

the counter in front of the clerk and said, "In return 

for this supplemental gratuity I ask that you summon 

transportation for me from here to the Selaeta 

terminal." 

   The surprised clerk stared at the generous gratuity 

for a full minute before finding his voice.  "Sure thing, 

Mister!  And, uh, thanks!  You just make yourself 

comfortable in the lounge over there and I'll fix you up 

right away." 

   Providing atmosphere in the lounge was a pair of 

worn, outdated couches and a low, battered table 

placed on a faded rug in front of a large front window.  

Mr. Lorne waited patiently there, hidden in a 

convenient shadow that the rising “sun” would around 

noontime reshape and place under the low table.  

Eventually a weatherworn van - long ago sandblasted 

clean of its original paint - stopped outside the hotel. 

   Mr. Lorne left the hotel and seated himself in the 

rear of the van.  As they drove away he wondered how 

its human driver could see anything through its pitted 

windshield.  Perhaps, he considered, the man 

managed to steer the vehicle where it was supposed 

to be by extrapolating its heading from what he saw 

through the less scarred side windows. 

   Outside the van the air was nearly still, a marked 

contrast to conditions of the day before.  With a quick 

glance out the rear window Mr. Lorne saw that the 

accelerating van would be raising much more dust 

than the day's weather.  Ahead of the van on the 

opposite side of the street he saw Mrs. O'connel on 

her way to the library.  He thought of waving to her as 

they passed by, but decided against it. 

   Several kilometers outside the city lay the Selaeta 

Terminal, the official entry and departure point for 

Selaeta's offworld traffic.  At the terminal building 

departing travelers secured boarding passes for the 

shuttle ride to the planet's orbiting space dock where 

they would board the vessels on which they had 

secured passage.  People outside the terminal building 

largely ignored the van bearing Mr. Lorne as it 

squealed to a stop in front of the main entrance only 

meters ahead of the rising, swirling column of dust 

behind it. 

   "It'll be better for you if you wait a minute to get 

out," the driver advised, at last breaking his silence. 

   Sound advice, thought Mr. Lorne as the column of 

dust, carried by its own momentum, wafted by them.  

Eventually Mr. Lorne noticed that the driver had 

extended his open hand toward him between the front 

seats. 

   "How much?" asked Mr. Lorne. 

   "Twenty," smiled the driver, secretly hoping to 

benefit as well from Mr. Lorne's generosity as had the 

clerk in the hotel. 

   Mr. Lorne withdrew his wad of currency and placed 

the required fare in the driver's hand.  The hand 

remained extended and open, a stern look on the 

driver's face suggesting that Mr. Lorne had forgotten 

something of some importance. 

   So that's your game, thought Mr. Lorne before he 

said with an air of sincerity, "Please, sir, excuse my 

absentmindedness."  He then held his bundle of 

currency temptingly out in full view of the driver and 

thumbed deliberately through the bills, stopping 

occasionally to study one of them.  After an agonizing 

deliberation, he extracted one of the smallest 

denomination bills he was carrying and gently placed 

it into the driver's hand, reinforcing his gift with a 

wide and beatific smile.  "Don't bother getting out," 

Mr. Lorne said to the driver, "I'll just get my own 

door." 

   The driver muttered a string of syllables which Mr. 

Lorne felt certain were frowned upon in most polite 

societies.  Mr. Lorne slid out of the van, pulling his 

traveling bag behind him.  His coat tails had no more 

than cleared the van's open rear door when the 

vehicle leaped away from the curb spinning its wheels 

and spraying debris over Mr. Lorne and the other 

travelers still outside the terminal building.  Smiling, 

Mr. Lorne headed for the door. 

   Stepping inside the terminal building, Mr. Lorne 

spied uniformed Federation Security personnel.  His 

face twitched as he struggled to master the impulse to 

turn and flee.  As he nervously watched them he saw 

that they were more interested in their own 

conversation than in monitoring newcomers to the 

building.  They obviously hadn't even noticed him.  

There was nothing to worry about.  Just act as if you 

belong here, he advised himself, and walk casually 

over to the ticket counter. 

   As he approached the counter a smiling attendant 

greeted him.  "Good morning, sir.  May I help you?" 

   "I believe there is a ticket reserved for Mr. Lorne, for 

passage to the Rizon System," said Mr. Lorne. 

   The attendant checked his monitor, and then a 

drawer containing many other flight tickets.  "Yes, sir, 

it's right here in the front.  Just sign this form to 

acknowledge receipt.  Then present your ticket to the 

attendant at the shuttle boarding dock to get your 

boarding pass." 

   Mr. Lorne signed the form and then glanced at the 

boarding dock.  As far as he could determine, nobody 

was watching him.  He felt his face twitch.  When he 

turned around he saw the ticket attendant staring at 

him.  This attention triggered another twitch. 

   Mr. Lorne pulled his hat down a little farther and 

attempted to explain nonchalantly, "It's pre-flight 

nerves.  The doctors can't seem to find the right 

medicine to control it." 

   "That's sad," replied the attendant.  "I thought they could cure just about anything these days." 

   Mr. Lorne smiled lamely, took his ticket, and walked 

to the shuttle boarding dock.  He took his place in the 

sporadically moving line.  As other passengers filed in 

behind him, he heard someone remark that the shuttle 

was late for its scheduled liftoff.  There appeared to be 

some credence to this rumor as the attendant handing 

out boarding passes had suddenly become 

preoccupied with rapidly processing the growing line 

of passengers.  As he received his boarding pass he 

was relieved that the attendant hardly looked at him. 

   From the boarding dock he walked through the 

protective boarding tunnel which snaked from the 

terminal building to the shuttle.  He heard the excited 

chattering of children behind him wishing they had a 

large tunnel like it to play in at home.  As he entered 

the shuttle a flight attendant examined his ticket and 

boarding pass, and then directed him toward his seat 

with directions to remain in it, as liftoff would occur 

as soon as possible. 

   Soon the entry portal was sealed and a voice 

sounded over the intercom.  "This is your Shuttle 

Captain speaking.  In the interest of safety all 

passengers are required to remain secured in their 

assigned seats at all times.  Your flight attendants have 

been trained to deal with all emergencies.  Flight 

attendants, please go to your stations.  We have been 

cleared for liftoff." 

   A moment later the hum of the shuttle's propulsion 

system began increasing in pitch as the shuttle began 

rising above the terminal building.  At a rate the 

passengers could now feel, the shuttle gained speed 

and altitude.  Mr. Lorne watched the buildings of the 

city gradually blend into a small blemish on the dry 

surface of Selaeta.  As they continued rising, familiar 

landmarks became less and less distinct.  In a short 

time only the most prominent features could be 

discerned on the surface of the receding land mass, 

and in the distance the watery arc of the planet's 

horizon was distinguishable.  They crossed over the 

terminator to the dark side of the planet where they 

sighted the flashing visual beacons of the orbiting 

spacedock.  The shuttle continued rising, inserting 

itself into a synchronized orbit before beginning its 

approach to its assigned landing bay.  As the shuttle 

neared, the bay door opened to admit it.  The shuttle 

slowly passed through the bay door and gently settled 

onto the deck in a large area where atmosphere and 

environment were maintained by a force field over 

the entry portal until the bay door securely closed. 

   Mr. Lorne disembarked from the shuttle and sought 

out an information counter where he learned that his 

transport ship, the Olympus, was conveniently 

berthed in a neighboring landing bay.  He quickly 

boarded the ship, found his cabin, and locked himself 

inside after posting an appropriate notice of his 

preference for privacy.  By his estimate he could have 

twenty-four hours of solitude and relative safety in his 

cabin before flight attendants would be required to 

check on his status.  Therefore it would be necessary 

for him to make at least one short public appearance a 

day so that he could spend most of his time out of 

public scrutiny. 

   The Olympus departed from its landing bay on 

schedule and leisurely accelerated to near-light speed.  

In six hours it had safely cleared the star system and 

its captain gave the order to accelerate to warp speed.  

The Olympus achieved its cruising velocity, warp 

three, and settled into the several-week-long journey 

to the Rizon System. 

   Mr. Lorne made his first public appearance at twenty 

hours into the flight, walking to the ship's lounge and 

purchasing a small sandwich and beverage.  He 

allowed himself to be seen consuming his purchases 

before he examined the ship's store of public reading 

materials.  Finding nothing of interest, he returned to 

his cabin for what he hoped would be another 

extended period of privacy. 

   The next day he made another appearance in the 

lounge, sitting at a corner table and nibbling on 

another diminutive meal.  One of the passengers, a 

man who, in Mr. Lorne's opinion, suffered from 

alcohol-induced affability, appropriated one of the 

remaining chairs at the table and repeatedly 

attempted to initiate conversation.  He was 

interrupted by a frenzied fit of coughing from the 

lounge's bar where one of his companions, in reacting 

to an amusing anecdote, had attempted to both laugh 

and inhale his beverage at the same time.  After his 

friend had regained his composure, the man returned 

to Mr. Lorne's table - and found it deserted.  

Grumbling, he returned to the bar, determined to rain 

unending disparagement upon the rude, ill-mannered, 

misbegotten scoundrel who had snubbed him. 

   On the third day Mr. Lorne again entered the lounge.  

A few glances were cast his way, some merely curious, 

while others from the bar grimly challenged him to 

keep his distance.  Remaining composed, Mr. Lorne 

purchased a small bowl of soup and placed it on a 

table near the reading materials.  This time the 

reading shelves contained a scientific periodical 

featuring an article about the most interesting life 

forms discovered over the past year.  Intrigued, he 

brought it to his table and read it slowly while toying 

with his food.  He became so absorbed in the article 

that he failed to notice the commotion developing in 

the lounge. 

   One passenger, absently gazing out a viewport, had 

spied a light which seemed to be moving parallel to 

the Olympus.  He had then called a friend over to show 

the phenomenon to him.  "What do you make of that?" 

he had asked. 

   "Another ship, maybe," the second man had replied.  

"It's probably no big deal.  I've often seen ships this 

close back in the Terran sector." 

   The first man had then thought about that possibility 

before saying, "That could be, but then again, this isn't 

the Terran sector.  We are pretty far out, you know." 

   "Yeah, we are pretty far out," the second man agreed 

while gazing out the viewport.  "You know, it seems to 

me as if that thing's getting closer.  I can almost make 

out a shape." 

   Other curious passengers joined them, adding 

opinions, observations, and questions to the growing 

murmur of conversation. 

   "That thing's square!” 

   "It is - it's a square space ship!" 

   "Hey, anybody know if the Federation has any 

square spaceships?" 

   "I don't think they do.  My kid's got pictures of every 

ship the Federation's ever built, and none of them are 

square." 

   "Well if it ain't ours, what is it?" 

    Mr. Lorne became annoyed by the increasing 

distraction and sourly looked out the closest viewport, 

searching for the cause of the uproar. 

   The Olympus' flight attendants had also claimed a 

viewport.  "It doesn't look like anything I've ever 

seen," observed one of them. 

   "I'd better inform the captain," decided the senior 

flight attendant solemnly.  "He'll contact Sector Flight 

Control and have this checked out." 

   As the senior flight attendant was leaving the lounge 

Mr. Lorne identified the object outside the viewport.  

It had drawn closer to the Olympus, making it possible 

to see details of its surface and construction.  It was 

very, very large, a behemoth next to which the 

Olympus was an insignificant mote in the cosmos.  Its 

contours were an exercise in geometric perfection: a 

cube-shaped arrangement of machinery, conduits, 

sensors, and storage tanks - essentially a space-

traveling vessel constructed without an external skin.  

The inhabitants of the vessel were known to Mr. 

Lorne, and doubtless, he to them.  They were an 

unfeeling calamitous race of beings called the Borg, 

and they instilled fear and despair in all who knew of 

their existence.  Little did the foolish humans in the 

Olympus yet understand that a Borg ship was 

interested in them. 

    Mr. Lorne quickly assessed his options.  It was 

unrealistic to expect help.  Even if a fleet of Federation 

starships could be summoned quickly enough, it 

would not be powerful enough to drive the Borg ship 

away.  The Olympus had no hope of trying to outrun 

the Borg ship, and it certainly could not shield itself 

for long from a weapons attack or from boarders.  The 

only slim chance of survival lay in using his android 

physiology to its best advantage.  He must quickly find 

a suitable place to hide and then execute a complete 

shutdown.  If the Borg were not specifically looking 

for non-organic life forms, they might just overlook 

him. 

     Mr. Lorne stood and hurriedly walked toward the 

rear lounge exit until a curious sizzling sound brought 

him to a halt.  Uneasily he turned around, verifying 

that the noise was coming from the other end of the 

lounge.  It was now accompanied by a swirling green 

crosshatch of light which had settled several paces in 

front of the corridor which led to flight operations and 

the bridge. 

   When the effect had dissipated two menacing figures 

were left in its place.  They were humanoid, and wore 

black, armored costumes upon which a number of 

devices were attached.  Cables and tubes attached to 

the devices in places penetrated the armor, and in 

other places were visibly routed beneath skin.  

Implanted optical devices covered their left eyes and 

the left sides of their heads.  In place of their right 

forearms they each carried a heavy implanted 

prosthetic device containing numerous powerful 

cutting and grasping tools.  There was no doubt in Mr. 

Lorne's positronic mind: the figures were definitely 

Borg! 

    The two Borg took several steps into the lounge as 

frightened passengers retreated from their advance.  

The sizzle and green crosshatch reoccurred behind 

them, and two additional Borg materialized.  The 

second pair of Borg turned around and walked into 

the corridor toward the bridge as members of the 

Olympus' flight crew attempted to overpower them.  

In the lounge passengers heard sounds of scuffling 

and cries of pain.  The flight crew's resistance was 

crushed in a matter of seconds, and then the Borg in 

the corridor continued with their business of 

collecting information about the transport ship. 

   Meanwhile the Borg in the lounge had roamed about 

at will analyzing everything in the compartment, even 

scanning the appliances behind the bar.  Several of the 

bar's most supportive patrons had gravitated together 

near the lounge's rear bulkhead.  Talking among 

themselves, their inhibitions and fears suppressed by 

over-libation, they determined that their ship was in 

danger, and they hastily planned a loosely organized 

all-out assault upon the intruders.  The resulting 

melee was an entirely one-sided affair, lasting less 

than half-a-minute, and ending with all attackers 

thrown over chairs or into bulkheads, or beaten 

senseless by the Borg's heavy prosthetic arms. 

   The second pair of Borg returned from the bridge 

and stood with the pair who had examined the lounge.  

One of them produced a slender device which he held 

in his hand and pointed at a passenger.  It scanned the 

passenger, emitting a ghostly, cloudy beam of green 

light.  At the conclusion of the scan the Borg turned his 

device onto another passenger.  Several seconds later 

the scan ended, and the Borg produced a small shiny 

badge which he pressed onto the passenger's shirt.  As 

he stepped back a green crosshatch of light enveloped 

the passenger, and he vanished.  The three remaining 

Borg produced scanners of their own and began 

scanning the other passengers, rejecting some, and 

marking others for transport.  Those rejected cowered 

fearfully in corners, weeping, whispering in quiet, 

desperate voices, and trying to make sense of what 

was happening. 

   Finally one of the Borg approached Mr. Lorne.  As he 

raised his scanner, Mr. Lorne knocked the instrument 

from his hand while lunging forward and driving him 

into another Borg behind him.  As the three bodies 

tumbled to the deck, shouts of encouragement 

erupted from passengers who had suddenly decided 

that Mr. Lorne wasn't such a bad fellow after all.  Mr. 

Lorne's fleeting advantage vanished when a third 

Borg struck him on the back of his neck with his heavy 

prosthetic forearm.  He then pointed the device at the 

back of Mr. Lorne's head and caused it to emit a 

stunning electrical discharge. 

   Mr. Lorne lay on the floor, motionless.  The two Borg 

he had managed to knock over struggled to their feet.  

Then, all four Borg stood over Mr. Lorne, looking at 

each other, communicating.  One of them pointed his 

scanning device at Mr. Lorne.  A moment later another 

Borg affixed a transporting badge to Mr. Lorne's coat, 

and then he was claimed by the Borg transporter. 

   Without a warning the four Borg units beamed back 

to their ship.  Shocked surviving passengers began 

creeping out of the corners and reacting to their 

losses, still fearful, still apprehensive, yet very, very 

enraged.  Almost all were crying. 

   The gargantuan Borg ship could still be seen outside 

the viewports.  "Why don't they just go away!" a 

distraught woman cried. 

   Another passenger, an elderly woman, put an arm 

around her and said, "It's over, dear.  Please, try to 

calm yourself." 

   The Borg ship moved closer to the Olympus, and 

drew passengers back to its viewports fearful of what 

might happen next. 

   Suddenly, a bright, powerful beam of light - a cutting 

laser - flashed from the Borg ship to the Olympus.  The 

section of the transport's bridge containing the flight 

computer was sliced from the transport and pulled by 

a tractor beam back to the Borg ship.  Alarms 

sounded, indicating a hull breach.  Surviving 

passengers and crew of the Olympus who had 

regained some presence of mind rushed to close doors 

and seal off the lounge area of the ship. 

   People continued watching in horror as the Borg 

cutting laser removed additional pieces of the 

transport which were retrieved by the tractor beams.  

Any hope that the Borg had found nothing of interest 

in the lounge dwindled as each additional and 

seemingly less important piece was removed. 

   Suddenly the bright cutting beam slashed in through 

a viewport, burning and blinding those nearby.  The 

beam moved downward and encountered metal 

below the viewport.  It glowed brightly as the beam 

tortured it. 

   Even though a hull breach in the lounge was 

imminent, there were those who were moved to 

perform a last act of heroism as they pulled injured 

people away from the searing heat of the beam. 

   The superheated metal at last reached a point where 

it could no longer contain the pressurized atmosphere 

within the compartment.  With an obscene hiss the 

life-giving air gushed through the last opening in the 

hull, irretrievably committed to its new mission of 

filling the cold vacuum of deep space. 

                             ***   CHAPTER ONE   *** 

                                    CAPTAIN'S LOG:                                                           

                       U.S.S. Enterprise (NCC 1701-D) 

                                  Stardate 48434.1                                

                   Capt. Jean-Luc Picard, recording 

   The Enterprise has been ordered to Star Base Minia 

IV where we are soon to rendezvous with the USS 

Calcutta and receive from her a quantity of specially 

designed high-penetration terraforming photon 

torpedoes which we are to transport to Loriahn, a 

class M planet in the Sorjha-Algon system.  Starfleet 

engineers have there conceived a radical planetary 

engineering project in which they will use these 

special terraforming torpedoes to create an opening 

through a narrow, high range of mountains which 

dominate the western shore of Loriahn's principal 

land mass.  The engineers believe that such an 

opening in this mountain range will permit a natural 

passage of moist ocean air inland over a potentially 

fertile area on the eastern side of the mountains which 

is currently a barren desert.  Successful execution of 

this plan is projected to make the Loriahn colony 

completely self-sustaining. 

   Since there is no need to rush the delivery of these 

torpedoes I have obtained permission from Starfleet 

Command to remain at Minia IV for a few days, 

affording the crew a chance at shore leave at the 

excellent recreational facilities this base has to offer.  

Dr. Crusher has decreed that ALL senior officers, 

myself included, will avail themselves of this 

opportunity to 'get away from it all' for a while. 

                                      *  *  * 

   Bright light from the orange-tinged sun shone in 

through the open window and warmed everything it 

touched.  At dawn it had first illuminated the wall 

opposite the window.  Since then it had traced a path 

down the wall, over the chair, across the floor, and up 

onto the edge of the bed.  It slowly made its way to the 

pillow and then climbed onto the shaved head of the 

man who was still sleeping.  In a short time the light 

surrounded the man's eyes and demanded the 

attention it was due.  The man bolted upright with his 

eyes wide open and studied his surroundings.  Slowly 

he remembered who and where he was: a starship 

captain, Jean-Luc Picard, in a hotel room at the 

starbase seaside resort on Minia IV.  This overnight 

sleepover away from his ship had been the beginning 

of the first shore leave he had taken in, oh, quite a 

while.  It was time off he had reluctantly agreed to 

take at the urging of his ship's doctor and long-time 

friend, Beverly Crusher. 

   There was a basin of water, still cool from the night 

air, and a clean towel on a stand beside his bed.  

Reflecting on the quaintness of the old custom, Picard 

slowly slid out of bed, splashed water onto his face, 

and dried with the towel.  Looking out through the 

window, he concluded that it was going to be a 

beautiful day. 

   Sitting on the bed, he reached out to the uniform 

jacket which he had folded and placed next to the 

towel the evening before and removed the 

communicator badge.  Activating the device, he said, 

"Picard to Enterprise." 

   "This is Enterprise.  Good morning, Captain," 

responded the voice of First Officer, Commander 

William Riker. 

   "Good morning, Number One," said Picard.  "Just 

checking in.  How is everything aboard ship?" 

   "On schedule, Sir," reported Riker.  "We expect to 

have the last of those terraforming torpedoes aboard 

and secured within the hour." 

   "You've done well, Number One.  I expect you're 

anxious to begin your shore leave." 

   Grinning, Riker replied, "When it's my turn, Sir, Dr. 

Crusher won't have to push me onto the transporter 

pad." 

   "Understood, Will.  I promise not to keep you penned 

up on the ship any longer than necessary.  

Unfortunately for both of us I'll have to plod around 

down here at least until this afternoon to keep Dr. 

Crusher happy." 

   "Very good, Sir.  Do try to have a nice day." 

   "Thank you, Will.  I will give it my best effort.  Picard 

out." 

   Now satisfied with the status of things on his ship, 

Picard set out to fill his day with Dr. Crusher's 

mandated relaxing activities.  First he showered, and 

then put on a light shirt, slacks, and sandals.  Next he 

visited the resort's restaurant and breakfasted on the 

very best Minia IV equivalent of bacon and eggs.  

Before going outside he walked to the nearby 

newsstand and purchased a day's worth of 

recreational reading material.  Exiting the hotel, he 

stood for a minute on the rear sundeck and surveyed 

the scenery.  The hotel had certainly been built in a 

beautiful setting.  The grounds beyond the sundeck 

were covered by a lush green carpet of Minia Hybrid 

Bluegrass.  Tall trees with rich brown bark and wide 

green leaves provided appealing embellishment to the 

expanse of green.  The borders of the resort were 

defined by a fence of natural untrimmed vegetation.  

Several hundred meters beyond the sundeck the grass 

ended at an abrupt cliff which dropped thirty meters 

to a sandy beach.  The beach, with its promise of early 

morning solitude, was where Picard wanted to go. 

   He left the sundeck and walked across the grass 

which felt cool and slightly damp with dew in the 

shade.  Along the way he encountered a gardener 

working in a bed of flowers around the base of a tree. 

   "Heading for the beach this morning, Mr. Picard?" 

the gardener asked. 

   "Yes, I am," Picard replied, stopping a moment to 

admire the gardener's handiwork.  "My doctor is 

forcing me to relax today.  The beach seems the 

perfect place to do it." 

   "Nice time of day to visit the beach," observed the 

gardener looking at the sky.  "Shouldn't be too hot yet, 

and then you have the clean salt air.. " 

   "Yes, I'm sure I'll enjoy it," said Picard.  "By the way, the flowers are lovely," he added as he turned and 

resumed walking. 

   At the edge of the cliff was a waist-high white 

protective fence with a prominent gazebo constructed 

in the middle.  This structure served as the entry point 

to stairways and an elevator which led down to the 

beach.  Picard chose the elevator for his descent.  After 

all, he rationalized; Dr. Crusher had ordered him 

down here to relax.  After the leisurely ride down 

Picard stepped out of the elevator and discovered that 

racks of beach chairs were provided for visitors' use.  

He chose one and carried it down near the water.  

While positioning and unfolding the chair, he paused 

to examine the surroundings. 

   The beach was set against a natural inlet.  Perhaps it 

had once been an active volcano whose seaside wall 

had long ago collapsed.  The high cliff wall behind the 

beach attempted to encircle the inlet, reaching out to 

the sea on both sides like protective arms.  The face of 

the wall was a blend of rock formations and an 

apparently infinite variety of flowering vegetation.  

The atmosphere of the setting reminded Picard of the 

Al-tameth Canyon Shrine on Pollard V, an ancient 

place of worship where traditions held that the gods 

had there first experimented with color before 

painting the rest of that world.  Creatures very 

different from the sea birds of Earth took wing out 

across the inlet as Picard remembered brochures in 

the hotel lobby which promised a dazzling array of 

exotic sea life for divers to explore.  Picard slowly took 

in a deep breath, very impressed with the therapeutic 

effect of the setting. 

   He sat in the beach chair and touched his 

communicator.   

   "Good morning Mr. Picard.  How may I help you?" 

   "Can you tell me if Reis Arman is in his studio yet?" 

Picard asked. 

   "Yes, he is, sir.  As a matter of fact, he just came in." 

   "Good," smiled Picard.  "I'd like a message delivered 

to him.  If he has time today, ask him to please come 

down to the beach.  Tell him to look for Jean-Luc 

Picard, and to bring his brushes, paints, and a large 

canvas.  I'd like to put him to work." 

   "Very good, sir.  I'm sure he'll be right down." 

    A talented Bajoran painter who was steadily 

developing a following in the art world, Reis Arman 

maintained his studio in the Minia IV resort complex.  

Picard had once before purchased a painting from 

him, and that had been the beginning of their 

friendship.  When he learned that Jean-Luc Picard was 

on the resort grounds looking for him, Reis Arman 

hurried immediately to greet him.  Twenty minutes 

later he stepped out of the elevator at the bottom of 

the cliff calling out Picard's name and excitedly 

striding toward the only occupied chair on the beach.  

Upon hearing his name called , Picard arose and went 

to meet him.  They shook hands and embraced. 

   "How are you, Jean-Luc?  I tell you, it has been too 

long!" 

   "Yes, much too long," Picard cheerfully agreed.  "I am 

well, Arman.  How are things with you?" 

   "I do very well here," said the artist.  "I have a good 

job, doing what I like.  Inspiration overwhelms me 

here, and the people are very friendly.  I should be 

happy and content, but I worry about my home.  Tell 

me Jean-Luc, how are things really on Bajor?" 

   "There is hope, my friend," said Picard.  "I am told 

that progress is steadily being made in revitalizing 

your world, and it should stay that way now that the 

Cardassians have other things to worry about than 

Bajor." 

    "Well, you people just keep an eye on them," warned Reis Arman with a confident smile.  "Now, did you call 

me down here to discuss Bajoran politics, or is there 

something I can do for you professionally?" 

   "Now that you mention it, there is," smiled Picard.  

He opened both arms wide in a motion that 

encompassed the entire beach and inlet.  "I want you 

to paint this - all of this magnificent scene for me." 

    "All of this?" questioned Reis Arman. 

    "Well, if it’s beyond your ability, just forget that I 

mentioned it," mocked Picard as he sat down in his 

chair holding his reading materials. 

   Stepping in front of Picard's chair, Reis Arman raged 

with burlesqued indignity, "What do you mean by 

'beyond my ability'?  The question should be, can you 

afford what you ask for?" 

   "Of course I can afford it, you first-day apprentice 

house painter.  Any fee you can conceive, plus, I'll 

throw in a glass of the finest ale in the resort." 

   "Done, you squeaking old tightwad," laughed Reis 

Arman.  "I've half a mind to drag you back to the hotel 

and claim my ale as a down payment before you 

change your mind." 

   Each with an arm on the other's shoulder, they 

walked toward the cliff elevator.  As they left the 

gazebo they were discussing the composition of 

Picard's painting.  An hour-and-a-half later they were 

seated in a booth in the hotel lounge, each well into a 

third glass of ale.  Reis Arman was laughing over 

Picard's relation of something one of the children on 

the Enterprise had done.  "It sounds to me as though 

you're beginning to like having children on your 

starship," he said. 

   "If that's what you believe, I'd appreciate your not 

spreading it around," Picard smirked.  "I still have to 

maintain my reputation as a gruff old troll who makes 

everybody toe the line." 

   Reis Arman took a sip of his drink and noticed a man 

in a Starfleet uniform enter the lounge and speak with 

the bartender.  The bartender pointed to Picard. 

   Seeing a change in Reis Arman's eyes, Picard asked, 

"Is something wrong?" 

   "Just somebody looking for you, Jean-Luc.  My guess 

is it will be business." 

   The man in the uniform walked to their table and 

said, "Excuse me, are you Captain Picard of the 

Enterprise?" 

   "I am," said Picard as he examined the man in the smartly fitted uniform. 

   I am Lieutenant Del Rey, Sir, and I'm here 

representing Commodore Alcott, the Starbase 

Commander.  He regrets interrupting your shore 

leave, but something has come up that he needs to 

discuss with you." 

   Picard turned to Reis Arman.  "You were right, my 

friend.  It is business." 

   "I'll start working on your painting, Jean-Luc.  You'll 

return later to pick it up?" 

   "Indeed I shall," promised Picard, "and then it will be 

your turn to pick up the tab." 

                                            *  *  * 

   "That's the last of the torpedoes, Commander," 

reported Lt. Commander LaForge over the intercom.  

"We can be underway as soon as Captain Picard 

returns." 

   "Sounds good, Geordi," said Riker, "except for the 

matter of my shore leave.  The captain has just 

personally assured me that I'll have some time to look 

around on Minia IV." 

   "You'll like it down there," said LaForge.  "When will you get your turn?" 

    "I'll beam down after the captain returns later 

today," answered Riker. 

   "You'll need time to mentally prepare yourself for 

shore leave," said LaForge.  "I'll be on the bridge soon 

to relieve you as the duty officer." 

   "Have you finished the maintenance work scheduled 

for this layover?" asked Riker. 

    "Not yet, Sir," answered LaForge.  "That could take 

another two hours." 

   "Why don't you stay in engineering and finish what 

you have to do," suggested Riker.  "I'll run the store 

here until you're done.  It'll make things easier for you 

when you take over." 

   "Thanks, Commander.  I'll be on the bridge as soon 

as I can." 

   Two hours later, true to his word, LaForge stepped 

out of the turbolift onto the bridge.  "All finished, 

Commander.  Everything is polished and up to date." 

    "That's good to hear, Mr. LaForge," smiled Riker as 

he stood up from the captain's chair.  "The ship is all 

yours.  I'll be in my quarters until Captain Picard 

returns." 

   After entering his quarters Riker went to his comm 

terminal and requested a link to the terminal in 

Counsellor Troi's quarters.  A moment later she 

appeared on his screen.  "Yes, Will, what did you 

want?  I thought you had left for shore leave." 

   "I can't leave until Captain Picard returns later this 

afternoon.  I wanted to tell you what I discovered.  

This starbase's video library has a collection of really 

old Hollywood comedy film classics from the 1930's.  I 

was going to have some transmitted up here, and I 

thought you might like to come over and watch them." 

   "After what you've told me about them it sounds like 

fun," said Deanna.  "I'll be right over." 

   They sat for over an hour sampling the hilarious 

antics of pioneering actors who had performed 

dangerous and outrageous stunts and acrobatics for 

movie cameras over four centuries before.  While they 

were choosing their next film they were interrupted 

by the warbling of the doorbell. 

   "Come in," shouted Riker. 

   Lt. Commander Data entered, and seeing both Riker 

and Troi sitting on Riker's sofa with a table full of 

snacks and drinks, and the two of them fighting over a 

printout of the Starbase video library catalog, he 

became uncomfortable.  "Excuse me," he said 

uncertainly, "am I interrupting anything. .?" 

   "Not at all, Data," said Riker as he reached for the 

printout Deanna was holding at arm's length away 

from him.  "I am merely attempting to enlighten our 

culturally deprived Ship's Counsellor. ." 

   "And I am being enlightened by a very narrow-

minded person who thinks he is the best judge of 

what is funny," Troi protested as she attempted to 

stretch the printout further out of Riker's reach. 

   Data gingerly took the printout from Troi and with 

very little apparent understanding examined the list 

of titles.  He handed the printout back without saying 

a thing. 

   Troi handed the printout to Riker and said to Data, 

"Why don't you stay and watch some of these films.  It 

might help you understand the concept of humor a 

little better." 

   As Riker arranged for a selection to be transmitted, 

Troi punched him playfully on the arm and 

proclaimed, "I choose the next one!" 

   Data sat stiffly on a nearby chair and watched the 

films.  He pondered the appropriateness of 

construction workers aggressively using the tools of 

their trade to physically express dissatisfaction with 

their co-workers.  He puzzled over slapping and 

sustained shouting that must surely have extracted 

penalties from the physical well-being of the actors in 

their declining years.  He could not fathom the humor 

in having a fat man plucked from his automobile by a 

speeding firetruck's ladder. 

   He watched a scene in a restaurant.  A stout woman 

in a shining black floor-length gown was holding her 

meek penguin of a husband in tow.  She angrily pulled 

him along after he had slowed to gaze across the room 

at a young female restaurant patron.  At a nearby table 

an unhappy couple was arguing.  Reaching a point of 

intense infuriation, they both stood and threw their 

napkins upon the table.  Spying a waiter passing 

behind her holding a tray of desserts, the woman 

grabbed a pie from the waiter's tray and threw it at 

her male companion.  In the nick of time he dodged 

out of the way, and the pie sailed across the room, 

striking the stout woman full in the face.  She, in turn, 

grabbed a handful of food from a nearby diner's plate 

and threw it back.  Within seconds the entire 

restaurant had become involved in a furious food 

fight. 

   From the way Troi and Riker were reacting, Data 

concluded that they must believe the actors' 

inappropriate and inexcusable behavior was quite 

hilarious.  Unimpressed, he asked, "Could one of you 

please explain why throwing food is so funny?" 

   Riker, the first to regain his composure, replied, 

"You've picked an easy one to explain, Data.  Tell me, 

what do you remember about the large woman as she 

entered the restaurant?" 

   Data thought for a moment and then volunteered, 

"She was quite proper, and apparently a woman of 

excellent taste and breeding.  Also, she carried herself 

with an air of utmost dignity." 

   "Bingo!" encouraged Riker, pointing at Data.  "Now 

tell me about her after she was hit with the pie in the 

face." 

   "She appeared to have lost her dignity," said Data, 

"and acted as inappropriately as everyone else in the 

scene." 

   "Bingo again," applauded Riker.  "She was 

unexpectedly humiliated, and by her reaction to the 

cracking of her facade of superiority she 

demonstrated that she was no better than anyone else 

in the room.  In fact, the entire restaurant full of 

dignified superior adults eventually began acting like 

so many undisciplined children." 

   "I think I understand," said Data.  "The breakdown of 

the facade of superiority was the point of humor in 

this case." 

   "That's very good, Data," said Troi. 

   "Not to change the subject, Data, but why did you 

come here in the first place?" asked Riker. 

   Puzzled, Data admitted, "I do not remember, 

Commander.  I have never done this before.  I have 

forgotten why I came here." 

   "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Data," said Troi.  

"It will most likely come back to you." 

   "Thank you for your reassurance, Counsellor," said 

Data, "but I am going to return to my quarters and run 

a complete self-diagnostic." 

   Riker repressed his laughter until after Data had left 

the room. 

   "Why are you laughing at him?" admonished Troi 

through a barely contained smirk. 

   "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it," smiled Riker, 

"but I wonder if he has any idea of how human he 

appeared to be?" 

                                       *  *  * 

    Starbase commander Commodore Alcott had 

devoted years of his life to the pursuit of athletic 

excellence.  His office, virtually overpopulated with 

plaques, trophies, and pennants, was a powerful 

testimonial to his passion.  His dedication to keeping 

himself physically fit had paid off well, as he still 

radiated a youthful vitality that belied the actual tally 

of his years.  Captain Picard sat uneasily in a chair in 

front of Alcott's desk while Alcott silently, and with 

some amusement, appraised him.  Picard fervently 

wished that Alcott would wipe his silly grin off his face 

and get on with an explanation of what had made 

their meeting necessary. 

   "I went through the Academy a couple of years 

before you did, Picard," Alcott finally said, "and if I do 

say so myself, I managed to raise a few eyebrows with 

some of my accomplishments in athletic competition.  

After I graduated, I kept a close eye on you 

underclassmen, to see if any of you were up to retiring 

any of my records.  Of all the people I worried about, 

you gave me the biggest scare during your first two 

years there.  They said that what you lacked in finesse 

you more than made up for with drive and 

determination.  So tell me, what ever happened to 

you?  Why did you give up athletics in your junior 

year?" 

    Picard smiled, letting memories take him back 

through time.  "The truth is that I had to make a choice 

between athletics and my studies," he explained.  

"Some of my grades were in danger of slipping, and I 

felt that I needed more time for my books.  At the time 

it seemed a very difficult choice, but now I feel that it 

was the wise thing to do." 

    "Well.  After all these years I finally have the answer 

from the horse's mouth," Alcott grinned.  "I was 

hoping that my reputation had intimidated you." 

   "Actually it did," said Picard, "but the prevailing 

locker room wisdom was that records were made to 

be broken.  I learned that I should never be afraid to 

give chasing after you my best shot." 

   Alcott roared with laughter.  "What a shame we 

couldn't have gone through that academy together," 

he said.  "We would have raised quite a cloud of dust, 

you and I." 

   Picard let a small smile escape his lips. 

    "Enough chit-chat," decided Alcott.  "I'll bet you're 

aching to know what this is all about.  Starfleet has 

been contacted by somebody who wants to give you 

some sort of medal or award or something.  When 

Starfleet started to check out this proposed simple 

awards dinner they came up with a fistful of red flags 

and undercover intrigue.  They really would like to 

just say 'no, thank you', but what holds them back is 

that establishing a dialogue with your admirers could 

possibly bring Starfleet something it badly needs.  All 

of this is top drawer hush-hush, you understand." 

   "Of course, Commodore," replied Picard. 

    "Good," said Alcott seriously.  "I guess we'll start by 

asking you what you know about a race calling 

themselves the Orokans." 

    "I've heard the name before, but I can't recall any 

details," admitted Picard. 

   "I'll give you a clue," said Alcott.  "The MX-35 

system." 

   "Of course!" exclaimed Picard.  "About twenty years 

ago somebody bought plans for the Federation's MX-

35 Planetary Perimeter Surveillance system from a 

Ferengi arms peddler.  The system was being phased 

out of use at the time because it had become too easy 

to defeat its threat detection algorithms.  Starfleet 

investigated, but was never able to discover how the 

arms peddler was able to obtain the plans and 

documentation.  The Orokans were the ones who 

bought the system from him." 

   "That's right," said Alcott.  "We found out who 

bought the plans, but the Ferengi government 

disavowed any knowledge of such a transaction.  We 

never got the chance to tell the buyers that the system 

was an obsolete piece of junk.  And, that was the last 

anyone heard of the Orokans until a few weeks ago 

when they contacted us through third-party 

diplomatic channels inquiring about you and the 

possibility of presenting you with some kind of 

award." 

   "I've done nothing to merit recognition from them," 

said Picard in amazement. 

   "In their eyes you have," Alcott continued.  

"Somebody told them about the time you spent as a 

prisoner of the Borg.  The Orokans claim they've been 

butting heads with the Borg for years.  By their 

accounts, they've been fighting with the Borg and 

they've nearly been holding their own.  It seems that 

their people had been a little down on morale lately, 

but when they heard how you'd been captured by the 

Borg, and then escaped and helped destroy one of 

their ships, it just instilled a renewed vitality in them.  

To show their gratitude the Orokan Brass want to 

present you with an award and put you on display as a 

hero and a symbol of the Federation's support in their 

own struggle against the Borg." 

   "Commodore Alcott, I am still troubled by. .painful 

memories.. " said Picard.  "An award. .I mean. .an 

award, after what happened at Wolf 359?" 

    "We understand your reluctance, Captain," said 

Alcott sincerely, "but we were hoping you could see 

past that.  There are valuable benefits to be realized 

from establishing relations with the Orokans.  If there 

is any substance to what they claim, we'd like to know 

how they achieve so much more success than we have 

against the Borg.  Do they have better weapons, 

superior tactics, or are they using witchcraft?  

Starfleet would like to know these Orokans a little 

better.  Where do they come from?  How many of 

them are there?  Are they on the level, or are they just 

blowing smoke?  Can they help us achieve military 

parity with the Borg?  The bottom line is that you 

seem to be the key to the answers and the benefits." 

   Alcott paused a moment to give Picard a chance to 

think about what had already been said.  Then he 

added, "Starfleet knows that this will be painful for 

you, Captain Picard.  Many of the top brass say that 

this plan asks too much of you, but I thought you 

should have the opportunity to hear it and make up 

your own mind.  You see, Jean-Luc, I have studied you.  

I've seen your determination once you set your sights 

on a goal.  You're not a quitter." 

    "Thank you for the kind words, Commodore," Picard 

said. 

     "You must understand that this is entirely 

voluntary," affirmed Alcott.  "One-hundred percent 

your call.  If you say 'no', we drop the idea and no one 

thinks any less of you." 

Picard looked at Alcott, and then rubbed his chin as he 

gazed intently at a corner of Alcott's desk.  

"Commodore Alcott," he finally said, "I don't think I'd 

be able to look at myself in a mirror if I turned this 

opportunity down .           

                            ***   CHAPTER TWO   *** 

   Following his meeting with Commodore Alcott, 

Picard returned to his hotel room, quickly packed his 

personal things, and then transported to the 

Enterprise.  He stepped off the transporter pad saying 

to the transporter officer, "I want you to find 

Commander Riker and have him report to me in my 

ready room." 

   "Aye, Sir," the officer replied.  "Commander Riker is 

still aboard ship.  It shouldn't take long." 

   "Very well," said Picard as he retrieved his bag and 

left the transporter room. 

   A short time later he arrived on the bridge and went 

directly to the ready room where he instructed the 

computer to compile all the available information 

about the Ferengi/Orokan MX-35 transaction.  He had 

not had time to read far into the information before 

Riker arrived at his door. 

   "Come," he responded to Riker's entry request. 

   The door opened and admitted Riker, who walked to 

Picard's desk.  "You're back early, Sir.  Did you have a 

good time?" 

   "I met an old friend and we talked for a while," 

Picard related, "and then something important came 

up.  Beverly will have to be satisfied with my half-day 

of relaxation.  Excuse my bluntness, Will, but I'd like to 

get right to business.  Have a seat, please, and I'll fill 

you in on what has transpired." 

   Picard recounted his meeting with Commodore 

Alcott, and then added, "I remember covering the MX-

35 system at the Academy, but it was only a rough 

overview.  Basically we were shown system operation, 

what operators could fix, and when to call for help.  

Involved familiarization went to cadets specializing in 

security system repair and design. We were all told 

that MX-35 was becoming obsolete, and that our 

cursory training was presented in case we were 

assigned to bases where security system upgrade was 

not a high priority." 

   "It's a pity the Orokans never got that training," said 

Riker. 

   "Well," snorted Picard, "I don't believe the Ferengi 

got their reputation by telling customers everything 

about what they were thinking of buying." 

   "Perhaps not, Sir," smiled Riker.  "Where is this 

presentation to take place?" 

   "I am told it takes place aboard an Orokan warship," 

said Picard.  "The Orokans have cited security reasons 

for not disclosing the location of their warship, but 

they have promised to supply coordinates where my 

delegation will be met and escorted to the 

presentation site." 

   "In my opinion, Sir, this affair sounds a little too 

mysterious, and possibly dangerous," noted Riker. 

   "Yes, your sentiments are shared by a number of 

people, myself included," said Picard.  "However, there 

is a chance we might learn from these people how to 

at least break even in a fight with the Borg, and that is 

something Starfleet cannot afford to dismiss lightly." 

   "But still, Sir, you'd be out of contact, your location 

unknown, and your safety in question until we know 

whether or not these Orokans are playing straight 

with us." 

   "Not exactly, Number One.  Each member of my 

delegation will have on his person a homing 

transmitter, each one broadcasting a unique signal, 

and at least one member of the delegation will be with 

me at all times." 

   "You won't be wearing one of the transmitters 

yourself?" asked Riker. 

   "I thought it would be too risky with my being the 

center of their attention.  The others in the delegation 

should be able to stay more in the background.  And 

now, I have come to the point where I must explain 

why I have briefed you on all this.  As a personal favor, 

Will, I'd like you to accompany me to this 

presentation.  I would value your input, and if this is 

on the level you could witness an important historical 

event.  In the event that something should go wrong, I 

would feel much safer having you at my side than a 

group of office-bound desk jockeys whose last contact 

with a starship was a stack of its reports and a framed 

picture of it on the wall." 

   "I would be honored to accompany you, Sir," said 

Riker.  "When will the delegation leave for the 

presentation?" 

   "It is anticipated that several days will be needed to 

finalize details," said Picard.  "That should give you 

time to take some shore leave.  Goodness knows 

you've earned it." 

   "Thank you, Sir, but if it's all the same to you I 

believe I'll postpone my shore leave.  I could better 

spend the time in preparation." 

   "Yes," Picard agreed with a smile of approval, "I 

believe you could." 

                                               *  *  * 

   The Enterprise remained in orbit around Minia IV.  

Captain Picard and Commander Riker were met there 

several days later by a hastily assembled company of 

high-ranking Starfleet officers, Federation officials, 

and diplomatic corpsmen who were to be Picard's 

official escort for the first formal contact with the 

reclusive Orokans.  Picard had previously met the 

Starfleet and U.F.P. representatives, but the members 

of the diplomatic corps were complete strangers.  

Riker made a special note to carefully observe two of 

the conspicuously fit junior diplomats whom he 

suspected of being more in the line of security 

personnel. 

   There followed a hectic few more days of briefings 

and planning sessions which prepared the delegation 

to leave.  At the last possible moment they were 

supplied with the coordinates where they would meet 

the Orokan vessel which would escort them to the 

secret sanctuary of Picard's enigmatic admirers.  Riker 

had kept an eye on the two junior diplomats he had 

marked for observation.  They had invariably been the 

first people into the meeting rooms and the last to 

leave.  While the enforced closeness of the past few 

days had drawn most of the delegation members into 

easy social interaction, the two junior diplomats had 

resisted being drawn into prolonged, relaxed 

conversations.  Riker had become completely 

convinced that they were dedicated, competent 

security agents, and he was glad they would be going 

along for the ride. 

   At the scheduled departure time the delegation 

beamed from the Enterprise to a luxurious diplomatic 

shuttle and set out toward the rendezvous 

coordinates.  An uneventful flight brought them to the 

designated position where they were unable to detect 

any other vessels within the shuttle's sensor range.  

Given the Orokan's predisposition for secrecy, mission 

commander Admiral Stockton elected to remain at the 

site for a reasonable time; long enough, he said, to 

demonstrate to even the most timid Orokan that they 

had not been followed.  After several hours of 

diligently monitored scanning, an approaching ship 

was finally detected.  When magnified on the shuttle's 

viewscreen it was perceived to be a portly craft; egg-

shaped, with propulsion units of an unfamiliar 

technology fastened to both sides of the main hull by a 

stubby arrangement of struts.  The approaching vessel 

broadcast the prearranged recognition codes to which 

the Federation shuttle responded in kind. 

   "We're being hailed," reported the shuttle pilot. 

   "Put it on screen, Lieutenant," said Admiral Stockton, 

"and let's see who's come to meet us." 

   The image of the pilot which appeared on the 

shuttle's viewscreen was by all appearances a virtual 

clone of Terran humankind.  Admiral Stockton stood 

and invited the distinguished gentleman next to him 

to do the same.  "On behalf of the United Federation of 

Planets, we welcome you," said Stockton.  "I am 

Admiral Stockton, and to my right is Ambassador 

Benzen.  We are the senior members of the Federation 

delegation come to honor Captain Picard in concert 

with your people." 

   "I am Venel, Vanti First Squadron Leader and your 

guide," said the Orokan pilot.  "Where is he who is 

named Picard?" 

   "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard," said Picard as he 

stood beside Ambassador Benzen. 

   "Good," said Venel.  "I was instructed to be certain 

that Picard was with you.  We must be leaving now.  

Please follow me at a safe distance, but do not allow 

me to accelerate beyond your sensor range.  Our 

velocity will be the equivalent of your warp factor 

three until I instruct you to switch to impulse power." 

   Having issued these instructions, Venel turned his 

vessel around and accelerated.  His lead was easy to 

follow.  He did not steer a devious course designed to 

confuse, but instead maintained a continuous heading.  

Those not directly involved with piloting or navigating 

the diplomatic shuttle began studying star charts, 

speculating where their destination could lie. 

   "My guess is the Caldar-Signet system," decided 

Admiral Stockton.  "Venel hasn't changed his heading, 

and he's leading us straight as an arrow toward it." 

   "I agree," said Picard.  "If I remember correctly, 

Caldar-Signet is densely populated with planets, 

asteroids, and debris.  There could be any number of 

places to hide a ship in there." 

   "My choice would be Caldar-Signet's fifth planetary 

entity," Riker announced.  "C-S Five is a binary 

planetary system: two fairly massive gas giants 

orbiting a common point between them.  Both 

planetary bodies have high levels of natural radiation 

which in combination could mask the presence of a 

ship from all but the most meticulous scans." 

   "It's interesting the way you've expanded this 

theory, gentlemen," smiled Stockton.  "We'll soon 

know if you are correct." 

   The voice of the Orokan pilot intruded into their 

deliberations.  "Venel to Federation shuttle.  In five of 

your minutes we will drop out of warp and proceed on 

this heading at one-half impulse.  When these changes 

have been executed, please bring your vessel abreast 

of mine to my starboard side.  Maintain this flight 

configuration until further instructions." 

   Acknowledging Venel's instructions, the Federation 

pilot programmed the upcoming changes into his 

flight computer.  His navigational display indicated 

that C-S Five lay directly in their heading.  Perhaps 

Picard and Riker had been right, he thought.  If there 

was a ship hiding within the background radiation 

from C-S Five, it was not registering on his scanners. 

   The two ships approached the binary planets, 

carefully threading their way through C-S Five's 

complex and sometimes unpredictable lunar system.  

Eventually they entered an orbit around one of the gas 

giants, hugging the outside of the planet's largest ring. 

   "Venel to Federation shuttle."  The Orokan pilot 

again appeared on the viewscreen.  "A flight of four 

scout vessels, similar in configuration to my own, has 

been dispatched to escort us to our mother ship.  You 

should detect them momentarily over the ring 

horizon." 

   Within a quarter-hour they were a flight of six ships; 

five Orokan scout vessels and a single Federation 

shuttle.  The image of Venel again came onto the 

viewscreen.  "I am instructed to make a request of 

Ambassador Benzen and Admiral Stockton.  

Gentlemen, it is an important point of protocol that 

you be brought to our ship by transportation which 

we, as your hosts, provide.  We extend invitations to 

each member of your delegation and crew to transfer 

to our scout vessels for a fitting guest's conveyance to 

the welcome ceremonies." 

   "One moment, please, Squadron Leader Venel," said 

Stockton before ordering the communication link 

muted.  He glanced around to the members of the 

delegation, his eyes asking for input. 

   "I don't believe that sending everyone over to their 

ships is a wise move," volunteered Picard. 

     "Nor do I," agreed Stockton.  "Mister Ambassador, 

what are your thoughts?" 

   "Of course you are right, Admiral," said Ambassador 

Benzen, "but I don't like the idea of splitting us up.  We 

should remain together." 

   "Good point, Ambassador.  The delegation will travel 

as a unit," ordered Stockton.  "Now we must decide 

who will remain here on the shuttle.  I think that out 

of necessity the pilot should remain, along with 

Commander Riker." 

   "Excuse me, Admiral," interrupted Picard.  "I 

personally asked Commander Riker to accompany me 

on this mission.  During our long association I have 

come to regard him as my most trusted advisor.  He 

has had experience in first contact, so I believe that 

excluding him would greatly diminish the 

effectiveness of this delegation." 

   "Is anybody willing to volunteer to stay behind?" 

asked Stockton. 

   One of the junior diplomats raised his hand. 

   "Thank you for making my decision easier," said 

Stockton to him.  "Don't feel slighted, son.  You'll be 

just as much a part of things out here.  I'll expect you 

two to monitor us as best you can.  You could possibly 

be our fifth ace in the deck if this ceremony doesn't 

play out as expected." 

   Stockton instructed the pilot to reopen the 

communication link.  Ambassador Benzen stepped 

forward and said, "Squadron Leader Venel, we would 

be honored to have you bear us to the ceremony, 

however my shuttle pilot advises me that he and 

another crewman must remain with the shuttle to 

monitor systems and prepare for the return trip.  

Which of your scout ships will carry the rest of us?" 

   "Any of the scout ships can accommodate your 

delegation, Ambassador," said Venel.  "If it is 

convenient you may all transport to my vessel, and the 

other vessels will act as your ceremonial honor 

guard." 

   "Splendid," said Ambassador Benzen.  "If you will 

supply us with the appropriate coordinates we will 

immediately beam to your ship." 

   In groups of four the members of Picard's delegation 

beamed to Venel's scout ship.  They discovered that its 

interior was roomy and afforded ample seating, but its 

lack of luxury appointments marked it as a military or 

utilitarian craft. 

   As the members of the delegation arranged 

themselves in the seats, Venel turned around and 

sought out Picard.  "Please, Captain Picard, sit in this 

seat beside me.  Our destination lies only minutes 

away over the ring horizon.  From this vantage point 

you will be the first Federation citizen to see our 

beautiful mother ship, the Diamont.  It is named after 

the playwright who inspired its design." 

   Venel started moving the ship forward while Picard 

watched eagerly out the large forward viewport.  

When Venel had spoken of the mother ship he had 

done so with a great deal of pride.  Picard was 

impatient to see the ship which had inspired such 

feeling from Venel. 

   The formation of Orokan scout ships passed over the 

daylight side of the immense planet below.  As they 

proceeded along the outer perimeter of the great ring 

the light from the system's sun was brilliantly 

reflected in short bursts from crystalline bodies 

within the ring.  As impressive as it was, the blinding 

display of celestial pyrotechnics was forgotten when 

the first glimpses of the Orokan mother ship were 

possible through the debris at the outer edge of the 

great ring. 

   Picard had been pondering the meaning of the ship's 

name, the Diamont, which in his native tongue meant 

'diamond'.  He had tentatively concluded that if there 

was any kind of parallel between French and the 

Orokan language, then naming the ship after a 

gemstone had merely been a sentimental gesture, but 

when they had approached close enough to behold the 

ship unobstructed by the ring's debris, he saw how 

utterly wrong he had been. 

   The main body of the ship had been constructed in 

the shape of a diamond, resembling a massive, many-

faceted stone destined to be set into an exquisite piece 

of jewelry.  Its glistening outer hull was made of a 

brilliantly polished alloy.  The widest expanse of the 

hull was nearest the end which Picard assumed was 

the top.  At this point a shining ring, secured to the 

hull by six cylindrical conduits, encircled the ship. 

   "That is an incredibly beautiful ship!" Picard 

exclaimed, and the rest of the delegation contributed 

supporting sentiments.  Riker noted that there was no 

acknowledgement of the delegation's compliments 

from Venel.  He could not decide if Venel was being 

rude or simply blocking out all distractions to 

concentrate on his final approach to the Diamont.  It 

would not be fair, he decided, to pass judgement until 

he was more familiar with the Orokans and their 

customs. 

   The Orokan scout ships continued to approach the 

upper section of the Diamont.  By the time they had 

crossed over the ring they had slowed to a veritable 

crawl and their formation had assumed the shape of a 

crescent with the outer ships slightly leading Venel's 

ship in the center.  An opening appeared in a different 

facet of the diamond-shaped hull in front of each scout 

ship.  Each one passed through its entry portal, 

hovered for a moment over the deck while support 

struts extended from the lower hull, and then settled 

smoothly onto designated touchdown areas. 

   Arrayed before the ship which carried Picard and his 

delegation was a geometrically precise formation of 

grey-uniformed Orokan personnel.  In front of this 

formation stood a modest line of senior officers 

wearing red insignias of rank upon their upper 

sleeves.  Standing stiffly before the senior officers was 

a single man wearing a pristine white uniform. 

   Picard's group disembarked from their ship and 

waited at the foot of the ladder until they were joined 

by Venel.  He had a quiet word with Stockton, Benzen, 

and Picard before leading the delegation toward the 

man in the white uniform.  Venel snapped smartly to 

attention before him, saluted, and then crisply 

announced, "Squadron Leader Venel reporting, Sir!" 

   Venel then executed a precise about face, turning 

toward the Federation delegation and announced, 

"Gentlemen, I present our commanding officer, Arch-

Regent Appal!" 

   Venel abruptly spun around, again facing Arch-

Regent Appal.  "Sir, may I present, representing the 

governments of the United Federation of Planets, 

Ambassador Benzen, and Admiral Stockton." 

   After exchanging a stiff, short handshake with both 

Benzen and Stockton, Arch-Regent Appal again faced 

Squadron Leader Venel. 

   "Sir, it is my privilege to present Oroka's guest of 

honor, Captain Jean-Luc Picard." 

   Arch-Regent Appal took Picard's hand, shaking it 

warmly while studying him carefully.  "Captain Jean-

Luc Picard," he finally said, meticulously enunciating 

each syllable of Picard's title and name.  "I have 

wanted so much to meet you, Captain.  You are truly a 

man of whom a lauded example should be made.  

What you have done is something which no Orokan 

citizen has ever believed possible." 

   "Thank you very much, Arch-Regent," acknowledged 

Picard, "but in all modesty, I merely became caught up 

in events beyond my control." 

   "Ah, but what you did while in the grip of those 

events!" countered Appal. 

   While Picard verbally jousted with Arch-Regent 

Appal, Riker took advantage of the opportunity to look 

around.  Arranged along the sides of the area which 

had been cleared for them were a great many small 

ships.  They were built along clean, rakish lines and 

apparently carried a crew of only one.  In the forward 

panels of the fuselages were discharge lattices for 

some kind of phased energy beam weapon.  

Propulsion units similar to those mounted on the 

scout ships were fastened indeterminately to the sides 

of the fuselages by a method hidden beneath 

horizontal panels which appeared as though they 

could function as airfoils.  From the rear of the 

fuselages rose two obtusely triangular structures 

which might be pressed to double duty as rudders or 

solar power collectors.  The small ships rested upon a 

triangular arrangement of support struts.  Riker could 

only guess at the number of small ships scattered 

about on the flight deck they now occupied.  He also 

wondered how many similar craft were stored on 

other similar decks. 

   Riker was also puzzled by the number of Orokans 

who had assembled to greet them.  After having made 

some quick estimations Riker had computed the size 

of the Orokan formation at no greater than three or 

four hundred personnel.  As much as it was visually 

stunning, the Diamont was also a large ship.  With that 

obvious fact in mind, Riker felt that the diamond-ship 

should have been able to produce more personnel to 

receive Picard as a guest of honor than it had. 

   Arch-Regent Appal finished greeting the three most 

prominent luminaries in the delegation and asked 

them to introduce their staffs.  Picard became the last 

to perform this service for the Arch-Regent when he 

presented Commander Riker. 

   "Commander Riker?" questioned the Arch-Regent as 

he carefully scrutinized Riker.  "Were you a member 

of Captain Picard's crew during his period of 

captivity?" 

   "Yes, Sir," answered Riker, "I was at that time, and I 

still am.  In fact, I have happily served under Captain 

Picard for many years." 

   "I see," mused the Arch-Regent.  "And, would you say 

that you are close to your Captain?" 

   Riker smiled at Picard as he formed his answer.  "I 

can honestly say that it pleases me to have the kind of 

professional relationship with Captain Picard that I 

do." 

   "Mmm, I see," muttered the Arch-Regent with a 

discreet, pensive glance aside.  Then, clearing his 

throat, he said, "Forgive me, honored guests, you have 

all had a long trip, and you will need time to freshen 

up before the formal presentation dinner.  One of my 

officers will escort you to facilities which you may use 

for that purpose.  You will be summoned when all is 

ready." 

   Having said that, Arch-Regent Appal spun around 

and hurried away. 

   "Please follow me, Gentlemen, and I will show you to 

the guest quarters," said Venel. 

   As their guide led them from the landing bay the 

Orokan officers began dismissing the personnel in 

formation.  Outside the landing bay the delegation 

walked silently through an empty wide, curved 

corridor.  Picard estimated that they walked 

approximately one-quarter of the way around the ship 

before they were deposited in a plush lounge.  Venel 

showed them the comfortable seating units and how 

to provide themselves with Orokan music from the 

ship's computer memory.  To the rear of the lounge he 

pointed out the private chambers to be used for their 

private grooming needs.  Before he left them Venel 

stood in the open doorway and said, "If you require 

anything that is not already provided here, you can 

summon an aide by pressing the blue panel here by 

the door."  After he smiled and left, the solid door 

quietly closed. 

   "I'd venture to say we'd have a difficult time 

attempting to go outside for a breath of fresh air," 

observed Riker. 

   "It might be considered bad diplomatic form to put 

that assumption to the test, Number One," said Picard. 

   "Quite correct, Captain," agreed Ambassador Benzen.  

"I think it best that we do as we are expected to do: 

just wash our hands, try to learn something about 

these people… from their music, and patiently wait for 

somebody to show up with your award." 

   With, regrettably, very little else to do during the 

hour which passed, they sampled a variety of Orokan 

musical selections.  They collectively judged their 

choices tuneful to a point, though consistently bland 

in character and giving few clues about the cultural 

environment which had produced it. 

   During the musical analysis Riker had sat next to 

Picard who had then discreetly observed, "You've 

been very quiet, Will." 

   "I've been busy observing, Sir," Riker had answered.  

"The few obvious things we've been shown leave me 

with a disquieting feeling that this is not quite what it 

appears to be." 

   "In what way?" Picard had asked. 

   "So few personnel for such a large ship,” Riker had 

revealed.  “There is no apparent evidence of advanced 

automation.  I have been trying to extrapolate their 

combat tactics from what I've seen, and my feeling is 

that this warship requires a much larger crew to do 

what I would expect it to do.  There is also a 

disturbing lack of cordiality toward you and the entire 

delegation.  Not enough people acting too rigidly, too 

properly.  They seem to be going through motions 

without much sincerity." 

   "Mmm.  I have arrived at many of the same 

conclusions myself, Will," Picard had confided, "and so 

have the Admiral and the Ambassador.  Their feeling 

is that in order to answer all our questions, we are 

obligated to play this drama out to its conclusion." 

   "Drama, Sir?" Riker had questioned.  "I sincerely 

hope the players can all take their bows when the final 

curtain comes down." 

   When the door to their lounge finally opened, Venel 

entered.  He was dressed in a more formal variant of 

the Orokan uniform which featured black bands at the 

edges of the sleeves and trouser legs, in addition to a 

black cape which hung over his left shoulder.  "Our 

ship's company has assembled to honor Captain 

Picard," he announced.  "Before the actual award 

presentation you are all invited to dine with us." 

   "I believe we are all ready," responded Ambassador Benzen as he scanned the members of the delegation.  

"We thank you and Arch-Regent Appal for your kind 

invitation." 

   They were led to an elevator which conveyed them 

to a corridor several levels higher in the ship.  Not far 

from the elevator entrance was a pair of wide divided 

doors which opened into a great dining area.  As they 

walked through the open doors the assembled 

Orokans were called to attention.  Venel escorted 

them to the center of the front of the room where a 

long table had been placed under a rolled red banner 

which was hung on the wall.  Prominently displayed in 

the center of the banner was a silver inverted 

pentagon emblem, similar in shape to that of the 

Diamont, affixed to a stark white band which encircled 

the banner. 

   The table at the head of the room was covered by a 

brilliant red cloth which hung to the floor at the front 

and sides.  The chairs were divided by two large 

polished units placed in the center of the table; the 

taller one on the left reserved for Arch-Regent Appal, 

and the other reserved for Captain Picard, the guest of 

honor.  Tables for the crew of the Diamont were 

arranged in two angled rows which completed the 

four remaining sides of a pentagon. 

   As the members of the delegation found their 

reserved places Venel quietly advised them, "Please 

remain standing until the Arch-Regent and his staff 

have arrived." 

   Arch-Regent Appal and his staff swept into the room 

as though responding to a cue, smoothly assuming 

positions behind their seats.  The Arch-Regent stood 

in front of his chair and spread his arms, saying, 

"Please, everyone, be seated.  Let us begin."  He seated 

himself as his chief-of-staff barked, "At ease!", making 

the Arch-Regent's bidding official. 

   Attendants began setting a splendid meal before 

everyone.  Along with Orokan foods a surprising 

number of dishes known in the Federation were also 

featured.  Riker wondered if the Federation's culinary 

preferences were the only things the Orokans had 

researched before coming out of the galactic 

woodwork.  He also noted that the modest number of 

Orokan crew members present at the dinner seemed 

slightly more animated, at least among themselves.  

Perhaps if a good meal reinforced the trend toward 

relaxing formalities, Ambassador Benzen might have 

an easier time of presenting his diplomatic package 

later.  The Orokans still appeared to be secretive and 

unpredictable.  Riker hoped that the ambassador was 

up to the challenge. 

   As he ate, Arch-Regent Appal monitored the pace of 

the meal.  When he perceived that most of those 

assembled had been satisfied, he stood, and within 

seconds the room became quiet.  Placing his napkin on 

the table, he began speaking. 

   "An excellent meal," he began.  "It is good for the 

spirit to break from daily routines, and to take time 

out to properly reward those whose actions have 

made them an indelible part of our lives." 

   An Orokan officer quietly entered the room and 

whispered something to Appal's chief-of-staff.  The 

chief-of-staff stood and said, "Excuse me, Sir.  

Important ship's business.  You are needed on the 

bridge." 

   "Of course, I'll join you in a moment," said the Arch-

Regent.  "Squadron Leader Venel, I must leave for a 

short time.  Since you are most intimately acquainted 

with our Federation guests, perhaps you are best 

qualified to act as master of ceremonies until I can 

return." 

   Perspiring, Venel stood and said, "I would be 

honored, Sir." 

   Arch-Regent Appal and his staff left the dining room 

while Venel somberly stood before the Arch-Regent's 

chair.  "Since the Arch-Regent will be absent for only a short time we shall wait for his return to present 

Captain Picard's award.  During this brief interlude 

perhaps Captain Picard would favor us with some 

remarks.  Please, tell us something of yourself, 

Captain, so that we may better know the man we 

aspire to honor." 

   Picard had expected having to make some kind of 

speech, and so had mentally prepared some 

comments he felt would be appropriate.  He stood and 

thanked Venel for the opportunity to speak as Venel 

sat conspicuously and tensely on the edge of Appal's 

chair. 

   "It was with mixed feelings that I agreed to be here 

for this presentation," began Picard.  "It is never easy 

standing before a distinguished group and receiving 

honors for events which leave such great pain in their 

passing.  These were events in which success was 

bought at an exceedingly high price in lives.. " 

   Picard was interrupted as a sound began issuing 

from a place in the center of the tables.  For an instant 

there was nothing except a loud hiss, and then a misty, 

swirling green crosshatched column appeared around 

the apparent source of the noise.  When the effects 

subsided Picard saw a pair of black-clad humanoids, 

their apparel littered with bizarre devices, standing 

and surveying the banquet room.  For an instant his 

mind forbade him to believe what his eyes were 

seeing.  As the intruders' gaze fell onto Picard, two 

additional crosshatched columns formed behind them.  

Picard was transfixed, unable to react or move.  These 

same sights and sounds had once before heralded the 

beginning of six days of nightmare captivity.  He was 

swept into a tidal wave of horrible recall: creeping 

genetic alteration, denial of self-determination, forced 

betrayal of vital information, and the brutal, one-sided 

massacre at Wolf 359.  Suddenly he drove the 

unpleasant memories to the back of his mind, and he 

was himself again. 

   Borg, Riker's mind reeled.  And yet not Borg.  

Something about them was different. 

   "We come for Locutus!" proclaimed one of the Borg.  

"All except Locutus may leave."  Then the Borg raised 

a disruptor and pointed it at Picard. 

   The weapon!  That's what's different, Riker realized. 

   The Orokans had been the first to bolt for the 

banquet room exits, crowding through and spilling out 

into the corridors, and then disappearing in all 

directions. 

   "Everyone, get out of here, now!" Picard shouted at the Federation people who remained in the room.  

"You cannot fight these creatures on their own terms!" 

   Before the Borg leader had fully leveled his 

disruptor at Picard, Riker had leaped across the table 

and had flung himself out across the room toward the 

Borg.  His impact with the Borg unit hurt, but he had 

carried enough momentum to knock him over and 

cause him to lose his grip on the disruptor.  As it spun 

across the floor Riker scrambled to retrieve it.  The 

Borg struggled right behind him, surprising Riker with 

how quickly he could move.  Riker got a hand on the 

weapon and felt the Borg wrapping his arms around 

his legs.  Riker kicked fiercely, freeing a leg which he 

used to kick the Borg in the head.  The blow stunned 

the Borg and he relaxed his grip on Riker's leg.  Riker 

aimed at him with the disruptor and fired into his 

chest.  The beam's energy was absorbed by the unit's 

body armor, but the impact was severe enough to 

slow him down even more. 

   Picard was shepherding the last of the Federation 

personnel out the doors when Riker saw another Borg 

pointing a disruptor in his direction.  Riker examined 

the weapon he was holding and discovered a selector 

switch.  He moved the switch to its other setting, 

hoping that it had set the weapon for a more lethal 

beam, and fired at the second Borg.  This time the 

beam blew its victim's body armor away and 

penetrated deep below the skin. 

   The Borg leader, who had been lying at Riker's feet, 

attempted to stand.  Dazed and shaky, he looked at 

Riker as though trying to organize a thought about 

him.  Riker's attention was diverted to another Borg 

who was walking toward Picard and raising a 

disruptor.  Riker raised his weapon to fire.  Suddenly 

the Borg at his feet sprang toward him.  Instinctively 

Riker re-aimed and fired at the Borg who was going to 

land on him.  A second later he was desperately 

wrestling the dead body aside. 

   He struggled to his feet in time to see a Borg 

standing over what was either the unconscious or 

dead body of Picard.  A green crosshatched column 

formed around them, and then they were gone. 

   Furiously Riker's eyes ricocheted around the room 

and discovered three Borg remaining.  They milled 

around in profound confusion as they positioned 

themselves to beam out.  When finally in position, 

they simply stood, waiting.  Riker raised his weapon 

and fired at the Borg unit on the right.  He fell away 

from the other two units and missed being included in 

the crosshatched column which claimed them. 

   Riker picked a discarded disruptor off the floor and 

positioned its selector switch the same way as the one 

on his first weapon.  Now he would wait.  There were 

three dead Borg bodies in the banquet room with him, 

and except for one prior experience, the Borg had 

always sent one of their kind back to reclaim certain 

devices from their dead.  Let them try it, he seethed.  

They will pay dearly for Captain Picard! 

   The minutes ticked away. 

   Three. 

   Four. 

   Five. 

   No other Borg appeared.  Riker's rage continued to 

grow.  He cursed himself for having made a wrong 

choice, for thinking about his own safety first, and 

now, because of his selfishness, the Borg had Picard 

again! 

                          ***   CHAPTER THREE   *** 

   Riker remained in a crouch, coiled and alert, 

listening intently for the first sound of a Borg 

transporter beam.  He was unaware of the members of 

the delegation filtering back into the banquet room.  

They anxiously watched him, wondering what to 

expect. 

   "Commander Riker.. " said Admiral Stockton. 

   Riker did not respond. 

   "Commander… Riker!" Stockton repeated with more 

emphasis. 

   Riker looked back at Stockton, and then at the rest of 

the delegation.  He relaxed slightly and turned back to 

watch the empty room in front of him as he explained, 

"The Borg could return, Sir, to remove devices from 

their dead before beaming them back to their ship." 

   "They will not return, Commander," stated Stockton.  

"There is no Borg ship.  We have been to the bridge 

and have visually scanned all around the Diamont.  

This ship is all alone, and from what members of this 

delegation have reported to me, it appears to also 

have been abandoned." 

   Puzzled, Riker slowly lowered the weapons he was 

holding.  "No Borg?  No Orokans either?" 

   "Apparently not," Stockton affirmed as he watched 

Ambassador Benzen rush behind the table at the head 

of the banquet room and kneel behind the Arch-

Regent's chair.  Hurrying over to investigate, he saw 

that the Ambassador had discovered a casualty, the 

junior diplomat who had accompanied them to the 

Diamont.  His security issued hand phaser lay nearby. 

   Angrily Stockton declared, "How did we ever let 

ourselves get talked into this?  Where is Picard?" 

   "The Borg have him, Sir," Riker replied.  "I don't 

think he's dead.  There was a Borg standing over him 

when he was beamed out." 

   "What makes you think he's still alive?" challenged 

Stockton. 

   "I've gotten my hands on two of their weapons, Sir.  

Both of them were originally on a stun setting.  I 

believe they all beamed in here with the intention of 

taking Picard alive." 

   "Could things go any… more… wrong!" exclaimed 

Stockton.  "The Borg will be a lot more careful with 

him this time.  They'll suck his brain dry, get every 

scrap of information.  All the new coming defenses 

will be useless!  Commander Riker, you've dealt with 

the Borg more than just about anybody.  What would 

you recommend we do?" 

   “Captain Picard has disappeared, and there appears 

to be no possible place he could have gone.  We need 

to understand exactly what happened here," said 

Riker.  "Sir, the Enterprise is still in orbit around Minia 

IV.  Order it out here.  It has the personnel and 

facilities to do the kind of investigating we'll require." 

   "Are you going to try to snatch Picard back from the 

Borg again?" asked Ambassador Benzen. 

   "I would like the opportunity to get him back…,” 

responded Riker. He thought for a moment, and then 

added, "There is a possibility that the intruders were 

not Borg." 

   "What are you saying?" implored Ambassador 

Benzen.  "We all saw. ." 

   "Yes, Ambassador.  I know what we all saw," said 

Riker.  "Maybe this incident was contrived to leave us 

believing that real Borg had raided this dinner and 

had captured Captain Picard, however, the Borg who 

took him didn't act like any Borg I have ever 

encountered." 

   "But you have previously encountered a Borg 

splinter faction that didn't conform to the Borg 

stereotype," Stockton pointed out. 

   "Yes, Sir, but that faction was still highly disciplined 

in combat.  Whoever took Captain Picard this time 

was winging it through a very loosely structured plan.  

There was no cohesion or refinement in its execution.  

The perpetrators were sloppy and confused.  They 

couldn't even shield themselves against fire from their 

own weapons.  When you think about it, we witnessed 

some very un-Borg-like behavior." 

   "How do we determine whether or not these Borg 

were genuine?" asked the Ambassador. 

   "There are three bodies here which can be examined 

in the Enterprise's medical facilities," stated Riker.  

"Dr. Crusher can run tests and compare her results 

against what we already know about Borg physiology.  

Whatever their identity, Dr. Crusher will be able to tell 

us who was responsible for Captain Picard's 

abduction." 

   "Then I'll do as you recommend, Commander Riker," 

said Stockton.  "I'll order the Enterprise to come out 

here.  Maybe your people can also figure out how a 

couple of hundred Orokans managed to disappear 

from their ship and where they went.  But before that, 

there's one important formality I have to attend to.  

Commander Riker, under provisions of field 

commissioning regulations, when the Enterprise gets 

here you take over as its acting captain.  You will 

temporarily hold that rank and exercise its duties and 

privileges until the fate and status of Captain Picard is 

determined." 

   "As you wish, Admiral," acknowledged Riker. 

   "Next we'll have to contact our shuttle and get things 

moving," Stockton continued.  "Captain Riker, you'll 

accompany me to the bridge and work with me on 

that problem.  Before we leave, gather up all the 

weapons in this room.  Riker and I will take one with 

us to the bridge.  I'll need two volunteers to guard this 

banquet room, and they'll get a weapon.  The rest of 

you break up into three roughly equal groups and 

divide the rest of the weapons among you.  Explore 

this deck and the ones above and below it thoroughly.  

Keep in touch with each other and report to me when 

finished.  If things look safe after that, we'll explore 

further." 

   While the delegation began its exploration of the 

Diamont, Riker and Stockton rode an elevator to the 

expansive bridge.  Stockton preceded Riker out of the 

elevator and pointed to a console to the left of the 

command podium.  "It looks to me as if that is their 

communications center," he said. 

   Riker examined the console and its controls.  "They 

appear to use a decimal number system," he observed.  

"With a little luck, I might be able to get a message 

out." 

   After memorizing the visual settings on the displays, 

Riker began manipulating the console's touchpads.  

He grinned proudly when he discovered a means of 

producing changing patterns of static on the console's 

loudspeaker.  "I've definitely nailed down the 

frequency and band controls, Admiral.  I'm guessing 

that subspace and the higher E-M bands won't be able 

to cut through the background interference."  He 

persisted in changing the console settings until the 

crackling static diminished to a low hiss.  "There 

appears to be a hole in the interference at this low 

frequency, Sir.  Now I need to figure out how to make 

this thing transmit." 

   After several more minutes of studying and 

manipulations Riker pronounced, "There.  If I am 

reading these displays correctly, I am prepared to 

transmit."  He put on a nearby headphone and 

adjusted the attached mouthpiece.  "Riker to 

Federation shuttle.  Come in please." 

   Several seconds later he was rewarded with a 

distorted buzzing which he hoped was an attempt to 

answer his broadcast.  He kept repeating his message, 

hoping that whoever was responding would be able to 

tune their equipment to whatever frequency he was 

using.  Several minutes passed before the distortion 

cleared enough to be distinguishable." 

   "Federation shuttle to Riker.  What are you doing on 

this frequency, Sir?" 

   "Federation shuttle, it's good to hear your voice," 

said Riker.  "Whatever you do, please keep this link 

established.  We've had serious problems here on the 

Orokan ship.  I'm going to turn this transmission over 

to Admiral Stockton who will issue instructions.  Do 

you copy?" 

   "We copy, Sir." 

   Admiral Stockton took Riker's seat and adjusted the 

headphone to his liking.  "Attention Federation 

Shuttle, this is Admiral Stockton.  I am going to issue 

an urgent statement which you must record.  You will 

then have to maneuver clear of C-S Five's interference 

and transmit it to Starfleet Command.  After they 

acknowledge receipt of the message, wait for their 

reply. When Starfleet has replied, return and relay 

that reply to us." 

   "Aye, Sir.  We are standing by to record." 

   After clearing his throat, Stockton began, "This is 

Federation Admiral Peter Stockton.  I am declaring a 

code red emergency from the Caldar-Signet system.  

Our rendezvous here at C-S Five with the Orokan 

warship has soured.  Captain Picard has been 

abducted by what appear to have been Borg 

personnel.  All Orokan personnel have vanished, 

apparently abandoning their ship.  I urgently request 

that Starfleet Command order the Enterprise here 

from Minia IV to render all possible assistance. 

Message ends.  Alright, people, get this transmitted to 

Starfleet Command without further delay!" 

   Long hours passed as the delegation waited for the 

return of the diplomatic shuttle.  They utilized the 

time to further explore the Diamont, verifying that the 

vessel was completely deserted.  Orokan recording 

devices were discovered, and after achieving a 

rudimentary understanding of the devices' operation, 

delegation members used them to document their 

experiences and activities aboard the Orokan warship.  

The delegation was relieved to discover that the 

Diamont had been well stocked with food, thereby 

eliminating hunger as a concern while awaiting the 

arrival of the Enterprise.  Explorations had revealed 

the location of officer's quarters near the bridge.  

Taking note of the time, Stockton decreed that the 

delegation would gather there for several hours of 

rest.  After posting guards outside the sleeping area 

and in the banquet room Stockton volunteered for the 

first watch on the bridge to monitor the 

communications console for the return of the shuttle. 

   When Riker later relieved him, he found that 

Stockton had busied himself with trying to decipher 

the alpha-numeric symbols on the consoles.  "Don't 

feel that you have to continue this," Stockton had told 

him, "because it’s just something I started to relieve 

the boredom.  The linguistic experts will probably say 

that everything I've done is wrong anyway." 

   Not likely, Riker thought to himself, remembering 

that Stockton had spent time in the intelligence 

gathering field. 

   After Stockton had left, Riker had devised his own 

ways to keep busy, for the most part recording his 

own comments about events and the ship upon which 

he had become stranded.  Two hours later he heard 

the voice of the diplomatic shuttle pilot. 

   "Federation shuttle to the Stockton/Benzen 

delegation.  Come in, please." 

   "Captain Riker here, shuttle.  Were you successful in transmitting Admiral Stockton's message?" 

   "It was transmitted successfully, Sir.  We were asked 

by Starfleet to wait in the clear for their response." 

   "What was Starfleet's response?" 

   "Starfleet advises that the Enterprise is underway, 

Sir.  You can expect its arrival within eighteen hours." 

   "That is good news," said Riker. 

   "There's more, Commander, er, Captain." 

   "Let's hear it," Riker said. 

   "Starfleet had discussed sending Commander Shelby 

out to assist you, but that would have delayed 

Enterprise's departure.  They decided she's where 

she's most needed on her present assignment." 

   "Too bad," Riker smiled, remembering the pushy, 

no-nonsense, impulsive young commander who had 

once hoped to displace him as first officer on the 

Enterprise.  "She'll be spitting mad that she wasn't 

allowed to be out here as a part of this possible Borg 

encounter.  How long will it be until you can 

rendezvous with us?" 

   "We should have you in sight within the hour, Sir, 

unless we pass you in the dark." 

   "No chance of that," said Riker.  "This baby glows in 

the dark." 

                                              *   *   * 

                                         SHIP'S LOG: 

                      U.S.S. Enterprise (NCC 1701-D), 

                                     Stardate 48458.8 

                        Lieutenant Commander Data, 

                                        Commanding 

   The Enterprise is nearing Caldar-Signet Five where 

it is to conduct an investigation into the 

disappearance of Captain Jean-Luc Picard.  Apparently 

the Captain has for the second time become a victim of 

a Borg incursion into Federation space, however, 

many questions linger whose answers may complicate 

this simple preliminary supposition.  In my own 

thoughts I have not been able to rule out the 

possibility of Orokan involvement in the Captain's 

disappearance.  If the Orokans truly are long-time 

enemies of the Borg, I would expect the reports we 

have received to have included some mention of their 

having resisted the Borg incursion into their vessel.  

The reports indicate that no Borg vessel was detected.  

From where, then, could the abductors have beamed 

into the banquet room, and to where did they beam 

out with Captain Picard?  There are these and many 

more points unresolved, and I am eager to apply all 

necessary ship's resources to providing the needed 

answers. 

                                            *   *   * 

   Ship's Counselor Deanna Troi sat sullenly in her 

chair on the bridge of the Enterprise watching Lt. 

Commander Data, the only crew member on the ship 

upon whom she could safely focus her attention.  

Since the ship had recalled its crew and left Minia IV, 

she had literally been suffocating under waves of 

anguish and sorrow, overwhelmed by more than her 

Betazoid mental disciplines could block.  Her own 

astonishment and disbelief were being amplified by 

an empathic outpouring from a crew which was also 

feeling the loss of a beloved captain.  The crushing 

weight of emotional negativity was confounding her 

attempts to bring herself back onto an even keel.  She 

was the ship's counselor, the pillar of stability who 

was supposed to help everyone else deal with their 

feelings.  Data was the lifeline she hoped would pull 

her out of her emotional quagmire.  Data was safe.  He 

seemed to have no feelings, although if he did, he was 

incapable of acknowledging them for what they were.  

At any rate, Data was a life form to which Betazed 

minds were not attuned.  Focusing on Data enabled 

her to bore a tunnel through the heavy atmosphere 

which pervaded the ship.  Through that tunnel she 

imagined that she could see light and hope on the 

other side.  Picard was not gone, she reminded herself, 

only missing.  The crew had committed itself to 

getting him back once before, and they had to be 

aroused to make that commitment again.  She was 

struggling to make herself believe that there was still 

hope, and once she believed in that hope, she would 

pass it on to others. 

                                            *   *   * 

   "Commander, sensors have detected a small vessel 

holding a position relative to Caldar-Signet Five," 

reported Lieutenant Worf from his security station. 

   "Hail them, Lieutenant, and attempt to establish 

their identity," ordered Lt. Commander Data from the 

Captain's chair. 

   A moment later the interior of a Federation 

diplomatic shuttle appeared on the main viewscreen.  

"Greetings, Enterprise.  We have been awaiting your 

arrival," said a man in the pilot's chair. 

   "I am Lieutenant Commander Data, temporarily 

commanding the Enterprise.  Please identify yourself," 

said Data. 

   "I am Lieutenant Hill, shuttle pilot assigned to the 

Stockton/Benzen delegation." 

   "Please explain, Lieutenant, why you are holding 

position out here instead of remaining with the 

delegation," requested Data. 

   "Because there is significant  interference on the 

normal communication bands near C-S Five, Sir.  

Captain Riker has managed to cut through with a low 

frequency signal which we re-transmit to Starfleet 

Command on normal frequencies.  Actually it was 

Admiral Stockton who sent us back out here to be his 

antenna." 

   "Thank you, Lt. Hill," replied Data.  "Please transmit 

the coordinates of the Orokan vessel and then 

continue monitoring communications." 

   As the shuttle pilot transmitted the information Data 

ordered, "Bring the ship to yellow alert.  All sensors on 

maximum.  Helm, take us to the supplied coordinates 

at one-quarter impulse power." 

   Captain Riker was on watch on the bridge of the 

Diamont.  He had been attempting to familiarize 

himself with the operation of the diamond-ship's 

sensor array.  In spite of limitations resulting from C-S 

Five's domineering background radiation, he was 

managing to collect increasingly accurate analyses of 

relatively nearby debris in the planet's great ring.  

Inspired by this success, he had directed the system to 

conduct broad-beam scans around the Diamont.  

Shortly after initialization the system indicated that it 

was tracking an incoming object.  Riker adjusted 

controls and changed settings, attempting to glean 

more information. 

   "Admiral Stockton, please report to the bridge," 

Riker announced over the intercom.  "The Diamont's 

scanners are tracking an approaching object." 

   A moment later Stockton responded, "Would there 

be any reason for our shuttle to return?" 

   "I don't believe it's the shuttle, Sir," said Riker.  

"There hasn't been any communication announcing its 

return, and some of the sensor readings suggest that it 

is much larger than a shuttle." 

   "Then I hope it's your Enterprise, Captain.  I'll be 

right there." 

   Before Stockton arrived on the bridge, Riker 

received a communication from the incoming object.  

"This is Enterprise calling Admiral Stockton, 

Ambassador Benzen, or. .Captain Riker.  Come in, 

please." 

   Riker fumed and muttered under his breath as he 

attempted to adjust his transmission to the band 

utilized by the Enterprise.  "Riker to Enterprise.  Data, 

is that you?" 

   "Affirmative, Commander Riker.  Your 

communication is sometimes garbled, but that should 

clear up as we approach.  We anticipate rendezvous 

shortly." 

   Admiral Stockton had slid into a chair beside Riker 

and had put on a second set of headphones which they 

had learned to connect to the communications system.   

   "This is Admiral Stockton.  Good to hear from you, 

Enterprise.  For the record, I have issued a temporary 

field promotion to Will Riker bumping him up to 

acting Captain of the Enterprise until Picard is able to 

resume his post, or until Starfleet sees fit to decree 

otherwise." 

   "Your action has been duly noted, Admiral," replied 

Data. 

   "My first order," interrupted Riker, "is for you to get 

in here as quickly as possible.  I'll want investigative 

teams to start coming up with quick and sound 

answers before Captain Picard's trail cools off." 

   "I shall instruct department heads to organize teams 

immediately," said Data. 

   Upon its arrival the Enterprise took a position near 

the Diamont.  Security and engineering teams were 

the first to beam over to the Orokan ship.  After quick 

briefings from delegation members the teams began 

disbursing to begin their detailed analyses.  

Delegation members were then beamed to the 

Enterprise and directed to Dr. Crusher's sick bay 

where thorough medical checkups were conducted.  

After this formality Dr. Crusher's staff was assigned to 

medical teams and beamed to the Diamont where they 

first prepared the Borg bodies for transport to the 

Enterprise's medical labs.  Following this, the medical 

teams proceeded to the Orokan medical facilities to 

examine equipment and records, establishing a 

beginning of their understanding of Orokan 

physiology and the techniques of their healing arts.  

Admiral Stockton, Ambassador Benzen, and the 

remaining delegation members boarded the 

diplomatic shuttle and departed for Minia IV where 

they would be debriefed by a rapidly assembling 

congress of their superiors. 

   Riker returned to the Enterprise and called for a 

meeting of the ship's senior officers in the Captain's 

ready room.  He had been sitting and meditating at the 

captain's desk when the doorbell announced the 

arrival of the comrades he must face.  He stood up and 

moved behind the chair before he called out, "Come." 

   Dr. Crusher, Worf, Data, LaForge, and Counsellor 

Troi filed into the room and stood in a line in front of 

the desk.  Riker looked at each of their faces.  Only 

Data showed no emotion.  Counsellor Troi's face was 

awash with concern, and a fleeting glance from her 

told him that at least some of her concern was for him.  

In the eyes of the rest he saw worry and anger.  He 

hoped that the anger was being directed at Picard's 

abductors. 

   Leaning forward, his hands on the back of the chair, 

he said, "I have never aspired to address you from this 

side of Captain Picard's desk.  Perhaps I don't even 

deserve to be standing here."  After a reflective pause 

he added, "However, dwelling on what has happened 

will not help Captain Picard.  I believe that he is still 

alive and that there is a chance we might be able to get 

him back.  To be truthful, it's a slim chance, but it's 

there and I intend to take it." 

   "What happened over there, Sir?" asked LaForge. 

   Before Riker could answer, Counsellor Troi intruded, 

"Captain, perhaps we should discuss this privately 

first." 

   Riker gave no answer to Troi's suggestion, but 

neither did he object. 

   "I've asked you here because, much as I've had to do 

before, I must now choose one of you to be my first 

officer," Riker continued.  "Time is very critical, so I'm 

going to be blunt.  Because we have so much to do, 

shuffling everyone around to learn new jobs is out of 

the question.  Quite frankly, the officer I choose must 

be able to function efficiently at his old job as well as 

that of being first officer.  The only one of us capable 

of meeting the requirement of performing two jobs at 

once is Lt. Commander Data."  Riker looked at Data 

and added, "I promise you, my friend, that I shall not 

ask this of you any longer than is absolutely 

necessary." 

   "Thank you for the opportunity, Sir," replied Data.  "I 

shall endeavor to do my best." 

   "Thank you all," said Riker.  "You're dismissed." 

   Quietly they all left the ready room except for 

Counsellor Troi. 

   "Are we having our discussion now?" asked Riker 

when the door had closed. 

   "I sense that you are feeling guilt, and that you are 

anxious to deal with it," explained Troi. 

   "Yes, I am feeling guilt," admitted Riker.  "For a 

minute over there it was sheer pandemonium.  I was 

startled by an attack against me while I was watching 

one of the Borg level a weapon at the Captain.  I shot 

at the guy trying to jump on me instead of looking out 

for Captain Picard's welfare.  When I had finally 

thrown my assailant aside, the Captain was 

disappearing in their transporter beam.  I should have 

been more concerned about the Captain.  I could have 

saved him, Deanna!  He trusted me!" 

   "You were facing unfavorable odds," Troi responded 

calmly.  "You may not have had the time to 

simultaneously aid the Captain and defend yourself. It 

was a sudden, confusing, and desperate situation.  And 

now, as our Captain, you cannot let yourself become 

mired in things that might have been done 

differently." 

   "Perhaps not," said Riker. “I still have a chance to 

make things right, and I won't screw it up this time." 

   "Then you will be Captain Picard's best hope," 

replied Troi." 

                                               *   *   * 

   Captain William Riker stood at the head of the 

conference table, the position which had so often been 

assumed by Captain Jean-Luc Picard as he had 

presided over numerous prior briefings.  Having 

gained everyone's attention, Riker began, "Your teams 

have had two hours to study the Orokan vessel and 

get back to you with their preliminary data and 

reports.  We're here to quickly review what you have 

all been able to learn.  Geordi, what have the 

engineering teams determined for us?" 

   LaForge scanned a first page of handwritten notes 

and said, "The Diamont is obviously a military vessel 

which incorporates weapons systems and strategies 

different from what we're used to seeing.  The 

consensus among my engineers is that it is a big 

space-traveling aircraft carrier.  For those of you not 

familiar with that class of naval vessel, carriers were 

giant floating airports which provided a mobile base 

for military aircraft.  They were most utilized in the 

advanced Earth navies of the twentieth and twenty-

first centuries.  The smaller decks below the main 

flight decks in the center of the ship are used for crew 

functions, and those above are used for ship's 

functions such as engineering, main computer core, 

navigation and communication, and the bridge.  The 

flight decks are well stocked with what we believe are 

small attack craft which are armed with phased 

energy weapons.  We don't understand their 

propulsion systems yet, but judging from the designs 

of the pilots' flight suits those attack craft are plenty 

fast and maneuverable.  They seem to be capable of 

flying deep space or atmospheric missions.  We still 

haven't successfully accessed their computer files yet, 

but we believe we'll eventually get in." 

   "Thank you, Geordi.  You're off to a good start," said 

Riker.  "Doctor Crusher, how about the medical 

teams?" 

   "We have unraveled some things," said Crusher.  

"Unfortunately most of the available detailed medical 

information about the Orokans remains locked away 

in their computers, at least until the linguistic teams 

get their translators programmed.  My people have 

completed autopsies on the three intruder bodies 

brought here from the Diamont.  We have determined 

that they are not Borg." 

   Crusher paused, allowing this revelation time to sink 

in. 

   "Explain, please," said Riker. 

   "We compared the results of our battery of tests 

against our Borg physiological profile," explained Dr. 

Crusher.  "The bodies we examined were purely 

organic. There was no evidence of DNA mutation to 

Borg patterns, nor was there any sign of invasive 

cybernetic interfaces.  In fact, there could never have 

been indications of these mutations because the 

devices they carried were not implanted.  They were 

merely cosmetically affixed to the skin." 

   "You're telling me that somebody is making fake 

Borg?" asked Riker incredulously. 

   "Yes, I believe so," said Crusher.  "Based on sketchy 

data obtained from the diplomatic mission scans of 

the Orokans I believe I can safely say that your 'Borg' 

are Orokans masquerading in authentic Borg 

hardware." 

   "It's true, Sir," volunteered LaForge.  "I've checked 

out the hardware carefully. It's definitely Borg." 

   "If this is true," said Riker in amazement, "it explains 

their uncharacteristic confusion during the abduction, 

and it explains why they announced who they came 

for.  Borg do not do that.  They merely take what they 

want and ignore everything going on around them 

unless they perceive something as a threat.  The 

intruders also carried weapons.  Geordi, any ideas on 

the origin of those disruptors?" 

   "Sorry, no idea, Sir.  I've never seen that design 

before." 

   "Then maybe we'll get a match once we get into their 

computer files," suggested Riker. 

   "Security to Captain Riker." 

   "Riker here.  What is it?" 

   "The shuttle you sent to the far side of the planet is 

returning, Sir.  They have a report for you." 

   Riker lowered himself into his chair at the head of 

the table.  "If you've read our reports you are aware 

that Admiral Stockton reported visually scanning all 

around the Diamont and finding no evidence of a Borg 

ship.  Acting on a hunch, I earlier dispatched one of 

our shuttles to gather readings from the other side of 

the planet.  I believe there has to be a clue somewhere 

pointing to where the abductors and the Orokans 

vanished after the abduction." 

   Riker pressed the communicator badge on his 

uniform.  "Riker to shuttle.  What have you found on 

the other side?" 

   "We picked up some very faint magnetic trace 

readings indicative of a Borg ship's presence, Sir." 

   "Thank you, Commander Shelby," muttered Riker, 

remembering that it was she who had established the 

connection between such readings and the Borg.  

"Thank you also on the shuttle.  Thank you very much.  

You have been extremely helpful.  Return to the ship 

immediately." 

   "Aye, Sir," replied the shuttle pilot. 

   Riker leaned back in his chair, intently immersed in 

deep thought. "Commander Data, I have a little job for 

you," he said .  "I want you to determine the locations 

of the Diamont and a hypothetical Borg ship at the 

time of the abduction of Captain Picard.  Since Admiral 

Stockton saw no other vessels, let's assume that our 

hypothetical Borg ship departed on a trajectory which 

would have kept it in the shadow of the planet until it 

was out of range of the Diamont's sensors.  I want 

your best estimation of the course such a vessel might 

have used to withdraw without detection." 

   "Understood, Sir.  I shall have that information for 

you shortly." 

   "Thank you, Data.  And now I'd like you all to return 

to your posts.  I'm going to take the Enterprise out of 

this interference temporarily and have a little talk 

with Starfleet." 

                      ***   CHAPTER FOUR   *** 

     Picard felt his back and left shoulder aching.  The 

pain hampered his progress as he climbed toward a 

distant light.  Suddenly the light moved toward him, 

faster and faster, and then enveloped him in its 

brilliance.  He realized that his eyes were closed.  

Cautiously he opened them and found that he was 

looking into an overwhelming, almost blinding source 

of illumination. 

   He tried to roll away from the intense light, but 

found that he could not.  It felt as if something was 

holding him.  Curious, Picard lifted his head, waited 

for his eyes to focus, and saw that he was restrained to 

a narrow table with his arms tucked tightly against his 

sides and his legs bound together. 

   He looked around the room, the bright light from 

above clouding his vision temporarily as he rolled his 

head from side to side.  The arrangement of the room 

was appallingly familiar.  Images of devices and 

equipment he had tried so hard to forget were 

burning through his mind, bringing horrifying 

memories back to him. 

   No!  Not again!  A nightmare - this has to be a 

nightmare, he tried to convince himself.  He began to 

panic.  Break loose!  Flee while you still can!  

Inspirations to commence desperate, impossible acts 

sliced through his consciousness. 

   Then he saw people: humanoids with their backs to 

him working at consoles and control panels against 

the walls.  They were dressed in black.  His mind 

reeled as it tried to escape the conclusion toward 

which it was being pushed.  His mind wanted to shut 

everything out, but his eyes would not listen.  They 

opened to examine the humanoids.  They saw cables 

and tubing which were attached to skin-tight cowlings 

covering their heads and to various devices hung on 

their black suits. 

   Borg! 

   His mind could no longer escape the fact.  The 

humanoids were Borg! 

   Picard was enraged.  They could not do this to him 

again.  He would not permit it! 

   "What do you want from me?" he shouted furiously, straining against the bonds which held him virtually 

motionless. 

   The humanoids turned dispassionately around to 

look at him, and then returned to their work.  All 

except for one, who continued to study Picard. 

   "I will not serve you again!" Picard wailed as 

desperate tears rolled from his eyes. 

   The Borg who had studied Picard turned to his 

console and pressed a series of buttons.  When he had 

finished, the rest of the Borg in the room shut down 

their stations and walked through the door leaving the 

contemplative Borg alone with Picard.  For several 

long minutes they silently watched each other, and 

then the last Borg left Picard alone in the room. 

   Once, nearly four years before, Picard had been 

captured and assimilated into the Borg Collective, and 

he had been heroically rescued by his crew on the 

Enterprise who had followed and had dogged the Borg 

who had taken him.  They had always known where 

he was, and had never been far away.  This time 

Picard was certain that rescuers would not have that 

advantage to work with.  This time, if the Borg 

resurrected the traitorous monster alterego Locutus, 

it would in all likelihood be a permanent incarnation. 

   From some place beyond the despair in his mind a 

tiny voice cried out to Picard.  Remember your 

training, it reminded him.  Before you can act, you 

must understand your situation. 

   Understand my situation, mused Picard.  Alright, he 

answered the voice sarcastically; just to amuse you I'll 

examine my situation. 

   All the evidence virtually confirmed that he had 

begun a second episode of captivity with the Borg.  

They been careful to render him quite helpless, and he 

expected them to continue to be careful, insuring that 

he was totally under their control before the 

restraints would be taken off.  Hoping for rescue 

would be an exercise in futility because of the rapidity 

with which the Borg adapted.  It was reasonable to 

assume they had already developed plans to counter 

any of the previous strategies Commander Riker had 

used against them.  Outwitting them, which had 

grown progressively more difficult with each previous 

encounter, would no doubt be even more so this time. 

   What do I have to look forward to, Picard asked 

himself.  He remembered the first captivity, how they 

had violated him, stripping away his ability to act on 

his own decisions, and his right to shape his own life.  

The Borg Collective, once loose in his mind, had 

hunted out his individuality, nipping away at it like 

hounds after a fox, diminishing it, weakening it until it 

had eventually submitted, no longer strong enough to 

assert itself as the essence of Jean-Luc Picard.  And 

when he had submitted, all that was Picard had 

become theirs.  Memories, skills, and knowledge.  

They had used him and his knowledge against his 

comrades and friends.  People he had known all his 

adult life, dead.  Victims of the massacre at Wolf 359.  

His knowledge had made possible the ease with which 

the Borg ship had sailed through the defenses in 

sector zero-zero-one, all the way to Earth itself.  All 

this the Borg had done with information taken from 

his mind. 

   No one had blamed him openly, but Picard had 

blamed himself.  It had been a long time before he had 

completely accepted the idea that he had not 

consciously been a traitor, that he had not in any way 

willingly divulged anything to the Collective. 

   Since his first captivity the Federation had made 

changes in strategies and weapons.  There were 

newer, more powerful systems in the final stages of 

testing.  Picard dared not think of what he had heard 

about the new defenses and the strategies for their 

implementation.  He agonized over what the Borg 

would learn from him after what he feared would be 

his inevitable second submission. 

   Picard's depressed thoughts were interrupted by the 

return of two of the Borg; the one who had silently 

studied him for so long before leaving the first time, 

and another who was carrying a platter of food. 

   "Why have I been brought here?" demanded Picard.  

"What is your purpose for kidnapping me?" 

   The platter of food was placed on a small stand 

beside Picard's table.  Then the two figures went to 

study a control panel at one of the consoles. 

   "Damn you, talk to me!" shouted Picard.  "At least tell 

me that something is irrelevant!" 

   The Borg who seemed to be the leader of the team 

motioned his partner toward Picard.  He pulled a 

disruptor out of his holster and held it in his folded 

arms.  As he stood watching Picard, the second Borg 

rearranged Picard's restraints so that his left arm was 

freed.  Picard watched the disruptor, and then an eerie 

feeling washed over him.  He had never known the 

Borg to carry a weapon like that. 

   "In my opinion you do not deserve this kindness," 

scornfully said the Borg holding the disruptor.  "In 

spite of many objections, food rations have been 

ordered for you." 

   "Who authorized the rations for me?" asked Picard in the hope of opening communication. 

   "Do not trouble yourself with unimportant 

questions," ordered the Borg.  "Nourish yourself while 

it is still possible for you to do so." 

   The table to which Picard was secured was tilted 

forward to a more upright position, and the stand 

with the food was moved to where Picard could reach 

the platter.  The leader left the room leaving his 

partner to watch Picard eat.  While eating, Picard tried 

to elicit information from his guard, but he remained 

silent and unresponsive, watching Picard with a look 

of seething contempt on his face.  As soon as Picard 

had popped the last morsel of food into his mouth his 

table was returned to its horizontal position.  His 

restraints were rearranged so that his left arm was 

again immobilized.  His guard then retrieved the 

empty platter and left the room. 

                                              *   *   * 

   Captain Riker had convened another senior staff 

meeting.  All ship's department heads were present 

except Dr. Crusher who had asked for permission to 

come late, explaining to Riker that several important 

tests were being conducted under her close personal 

supervision, and that the results she hoped to have 

would be available before the meeting's end. 

   Riker stood at the head of the conference table.  

When he had everyone's attention he said, "I have 

been in communication with Starfleet Command 

explaining what has happened out here.  I have 

explained to them that we now have an idea which 

way Picard's abductors left C-S Five, and that I'd like 

to engage in pursuit with the intention of recovering 

him.  Starfleet is not entirely comfortable with placing 

the Enterprise at such risk, as the fleet has still not 

completely recovered from its last encounter with the 

Borg.  I reminded them that if something is to be done 

about Picard's abduction, and find out how the 

Orokans fit into this mess, it must be done quickly.  

They are at this moment in conference, and have 

promised a decision as soon as possible." 

   Riker waited a moment for comments.  There were 

none, so he moved to the next item on his agenda. 

   "Geordi, have the engineering teams we left back on 

the Diamont uncovered anything new?" 

   "Yes, Captain, they have," said LaForge proudly.  

"They have discovered that an Orokan transporter 

was modified to emulate the visual effects of a Borg 

transporter.  This would suggest that their Borg 

impersonators were beamed to the banquet room 

from the modified transporter station on the Diamont, 

and that Captain Picard and the surviving 

impersonators were removed from the banquet room 

by the same machine.  My teams have also 

successfully accessed the Diamont's computer 

memory files and transferred them to storage media 

aboard ship.  Data and I have been working with them, 

and thanks to Data's processing ability, he has been 

able to decode some sections of their history files." 

   "Merely bits and pieces, Sir," said Data, "but enough 

for a meaningful beginning.  According to their 

records, the Orokans truly do have a long adversarial 

relationship with the Borg.  We are still attempting to 

accurately synchronize time frames, but I estimate 

they have been fighting the Borg since before the 

earliest civilizations appeared on Earth.  Some records 

indicate that they have been inventive enough to 

defend themselves against the surprises the Borg have 

thrown at them, but they have never been able to gain 

any substantial advantage.  Orokan history seems to 

be a chronicle of their gradual retreat from the Borg.  

There is a repeated mention of sadness toward being 

driven farther and farther from their home world.  In 

their most recent files they often speak of a vast, 

complex series of research projects grouped under a 

code name of FINAL CURTAIN.  That is the extent of 

what we have learned so far." 

   "You have done a great deal in a short time," said 

Riker.  "My compliments to you both." 

   Dr. Crusher entered the conference room and slid 

quietly into her seat.  Riker turned his attention to her.  

"Dr. Crusher, do you have anything new?" 

   "Yes I do, Captain," she answered.  "We have 

discovered something that will fit in nicely with what 

Data has just told you.  The medical labs have just 

completed a delicate series of DNA analyses on the 

bodies from the Diamont.  After checking the Orokan 

DNA against our entire file of DNA types, we have 

found that Orokan and Borg DNA have enough 

similarities in crucial areas of the matrices to suggest 

a common ancestry." 

   "Are you certain, Doctor?" asked Riker. 

   "Those are the results of the first round of tests.   I 

am having them rerun to verify the results," said Dr. 

Crusher, "but I'm pretty certain everything will hold 

up." 

   "Security to Captain Riker," came a summons from the bridge. 

   "Riker here." 

   "Sir, an incoming transmission from Starfleet 

Command." 

   "Pipe it down to our screen," ordered Riker. 

   Admiral Stockton appeared on the conference room 

viewscreen.  "Captain Riker, Starfleet has given you 

the go-ahead to look for Captain Picard, with the 

understanding that you will not put your ship at any 

unnecessary risk.  That must be clearly understood, 

Captain." 

   "It is, Admiral.  And, thank you, Sir." 

   Stockton's image faded from the screen.  Riker 

passed over each of the officers with a quick, 

sweeping glance. 

   "Stations, everybody.  Let's pick up our engineering 

teams on the Diamont and go find Captain Picard." 

                                                *   *   * 

   Several more hours had passed, a time during which 

Picard had been left alone.  He had often tested his 

restraints for a sign of weakness or inappropriate 

fastening.  His efforts had yielded nothing.  The 

restraints had remained snug and secure. 

   Picard had started to doze off when the door of his 

room opened and the team originally in place when he 

had first regained consciousness came back into the 

room.  They took places at the consoles, and instead of 

merely monitoring the instruments, they all began 

actively manipulating buttons and controls at their 

stations. 

   Two more of the Borg came to Picard's table and 

added more restraints to the ones already holding him 

motionless.  Picard could feel panic overrunning him.  

They were going to assimilate him!  The dreaded 

moment had come.  There was no more comforting 

himself with the opiate delusion that the thing he 

most feared from the Borg would still happen at some 

time in the future.  That future had become now. 

   Someone pushed his head to one side and applied a 

hypospray against a vein in his neck.  He felt his 

galloping panic slide into a sea of quicksand.  He was 

barely aware of a clear mask being pressed onto his 

face.  By the time he had taken his first complete 

breath of the gas from the mask he was completely 

oblivious to even his own existence. 

                                               *   *   * 

   Once more Picard climbed through the blackness 

toward the light.  Its brilliance was everywhere.  He 

could not escape it.  He could not even look away from 

it. 

   Why will my eyes not respond to my wishes, he 

wondered.  I want to look at something besides the 

light.  Why can I not shift my eyes, or turn my head? 

   "Look, Physician, he is awake," observed an 

attendant at a wall console. 

   "Thank you.  So he is," said a relieved man in a long 

white coat.  "Cut back on this overhead light so that I 

can examine the patient." 

   The light shining into Picard's eyes dimmed.  Though 

he was strangely unable to say it, he projected a 'thank 

you' with the strongest force of will he could muster. 

   "Excellent.  Excellent!  There appears to be no 

response from Picard," announced the Physician.  

"There is no sign of rejecting the Borg implants, and 

the devices appear to all be working." 

   No response!  Why is he so pleased that I have no 

response, wondered Picard.  And what is this about 

implants? 

   "Hand me my small examination light, please," said 

the Physician. 

   He switched the light on and shined it straight into 

Picard's eyes.  Its focused beam was more powerful 

than that of the overhead light, and when it passed 

over his retinas it generated pronounced discomfort.  

Picard attempted to turn aside and protest, but he 

could not bring his body to obey his will. 

   "Excellent."  The Physician continued to be pleased 

with Picard's lack of response.  "Would some of you 

tilt him upright, please?" 

   Picard's table was tilted forward and he was able to 

see the upper half of the wall in front of him. 

   "Now," said the Physician, "at this point his mind 

should have determined that the other personality is 

dominant.  Let's test him for this development." 

   The Physician placed himself in the path of Picard's 

vision.  "I am your Physician," he said.  "I want you to 

concentrate on what I am going to say and then do 

your best to carry out my instruction." 

   The Physician took a moment to become sober and 

stern, and then he said, "Identify yourself!" 

   I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard, thought Picard.  He 

was frustrated by his inability to speak the words. 

   Another man entered the room wearing a white 

uniform which stood out in stark contrast to the dark 

Borg costumes worn by everyone else but the 

Physician. 

   "Arch-Regent, I didn't know you would be coming, 

Sir," said the Physician. 

   Eagerly Arch-Regent Appal approached and closely 

studied Picard, saying, "I had to see him as soon as I 

heard he was awake.  Very impressive, Physician.  

How did the procedure turn out?" 

   "In some ways well, and in other ways I am not 

certain," replied the Physician. 

   "What do you mean?" asked the Arch-Regent. 

   "I haven't been able to get him to respond verbally yet, Sir.  That is the test for personality dominance," 

answered the Physician.  He looked around the room 

and muttered, "Perhaps I should try some more. ." 

   He located his tray of hyposprays and selected one 

which he placed against Picard's neck.  Picard felt the 

medication being forced through his skin.  It had a 

peculiarly unpleasant effect on his whole being.  When 

the effects had passed he was startled to discover that 

he was not alone in his mind.  He felt another 

presence sharing his consciousness.  A presence 

composed of thousands, perhaps millions of voices 

united in a common goal - bringing Locutus securely 

back into the Borg Collective Consciousness. 

   No expletive was strong enough to express Picard's 

anger and dismay, no invective offensive enough to 

verbalize how Picard felt about what had been done to 

him.  He had been pushed beyond the point of return.  

He was once again linked into the Borg Collective. 

   The Collective was working in his mind, attempting 

to establish itself as the force in control.  Then 

Locutus, the merging of the Collective and what it 

perceived as Picard, dominated.  Rebounding, the 

essence of Picard steeled itself for the losing battle 

which must surely come - the final annihilation of its 

proud, individualistic soul. 

   Strangely, though, the anticipated final assault from 

Locutus never materialized.  The essence of Picard 

remained unmolested and whole.  True, it had been 

weakened and forced into submission, but it still 

unexpectedly retained a measure of strength which 

rankled and perplexed the Collective. 

   The Physician took Picard's head in his hands and 

positioned it so that Picard was looking at him. 

   "Listen to me," he ordered.  "You will identify 

yourself!" 

   Picard felt Locutus forming a response to the 

physician's order.  He tried to block Locutus' reply, 

but succeeded only in slowing its execution. 

   "Listen to me," shouted the Physician as he shook 

Picard roughly.  "Identify yourself!" 

   "We are Locutus, of Borg!" 

   "Aha!" shouted Appal, jumping into the air and 

gleefully applauding.  The Arch-Regent was not alone 

in celebrating as every person in the room joined in 

with noisy, jubilant expressions of congratulations for 

the Physician and relief at the success of their 

endeavor. 

   The Physician, however, did not share in everyone's 

joy.  He stared at his patient for a long moment, and 

then turned away from him, holding his forehead, - 

worried, distressed, and in deep, troubled thought. 

   Mystified by the Physician's melancholy reaction to 

his triumphant surgical success, Arch-Regent Appal 

turned to him and demanded, "What troubles you, 

Physician?  You have accomplished what others could 

only have dreamed of.  You have given us Locutus!" 

   "Did you not hear what he said, Arch-Regent?" asked 

the Physician quietly.  "He said 'WE are Locutus'.  Not 

'I am Locutus', but 'we'.  There are two resident 

personalities in his consciousness.  Something has 

gone wrong, Sir.  I have not been able to eradicate 

Picard, and Locutus knows that he is not alone." 

   Arch-Regent Appal grasped the Physician's 

shoulders roughly and glared into his eyes.  "What has 

gone wrong?" he demanded. 

   "I don't know, Sir," responded the Physician.  "No 

Orokan Physician has even attempted this procedure 

before.  There is no previous experience to draw from.  

It could be anything: defective devices, or that I 

needed to disable the more advanced  nanoprobe 

contributions which could have turned Picard into a 

serious security problem for us to deal with. We know 

so little about this current generation of Borg. Finding 

the reason and correcting it could take a very long 

time." 

   "Answer my next question carefully, Physician," said 

Appal solemnly.  "Which personality now dominates?" 

   "Locutus, Sir." 

   Appal appeared much relieved.  "Then my 

judgement is that you have succeeded in giving us 

Locutus," he proclaimed.  "His trial will commence 

two hours after the conclusion of the next duty shift." 

   More cheering and applause exploded throughout 

the room.  When it had died down Appal took the 

Physician's hand.  "You have earned a hero's place in 

the history of our race," he said to the Physician. 

   "No, Arch-Regent," the Physician objected, "I may 

have just cast an innocent man into the fires of Orokan 

justice." 

                            ***   CHAPTER FIVE   *** 

   Many things were becoming clearer to the essence of 

Captain Jean-Luc Picard as it questioned, probed, and 

analyzed.  It understood that it was sharing - although 

it was, at the moment, sharing from a slightly inferior 

posture - its own mind with an infused second 

presence known to the Borg Collective as Locutus.  

Painfully and angrily Picard recalled the previous 

sharing, the agonizing six days of subservience four 

years before.  Then the essence of Picard chastised 

itself for permitting anger to cloud its reasoning, for 

when it looked through the emotion's obscuration it 

perceived that this time there were differences in the 

sharing.  Somehow, this time the assimilation process 

had incurred an error, and the entities Picard and 

Locutus had been left intertwined in a state of 

coexistence such that each personality had equal 

access to the other's thoughts, and to sensory input 

from the body they both sought to control.  At the 

moment neither of the two personalities possessed 

sufficient strength to totally eclipse the other.  The 

ascendancy of Locutus was being maintained through 

support from the Borg by way of a subspace link with 

their entire Collective Consciousness. 

   The Locutus/Picard coexistence was not satisfactory 

to the Collective.  Picard had listened, if that was the 

appropriate word, as Locutus and the Collective had 

run diagnostic procedures on his mind and on the 

cybernetic implants he had received at the hand of the 

Orokan surgeon.  The Collective was not pleased with 

how the Orokan surgeon had adulterated the 

assimilation procedure with his partial-

implementation of the interfacing network.  Without 

the support the deactivated nanoprobes could have 

brought about, Locutus had been left barely in control 

of the body and having to share mental processes with 

Picard. 

   Picard began to comprehend the modest magnitude 

of the hold Locutus and the Collective maintained over 

him.  He perceived that a majority of the responsibility 

for maintaining the Collective's hold had been 

transferred to a small group of Borg personnel on the 

ship.  The presence of Borg and Orokan personnel on 

the same vessel intrigued Picard.  He knew that 

Locutus was accessing information relative to the 

crew complement to calculate the amount of support 

he would have in maintaining his ascendancy.  The 

information was still residing in Locutus/Picard's 

common memory.  Picard examined it. 

   He learned that he was being held prisoner on a 

Borg cube-ship which was surprisingly being run by 

Orokan personnel.  According to assessments by the 

two-hundred-and-seventeen Borg units being held 

prisoner somewhere on another level, the ship was 

not in very capable hands.  Picard learned that the 

original inhabitants of the Borg ship had been victims 

of a form of sub-microorganism that had somehow 

survived the bio-filters of the ship's transporter.  The 

Collective had not been able to determine how to 

combat the resultant ship-wide infection.  Of the  

thousands aboard the cube-ship, all but a few hundred 

had died before the Orokan vessel Diamont had 

discovered it.  The Orokans had easily taken control of 

the cube-ship and had cleansed it of the infection, 

saving the lives of the last two-hundred-and-

seventeen Borg.  Orokan engineers had then devised a 

way to control the Borg survivors before they had 

recovered sufficiently to take action against their new 

masters.  The Orokans were attempting to use their 

Borg prisoners as a window into the thoughts of the 

Collective.  Had they been successful, they would have 

learned that another Borg ship was searching for 

them.  Picard found it ironic that the very people he 

would have tried to help with this information were 

succeeding in keeping him from doing just that. 

   Picard began to examine the puzzle of why he had 

been brought to the cube-ship.  He knew now that the 

award he had been promised by the Orokans had 

merely been a ruse to draw him to the Diamont where 

it had been relatively easy to seize him.  He was now 

aware that the persons who had actually abducted 

him were not really Borg, but were disguised Orokans 

going to great lengths to leave the impression that 

Borg personnel had been responsible for his 

abduction.  Picard felt that he had a reasonably 

accurate idea of how he had arrived where he was, but 

he could still see no purpose for what the Orokans had 

done.  He wondered what the Arch-Regent had been 

talking about when he had set a time for Locutus' trial.  

Picard was certain that he had never consciously 

committed any offense against the Orokans serious 

enough to warrant a trial, and, still carrying persistent 

memories of Locutus' entire first incarnation, he could 

personally vouch that the list of Locutus' offenses 

included nothing against the Orokans.  In spite of his 

certainties, he knew he would be in big trouble if the 

Orokans had already made up their minds to find 

Locutus guilty of some offense.  He remembered that 

Arch-Regent Appal had been told by the Physician that 

Picard still existed as an inferior personality behind 

Locutus in his mind.  Whatever the implications of 

that information, it had apparently mattered very 

little to the Arch-Regent. 

   Hours before, Locutus/Picard had been taken from 

the Physician's medical room to a hastily prepared 

holding room.  His prosthetic hand had been attached 

to a Borg power coupling which normally served as a 

source of energy and nourishment for Borg units, and 

as a connection to the Collective.  When the power 

levels from the coupling had stabilized, Picard 

understood how the Borg prisoners were being 

controlled by the Orokans.  Their engineers had 

managed to modify the circuitry which generated 

power coupling disconnect commands to include 

approval from an Orokan caretaker before the 

disconnect command could be implemented.  So far 

the Orokan modification was working, but Picard was 

aware of persistent attempts from the Collective to 

override the restriction.  The Collective's efforts thus 

far had only shown them what would not work, but 

Picard gave the Borg all due credit for inventiveness 

and persistence.  He knew that sooner or later they 

would run out of mistakes. 

   Picard examined the parts of the holding room 

which Locutus allowed him to see.  His eyes were 

looking straight ahead at a featureless grey wall, but 

out of the corner of his left eye Picard thought he saw 

a shiny reflective surface.  The inspiration for a test 

against the control of Locutus formed within the 

essence of Picard.  Simply, he wondered if he could 

seize control of himself long enough to turn his eyes 

toward the reflective surface and look at himself.  

Attempting to wrest control of himself away from 

Locutus and the Collective, even for something as 

trivial as having a look at himself, would give him 

valuable knowledge of what it would take assert his 

control, but, it might also show Locutus and the 

Collective the limits of his capacity to resist them.  

Picard considered everything he had thought of, and 

decided that having a look at himself was worth the 

risk. 

   Locutus and the Collective were occupied together, 

paying Picard no attention.  Now would be the perfect 

time to try regaining control, Picard reasoned.  Their 

attention is focused elsewhere, and I might not have 

to give it my all. 

   The formation of the idea for the test, the evaluation 

of its benefits and risks, and the realization of the 

appropriateness of attempting it had all happened 

within an instant.  How much effort should I apply, 

wondered Picard.  Then he envisioned himself 

punching someone in the nose merely to get their 

attention.  He put exactly that much mental effort into 

breaking through the wall around his essence.  

Fortunately it had been weakened by the Collective's 

diminished concentration on him.  His head jerked 

violently left, his eyes falling onto the reflective 

surface.  The image of himself was distorted by curves 

in the surface, but he was able to see the Borg devices 

which had been added to him.  The sight itself was 

shocking, but the joy of success was beyond 

description.  He felt the Collective countering his 

unexpected show of strength, and he allowed himself 

to be subdued, not yet ready or willing to make a 

definitive issue of who was really the stronger.  Then 

the Collective attempted to extend their control into 

the space occupied by his essence.  Picard resisted 

their incursion successfully, applying only enough 

resistance to hold his own against them.  Eventually 

the Collective pulled back.  Now Picard knew, and the 

Collective knew that his essence was capable of 

presenting a formidable force against them.  He hoped 

it gave them something to worry about. 

   More time passed, during which Picard exercised 

every mental discipline he could think of.  He hoped 

that the activity would help block any attempt by the 

Collective to weaken him.  He had wanted to work up 

some contingency plans, but had given up on that 

after remembering that through his common links 

with Locutus the Collective would have known of 

them as fast as he would have thought of them.  By the 

same token, he would have known of their 

countermeasures to his plans, and then, after 

everyone had determined what the other was 

planning to do the whole exercise would have been a 

waste of time and effort.  He knew that his only hope 

lay in being able to take quick and decisive advantage 

of any opportunity which presented itself.  In fact, his 

quickness was his greatest strength against the Borg 

who were certainly a powerful intellectual presence, 

but because of the collective nature of their widely 

dispersed intellect the Borg were slower arriving at a 

decision and implementing it. 

   The door to his holding room opened, and two 

Orokan guards entered.  They each pointed a 

disruptor at Locutus/Picard.  "We are going to move 

you to another place," said one of the guards.  "When 

you are released, follow our instructions to the letter.  

These weapons are set to kill, and it makes no 

difference to us whether you die here in this holding 

room or in the execution chamber after your trial." 

   The other guard raised a portable communicator to 

his lips.  "Come in, Prisoner Control.  We are prepared 

for the release of Locutus." 

   Picard felt the disconnect command through the 

prosthetic hand, along with the affirmation signal 

from the Orokan controller.  Locutus ordered the body 

to stand, and Picard resigned himself to merely going 

along for the ride. 

   They emerged from the holding room on one of the 

upper levels of the cube-ship and traversed the level's 

main walkway which paralleled a wide, deep, open 

chasm that occupied the center of the cube-ship.  The 

openness of the chasm was broken only by structural 

beams which gave the interior of the vessel an 

unrefined and unfinished look.  As they headed 

toward an elevator at the end of the walkway their 

footsteps on the metal floor echoed in the emptiness 

of the great open area.  They entered the elevator and 

descended to the lowest level at the bottom of the 

chasm.  They left the elevator and walked across the 

base of the chasm, which Picard likened from his point 

of view to the floor of a metal canyon.  He was 

directed toward a wide doorway which was attended 

by two Orokans in full dress uniforms. 

   When Locutus/Picard and his two escorts arrived at 

the doorway the two attendants crisply executed 

facing movements toward each other and pressed 

wall-mounted panels near their shoulders.  The broad 

doors parted in the middle and receded into the walls.  

Picard discovered that the Orokans had prepared the 

chamber behind the doors into a layout he could only 

assume was a courtroom. 

   "Let's keep moving," prompted one of the guards as 

he pressed his disruptor into Locutus/Picard's back. 

   Locutus refused to move. 

   "Remember, Borg, I could scatter you across the 

room and still get a medal for it," warned the guard. 

   Locutus started walking down the center aisle.  A 

large number of seats at the rear of the courtroom had 

been arranged on tiers in a semicircle around a 

central open arena.  In front of the spectator area 

were two long tables: the one on the left, rectangular, 

while the one on the right was shaped like a letter 'L'.  

The short side of the 'L' table rested against the waist-

high rails of a raised hexagonal platform which 

contained a single chair.  Only five of its six sides had 

rails.  One side had been left open, presumably, for 

entry and exit.  On the left side of the arena was 

another raised platform, rectangular, with low rails on 

three of its four sides.  Ten chairs, in two offset rows 

of five, had been placed on this platform.  The arena 

ended against the far wall.  A balcony had been 

constructed in the center of that wall approximately 

one meter above the floor.  The left half of the balcony 

was enclosed.  It contained a polished high-backed 

chair and appeared to have a narrow desk or writing 

surface in front of the chair.  The right half of the 

balcony was edged by a waist-high railing.  It 

contained an ordinary chair and was accessed by a 

stairway from the arena floor.  Above the balcony 

hung the rolled Orokan banner Picard had seen in the 

banquet room aboard the Diamont.  Immediately 

below the Orokan banner were two simulated wood 

doors. 

   The spectator seating was filled with Orokan 

personnel wearing their full dress uniforms.  The 

courtroom was buzzing with the sounds of people 

discussing the impending trial.  As Locutus/Picard 

walked further along the center aisle more of the 

spectators saw him, and the murmuring of the crowd 

took on a decidedly angrier tone. 

   Picard could not understand their hostility toward 

him.  He chided himself for not having been more 

suspicious of the Orokans on the Diamont.  How had 

he overlooked the fact that their attitude toward him 

had never had the degree of cordiality one expected of 

someone who thought that one was a hero? 

   Picard was able to see that an Orokan officer was 

seated at each of the two tables in the arena.  As 

Locutus/Picard neared the gate in the railing which 

lined the arena, the officer at the 'L' table on the right 

arose and opened the gate.  Locutus/Picard was 

escorted to the raised hexagonal platform where his 

escorts indicated that he should enter and be seated.  

His prosthetic hand was connected to a power 

coupling which provided an electronic signal to lock 

him in place. 

   As soon as Locutus/Picard was in place a door in the 

rear wall opened.  A senior Orokan officer entered 

leading ten other persons who were wearing black 

full-length robes.  The officer led his following to the 

rectangular platform on the left side of the arena 

where they filed to their chairs and stood with their 

heads bowed and hands folded in front of them. 

   After a moment of silence one of the doors at the 

rear of the balcony opened and the assembled group 

of Orokans was called to attention.  Everyone in the 

courtroom except Locutus/Picard stood as Arch-

Regent Appal, also dressed in a full-length black robe, 

stepped onto the balcony and seated himself in the 

polished chair.  Picard considered Locutus' refusal to 

stand a serious breach of protocol, and for what it was 

worth, he wasted no time in expressing his feelings to 

Locutus and the Collective.  He then realized that his 

mental outburst had been quite illogical; because of 

being connected to the power coupling, Locutus could 

not have stood even if he had wanted to show respect 

for the Arch-Regent.  When Appal seated himself the 

rest of the courtroom also took their seats. 

   Appal's Adjutant Officer marched to a place in front 

of the balcony, executed a right face, and announced, 

"This specially convened Command Court Martial is 

now in session.  His Honor, The Arch-Regent Appal, 

now presides." 

   "Thank you, gentlemen," said the Arch-Regent as a 

matter of formality.  "I'd like to get this affair 

underway as quickly as.. " 

   The officer at the table next to Locutus/Picard stood 

and interrupted the Arch-Regent.  "Sir!  I must 

strongly protest being assigned the defense of this..  

this Borg!" he declared.  "At my coming-of-age, I swore 

a solemn oath to be an enemy of the Borg.  My 

defending him would force me to violate that oath.  I 

consider this duty a stain on the outstanding record I 

have strived my entire career to build." 

   The Arch-Regent took his gavel and pounded it 

repeatedly on his desk before the young officer 

stopped his protesting. 

   "In the first place you were not assigned this duty, 

young man," stated Appal grimly.  "Who should defend 

this Borg was determined by random drawing.  The 

fates have chosen you, and I am satisfied with their 

choice.  Now, be seated, and put on a respectable show 

of looking out for your client's interests before I find 

you in contempt!" 

   The young officer sat in his chair, his face greatly 

reddened by the public dressing-down he had just 

experienced. 

   "Now, if there are no further outbursts to be dealt 

with," said the Arch-Regent while leafing through a 

sheaf  of papers on his desk, "I'll ask the Prosecuting 

Advocate to make his opening statements." 

   "Thank you, Your Honor," said the prosecutor as he 

stood and walked before the ten-member jury.  "There 

is not one among us here today who needs to be 

reminded of what happened exactly one year ago, but, 

for the benefit of the court record, I will quickly 

outline what I have referred to.  That which occurred 

one year ago we now call The Hours Of Infamy.  On 

that day the Borg unleashed savage attacks against 

every Orokan colony and outpost.  None of these 

attacks were detected by the Network, the grid of 

interlocked detection and early warning systems 

which were based on the technology and plans of The 

United Federation of Planets.  You members of the 

jury will be shown accurately the trail of fault.  The 

prosecution will prove to you that this Borg, Locutus, 

who was formerly Picard, a starship captain under the 

banner of The United Federation of Planets, was solely 

responsible for enabling the Borg attackers to slip 

through the Network undetected.  You will then know, 

beyond any possibility of doubt, who is responsible 

for the pain and sorrow which exactly one year ago 

touched each member of this crew." 

   At last Picard understood.  The abduction, the 

Orokan resurrection of Locutus, and this trial, all were 

connected to his misadventure with the Borg.  The 

Orokans had bought the plans for the Federation's 

MX-35 system from the Ferengi arms peddler, and 

then they had entrusted their civilization's security to 

its outdated and increasingly ineffective technology.  

The antiquated security system had let them down.  

When they had gone looking for answers, the Orokan 

survivors had discovered that he, Picard, had been a 

prisoner of the Borg, and as information the Borg had 

stripped from his mind had been used to decimate the 

fleet at Wolf 359, the Orokans assumed that he had 

been the Borg's source of information about the MX-

35 system, and the reason for their tragic Hours Of 

Infamy. 

   Picard wondered how the Borg might have slipped 

through the Orokan system.  Had they simply gotten 

lucky enough to guess their way through its 

technology?  Not likely, he decided.  First of all, 

trusting to luck wasn't the Borg's style.  And secondly, 

if you knew nothing at all about the system it still 

couldn't be beaten.  The problem with the MX-35 

system had been that somebody had obtained secret 

design plans and had studied the system extensively.  

Only after understanding it to the base component 

level had they been able to develop an algorithm for 

rendering it ineffective.  It was only after Starfleet had 

learned that the troublesome algorithm was becoming 

more and more widely available that they had chosen 

to phase MX-35 out of use.  Picard knew that he could 

not have provided anyone with the means to defeat 

the MX-35: he had never studied the system 

extensively enough.  Obviously the Orokans were 

trying to hold him responsible for a problem that 

someone else had created. 

   The Prosecuting Advocate continued, ". .and then 

you will be asked to deliberate and return a verdict.  

In light of the truths you will have been shown, the 

prosecution will ask specifically that you deliver 

nothing less than a verdict of guilty to the charge of 

complicity in mass murder!  After your verdict, you 

will be asked for a recommendation of sentence.  

Members of the jury, based upon the evidence the 

prosecution will present to this court, I have the most 

secure confidence that you will ask nothing less of His 

Honor than a sentence of Communal Execution!" 

   There was a loud murmur of approval from the 

spectators. 

   The Prosecuting Advocate finished his remarks by 

bowing to the jury and saying, "Thank you all for your 

attention." 

   The Arch-Regent directed his attention toward the 

Defending Advocate.  "Does your client understand 

the nature of the charges against him?" he asked. 

   "Your Honor, I haven't the slightest idea," responded 

the Defending Advocate. 

   "I'd like to hear your explanation!" demanded the 

Arch-Regent. 

   "Sir, I did not wish to offend this court by my 

appearance or grooming," said the Defending 

Advocate.  "I spent the entire preceding duty shift 

preparing my uniform." 

   After an uncomfortable silence the Arch-Regent said, 

"I will grant you time to explain the charges to your 

client.  Do… so… now!" 

   The Defending Advocate slowly rose from his chair 

and walked around his table.  He stood before 

Locutus/Picard's raised platform and loudly 

proclaimed, "You, sir, by your own admission are 

Locutus of Borg.  My entire race, through the person of 

the Prosecuting Advocate over there, alleges that you, 

when you were accepted into the Borg community, 

provided them with the sum total of your life's 

experience and knowledge.  The prosecution will 

specifically charge that you divulged to your new 

friends, the Borg, sufficient information to enable 

them to defeat our planetary defense and security 

systems which were based on the Federation's MX-35 

system.  That breach of security during The Hours of 

Infamy enabled an armada of Borg ships to virtually 

annihilate trillions of innocent civilians living in the 

Orokan Colonies.  Personally, I agree with the 

Prosecuting Advocate, but I am being forced to put on 

a reasonable show of looking out for your interests.  

That is exactly what you will get, sir.  A reasonable 

show, and nothing more.  Incidentally, sir, if the 

prosecuting advocate succeeds in securing the verdict 

he wants, we will line up one hundred volunteers with 

disruptors as a firing squad for your execution.  Do 

you require any further clarification of the charges or 

the punishment sought upon conviction on those 

charges?" 

   Locutus continued looking out over the head of the 

Defending Advocate as he had done during the 

advocate's explanation of the charges.  To Locutus and 

the Collective, anything which the Orokans did was 

irrelevant.  What was relevant was the assistance 

being imparted by Locutus and the Borg prisoners to 

the Collective in its effort to bring the commandeered 

cube-ship back under Borg control.  In the Collective 

mind of the Borg, the reclamation of their missing ship 

was already assured.  Like any other Borg 

undertaking, it would simply be a matter of time and 

persistence. 

   The Defending Advocate walked back to his chair, 

sat down, and waited for the Arch-Regent to resume 

the trial. 

   "Thank you, Mister Defending Advocate," said the 

Arch-Regent with a sigh.  He could sympathize with 

the Defending Advocate's attitude.  In the Borg attacks 

during  The Hours of Infamy the man had lost a family 

that he had loved dearly.  Appal admitted to himself 

that the Defending Advocate deserved another 

reminder of proper courtroom decorum, but he could 

not bring himself to deliver it.  The truth was that if 

he, as a younger man carrying the same burden of 

grief, had been chosen to serve as the Defending 

Advocate, he might well have behaved the same way.  

He was thankful for the role fate had assigned him in 

this proceeding.  He knew that every person in his 

crew was anxious to witness Locutus' execution, an 

event which was popularly regarded as a foregone 

conclusion.  Appal, himself, wanted this particular 

Borg to be the first to pay for what had been done to 

the Orokan Colonies.  However, he saw this goal in a 

slightly different light than some members of his crew.  

To them, the execution of Locutus would be the end of 

an adventure, but to Appal it would be the first 

satisfying event in a much grander scheme he hoped 

to implement.  In order to insure the loyalty and long-

term support of his crew he planned to give them the 

execution they wanted, but he would first show them 

that orderly procedure and law need not stand in the 

way of it.  If Locutus was executed after a dignified, 

orderly march to the execution chamber, an illusion 

that Appal hoped the trial would paint, the crew might 

be moved to rally around his leadership and embrace 

his visions of further retribution against the Borg.  

Any other path to an execution might not convince the 

crew that his law and leadership (which was in reality 

the only Orokan law and leadership left in the galaxy) 

could play a decisive part in their futures.  The harsh 

reality for his crew was that there were no more 

homes, families, or friends to return to.  Appal feared 

that eventually, without a rallying influence such as he 

sought to provide, they would desert, just drift away, 

leaving him with a fragmented, unobtainable dream. 

   Appal decided to overlook the defending advocate's 

unprofessional conduct toward his client.  After all, 

Appal reasoned, he might have committed a breach of 

protocol in ordering what should have been a private 

conference between advocate and client to have 

occurred in open court.  It would be safe to let it pass 

this time, but he would have to be careful that the 

unpredictable officer was not allowed to do something 

else to make him look totally foolish. 

   "Mister Prosecuting Advocate, let us hear from your 

first witness," ordered the Arch-Regent. 

   The Prosecuting Advocate stood and proclaimed, 

"The prosecution first calls Technical-Historian Brace 

Grawhil." 

   A fit, balding, middle-aged man walked into the 

arena and climbed the stairs to the witness chair 

beside the Arch-Regent.  The Prosecuting Advocate 

wasted no time in delivering his first question. 

   "Good day, Mister Grawhil.  Your position is that of a 

military technical-historian, is that correct?" 

   "It is." 

   "Please enlighten the court, how long have you 

served in this capacity?" 

   "Over twenty-three years." 

   "And have you chosen a specific area of technical-

historical documentation in which to specialize?" 

   "I have.  Upon my graduation from the Service 

Academy, I applied to the Council of Regents for a 

position as a staff historian for the project known as 

FINAL CURTAIN.  My application was approved, and I 

have been with the project, well, I was with the 

project until the Borg attacks." 

   The Prosecuting Advocate moved to the front of his 

table. 

   "Because of your long service with the project, 

Mister Grawhil, you would be familiar with its support 

systems.  Are you familiar with the Federation's MX-

35 security system?" 

   "I am," answered Grawhil as he glanced at 

Locutus/Picard contemptuously. 

   "What can you tell us about the MX-35?" inquired 

the Prosecuting Advocate. 

   "Everyone was thrilled to have found such a system," 

Grawhil began.  "To protect the developing elements 

of FINAL CURTAIN we needed an all-encompassing 

colonial security system with a detecting range and 

networking capabilities superior to what we had been 

able to develop.  Since all our resources were to be 

channeled into FINAL CURTAIN, we needed to come 

up with an externally sourced planetary security 

system." 

   "What do your records tell us about the system's 

early evaluation results?" 

   "Almost all the records indicated that the system 

performed flawlessly," Grawhil stated.  "None of our 

technicians could devise a way to sneak through its 

detection grids.  There was, however, a footnote 

dissenting opinion which suggested that the only flaw 

in the testing procedures was that time was not 

allotted for analysts to explore deeper into the 

system's intricacies before it was fully deployed." 

   "I see," said the Prosecuting Advocate.  "In spite of 

the dissenting footnote, the system performed as 

expected? 

   "Yes, sir.  The Council of Regents was also impressed 

with it.  They believed in the system's ability to 

protect, so when it was in place and operational they 

authorized beginning the construction of the actual 

fighting elements of FINAL CURTAIN." 

   "Please clarify for the court exactly how the 

functional Network fit into the FINAL CURTAIN 

project," said the Prosecuting Advocate. 

   "The strategy was very basic.  In the early years of 

the project, the finished fighting units of FINAL 

CURTAIN were assigned a defensive role.  If they had 

been alerted by the Network to a Borg attack, they 

would have been sent to defend the distressed colony 

and, of course, the fighting units it would have been 

building.  The building of the FINAL CURTAIN fighting 

units progressed on schedule for nearly eighteen 

years.  If we would have had another year of 

construction time we would have had enough 

completed fighting units to use FINAL CURTAIN 

offensively, as it had originally been designed.  As 

things happened, at The Hours Of Infamy the Borg got 

to all the finished and nearly finished fighting units 

before any kind of alarm was declared." 

   "Thank you, Mister Grawhil," smiled the Prosecuting 

Advocate.  He turned to the Defending Advocate and 

said, "Your witness." 

   "I have no questions," admitted the Defending 

Advocate. 

   And I have no Defense Attorney, thought Picard 

angrily to himself. 

   The Prosecuting Advocate returned to his seat 

behind his table and consulted his notes.  After a 

moment he raised his head and proclaimed, "The 

prosecution next calls the Diamont's Senior Officer of 

Strategy and Planning, Mister Norh Bellel." 

   Norh Bellel was small and thin, and wore his hair 

extremely short.  He walked across the arena with a 

purposeful stride and bounced lightly up the stairs to 

the witness chair.  After taking his seat he gazed at the 

Prosecuting Advocate with the focused, permanently 

analytical look that had become his trademark. 

   "Good day, Mister Bellel," said the Prosecuting 

Advocate.  "Firstly, I'd like you to explain to the court 

your part in the FINAL CURTAIN project." 

   Bellel cleared his throat.   "I was privileged to have 

headed the planning committee that established the 

production schedules for FINAL CURTAIN and 

assigned defense zones and attack response 

procedures." 

   "And in establishing the defense zones and attack 

response procedures, you became acquainted with the 

Network?" asked the prosecuting advocate. 

   "I did," Bellel affirmed. 

   "In your becoming acquainted with the Network, did 

you try to compromise the system in any way?" 

   "I should say we did!" proclaimed Bellel.  "The 

Council of Regents practically demanded that we find 

something wrong with it!  We tested every suggestion; 

from brute force to subtle deception.  In the time we 

were given, we could not find any fault with the 

system." 

   "None at all?" the Prosecuting Advocate asked, just 

to reaffirm the point. 

   "No faults at all," maintained Bellel. 

   "I have here," said the Prosecuting Advocate while 

displaying another handful of papers, "a copy of a 

report you filed on the Diamont after The Hours Of 

Infamy in which you state that the Borg successes 

were possible only because the Network had been 

deceived into thinking that approaching Borg ships 

were not actually there.  To paraphrase your words - 

the Network had been compromised.  Now, Mister 

Bellel, can you tell us how the Borg, who had never 

previously encountered the Network, were able to 

compromise it where you could not, in spite of your 

much superior understanding of the system?" 

   "My staff of analysts and I concur that the Borg could not have achieved our level of understanding of the 

Network," explained Bellel.  "The Borg do not use 

spies.  There is no evidence that our computer 

security was breached.  And since you cannot bargain 

with the Borg, there is no reason to even consider the 

unlikely possibility that one of our people gave them 

information.  Ruling out those possibilities means that 

the Borg obtained their understanding of our Network 

from an outside source." 

   "An outside source," repeated the Prosecuting 

Advocate thoughtfully.  "Mister Bellel, should we 

suspect the Ferengi of having supplied the Borg with 

any information?  After all, we did buy the plans from 

them, did we not?" 

   "Yes, we bought the plans from a Ferengi arms 

merchant," affirmed Bellel, "but when we got them, 

they were terribly mixed up.  Nothing logically 

arranged, pages out of sequence, a distressing jumble 

of documents.  It would not be unreasonable to 

assume that they sold the plans to us because they 

simply couldn't understand them.  Besides, the 

Ferengi have no great love for the Borg.  The Ferengi 

have been treated as badly by the Borg as anyone else 

they've encountered." 

   "Alright, Mister Bellel, if not us, and if not the 

Ferengi, then whom?" asked the Prosecuting Advocate 

using just the right phrasing and inflection to build 

anticipation for the answer everyone knew had to be 

spoken. 

   "The Federation, of course!" declared Bellel. 

   Deafening cheers erupted, which brought a wide 

smile to the face of the Prosecuting Advocate.  This 

was his first time at being an advocate, and he had 

become quite pleased with his newly discovered skill 

in playing the crowd. 

   Picard had been able to do nothing more than listen 

to the trial.  He was furious with his attorney for 

letting all the prosecution's accusations go 

unchallenged.  The prosecutor's witness had just 

named the Federation as the source of the Borg's 

information.  The way the trial was going, Picard 

didn't have to make a second guess about which way 

the next questions would lead. 

   "Order, order!  Gentlemen, order!" shouted the Arch-

Regent as he pounded feverishly on his desk with his 

gavel.  He leaped to his feet and shouted to the crowd, 

"Let me remind you, this is a court martial!  A military 

trial!  You are all in uniform.  Please, conduct 

yourselves accordingly!" 

    Several more long seconds of punishing the desk 

with the gavel brought a semblance of order.  When 

satisfied that he was back in control of the courtroom, 

the Arch-Regent sat down and nodded to the 

Prosecuting Advocate. 

   "Excuse me, Mister Bellel," said the Prosecuting 

Advocate, "but I have to be very clear about what you 

said a moment ago.  If I understood you correctly, you 

implicated the Federation?  As in, The United 

Federation of Planets?" 

   "Exactly!" responded Bellel with a succinct nod for 

emphasis. 

   "Was this information presented officially by the 

Federation to the Borg?" asked the prosecuting 

advocate. 

   "No, it was not!" declared Bellel.  "The information 

came from one individual: the defendant, Jean-Luc 

Picard, or as he was known when he gave them the 

information, Locutus of Borg!" 

   "Would you explain why you accuse the defendant?" 

asked the Prosecuting Advocate for clarification. 

   "My staff has compiled information from a number 

of recent diplomatic contacts," asserted Bellel.  "Jean-

Luc Picard, Captain of the Federation's USS Enterprise, 

was captured by the Borg.  He took the identity of 

Locutus and joined with the Borg.  Information they 

learned from Locutus led to a bloody and devastating 

defeat for the Federation's fleet at a place known as 

Wolf 359.  The Borg invader then traveled to Locutus' 

home planet before it was mysteriously destroyed.  

We are not certain how he escaped dying on the Borg 

ship, but we are certain that he is a coward who 

betrays those who trust in his discretion.  Our sources 

have revealed to us that information about the 

Federation's MX-35 system would have been available 

on Picard's ship.  Since we have established that 

Picard is Locutus, this gives Locutus the means to 

have passed secret information to the Borg.  Being 

physically on a Borg ship gives him the opportunity to 

have done so.  As for motivation, from his past actions, 

which led to the massacre at Wolf 359, Picard, or 

Locutus, if you prefer, has shown himself to be 

spineless, ready at the drop of a hat to spill his guts in 

an attempt to save his worthless life!" 

   The crowd of spectators had been growing noisier 

and noisier as Bellel had spoken his last sentences of 

testimony.  His inflamed comments had driven them 

once again into a raucous outburst.  Arch-Regent 

Appal, enraged at the conduct of his crew, renewed his 

assaults on the desk with his gavel.  A powerful impact 

with the desk's surface broke the handle.  The head of 

the gavel flew spinning over the edge of the balcony 

and Appal's fist slammed onto the desk.  He shook his 

badly bruised hand angrily.  The spectator's cheers, 

whistles, and catcalls continued unabated.  Appal 

finally held his head in his uninjured left hand and 

waited for the emotion of the crowd to burn itself out. 

   When the crowd had settled back into its seats, 

Appal simply made a discreet wave of his left hand 

toward the Prosecuting Advocate. 

   "Thank you, Mister Bellel," he said.  "I have no 

further questions." 

   Once again the Prosecuting Advocate glanced 

toward the Defending Advocate.  "Your witness," he 

smiled. 

   The Defending Advocate surprised everyone by 

standing.  The spectators hushed as he slowly walked 

across the arena and stood before the witness. 

   "My client did all that?" he simply asked. 

    The spectators roared and hooted again. 

   When they were quiet, Bellel responded, "That is 

correct." 

   This time there were a few isolated howls. 

   The defending advocate walked back and turned to 

face the Arch-Regent.  He leaned back, and sitting on 

the edge of the table, he said, "Your Honor, I am not 

versed in the Law.  I have no training in courtroom 

protocol.  I am here, against my wishes, charged with 

defending a creature that I believe was responsible for 

the death of my entire family.  I have listened carefully 

to what has been presented in this courtroom, and, on 

the surface, the Prosecutor's case seems to do a 

commendable job of damning my client.  But, there is 

something about the prosecutor's case that disturbs 

me, Your Honor.  It cannot be allowed to escape our 

attention that his case against my client is built 

entirely on a shaky structure of circumstantial 

evidence.  I fully realize that what I am compelled to 

do now will be very unpopular, but, Your Honor, I ask 

that this case be dismissed because of insufficient 

evidence against my client." 

   The spectators responded with a roar of displeasure.  

A barrage of personal effects, writing implements, and 

shoes was directed at the Defending Advocate.  Appal 

stood and shouted for order until he was nearly 

hoarse.  The crowd gradually settled back onto the 

edges of the seats, quietly listening for the Arch-

Regent to shoot down the Defending Advocate's 

request. 

   Appal was quietly amused with this development 

now that the crowd was not working on his nerves. 

   "You surprise me," he said to the Defending 

Advocate.  "You've developed a sudden, unanticipated 

interest in this case, and I have to admit, you've made 

an understandable request for dismissal.  You've 

placed me in a situation where I must determine 

whether to dismiss a case for lack of appropriate 

evidence, or allow all this testimony to stand because 

of the weight of overwhelming circumstance." 

   The Arch-Regent stopped to consider what he 

should do.  He could not just turn Locutus loose.  With 

his crew in its present state of mind, Locutus probably 

would not survive long enough to be returned to his 

people.  It would be bad enough trying to give the 

prisoner back as Picard, which was out of the question 

because the Physician didn't know how to turn 

Locutus back into Picard.  If he was returned as 

Locutus, how outraged would the Federation be?  

What revenge would they extract?  No, Locutus could 

not be excused.  It was too dangerous.  If the 

Federation believed Picard was missing, it was better 

that he never turn up again.  It seemed the only way 

out of the dilemma was to move forward as planned to 

an execution.  But how?  On what legal grounds could 

he order it to happen?  He finally decided to just talk 

about the dilemma out loud.  Maybe in his rambling he 

would discover a cleverly turned phrase or a twist of 

logic that would decide the fate of the impasse.  And if 

not, he could always declare a recess to think things 

through. 

   "This is perhaps the most difficult decision I have 

ever had to make," admitted the Arch-Regent aloud.  

"If this was an ordinary civilian trial I would have to 

rule.. " 

   Appal was interrupted by deafening  blaring klaxons 

and a myriad number of equally abrasive supporting 

alarms. 

   "Court is recessed!" he shouted.  "Battle stations, 

everyone!  We are under attack!" 

                              ***   CHAPTER SIX   *** 

   Upon hearing the alarms Picard attempted to leap 

from his chair.  Locutus, controlling his body, would 

not permit it.  Locutus, the caretaker, was to insure 

that the essence of Picard would not succeed in acting 

against the Collective.  Picard quelled an impulse to 

lash out against the Collective's constraints and 

turned his efforts instead to monitoring a swell of 

exchanges within the Borg Collective Consciousness. 

   The cube-ship controlled by the Orokans had been 

located by the second cube-ship which had been 

dispatched by the Borg to either cleanse the 

commandeered vessel of the Orokan infestation or 

destroy it.  Within a matter of minutes the Borg cube-

ship would be in a position to begin its attack.  The 

two-hundred-and-seventeen Borg prisoners held on 

the Orokan ship were prepared to take any action 

possible and make any necessary sacrifice to preserve 

the integrity of the Collective. 

   When the alarms had sounded, the Orokan 

spectators had quickly evacuated the courtroom.  

Picard wondered what battle preparations they had 

made aboard the cube-ship.  He suspected that many 

alternate ways of controlling maneuvering and 

tactical functions had been incorporated into the 

original Borg systems.  No doubt the designers of the 

alterations would have had to rely heavily on manual 

controls.  Picard doubted that even the Binars could 

have interfaced Orokan computers with the Borg ship 

in the short time the Orokans had controlled it. 

   Picard felt the ship rock after an explosion sounded 

outside the courtroom.  Meanwhile Locutus struggled 

to break his link with the power coupling, as did all 

the other Borg prisoners.  Picard heard the sounds of 

confused and ill-prepared Orokans trying to organize 

an effective response to the Borg attacker.  If the 

ship's two-hundred-and-seventeen Borg prisoners 

manage to free themselves, thought Picard, the few 

hundred Orokans on this cube-ship won't stand a 

chance of coming out of the battle alive, or more 

possibly, not assimilated. 

   More explosions shook the Orokan cube-ship as 

dialogue between Locutus and the Collective became 

more intense.  The Borg cube-ship required the 

assistance of Locutus and the prisoners, while Locutus 

and the prisoners needed the help of the Collective to 

free themselves from their power couplings.  Again 

preoccupied with its own needs, the Collective was 

ignoring Picard. 

   Picard heard someone reenter the courtroom where 

his body was still electronically locked to his power 

coupling. 

   "Captain Picard, can you understand me?" the 

person demanded. 

   The voice was familiar.  Picard was sure it was that 

of the Physician.  Once again Picard pushed out from 

the safe corner of his mind.  His head jerked to the left, 

temporarily free of Locutus' domination.  He focused 

upon the person who had called to him, affirming that 

it was the Physician. 

   "Ye-e-e-s-s!" Picard thickly answered before his 

speech became impossible to control.  The Collective 

had quickly mounted a strong effort to regain control 

of the Locutus/Picard mind.  In answering the 

Physician, Picard had divided his concentration, and 

the Collective had gained strength against him.  Picard 

resisted, this time with all his effort.  Perspiration 

formed on his forehead, and tortured lines on his face 

reflected the intensity of his inner struggle. 

   The Borg are much stronger this time, Picard 

realized.  They must have somehow adapted since my 

previous attempt at self-control. 

   Picard willed himself to find his second wind.  Anger 

bolstered his focused concentration, and he felt the 

Collective weaken slightly.  Then the Collective 

regrouped and pressed harder against him.  Harder 

and harder. 

   I'm falling back, Picard admitted. 

   The Physician had moved closer to Locutus/Picard.  

He was holding a hypospray behind himself, out of the 

reach of Locutus. 

   "Picard!" the Physician cried.  "Listen to me!  Don't 

give in!  Listen to me!" 

   Picard tried to concentrate on what the Physician 

was shouting.  Divided priorities again weakened him 

against the Collective, and he slipped closer to 

submission. 

   "Picard!" it was the Physician, distracting him again.  

"I gave you a drug!  It enhanced your receptiveness to 

the Borg!  I'm sorry!  I've brought you an antidote, but 

I have to get close enough to give it to you!" 

   The Physician cautiously approached the open side 

of the hexagonal platform where Locutus/Picard sat.  

Now the Collective's attention became divided 

between Picard and the Physician.  Picard renewed his 

attack against its presence. 

   The Physician stepped inside the railing and reached 

toward Locutus/Picard's neck with the hypospray. 

   Danger!  The alarm reverberated through the 

Collective Consciousness.  Locutus responded to the 

threat of losing control over Picard by grasping the 

Physician's uniform coat with his free hand and 

tossing him over the railing onto the table.  The 

Physician slid over the table and landed roughly on 

the floor. 

   Now choosing to ignore Picard, Locutus and the 

Collective were focusing their attention on the 

possibility of a renewed threat from the Physician.  

Although weakened by the prolonged mental battle, 

Picard took advantage of the distraction provided by 

the Physician and lurched into a precarious position of 

dominance. 

   "Now!" Picard croaked weakly.  "Physician, 

help.. now!" 

   It all comes down to this moment, Picard decided.  

The last great, heroic stand of Jean-Luc Picard.  

Nothing more to live for, other than giving the best 

possible account of himself in the final moments of his 

life.  Jean-Luc Picard would not yield from where he 

stood, not while he retained any means to resist. 

   The Physician pulled himself over the edge of the 

table and shook his head.  He found the hypospray on 

the floor and examined it, finding it undamaged.  He 

looked at Locutus/Picard and saw his eyes gazing 

blankly into the air, the blank expression giving no 

clue as to what state the mind of his former patient 

was in.  He climbed onto the table and cautiously 

approached Locutus/Picard.  He waited a moment on 

the edge of the table and was completely ignored.  At 

last satisfied that he could safely make another 

attempt to deliver the antidote in the hypospray, he 

leaped inside the platform's railing hooking his arm 

around Locutus/Picard's head and pressed the 

hypospray against his neck. 

   The body of Locutus/Picard tensed frantically, 

attempting to stand, and then collapsed weakly back 

into the chair.  For a moment both Locutus and Picard 

were stunned by the power of the chemical which had 

been introduced into their body.  Picard felt changes 

taking place.  Slowly he felt himself achieving 

dominance while Locutus receded, but the joy of 

dominating Locutus was short-lived.  God, he felt sick!  

If he died, they would say the cure had been worse 

than the disease. 

   Picard fought the sickness.  Deep breaths.  Slow, 

deliberate, deep breaths.  He was regaining control of 

his body again, and concentrating on slow, deep 

breaths. 

   The sickness passed while another explosion rocked 

the ship.  Picard ignored the lurching as he drank in 

the feeling of controlling his body.  Locutus and the 

Collective were not completely gone from his 

consciousness, but he had definitely become their 

master! 

   "Feeling better, Captain Picard?" asked the 

Physician. 

   "Somewhat," Picard admitted.  "Tell me, has that 

concoction of yours ever been tested on anyone 

besides me?" 

   "Sorry, you're the first," confessed the Physician.  "I 

gather from your reaction that I had the dosage high 

enough." 

   "Mmm," muttered Picard in agreement before 

indulging in another controlled deep breath.  When he 

had settled again, he asked, "Tell me, why did you 

bring me that antidote?" 

   "We're under attack by a Borg ship," explained the 

Physician.  "They outnumber us by maybe a hundred 

to one.  They know how to squeeze the most from one 

of these cubes, while we know relatively nothing.  

Chances are we're going to lose this battle, Captain.  I 

just thought you would like a chance to face the Borg 

as yourself.  I know I have no right to ask this, but 

please, help the Arch-Regent go out with a little 

dignity." 

   "What makes you think I'd even consider helping His Honor, the Arch-Regent?" objected Picard.  "He was 

trying to railroad me out the back courtroom door and 

throw me to a firing squad!" 

   The Physician looked seriously into Picard's eyes 

and said, "Consider it my fee for services rendered." 

   "You physicians always do charge an arm and a leg 

for the least little thing," complained Picard with a 

barely perceptible grin.  "I'll try to do what I can.  

First, how do I get out of this chair?" 

   "Hold the prosthetic hand, Captain," instructed the 

Physician.  "I think if I can twist your arm just right, 

the bio-latch should retract." 

   The Physician gave a strong, quick twist to Picard's 

right arm at the same time that a tremendous 

explosion partially spun the cube-ship on its axis.  

Alarms again sounded throughout the ship. 

   "The shields are down," announced the Physician as 

he removed Picard's arm from the prosthetic device. 

   Picard felt the ship starting to move, picking up 

momentum.  Perhaps, he thought, the Orokans are 

trying to withdraw from the battle.  He wished them 

better luck than he had ever had in trying to outrun 

the Borg. 

   Picard massaged a dull ache in his right forearm.  

"Sorry about that," the Physician apologized.  "I guess 

I got a little carried away."  He quickly examined the 

arm and pronounced, "It'll be alright." 

   "How am I supposed to help?" asked Picard. 

   "I was hoping you'd know what to do," the Physician 

admitted.  "You've destroyed more Borg ships than 

the Arch-Regent." 

   "Where can I find your Arch-Regent?" Picard asked. 

   "His makeshift bridge is at the top of this side of the 

ship," said the Physician pointing into the air, "but the 

quickest way there may not be the easiest for you." 

   "If there is no quicker way.. " said Picard. 

   "No, there's no quicker way," affirmed the Physician.  

"Turn right outside the courtroom and catch the first 

elevator you come to.  It'll take you about a quarter of 

the way up.  Then you'll have to use the walkway 

through the Borg prisoner section to get to another 

elevator which will take you all the way up to the 

bridge." 

   "Got it," said Picard as he started for the door. 

   "Captain!" the Physician called after him. 

   Picard stopped and turned around. 

   "Captain, about that antidote," said the Physician, 

"most of it will wear off soon and leave you and the 

Collective with pretty much the same strength in your 

mind.  Keep your wits about you!" 

   "Thanks for the warning," said Picard before he 

rushed out the courtroom door. 

   In a matter of seconds he was ascending in the 

elevator.  It was not a fast device, which did not 

surprise Picard.  The only machines which the Borg 

ever used to hurry between two places were their 

ships.  Of all the transportation devices Picard had 

ever encountered, the Borg ships were the ones that 

came closest to the theoretical speed barrier at warp 

ten.  Picard could not even begin to speculate how the 

Borg had infused that much efficiency into their warp 

drive technology.   

   The elevator stopped and its gate opened.  Picard 

stepped onto the walkway and saw the long row of 

Borg prisoners, each one nestled in a small recess 

beside the walkway with their prosthetic hands 

secured to their power couplings.  They all turned to 

look at him, an eerie unexpected development which 

inspired many second thoughts about the wisdom of 

passing by them to get to the bridge.  A wave of 

weakness washed over him.  He stayed on his feet by 

leaning on the railing at the edge of the walkway. 

   Picard wiped a wave of cold perspiration from his 

brow with his forearm.  This must have something to 

do with the antidote wearing off, he thought.  As he 

examined himself mentally he found that Locutus and 

the Collective were back, stronger, but manageable.  

He reminded himself to remain aware of their 

presence, least they find a way to ambush him as he 

had done to them. 

   Picard felt strength returning.  He released the 

railing and took a careful step, only to be thrown back 

by explosions resulting from an exchange of weapons 

fire between the two cube-ships.  From the apparent 

strength of the impacts on the Orokan ship, Picard 

deduced that the Borg ship was maintaining the upper 

hand. 

   Picard stood again and unsteadily started the long 

trek past the line of prisoners.  He stayed out of their 

reach, but at his close proximity he could sense their 

intense probing of him as he passed by each one.  It 

almost seemed that they were trying to flood his mind 

with input.  Were they trying to hide something from 

him, he wondered? 

   The answer to his question appeared five meters in 

front of him when one of the Borg units disconnected 

from his coupling and stepped out of his recess 

blocking Picard's path.  How had the unit done this, 

Picard wondered.  He queried Locutus for an answer 

and found one.  Happily for the Collective, the unit 

facing him had been assigned to a defective power 

coupling that could not accept commands to secure 

his prosthetic hand.  Picard felt as if he was facing the 

entire Collective; one in front of him, and the rest 

creating a veritable storm of confusion in his mind. 

   He had never faced a Borg alone and unarmed.  It 

was funny how he longed for a hand phaser.  Then he 

remembered that having one might not give him any 

advantage at all.  The Borg had already encountered 

Federation hand phasers and knew how to defend 

against their power.  He scolded himself for wasting 

time analyzing the defensive potential of a weapon he 

didn't even have. 

   The unit stepped toward him, pressing him to think 

of some way to deal with its menacing advance.  He 

ruled out attempting to use any sort of martial arts.  

He doubted that he had enough concentration or 

strength to try slugging it out with a Borg. 

   The unit had closed to within two meters of Picard 

and had raised its heavy prosthetic limb.  Picard saw 

that if the unit hit him hard enough at the right angle 

it could roll him over the railing, and he would fall to 

the floor at the base of the chasm. 

   As the unit brought its prosthetic hand down to 

strike Picard, he leaned forward and lunged at it.  Its 

heavy arm missed Picard's head and impacted the 

railing, leaving the unit off balance and resting a major 

portion of its weight on Picard's shoulder.  Picard 

wrapped his arms around the unit's legs and lifted 

with all his strength, using his leverage and the unit's 

own momentum to force it over the railing.  It fell 

silently and hit the floor at the base of the chasm with 

a hollow crunch. 

   Picard forced himself to stand in case other units 

would be freed to block his advance toward Appal's 

bridge.  He felt the Collective analyzing that option.  

He was relieved when they were forced to reject it as 

unworkable.  They were going to let him pass.  They 

were going to let him continue to the bridge, and 

probably attempt to regain control of him there. 

   Picard moved as quickly as he could toward the 

second elevator while still watching the Borg 

prisoners along the walkway.  At last he reached the 

elevator and fell against its rear wall.  Exhausted, he 

reached up and adjusted the control which prompted 

its ascent.  He was grateful for its unhurried 

conveyance to the top level of the cube-ship. 

   As he left the elevator Picard heard the voice of 

Appal giving orders as the Orokans tried in vain to 

successfully outmaneuver the Borg ship.  He followed 

the sounds of the Orokan voices to a chamber halfway 

between the ends of the walkway.  Picard waited 

against the wall at the entrance to Appal's bridge and 

found that he could not think of a suitable, safe way to 

announce his intentions.  He finally decided to risk a 

quick look through the doorway. 

   "They're closing on us again, Sir," announced an 

officer at a tracking station.  "We need another 

innovative maneuver.  They're practically anticipating 

all the standard evasive tactics we've tried." 

   "Suggestions, quickly!" invited the Arch-Regent. 

   Picard saw that Squadron Leader Venel was on the 

bridge, intently watching a viewscreen as the Borg 

cube-ship grew larger on it.  "A Vanti attack-craft 

defensive maneuver," suggested Venel. 

   The Arch-Regent's eyes widened, inspired by Venel's 

proposal.  "Helm, roll this vessel one hundred and 

thirty-five degrees right.  From there, take new 

heading, mark ten," ordered the Arch-Regent. 

   The Orokan cube-ship responded sluggishly in 

performing a maneuver reserved for small, nimble, 

aerobatic atmospheric craft as it almost completely 

inverted itself before angling upward ten degrees.  

From the Orokans' point of reference, the Borg cube-

ship passed underneath them and attempted to turn 

in the same direction they had. 

   "Phasers, fire at them!" shouted the Arch-Regent. 

   The Orokan gunners scored several hits on the Borg 

ship as it sped away from them, but apparently 

inflicted little serious damage. 

   "Tactical display to the screen," directed Appal. 

   The viewscreen showed a computer projection of 

data from the Orokan scanner array.  The Borg ship 

was lining itself up to close on them again.  Arch-

Regent Appal nervously watched the as the Borg 

vessel slid behind his cube-ship and narrowed the 

distance between them. 

   "Helm, roll one hundred and thirty-five degrees left, 

new heading, mark fifteen," ordered the Arch-Regent. 

   This time the Borg almost exactly followed the 

Orokan ship's maneuver, closing the distance and 

firing.  The Orokan ship again shuddered from 

repeated impacts. 

   "They've scored hits, Sir, but they haven't hit any 

areas we're using.  So far, no problems with life 

support." 

   The Borg ship continued firing while the Arch-

Regent struggled under great pressure to invent new 

evasive tactics.  Both cube-ships were racing at high 

warp velocities in virtually a straight line.  As the 

Orokan cube-ship took several more hits, Picard 

stepped into the doorway of the bridge. 

   "Helm, drop velocity to warp two," Picard directed.  

"Come full about, and then go back to maximum 

warp." 

   The Orokan helmsman programmed Picard's 

instructions before realizing he had obeyed a strange 

voice.  The Orokan cube-ship did its best to reverse 

direction, and then sped away from the Borg vessel 

which had been completely surprised by Picard's 

inadvertently executed order.  As they raced away 

from each other, a several-hundred kilometer gap 

opened up between them, but Picard judged that the 

interval would buy only a few minutes of time. 

   An Orokan Security Officer turned toward the 

doorway and discovered Picard still costumed as a 

Borg.  "Borg on the bridge!" he warned as he grabbed 

for the weapon at his side. 

   Picard dived behind an equipment console as the 

Security Officer fired at him.  In his panic-inspired 

leap to protect himself, Picard lost his concentration 

on Locutus who had been waiting for a chance to 

reassert his dominance.  As the Orokan Security 

Officer fired at the console, and as Picard cringed in 

anticipation of being hit by the disruptor fire, Locutus 

and the Collective made their move.  A desperate 

battle of wills erupted in Picard's mind.  He writhed 

on the floor behind the console, kicking, and smashing 

the floor with his fists, repeatedly screaming, "NO!" 

   The Security Officer lowered his weapon and merely 

watched, unsure of what to do.  Another figure in a 

white coat rushed through the bridge doorway and 

roughly pushed the Security Officer aside.  He pressed 

a hypospray against Picard's neck and stepped back. 

   "Physician!  What do you think you're doing?" 

shrieked Appal, rushing toward him and shoving him 

brutally against the wall.  The Physician bounced back 

and pushed the Arch-Regent just as hard before being 

restrained by the Security Officer. 

   "I am trying to give us a chance to survive!" he shouted at Appal; and then he added, "Sir!" in a 

venom-laced tone.  "This man should never have been 

put through what we've done to him!  Picard is not the 

evil Locutus.  Locutus is a disease that the Borg forced 

into him!  We have been so blinded by our need for 

revenge that we're extracting it from the very people 

who are on our own side!  Listen to him, Arch-Regent.  

Hear his experience.  If you don't let him help us, we, 

the last Orokan fighting unit, will fall today before the 

Borg.  They will have won!" 

   Another explosion jarred the ship. 

   "Sir, they're back," reported the Helmsman.  "What 

shall we do?" 

   "Some kind of evasive maneuvering," snapped the 

Arch-Regent.  "Just remember to mix things up." 

   "Good suggestion," Picard grunted as he tried to sit 

up, still dealing with the very unpleasant side effects 

of the Physician's latest dose of anti-Borg medication.  

He sincerely hoped he need not take whatever it was 

every fifteen minutes for the rest of his life. 

   "I'm sorry, Captain Picard," said Appal quietly, barely 

able to meet Picard's eyes.  "I've treated you wrongly, 

and I have ordered my crew to do the same.  I am 

willing to listen to what you have to say.  Can you help 

us?" 

   Picard looked at Appal silently for a moment until a 

robust maneuver executed by the helmsman made 

them all brace themselves against something. 

   "Perhaps," said Picard.  "If this vessel's tractor beam 

is still operational, you might modify it to act as a 

shield projector.  Randomly varying the frequency of 

the field projection in the upper E-M bands will make 

it harder for the Borg to get through it.  Once they 

determine your frequencies and your pattern of 

changes, the shield will be worthless.  You might try 

the same strategy of varying frequencies with the 

energy beam weapons, but be sure to use a different 

random setting from the shields.  These suggestions 

won't completely solve our immediate problems, but 

they might give us more time to think of something 

else." 

   "Thank you, Captain," said Appal gratefully.  He 

stood and shouted over the console, "Get some 

engineers working on Picard's suggestions." 

   Picard started to get up.  Appal took him by the arm 

and asked, "Is it wise for you to move, Captain?" 

   "I shouldn't be in here," Picard told him.  "While I carry these Borg devices, I am part of their Collective.  

Anything that I know, they will know.  You'll 

understand, then, that I can't build your entire battle 

plan.  But if you run out of surprises and are willing to 

take a risk, maybe I can think of something else." 

   "Of course, Captain Picard.  Thank you for what you 

have been able to give us," said the Arch-Regent. 

   The Physician helped Picard step outside the bridge 

doorway.  Picard was feeling weak and sat on the 

walkway, leaning against the wall. 

   "Sir, the Borg ship is almost within firing range," said 

the officer at the tracking station to Appal. 

   The Borg ship fired, and this time its beam was 

absorbed by the new jury-rigged shield. 

   "Shield strength down to sixty percent, Sir." 

   "Try to divert power to it," reminded the Arch-

Regent, "and remember to vary its projected 

frequency." 

   After another blast from the Borg ship, the tracking 

officer announced, "They're still weakening the 

shields, Sir.  Down to forty percent." 

   Appal searched his memory for a source of 

expendable power to be diverted to the failing shields. 

   "Sir, scanners have detected another vessel, directly 

in the path of our retreat," reported the Tracking 

Officer. 

   "Can you identify it?" demanded Appal. 

   "Only as a Federation ship, Sir." 

   "Open a channel," said Appal.  "Transmit on a 

narrow-dispersion subspace beam." 

   "Ready, Sir." 

   "Orokan Arch-Regent Appal calling Federation 

vessel.  If you can respond to my transmission, reply 

to these coordinates only on a narrow-dispersion 

subspace beam." 

   Aboard the Enterprise Captain Riker was studying 

the forward viewscreen.  His Security Officer, 

Lieutenant Worf, had only seconds before informed 

him that he was tracking a Borg ship approaching the 

Enterprise at high warp velocity, and apparently 

under attack. 

   "Are you certain, Lieutenant?" Riker questioned.  "A 

Borg ship, running from an attack?" 

   "I am, Sir," Worf replied positively.  "Notice the intermittent halo effect." 

   "Whatever is chasing it must be directly behind the 

Borg ship," Riker observed. 

   "Sir, an incoming message," announced Worf. 

   Arch-Regent Appal's message sounded over the 

bridge loudspeakers. 

   "Prepare to reply, Lieutenant," ordered Riker grimly. 

   "A narrow-dispersion subspace beam is configured, 

Sir." 

   "This is the Federation Starship Enterprise calling 

Orokan Arch-Regent Appal," Riker began.  "Mister, you 

have some heavy explaining to do!" 

   The Arch-Regent appeared on the Enterprise's 

viewscreen.  "There is no time for explanations now," 

he said urgently.  "We are.. " 

   "Where is Captain Picard?" Riker demanded. 

   "I cannot show him to you now," Appal replied with 

more urgency. 

   "Show… me… Captain… Picard!" Riker commanded. 

   "Alright, just give me a minute," said Appal, resigned to meeting Riker's demand. 

   Arch-Regent Appal ran to the bridge doorway, 

looked down the walkway, and found the Physician 

attending to Picard.  "Physician!" he hissed.  "I must 

speak with you immediately!" 

   Reluctantly the Physician left Picard and joined the 

Arch-Regent.  "We are in contact with a Federation 

Starship," explained the Arch-Regent quietly.  "It is 

Picard's ship, the Enterprise.  Its new Captain, Riker, 

wants to see Picard.  We can't let Picard learn 

anything about what we might plan to do.  Can you 

help me?" 

   "I could medically induce unconsciousness for a few 

minutes," suggested the physician.  "Riker would just 

have to trust your explanation for Picard's condition." 

   A small explosion was absorbed by the shields.  The 

Borg cube-ship had closed to just within firing range. 

   "Alright, do it," agreed Appal.  "Quickly!" 

   Riker had watched on the viewscreen as the Arch-

Regent had run out the rear door, wondering what the 

Orokan Commander would try to pull next.  There was 

a loud gasp from everyone on the Enterprise's bridge 

when Appal and another man dragged an unconscious 

Picard through the door for them to see.  Several 

dismayed expletives were uttered when the added 

Borg devices were perceived. 

   Riker advanced several steps from the command 

chair and demanded, "What have you done to Captain 

Picard?" 

   "A regrettable mistake, Captain Riker!" said the 

Arch-Regent earnestly.  "Picard is unconscious 

because he is linked to the Borg Collective, and could 

pass to them anything he learns.  We are being 

attacked by a Borg ship and are too few in number to 

adequately defend ourselves.  What are we to do?" 

   Riker could not answer.  There were no known 

procedures for successfully repelling an attacking 

Borg ship. 

   "Captain Riker, if you want Picard returned, you 

must help us!" reminded the Arch-Regent. 

   "Alright," said Riker, attempting to ward off the 

confusion of Appal's pleas, "we'll do something." 

   He turned around, looking blankly at everyone on 

the bridge, and found them looking the same way at 

him.  Except for Data.  Judging by the expression on 

his face, Data was busily churning through his 

enormous internal database.  And taking entirely too 

long, Riker decided. 

   Suddenly Riker thought of something.  A long shot, 

to be sure, but long shot ideas were the only things 

that surprised, and were effective against the Borg. 

   "Lieutenant Worf, how quickly can we have those 

terraforming torpedoes for Loriahn loaded into the 

launch tubes?" asked Riker. 

   Worf quickly checked his panels. 

   "As quickly as any other type of torpedo, Sir," he 

replied. 

   "Excellent," smiled Riker.  "Get a full load into the 

forward tubes, Lieutenant." 

   At the helm station, Data turned to face Riker, a 

puzzled look on his face.  "Terraforming torpedoes, 

Sir?" he inquired. 

   "You bet, Data," said Riker enthusiastically.  "They 

have hardened reinforced casings and electronic 

provisions that leave them substantially less affected 

by most known energy fields.  They're designed to 

burrow deep underground before detonating.  I 

should think they would be superior to our 

conventional torpedoes for giving the Borg a deep-

down bellyache." 

   Data turned around with a look of smug 

understanding on his face. 

   "Do you find something amusing about my idea, Mr. 

Data?" asked Riker. 

   "If I understand correctly, Sir, you are preparing to 

give the Borg a pie in the face," Data explained. 

   Riker grinned. 

   "Lieutenant Worf, open a channel to the Arch-

Regent," Riker ordered. 

   A dismayed Appal appeared on the viewscreen.  

"Our shields are gone.  They've disabled most of our 

weapons.  Can you do anything for us?" 

   "Just listen," said Riker calmly.  "Hold your present 

heading, right toward us.  When I tell you, veer 

sharply away from your attacker in any direction and 

keep going as fast as you can without looking back.  

We'll rendezvous back at the Diamont." 

   "Mister Data," Riker said to his helmsman, "when the 

Orokans veer off, turn exactly opposite the direction 

they take.  If the Borg can still fight, they won't be able to chase both of us at the same time." 

   Riker focused on the viewscreen.  "Mr. Worf, bring 

us to red alert.  Data, take us to warp nine, now." 

   As the Enterprise leaped ahead, Riker said, "Mr. 

Worf, distance to the Orokan ship." 

   "One hundred and eighty thousand kilometers, Sir." 

   "This is going to be close," said Riker.  "Fire the 

photon torpedoes, Lieutenant Worf!" 

   To the Arch-Regent on the viewscreen Riker 

declared, "Appal, turn away, now! 

   The Enterprise viewscreen display was adjusted to 

an external view of Appal's cube-ship.  It lumbered 

upward and to its right, exposing the Borg cube-ship 

close behind it.  Riker held the Enterprise on its 

heading, boring in toward the Borg ship to hold its 

attention off the Orokans. 

   The first two arriving torpedoes were caught by the 

Borg shields and detonated.  The explosions opened a 

weak area in the shielding through which the 

remaining torpedoes traveled. 

   "Now, Data, take us aside!" Riker ordered. 

   Worf switched the viewscreen display over to the 

ship's rear scanners.  One of the remaining torpedoes 

detonated on the Borg ship's surface.  The rest, as 

Riker had hoped, had burrowed to the cube-ship's 

interior before exploding.  Areas of the cube-ship's 

surface momentarily brightened from the interior 

explosions.  It seemed that one of the torpedoes might 

have been deflected toward one of the sides as a large 

portion of the exterior erupted away from the ship.  

The Borg ship tumbled slightly, then righted itself. 

   "Sir, the Borg vessel's power output is down seventy 

percent," reported Data. 

   "According to Commander Shelby, that ship could 

still fight with one hundred percent efficiency at that 

diminished level of output," stated Riker.  "Lay in a 

course for Caldar-Signet Five and get us out of here!" 

                          ***   CHAPTER SEVEN   *** 

   Picard opened his eyes, and without moving his head 

he looked around.  Where he was appeared to be 

clean, and the crisp, cool air carried a vague scent of 

medicines.  When he lifted his head to look around, a 

small subdued orange light over his head began 

flashing on and off.  He was lying in a bed, covered, but 

not restrained.  Muted sounds which he heard and the 

appearance of the room suggested that he was still 

aboard a vessel of Borg design.  Other people, some 

heavily bandaged, lay in beds dispersed about the 

room.  He hoped what he was seeing meant that he 

was still aboard the Orokan cube-ship, perhaps in a 

section which had been converted into a medical 

facility recovery room. 

   The door to the room opened, and the Physician 

entered.  "Ah, Captain Picard, you've awakened," he 

said cheerfully as he switched off the flashing light 

above Picard's bed. 

   "If I remember correctly we were being attacked by 

another Borg ship.  I no longer hear sounds of battle.  

What happened after I lost consciousness?" asked 

Picard. 

   "Your Enterprise found us," the Physician explained as he retrieved a medical scanner from his pocket and 

began examining Picard.  "It attacked the Borg ship 

and gave us a chance to escape.  It did an incredible 

job, too, from what I'm told.  Whatever it hit them with 

really got their attention.  As it was last seen, your 

Enterprise was scooting away from the Borg ship as 

fast as we were.  The Borg never got off a shot at it, so 

I don't think it was even damaged." 

   "Whatever happened to the Borg ship?" Picard 

asked. 

   "As we were passing out of scanner range it 

appeared to be slowing down with no change in 

course," the Physician told him as he completed his 

examination. 

   More than anything Picard wanted to know what 

new weapon or twist to existing technology the 

Enterprise had been able to use against the Borg ship, 

but he still wore the Borg devices and felt echoes of 

the Collective's presence.  The Borg Collective 

Consciousness was still privy to anything he knew, 

therefore his having knowledge of what the 

Enterprise had done might prove dangerous to his 

ship and crew, and might compromise the technique's 

effectiveness if an attempt was made to use it again.  

For now he was satisfied that his ship and crew had 

apparently withdrawn from the battle unscathed. 

   "What happened to me after I left the bridge, and 

how did I get here?" Picard wanted to know. 

   "We had to sedate you so you couldn't let the Borg 

know about the arrival of the Enterprise" the 

Physician replied.  "The element of surprise we 

protected by putting you to sleep and bringing you 

down here was vital in enabling both our ships to 

escape.  Now, to give you some good news, I think I've 

finally found a way to give you your medication 

without subjecting you to large doses.  I've implanted 

an intelligent sub-dermal medicator in you.  If the 

level of medication in your blood falls below the 

programmed level, the device will dispense more.  It 

should keep those nasty Borg influences in their place 

without the unpleasant side effects." 

   "Why didn't you just remove the devices?" Picard 

asked. 

   The Physician took a very slow, deep breath, and 

gazed at the ceiling for a long moment.  "I don't know 

how," he admitted quietly, looking at Picard and ready 

to accept whatever punishment Picard saw fit to 

impose. 

   "Might I ask why?" Picard gently inquired. 

   What kind of man is this, wondered the Physician.  

He should be screaming at me, or trying to kill me, or 

pulling the sheets over his head so he won't have to 

look at me.  Something.  Anything except just lying 

there and trying to understand. 

   The Physician looked at the floor.  "The truth is that 

removing the devices was never part of the plan," he 

admitted uncomfortably. 

   "I was judged guilty and sentenced to death before 

the trial even started?" suggested Picard. 

   "Originally the plan was to simply execute you," said 

the Physician still speaking to the floor.  Then, 

realizing he had made a mistake, he looked at Picard.  

"Not you, actually, but Locutus.  He was the intended 

target.  There was a difference, you see." 

   "From my point of view, there would have been little 

substantial difference," Picard pointed out.  "Either 

way I would have ceased to exist." 

   "Yes, you have shown us that error today," said the 

Physician.  "I think we now realize that you had 

always been trying to resist the Collective's control 

over you.  That's probably what the Arch-Regent is 

trying to work out now." 

   "I don't understand." 

   "The trial, Captain.  We haven't properly finished the 

trial," the Physician explained.  "You see, the trial was 

Appal's idea.  He had his own reasons for wanting to 

legally put Locutus to death.  He can sometimes be an 

annoying stickler for protocol and procedure.  Now 

that he has opened trial proceedings, he needs a 

proper way to close the book on things.  That's what 

he is trying to work out." 

   Picard merely raised an eyebrow.  Was the Arch-

Regent genuinely sorry for this affair, or was he now 

devising a way to minimize the anger of the 

Federation?  With only a crew of several hundred 

people and one ship he certainly wouldn't need two 

powerful enemies hunting him down. 

   As if to invoke an appearance by speaking about him, 

Arch-Regent Appal came striding into the recovery 

room to stand by Picard's bed.  "How are you feeling, 

Captain Picard," he beamed. 

   "I suppose as well as can be expected," said Picard, 

glancing toward the Physician. 

   "Good.  There is unfinished business between us," 

Appal said to Picard.  "Is your patient fit enough to 

take a short walk?" he inquired of the Physician. 

   "He is all yours, Sir," said the Physician. 

   "Shall we, Captain?" Appal asked, holding out his 

open hand toward the door. 

   Picard pushed aside the sheets and sat on the edge 

of the bed.  Feeling no ill effects, he tried to stand.  

Again there were no problems, and, followed by 

Appal, he walked through the door. 

   Together they made their way to the doorway 

outside the courtroom.  The two attendants 

performed the same ceremony Picard had previously 

witnessed as Locutus.  When the doors opened, Picard 

and Appal walked down the courtroom's center aisle.  

The surviving members of the crew were respectfully 

present in full dress uniforms in the tiered seating in 

the spectator area.  When they reached the gate in the 

railing before the arena, the officer who had acted as 

Locutus' Defending Advocate opened the gate for 

them.  They entered the arena where Picard stared 

uncomfortably at the hexagonal platform where 

Locutus had been restrained.  He felt a hand on his 

shoulder.  When he turned, the Arch-Regent was 

indicating that he should take a seat in a second chair 

which had been placed at the Defending Advocate's 

table.  "Please be seated here, Captain," the Arch-

Regent said.  "I must collect my judicial robes, and 

then we will end this affair." 

   The Arch-Regent strode across the arena and left 

through the door in the far wall.  In a matter of 

minutes the jury had been seated, the Arch-Regent, 

wearing his robes, had taken his seat in the balcony, 

and court had been called into session. 

   The Arch-Regent took his new gavel in hand and 

tapped it three times on the scarred surface of his 

narrow desk.  The room became quiet. 

   "At our point of recess," the Arch-Regent began, "the 

Defending Advocate had made a motion to dismiss 

charges against the defendant, pointing out the error 

of circumstantial evidence, even though it was 

erroneously cited before the Prosecuting Advocate 

had rested his case.  On that technicality, I would have 

had to overrule it.  Fortunately, Captain Picard's 

actions during the Borg attack have served to remind 

us all of the most revered tenet of our system of laws.  

Forgive me if my command of ancient Dynastic 

Standard is somewhat rusty, but I believe the 

principle was first stated like this: Intentum Regula 

Supremus.  'The intent of the law is supreme'.  As we 

pass judgement in our courts, we must never lose 

sight of the stated intent of our laws.  That is to say, 

judicial pronouncements complying with the letter of 

the law can not stand if they conflict with the stated 

reason for enacting the law in the first place.  In those 

cases, the intent of the law takes precedence over the 

letter of the law.  The stated intent of the law applying 

to the charge under which the defendant was brought 

to trial was to 'justly deal out punishment to those 

who demonstrate a threat to the peoples of the 

Orokan Colonies'.  By his own actions, Captain Picard 

has demonstrated that he is in no way a threat, but is 

sympathetic to the Orokan cause, and no friend of the 

Borg.  I am therefore ruling that charges were 

inappropriately brought against Captain Picard, and 

they are hereby dropped.  Captain Picard, your record 

is cleared." 

   You have cleared my record, mused Picard, but you 

have not been able to free me of this Borg hardware.  

Picard could not bring himself to completely trust 

Arch-Regent Appal.  He still believed that Appal's 

softened attitude was part of a new scheme to 

ingratiate himself with Starfleet Command.  Picard 

cynically wondered how solid an alliance between 

Appal and Starfleet could ever be.  For the time being 

Picard felt his best course of action was to humor the 

Orokans until he could persuade them to return him 

to Starfleet custody.  Starfleet would waste no time in 

reuniting him with Dr. Crusher, who had the 

experience to rid him of his hardware ties to the Borg. 

   The Arch-Regent placed his papers in a folder and 

left the balcony.  The spectators stood at attention and 

saluted as Picard and the Defending Advocate walked 

through the center aisle and left the courtroom. 

   Outside the doors, Picard shook the Defending 

Advocate's hand.  "Thank you," Picard said to him.  

"When did you decide to come over to my side?" 

   "I'm ashamed to say that it was right before I made 

the dismissal motion," the Advocate admitted.  "I lost 

my family in the Borg attacks, and I was just going to 

let the prosecution eat you - I mean, Locutus - alive.  I 

told the Arch-Regent that I hadn't done any research 

on your case.  That was incorrect.  Actually I had read 

your personality profile from the diplomatic reports.  

The man the prosecution was building with its 

testimony just wasn't you.  I wondered if I would like 

someone with whom I was personally acquainted 

being set up like that.  I guess I'm just cursed with a 

conscience." 

   "That is a curse I would like to have invoked on 

many more people," Picard smiled.  "Thank you 

again." 

   Now, after having spoken with the Defending 

Advocate, Picard began to wonder if possibly not all 

Orokans were as deceitful as the Arch-Regent 

appeared to be.  He made a mental note to include this 

psychological possibility in the report he would 

prepare when he was able. 

   The Physician approached them, looking at Picard.  

"Captain Picard," he said, "for security reasons the 

Arch-Regent has asked that you confine yourself to my 

recovery room.  The problem, you understand, is your 

link to the Collective.  Besides, I can better monitor 

you there." 

   "I am forced to agree with you," said Picard.  "What 

will happen to me now?" 

   The Physician thought for a moment as they started 

walking away from the courtroom.  "I understand that 

we will rendezvous with your people at a location I 

cannot reveal to you.  You will probably be returned 

to them.  I wish I could be a part of removing those 

devices from you before we part company." 

   "Perhaps you could be," Picard said hopefully.  "Dr. 

Crusher, the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise, 

has already performed that service for me once.  I'm 

sure she'd value your input when she makes a second 

attempt.  I'll ask her to consider it." 

   "Thank you, Captain Picard," said the physician gratefully.  "That would greatly ease my conscience." 

                                              *   *   * 

   Captain Riker had ordered a course back to Caldar-

Signet Five that was both devious, and yet not so time 

consuming as to allow the Orokan cube-ship to arrive 

at the rendezvous first.  There had been no signs of 

any ships following them when they gracefully slid 

alone into a synchronous orbit with the now empty 

Diamont.  As the Enterprise had traveled back to the 

Diamont, Dr. Crusher and her staff had begun 

preparing for the difficult task of surgically restoring 

Captain Picard to his former state of being.  The 

matter of what to do with Picard when he was 

returned predominantly occupied Riker's thoughts.  

He weighed his first impulse to rush Picard 

immediately to Dr. Crusher in sick bay against a 

compelling need for information about the intentions 

of the Borg ship in the sector.  No matter which choice 

he made he could possibly receive and lose something 

of great value.  If the need to make the decision 

quickly fell upon him, Riker knew what his choice 

would be, but there still seemed to be time to consider 

the feelings of trusted friends who were now also 

supposed to be his advisors.  He made the decision to 

call his senior officers together for another staff 

meeting. 

   "I'm pretty sure that everyone is getting a little tired 

of running up here for staff meetings," Riker 

apologized at the beginning of the meeting, "but our 

situation has reached a point beyond which I am 

reluctant to proceed without fielding some candid 

input from my department heads.  The Orokan crew 

and the Borg ship which they currently control will 

shortly join us next to the Diamont.  At that time they 

will return Captain Picard, who for some reason has 

had the misfortune of rejoining the Borg Collective.  

Related to Captain Picard's condition is the fact that a 

Borg ship is snooping around the borders of this 

sector.  I can't tell you what Starfleet will want us to 

do about these developments, but I'd like to have 

some kind of proposal to present to them." 

   "How did the Orokans take over a Borg ship?" asked 

LaForge incredulously. 

   "I don't know," Riker admitted.  "We'll just have to 

wait and see if they'll tell us.  My personal feeling is 

that a fortuitous stroke of good luck was somehow 

involved.  At any rate, I'm sure Starfleet will be 

anxious to get engineering teams out here to examine 

an intact piece of Borg technology.  Information of that 

nature would be beneficial to both us and the 

Orokans." 

   "What if they refuse to let us examine their Borg 

ship?" asked Lt. Worf. 

   "I suggest that we prepare for any eventuality," said 

Riker. 

   "Don't you think that's being a little hostile, 

Captain?" Counsellor Troi pointed out. 

   "Not if you consider that we do not know how 

Captain Picard was rejoined to the Collective," 

responded Riker, "or by whom.  Until we get some 

answers, we're not going to blindly assume friendship 

of anybody." 

   "Whatever the reason for Captain Picard's 

misfortune, we're prepared to undo the damage," 

assured Dr. Crusher. 

   "I'm sure you are, Doctor," said Riker, "which brings 

us to a matter we must discuss: whether or not to 

remove the Captain from the Collective when he 

returns." 

   "Why would he want to stay in the Collective?" asked 

an astounded Dr. Crusher. 

   "Because knowledge is power," contributed Lt. Worf.   

"Captain Picard will realize that knowledge of the 

Borg's intentions could be a valuable asset." 

   "But knowledge gained at what cost?" demanded Dr. 

Crusher. 

   "Would this be a determination that Captain Picard 

can be trusted to make?" asked Counsellor Troi.  "I 

mean, if he elected to stay with the Collective, would 

he be making the choice of his own free will?" 

   "Counsellor Troi has made an important point, 

Captain," said Data.  "It is conceivable that the Borg 

could use Captain Picard to feed us disinformation, or 

to learn something of our own intentions toward 

them." 

   "Captain, the Orokans are carrying Borg prisoners," 

said LaForge.  "Engineering could rebuild the interface 

we used on Locutus in sector zero-zero-one and use it 

to tap into one of their prisoner's subspace Collective 

links.  That way without using Captain Picard we 

could collect raw data from the Collective and make 

our own determinations from it." 

   "Security to Captain Riker." 

   "Go ahead," Riker responded to the interruption. 

   "Sir, we are receiving transmissions from the Orokan cube-ship.  They are approaching Caldar-Signet Five." 

   "Thank you, Security.  Continue monitoring," said 

Riker. 

   "Commander LaForge," Riker said to the Chief 

Engineer, "start working on your interface.  I'll try to 

get you a suitable subject to work with." 

                                              *  *  * 

   Captain Riker, Counsellor Troi, Dr. Crusher, and 

Lieutenant Worf had assembled in transporter room 

three.  The Orokan cube-ship had entered orbit near 

the Diamont and had started transferring part of its 

crew back to the diamond ship.  As they went about 

powering up systems aboard the Diamont, Arch-

Regent Appal had tried to prepare himself for the 

fallout resulting from his attempted kidnapping and 

trial of Captain Picard.  Altogether the people under 

his command, the last known survivors of the Orokan 

Colonies, numbered less than five hundred, nowhere 

near the complement a diamond ship had been 

designed to carry.  Weighing heavily on Appal's mind 

was whether he and his staff would be recognized by 

Starfleet as the surviving government of the Orokan 

Colonies or regarded as leaders of a band of brigands 

and pirates.  Appal could sense that he would be 

facing disbelieving outrage from Picard's superiors in 

Starfleet, but he was betting that the telling of the 

entire stunning story of the Borg attacks against the 

Colonies and of the losses each member of his crew 

had experienced would sway Starfleet toward 

leniency.  Perhaps they would settle for an apology, 

and then let him go about the business of continuing 

his war against the Borg.  He might even offer to strike 

an alliance with them, at least temporarily, to deal 

with the Borg ship they had left somewhere along the 

outer border of the sector. 

                                           *  *  * 

   "Sir, the Orokan cube-ship is hailing us," reported 

the Transporter Officer to Riker. 

   Addressing an Orokan officer who had appeared on 

the transporter room's viewscreen, Riker said, "Are 

you ready to transport Captain Picard?" 

   "Captain Picard is ready for transport, Captain 

Riker," replied the Orokan officer, "and as you 

requested, his physician will accompany him." 

   "Bring them over," ordered Riker. 

   The transporter officer adjusted the controls on his 

panel, and seconds later Captain Picard and the 

Orokan Physician materialized on the transporter 

pads. 

   "Welcome home, Captain," said Riker, still not fully 

able to accept what had been done to Picard. 

   "How are you, Jean-Luc?" asked Dr. Crusher with a 

half-smile filled with concern and relief at having him 

back in friendly hands. 

   "It's good to see you all," said Picard sincerely.  He 

looked at Riker.  "Very impressive, Will.  I see you've 

wrangled a promotion." 

   "Only temporarily, Sir," smiled Riker.  "As soon as Dr. 

Crusher certifies you fit for duty, the Enterprise is 

yours." 

   "The ship is in good hands, I'm sure," Picard said to 

Riker.  He then turned to Dr. Crusher.  "Beverly, I need 

to schedule an appointment, at your earliest possible 

convenience, please." 

   "Already done, Captain," said Dr. Crusher, 

encouraged by Picard's sense of humor.  "Let's get you 

to sick bay."  Her eyes fell on the Orokan Physician, 

the man who had performed the implantation 

procedures on Picard.  "Please accompany me," she 

said to him, with great difficulty keeping her voice free 

of emotion.  "I'll need to know about everything that 

has been done to Captain Picard." 

   As Picard, Dr. Crusher, and the Orokan Physician left 

the transporter room, Lt. Worf fell into step behind 

the Physician. 

   Riker turned to the Transporter Officer.  "Hail the 

Orokan cube-ship and transport the Arch-Regent over 

here.  Counsellor Troi, would you please escort him to 

my ready room?" 

   "Aren't you going to wait to receive him?" asked 

Troi. 

   "No, Counsellor," Riker said solemnly.  "I'm going to 

establish who's in charge here by having the Arch-

Regent come to me." 

   Riker left the transporter room seconds before the 

Arch-Regent materialized on a transporter pad.  

Knowing that Riker would need time to reach the 

ready room and appear to have been there for a while, 

Troi attempted to stall for the needed time. 

   "How do you do, Arch-Regent.  I am Ship's 

Counsellor Deanna Troi," she said, offering a hand to 

shake. 

   "Pleased, I'm sure," responded Appal as he held her 

hand and bowed.  He then looked about the room.  

"Where is Captain Riker?" 

   "The Captain will soon see you in his ready room," 

smiled Troi pleasantly. 

   There followed several minutes of uncomfortable 

silence which was eventually broken by Appal.  "Did 

Captain Riker say how soon?" 

   "Not specifically," said Troi thoughtfully.  "I'll call 

him and see if he is free." 

   Troi opened a channel from the transporter room 

control console.  "Counsellor Troi to Captain Riker." 

   "Yes, Counsellor?" 

   "Are you free to receive Arch-Regent Appal, Sir?" 

   "Yes I am, Counsellor.  Please bring him up." 

   Troi took a step toward the transporter room door.  

"This way, Sir," she said to Appal. 

   As they walked together through the corridor, Appal 

asked, "What sort of man is Captain Riker?" 

    Troi thought for a moment before answering, "An 

outstanding officer, who likes to hear the truth when 

he asks a question." 

   Appal was quiet during the ride on the turbolift to 

the bridge.  Counsellor Troi gave Appal little time to 

study the Enterprise's bridge as she guided him to the 

ready room door and requested entry. 

   "Come," said Riker. 

   Appal and Troi entered the ready room and stood 

before Riker's desk. 

   "Will you need me for anything else, Sir?" Troi asked. 

   "No, Counsellor, that will be all.  Thank you." 

   When Counsellor Troi had left, Riker said to Appal, 

"Please have a seat, Arch-Regent.  Starfleet Command 

wants to know a little more about you, and your 

people.  To be frank, they were very displeased when 

they learned of what you had done to Captain Picard.  

Starfleet takes incidents like this quite seriously, and 

they are anxious for an explanation.  And to add to 

their frankness, in my personal opinion you have 

subjected the best officer I have ever served under to 

unpardonable abuse.  I, too, want to know why." 

   "Then I shall start at the beginning," said Appal, 

slipping into a chair in front of the captain’s desk.  

"Many thousands of years ago, we Orokans and the 

Borg were of the same people, under the rule of the 

Diamont Dynasty.  The Diamont Emperors had united 

our entire planet, and had established colonies and 

outposts throughout our star system.  They were the 

longest reigning family dynasty in our history.  They 

were all totalitarian rulers, some benevolent, and 

some not.  They were wonderful organizers, having 

made an art of placing the right people and resources 

together to get things done efficiently.  They took 

much pride in this ability, and decreed that its 

principles should be taught in all the Imperial Schools.  

We became a race of conditioned, efficient, and 

organized people." 

   "Unfortunately in our organizer's utopia, dissidents 

began saying that our system was turning our society 

into a giant colony of insects.  They complained that 

everyone was following the plans of a few privileged 

organizers; doing, without a say in what should be 

done.  They tried to weaken the centralized control of 

the Dynasty's planners.  There were rallies.  

Demagogues preached themes of democracy and self-

determination, and undermined the authority of the 

Emperors." 

   "The Emperor's militia made arrests, those arrested 

became martyrs, the dissident movement grew, and 

we became embroiled in a civil war.  At first the rebels 

and the Imperialists were nearly equal in numbers, 

but the Imperialists controlled important factions of 

the military and the industrial base.  Within several 

decades, the imperialists had made significant 

progress against the rebels, and both sides began to 

realize that the rebels would eventually lose." 

   "The rebels had been attempting to govern 

themselves democratically, and more than anything 

else, their experiments in this untested and inefficient 

system, during what was for them a time of crisis, was 

responsible for their lack of success against the 

Imperialists.  Their efforts were hindered by 

squabbling between many self-centered factions, 

while the Imperialists worked with common purpose.  

The rebels were so radically democratic, that they 

even tried to run their military by those principles.  

Eventually a few of their more innovative leaders 

began to understand what was happening.  They put 

forth the idea that certain concessions needed to be 

made in personal freedoms until the threat from the 

Imperialists was eliminated." 

   "By placing authority in the hands of their most 

qualified people, they managed to revive several of 

their stalled military projects.  The one that was to 

have the greatest impact on the struggle was 

codenamed BORG.  The project's first stage was 

merely an enhancement of their soldiers' abilities 

through implantation of cybernetic devices; mostly 

enhanced sensory equipment such as laser ranging 

ocular modules and audio enhancers.  They were 

somewhat effective in that they slowed the progress 

of the Imperialists." 

   "The second stage of BORG involved linking the 

devices of the individual troops into a great network.  

Computers analyzed the devices' input and 

recommended remedial strategies.  That 

improvement put the rebels on roughly equal footing 

with the Imperialists." 

   "The third stage of BORG involved the 

implementation of a new technology.  The significant 

improvement of this phase was the first incarnation of 

the Collective Consciousness they still use today.  It 

allowed the joining of the individual soldiers 

themselves into a network, and without the previous 

concessions they had made in personal freedoms, this 

would never have come about." 

   "The rebel Collective Consciousness began to think 

as one mind, and they became devastatingly effective 

against the Imperialist forces.  They turned the tide of 

the whole war around, scoring victory after victory, 

and they became enraptured with power.  In their 

grandest scheme of all, they planned to place their 

entire population into their Collective network for a 

decisive strike against the Imperialists.  When the 

Emperor learned of this, he authorized the evacuation 

of his most loyal and valuable supporters to a new 

base in a neighboring star system, in those days a 

journey of several years.  He left behind on our home 

world specially trained teams to harass the Borg after 

they took over the planet." 

   "I have to mention an important point, Captain 

Riker.  Up to this point in the war the Borg could turn 

off the Collective Consciousness.  They did this to 

provide times of rest and normalcy for their people.  It 

was a concession to individual freedoms.  This system 

worked for them until one of the Imperial harassment 

teams secretly broke into the Borg network and made 

an attempt to corrupt the computers controlling the 

Collective Consciousness.  No one is sure of what 

happened, but it is assumed that the corruptor 

program they installed bled into the wrong memory 

banks, and among other things, disabled the turnoff 

function.  The result seems to have been that the Borg 

have remained to this day a permanent Collective 

mind." 

   "This was the worst thing that could have happened 

to the Imperialists.  The Borg computers had become 

fixated on the idea of relentlessly pursuing and 

destroying the Imperialists, and driven by their 

computers' corrupted programming, the Collective 

came after the Imperialists with a vengeance.  The 

Borg no longer had any regard for life.  They just 

destroyed, or took whatever they thought would be of 

some use to them." 

   "Imperialist trust in the Emperor quickly 

disappeared.  Rather than have the entire government 

collapse, the Emperor's advisors established the 

Council of Regents which assumed all governing 

functions.  At that point, the Diamont Dynasty ended, 

and we Imperialist Orokans took our first step toward 

a more democratic system of government, which we 

have been refining ever since." 

   "Wait a minute," interrupted Riker.  "Do you mean 

that your people are descendants of those loyal to the 

Imperialist Dynasty?" 

   "We are, Captain," affirmed the Arch-Regent.  "We and the Borg are fighting a blood feud that has lasted 

thousands of years." 

   "Have you attempted to find a peaceful resolution to 

your differences?" asked Riker. 

   "We've tried," said Appal.  "But the Borg can no 

longer listen.  'Peace is irrelevant', they told us.  

Captain Riker, this war cannot end until one side is 

completely eliminated, and it would be better for all 

civilizations if it was their side which perished." 

   Riker considered Appal's opinion for a moment and 

then tried to return to his story. 

   "How did you and the Borg arrive here?" Riker 

prompted. 

   "The Borg kept finding us and we kept retreating," 

said Appal.  "We would develop new military 

technologies and they would eventually copy them, or 

steal something better from another race.  There 

would be more fighting.  Sometimes we would score a 

temporary victory, but the Borg always came back 

with something better, and we would have to move 

on.  We tried splitting groups up and settling on 

separate worlds, and that confused them for a while.  

But, as you can guess, they adapted.  For thousands of 

years this happened, and the Council of Regents at last 

resolved to put a stop to it.  They convened a congress 

of our best minds that lasted for months without a 

satisfactory solution." 

   "Then one evening one of our finest strategists was 

relaxing in the theatre.  After much effort he had 

gotten admissions for the last scheduled production of 

a play he much admired.  It was written by Caleb 

Diamont, a descendant of the last Emperor, and was a 

dramatization of an ancient fable about a cruel despot 

named Sherank." 

   "Sherank was the second oldest son of an emperor 

who killed his older brother, and his uncle, and his 

parents, and then assumed the throne of his dead 

father.  He maintained his authority through fear and 

cruelty, and he came to be hated by his subjects and 

by neighboring monarchs.  Consequently, many 

attempts were made on his life.  It was said that his 

senses of hearing, sight, and smell were so keen that 

no assassin could approach him without his knowing 

of their presence.  He was such an accomplished 

master of the arts of self-defense that no assassin, not 

even the strongest assailants his enemies' money 

could buy, ever lived to tell of their failure.  He could 

even smell poisons in his food.  It seemed there was 

no way to be rid of him.  Then one day Sherank was in 

his palace garden, searching for a fresh flower with 

which to decorate himself, as was his daily custom.  He 

spied one that pleased his fancy, and he picked it, 

unknowingly choosing a flower in which a vanti bee 

had been feeding.  The startled bee flew out and stung 

the Emperor on the cheek.  He struck at the bee, and it 

fell to the ground, nearly dead.  With its last breath it 

cried out to its brothers to avenge it’s dying, and the 

entire hive of vanti bees swarmed onto Sherank and 

eventually killed him with the venom in their stings.  

Thus, what the mighty could not accomplish by 

strength and confrontation, the tiny vanti bees could 

do because the powerful Sherank could not defend 

himself against a swarm of determined tiny 

attackers." 

   "This, Captain Riker, was what had inspired the 

strategist.  He proposed to the Council of Regents the 

building of a fleet of great ships, which would each 

carry a large complement of small, nimble, and 

powerful attack craft.  Artificial hives of artificial vanti 

bees to sting the Borg cubes to death.  And because 

the strategist had received his inspiration at the last 

performance of the play, the one on which the final 

curtain was drawn, he named his proposal FINAL 

CURTAIN.  He envisioned his fleet bringing down a 

final curtain on the drama of the Borg existence." 

   "The Council of Regents approved his idea.  It was at this point that the Orokan Colonies saw the need for 

an improved security system, a need we thought we 

had met with the purchase of the plans to the MX-35 

system from those Ferengi arms merchants.  We 

implemented the system and started building the 

Diamond Ships and the Vanti attack craft.  A year ago, 

so close to completing the project, the Borg attacked 

us on a larger scale than they had ever used before.  

Only my ship, the Diamont, and five hundred military 

personnel escaped the annihilation of our race." 

   "We survivors made diplomatic inquiries and 

learned of Captain Picard's captivity with the Borg.  

The evidence we assembled led us to believe he, as 

Locutus, had given the Borg what they had needed to 

sneak through our security system undetected.  And 

so, Locutus was apprehended and tried for his alleged 

crimes.  As soon as we understood the relationship 

between Picard and Locutus, the charges were 

dropped.  And, Picard has been returned to you, 

Captain Riker, with our heartfelt apologies for any 

inconveniences we have caused." 

   Riker fought the impulse to leap over his desk and 

throttle Arch-Regent Appal.  He hoped the irritation 

he felt at Appal's callous attitude toward what his 

people had tried to do to Picard was not showing on 

his face.  He found himself using Klingon mental 

disciplines learned from Lt. Worf to regain control of 

himself. 

   "Starfleet is very interested in the Borg ship you 

control," Riker said to Appal.  "How did you manage to 

get possession of it?" 

   "Its crew was sick; most of them had died," 

answered Appal.  "We merely overpowered the 

infirmed remnants of the crew, and generously saved 

their lives." 

   "We would like to take custody of one of your 

prisoners," Riker proposed.  "My engineers think they 

have a way to tie into the Borg network to get 

information without passing anything back to them." 

   "I would be happy to share one of my prisoners, 

Captain," smiled Appal.  "Then there would be one less 

drain on my resources.  Give me temporary access to 

your communications, and I'll arrange it right away." 

                                            *    *    * 

   Dr. Crusher thoroughly examined Picard before 

surgery.  Upon having seen Picard's agglomeration of 

Borg hardware and remembering that she was in the 

same room with the person who had reintegrated him 

into the Borg Collective, she had at first behaved 

coldly toward the Orokan Physician.  She had been 

pleased with her ability to make him quite 

uncomfortable in her presence, but as she had 

progressed further into the examination, and had 

needed to talk to the Physician about his procedures 

and the medications he had used, she had found that 

he was disarmingly shy.  Her awareness of this quality 

almost caused her to soften her outlook toward him.  

Suddenly she became angry with herself.  What would 

Picard think of her if she did not try to make him 

suffer as much as she believed Picard had been made 

to suffer? 

   "Well, you seem to have done an admirable job of 

giving me a new challenge to overcome!" she said icily 

to the Physician as she reviewed the results of 

Picard's medical tests. 

   Picard took her hand from the edge of the 

examination table, held it in his, and said, "Beverly, 

among the Orokans are many good people.  This man 

is one of them.  I am fully aware of what has been 

done to me.  Regardless of that I have made my peace 

with him.  I think you should understand, the fact that 

I am here at all is because of his persistent 

intervention on my behalf.  He has asked to be a part 

of the team that removes these devices from me, so as 

a favor to me..  " 

   "Of course, Jean-Luc," Dr. Crusher said to Picard 

before turning to the Physician.  "I'm sorry.  I have 

reacted a little too emotionally." 

   "I think I can understand why," observed the 

Physician.  "Friendship, going back a long way." 

   "Yes, - a long way," Dr. Crusher reflected.  "If you 

would like to ..  join our team, you can go with my 

assistants and they'll see that you're properly 

prepared." 

   The Physician smiled and left with Crusher's staff to 

prepare for surgery. 

   "Just lie here and think positive thoughts, Jean-Luc," 

Crusher smiled confidently to Picard.  "I'll be back in a 

minute, and then we'll start pulling these gadgets off 

and feeding them to the recycling portal." 

                                            *    *    * 

   "Starfleet has never encountered a weapons system 

like the Diamont," said Captain Riker to Arch-Regent 

Appal.  "They are very curious about the tactics it 

would use to engage a Borg ship." 

   "You have made an incorrect assumption, Captain 

Riker," responded Appal after a moment's careful 

thought.  "Our Diamond Ships were never designed to 

operate alone.  A number of them would have 

attacked a target at one time by first releasing their 

Vanti attack craft to disable the Borg ship’s surface 

defenses.  Before the Borg managed to regenerate and 

counterattack, the Vantis would retire.  Then the 

Diamond Ships themselves would close in and use 

their more powerful weaponry to finish the job." 

   "I see," said Riker.  "Has this strategy ever been used 

in actual combat?" 

   "All of the Diamond Ships became heavily damaged 

in the Borg attacks before they could mount any kind 

of defense," explained the Arch-Regent.  "What 

resistance they did offer was regrettably too little too 

late.  The effectiveness of my Diamont against a Borg 

ship is still only theoretical, Captain, but it is a theory 

in which we still have full confidence.  When our 

repairs and preparations are complete, we plan to 

take the Diamont and our cube-ship into battle against 

the Borg vessel which is scouting the periphery of 

your territory." 

   "Arch-Regent, you do not have enough of a crew to 

give one ship a fighting chance against the Borg," said 

Riker in his most forceful and hopefully convincing 

voice.  "It would be foolish for you to risk the cube-

ship in combat again.  Starfleet is most anxious to have 

its top engineering minds go over that ship.  To 

understand their technology is vital to our mutual 

survival.. " 

   "Captain Riker," interrupted the Arch-Regent with a 

slight mocking sneer, "there was an old saying in the 

Orokan colonies. 'Possession is the greater part of 

ownership.'" 

   "Granted, your people are currently in possession of 

the cube-ship, Arch-Regent," said Riker, his eyes 

narrowing and a smug, impish smile forming on his 

lips, "but let me remind you that you and your crew 

are presently within the jurisdiction of the United 

Federation of Planets.  As the Federation 

representative out here I will decide if you face 

charges of abducting a Starfleet Captain and a host of 

other supporting charges.  I want you to pay close 

attention because I'm going to put my cards on the 

table.  First, the behavior you demonstrated to our 

diplomatic delegation was treacherous and 

deplorable.  Second, your crew doesn't know enough 

about that cube-ship to safely move it, much less take 

it into combat.  And third, since you have so effectively 

demonstrated your unfamiliarity with the cube-ship, I 

will not stand by and let you destroy an invaluable 

piece of intelligence.  What will happen to you and 

your crew all boils down to how much you are willing 

to cooperate.  If you want to fight the Borg, that's fine.  

We applaud you for that.  We may even be able to 

arrange some cooperative support toward that end.  

But the cube-ship stays here until we examine it.  In 

granting us this 'request', you might just redeem 

yourself in Starfleet's eyes." 

   "You are a cruel, hard bargainer, Captain Riker," 

smiled Appal, his eyes never leaving Riker's.  "What 

kind of cooperative support would you have in mind?" 

   "I'll have more details after I talk with my superiors," 

said Riker gazing levelly at the Arch-Regent. 

   "As you have requested, I shall pull all but the barest 

maintenance crew from the cube-ship," said Appal, his 

eyes boring into Riker's.  "Who will blink first, 

Captain?  The Borg ship draws ever nearer." 

   "Don't play games with me, Arch-Regent," 

challenged Riker. "If it wasn't for that Borg ship, I'd 

haul you down to our brig myself." 

   Riker wiggled his right ear, and Appal's eyes flashed 

toward its discreet movement.  Riker's devilish grin 

widened as he stated, "You lose!" 

                                            *    *    * 

   A Borg prisoner from the Orokan cube-ship had been 

sedated and beamed to Engineering aboard the 

Enterprise.  He stood in a circular enclosure, 

surrounded by a railing positioned at the base of his 

ribs, and partially obscured by an abundance of wires 

and cables that connected him to a bank of computers 

which had been completely isolated from all other 

systems aboard ship.  He appeared entranced, staring 

curiously into space as if he was searching for 

something, or listening for a very quiet, distant sound. 

   Nearby, Commander Data sat on a stool facing the 

Borg prisoner.  An access cover in the rear of his head 

hung open exposing a connector and supporting 

circuitry from his positronic brain.  Tiny lights blinked 

in rapid sequences as Data's thought processes caused 

their circuits to be called into service. 

   Lieutenant Commander LaForge peered in at Data's 

exposed interface connector, and then cast a quick 

glance at the plug he was holding in his right hand. 

"Are you sure you want me to plug this in, 

Data?" asked LaForge with concern.  "The Borg may 

have prepared some nasty surprises since your last 

easy romp through their Collective mind." 

   "That may be," replied Data thoughtfully.  "I have 

already configured my memory to allow them access 

to only a small segment of my total capacity.  If 

something should happen that I cannot control, 

automatic shutdown routines will take over." 

   "OK.  Close your eyes and hold onto your seat.  Here 

goes," said LaForge as he inserted the plug into the 

connector in Data's head. 

   Immediately both Data and the Borg prisoner jerked 

into an attentive position, faces blank, eyes fixed 

ahead and gazing at nothing somewhere in front of 

them.  LaForge jumped in front of Data, waving his 

hand in front of his eyes.  "Data.  Data, can you hear 

me?  Come on, buddy, tell me you're alright," he 

coaxed. 

   "I am alright," Data finally answered.  "I feel no 

apparent ill effects.  I am attempting to make the 

prisoner access the Collective Consciousness."  There 

was a silent pause.  "There," said Data, "we are, as they 

say, in." 

   "What's happening now?" asked LaForge as he 

checked the computer display which showed the 

status of Data's vital signs. 

   "I am getting the feel of things," replied Data. 

"Listening to exchanges, and in effect, relearning the 

language: its improvements and upgrades, new 

vocabulary, revised syntaxes and protocols.  I have 

just tried to contribute something to one of the 

exchanges, and was ignored." 

   "Don't take it personally, Data," said LaForge.  "They 

may have forgotten what a charmer you really are." 

    "Thank you, Geordi," said Data seriously. 

   If you had a sense of humor you'd be dangerous, 

thought LaForge as he watched Data's eyes flit from 

one point of focus to another.  Obviously monitoring 

the Borg was going to keep him very busy. 

   "Any success at getting a word in yet?" asked 

LaForge. 

   "Negative," replied Data, still concentrating very 

hard.  "I have not been able to become a part of their 

exchanges.  They are aware of my presence, and I 

believe they are aware of my overtures, but they 

refuse to acknowledge me in any way." 

   "Why don't you forget trying to talk to them?" 

suggested LaForge.  "Try snooping around a little.  See 

what dark secrets they are attempting to hide.  Wait, I 

have a better idea.  Check the command functions to 

see if putting them to sleep is still a workable option." 

   "Accessing. ." said Data.  After several minutes he 

reported, "All command functions have been assigned 

a higher priority.  I am getting no response to my 

attempts to issue commands to the Collective.  Their 

command protection scheme seems to have evolved 

into something admirably elegant, Commander.  It 

would take quite a bit of analysis to understand how it 

is implemented." 

   "Can you tell us anything?" asked LaForge in mild 

frustration. 

   Data's eyes made several rapid movements.  He 

turned quickly toward LaForge and said, "Geordi, I 

believe my brother Lore is aboard that Borg ship!" 

                           ***   CHAPTER  EIGHT   *** 

   "Lore is on the Borg ship?" asked Captain Riker in 

profound amazement.  "How do you know that, Data?" 

   "Lieutenant Commander LaForge and I were testing 

our interface to the Collective through the Borg 

prisoner," explained Data.  "I was randomly accessing 

exchanges in the network when I identified a 

waveform peculiar to the positronic circuit designs of 

Dr. Noonian Soong, the father-creator of Lore and 

myself.  As you know, Sir, Lore and I are the only 

known applications of that technology.  I, of course, 

am here.  My brother's component parts have been 

missing from Starbase 317 for over two years.  The 

source of the positronic waveform sensed me as I 

sensed it, and then it identified me by name.  The 

inflections used in forming the waveform essence of 

my name were those I would associate with someone 

having intimate previous knowledge of my identity 

who was attempting to convey feelings of great 

despair.  As you would recognize the voice of a 

familiar acquaintance from among the voices in a 

crowd, so have I identified the voice of Lore from 

among the voices of the Collective.  And based upon 

the way in which my brother spoke my name, I believe 

he was urgently asking for my help." 

   Riker stood up from the chair behind the desk in the 

Captain's ready room.  He walked behind the desk, 

lightly massaging his forehead, searching his memory 

for some elusive, misfiled fragment of information 

that would put Data's revelation into perspective with 

everything else that had happened since the 

Enterprise had laid over for shore leave at Minia IV.  

He simply could not recall enough information to 

make that kind of connection.  There were too many 

missing steps between losing track of somebody, and 

then discovering him on a Borg ship. 

   "Help me here, Data," said Riker. "What is the 

connection between losing him from Starbase 317 and 

then sensing his presence in the Collective?" 

   "The authorities have assumed that whoever 

removed Lore from Starbase 317 must have 

reassembled him," said Data.  "A person matching his 

description and using the name Mr. Lorne had been 

seen on Selaeta where he had been engaged in 

detailed research about Dr. Soong and the general 

science of cybernetics.  He had booked passage from 

there to the Rizon System on a transport ship 

identified as the Olympus.  The Olympus never 

reached its destination.  Its battered remains were 

discovered several days’ travel time out from Selaeta.  

Most of the highest technology equipment had been 

cut away from the vessel in a manner not unlike that 

used by the Borg, although no Borg vessels had been 

reported in the area.  Almost one-third of the 

transport's complement of crew and passengers 

disappeared without a trace.  The rest died as the 

result of a hull breach cut into a section of the ship 

where they had all congregated.  Mr. Lorne was 

counted among the one-third missing." 

   Alright, Riker conceded to himself, Data's 

explanation had shown that there was a slim 

possibility his brother could be alive on a Borg ship.  If 

he really was, Riker almost felt sorry for him. 

   Data and LaForge had come to him with this finding 

shortly after Arch-Regent Appal had returned in a bad 

mood to the Diamont.  The Arch-Regent had been 

hoping to be treated as an equal partner in dealing 

with the Borg ship whose arrival in Federation space 

had nearly everyone understandably concerned.  

Appal clearly had not been happy with Starfleet 

wanting to reserve the right to decide when and 

where the Borg ship would be dealt with. 

   Riker was not certain how far the Arch-Regent could 

be pushed.  If his story about being the last surviving 

remnant of his civilization was true, then he had 

become used to playing the part of a loner.  Loners 

simply did not make good team players, and working 

as a team was the only way in which there was any 

chance of successfully dealing with a problem as 

formidable as the Borg. 

   "Captain?" Data intruded into Riker's thoughts. 

   "Yes, Data?" 

   "Will you be certain to pass on to Starfleet Command 

the possibility that Federation citizens are being held 

on the Borg ship?" 

   "Yes, Data, I will make a point to pass that along," 

assured Riker. 

   LaForge stood up to leave, but Data stayed in his seat 

looking as though something was still on his mind, 

and that he could not decide if he should risk speaking 

of it. 

   "Captain?" Data finally said. 

   "Is there something else, Data?" asked Riker, 

knowing full well that there was. 

   "Captain, I would like your permission to lead a 

rescue attempt for the Federation citizens on the Borg 

ship," admitted Data. 

   "I appreciate your offer," said Riker, "but I think 

we're getting a little ahead of ourselves.  I haven't 

talked to Starfleet yet.  When they do get back to me, 

their orders may not leave an opening for something 

like that." 

   "Then, do you believe we will have to eventually 

attack the Borg ship?" 

   "Data," said Riker as he searched for an elusive 

reassuring answer, "you know that our training 

advises us against answering difficult questions to 

which we do not have answers.  The best I can tell you 

is that I do not know." 

   "I understand, Sir," said Data.  "Would there be any 

objection to my preparing plans for such an operation 

in the event that an appropriate opportunity would 

present itself?  I could do this while still handling all 

the duties which have been assigned to me." 

   Riker wondered what Data saw in Lore that made 

him worth all that Data would risk on his behalf.  

"That's not a bad idea, Data," Riker conceded.  "It 

would be good to have a plan, just in case." 

   "Thank you, Captain," said Data as he stood up to leave. 

   Riker noticed that his acting first officer seemed 

pleased to have gotten something he wanted out of 

the meeting with him.  He hoped that leaving Data 

with the hope that he could attempt a rescue aboard 

the Borg ship would not turn into an ugly 

disappointment.  Riker knew that he could not allow 

himself to get bogged down into feeling sorry for Data 

if he was denied his rescue attempt.  In making his 

request, Data had attempted to stretch the limits of 

the mission's envelope of possibilities.  If the envelope 

tore, it was because Data had stretched it too far. 

   Riker sat at the desk and opened a channel to the 

bridge.  "Helm, take us out of orbit and clear of C-S 

Five's interference.  I need to make a report to 

Starfleet Command." 

   Riker thought about Lore.  Data's older brother was 

not a likeable android once you got to know him.  He 

was selfish, self-centered, and prone to react violently 

when he did not get his own way.  The only major 

difference between Lore and Data seemed to be that 

Lore had been created with the ability to feel 

emotions, and he seemed to have reacted to events 

primarily with his darker emotions.  Riker suspected 

that for all his brilliance, Dr. Soong had not managed 

to program his first sentient android with a proper 

emotional balance.  Perhaps it was this failure that 

had prompted him to build Data without the feature of 

emotions, leaving him lacking the most important key 

to achieving what he desired most from his life: 

becoming human. 

   Lost in his thoughts, Riker left the ready room and 

sat in the Captain's chair on the bridge. 

   "Captain, we are in position for your report to 

Starfleet," Lt. Worf reported. 

   Riker continued staring at the viewscreen, 

apparently unaware of what Worf had just said. 

   Worf cleared his throat and in a stronger voice said, 

"Captain Riker. ." 

   Taking a moment to refocus his attention, Riker 

asked, "Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?" 

   "You wanted to know when we were in position for 

your report to Starfleet." 

   "Thank you, Lieutenant.  Please get me Admiral 

Stockton on Minia IV." 

   In the five minutes it took to establish the link with 

Admiral Stockton, Riker felt himself drifting back into 

the loop of thought that had made him oblivious to Lt. 

Worf a few minutes before.  But this time the 

appearance of the Starfleet logo on the viewscreen 

was enough to focus his attention.  Admiral Stockton 

appeared on the screen projecting a pleased, 

businesslike appearance. 

   "Captain Riker, congratulations on getting Captain 

Picard back," he began.  What exactly happened out 

there?" 

   "It wasn't the Borg who took him, Sir," said Riker.  "It 

was the Orokans, masquerading as Borg.  They 

rejoined Captain Picard to the Borg Collective as 

Locutus, feeling that there was reason to put him on 

trial for allegedly passing MX-35 system information 

to the Borg that hurt them very badly about a year 

ago.  The trial took place on a Borg cube-ship they had 

acquired.  Somehow they met up with a real Borg ship 

and ended up on the losing end of a running firefight.  

About that time we showed up, and using a new tactic, 

we managed to slow the Borg ship down enough so 

that both of us could escape.  We agreed to 

rendezvous back here, and the Orokans returned 

Captain Picard, still carrying his Borg toys, but 

exonerated of all the charges against him." 

   "How is Captain Picard doing?" asked Stockton. 

   "He should nearly be out of surgery, Sir," said Riker.  

"Dr. Crusher disconnected him from the Collective the 

last time.  She has the most experience with this sort 

of thing, and we expect that everything will turn out 

well." 

   "I'm happy to hear that," said Stockton.  "Now, tell 

me about this 'new tactic'." 

   "We hit them with our new terraforming torpedoes, 

Sir.  Most of them got inside their ship before 

detonating.  I don't know what we might have hit, but 

as we were leaving, their power output was down 

seventy percent." 

   "Impressive," said Stockton.  "Is there any chance of 

this tactic working again?" 

   "I can't say for sure, Sir," said Riker.  "The Borg may 

develop a defense against it.  They have successfully 

adapted to everything else that has been tried." 

   "It would be interesting to see what would happen 

with a second application of the tactic," speculated 

Stockton. 

   "That depends on whether or not you're the one 

applying the tactic, Sir," Riker observed. 

   "It's a dirty job, Captain.. " 

   "Never mind, Sir," said Riker, "I understand what you're implying.  If the opportunity for a second 

application presents itself, we'll get that information 

for you." 

   "Good.  I only mentioned it because it could be very 

important," said Stockton.  "Where is the real Borg 

ship?" 

   "We've had no contact with it, Sir.  I was hoping that 

you might have received some intelligence from other 

sources." 

   "As far as I know we haven't heard a thing," said 

Stockton.  "I hate to send you out alone to look for it, 

Captain, but it'll be a few days until backup can be 

arranged." 

   "Maybe I can ask the Orokans to help in the search," 

offered Riker. 

   "After what they've done to Picard, do you think you 

can trust them?" asked Stockton. 

   "I don't know," Riker admitted.  "They do seem to 

have a thirst for Borg blood, but I'm not sure they'll go 

along with our plans.  You can't fight the Borg by just 

wading into the brawl and start swinging.  There has 

to be some kind of strategy and a commitment to 

teamwork.  There are no treaties or formal alliances 

with the Orokans.  I am afraid they will only play along 

as long as it suits their commander's fancy." 

   "They don't sound like very dependable teammates," 

said Stockton.  "Are you sure you even want to involve 

them?" 

   "Unfortunately, I see no other option, Sir.  We would 

cover much more area with two ships searching." 

   "What about this Borg ship they found?" Stockton 

inquired. 

   "They had planned to adapt it for their use, Sir.  I've 

ordered them to quit making changes to it," said Riker.  

"I assumed Starfleet would like to examine a recent 

vintage piece of Borg technology." 

   "How right you are, Captain Riker!  We're 

assembling a team of investigators who are very 

interested in that piece of Borg technology.  We'll be 

very disappointed if something happens to it!" said 

Stockton with a look that suggested that heads could 

roll if his investigators didn't have a Borg ship to look 

at. 

   "Shall I invite the Orokan Arch-Regent to participate  

in a search for the missing Borg ship, Sir?" asked 

Riker. 

   "If you can keep him under control," said Stockton.  

"It would be better having a team of ships on this 

assignment.  We need to know where the Borg ship is 

and have some idea of what it might do before we can 

lay out our strategy." 

   "We'll get right on it, Admiral," said Riker. 

   "Very well," said Stockton.  "I'll leave the details in 

your hands, Captain.  Good hunting, and give my best 

to Jean-Luc." 

   "Will do, Sir." 

                                            *    *    * 

   Arch-Regent Appal materialized on the transporter 

pad in transporter room three.  Captain Riker had 

again ruffled his dignity by summoning him to another 

meeting aboard the Enterprise. 

   Riker's treatment of him chaffed at Appal. “This 

Riker is too smart for his own good!  That bumbling 

Federation boor has no idea of how to treat a Head of 

State!”  These fanciful mental protests greatly 

comforted the Arch-Regent.  “As soon as this business 

with the Borg is finished,” threatened Appal from the 

safety of his fantasies, “there will be diplomatic 

reprisals!  We'll see who plays this power game 

better!” 

   As the last of his molecules coalesced, Arch-Regent 

Appal smiled.  Riker had also invited the senior 

members of his staff along to the meeting, but he had 

instead ordered them to stay behind.  He had more 

important things for them to do than attend meetings 

with uncouth Federation lowbrows.  If his officers 

were successful in carrying out his orders, he would 

show Riker who was the real master of the art of 

fighting the Borg. 

   Lieutenant Worf was waiting in the transporter 

room to escort the expected Orokan envoy to the 

Enterprise's conference room.  Expecting more than 

one person to beam over from the Diamont, he had 

ordered a security team to the transporter room to 

help remind the Orokans to be on their best behavior.  

When Worf saw that only one Orokan officer would 

need an escort to the meeting, he stiffly said to the 

security team, "You may return to your other duties." 

   As the security team left the transporter room, Worf 

motioned toward the door, saying, "This way, …Sir." 

   Arch-Regent Appal did not like the way Worf had 

enunciated the word 'Sir'.  The Klingon Security 

Officer had done something with its pronunciation 

that had made it seem as if the word did not roll 

comfortably off his tongue when it referred to him.  

“Enjoy your little slur,” silently fumed Appal to 

himself.  “After I finish with Riker, it's your turn!” 

   As Appal and Worf walked silently to the conference 

room, the Arch-Regent tried to fathom the reason for 

Riker's meeting.  For several minutes he had 

suspected that the time had come to formally answer 

for Picard's abduction and trial, but if that had been 

the reason for the meeting, there would have been no 

reason to have invited his senior officers.  No, the 

invitation of his senior staff officers meant that 

something needed to be planned.  Perhaps the 

Federation had finally begun to understand how much 

they needed him, and his Diamont, to succeed against 

the Borg. 

   When Appal and Worf entered the conference room, 

Riker looked up, staring accusingly at Appal.  "I 

thought you understood that this meeting was to have 

included your senior officers." 

   "They had more pressing duties, Captain Riker," said Appal affably.  "Rest assured that they will be 

informed of everything they will need to know." 

   "Very well," responded Riker.  Motioning to several 

places at the conference table which had been left 

vacant, he added, "Take one of these seats.  We 

haven't a lot of time to waste." 

   As Appal slid into one of the vacant chairs Riker 

started the meeting.  "Once again our ship is in the 

thick of defending the Federation from the gravest 

threat it has ever faced.  I am, of course, referring to 

the Borg.  We recently encountered a Borg ship which 

had entered Federation space.  By now you have all 

heard or read about the short engagement which 

resulted from that encounter.  We believe that we 

damaged the Borg ship, but not enough to put it out of 

commission or cause it to withdraw.  It is still out 

there, somewhere, and Starfleet wants to know where.  

The Enterprise has been asked to undertake a 

reconnaissance sweep of the sector for the purpose of 

finding the Borg ship and learning where it is headed.  

This information will be vital for planning the fleet's 

response to its presence." 

   "I have been authorized to invite the Diamont along 

on this reconnaissance mission," Riker continued as 

he looked at Appal.  "This will give us a chance to get used to working together.. " 

   "Why bother with this foolishness of 

reconnaissance?" blurted Appal.  "Why waste all that 

time and effort merely finding out where the Borg 

ship is?  Go out and look for it, yes!  And when you find 

it, destroy it!" 

   "Destroy it with what, Arch-Regent?" asked Riker. 

     "With my Diamont, and its attack craft!  And maybe 

with some help from those missiles you launched at 

them," stated Appal. 

   "Your Diamont is an undermanned and untried 

idea," said Riker, "and without documented proof that 

it works, it is something in which Starfleet is reluctant 

to put its trust.  As for our 'missiles', there is no 

guarantee the Borg won't have a defense against them 

the next time we meet.  They have an uncanny ability 

to adapt when the need for change arises.  Frankly, 

Arch-Regent, I'm beginning to wonder how well you 

really know your enemy.  We have learned that a 

single starship is no match for a Borg cube-ship.  We 

have even seen that an entire fleet of starships may 

not be able to take one on and win.  And let me remind 

you that your own strategists designed your Diamond 

Ships to attack a single Borg vessel in groups.  No, 

Arch-Regent, now is not the time for impetuous 

bravado.  What we most need at this point is 

information.  Starfleet will act when it knows how it 

should act." 

   "You whimper.  You make speeches to glorify your 

indecisiveness," leered Appal.  "Include my cube-ship, 

and we will have a fleet of three vessels.. " 

   "For the last time, Appal, the cube-ship is off limits," 

said Riker firmly.  "The Federation still has a resource 

which you no longer have: an established and widely 

dispersed industrial base to make use of what is to be 

learned from that ship.  The Federation will not let 

you jeopardize that potential knowledge for a glory-

hunting fling at a single Borg ship." 

   Riker was losing patience with Appal, wasting 

valuable time in arguing with him over points that 

would not be changed.  "The deal is this, Arch-Regent," 

stated Riker, "You, me, and the reconnaissance 

mission.  You're in, or you're out.  If you're out, you 

will be charged with Captain Picard's abduction and 

taken into custody." 

   "Then I'm in," smiled Appal.  Outwardly he appeared 

calm.  Inside he was furious and planning strategies 

somewhat different from those to which he had 

agreed to adhere. 

   "Fine," said Riker.  "Everybody return to your stations and prepare for departure in one hour.  Arch-Regent, I'd like to have your helm and navigation 

people get with ours to work out a search algorithm 

that covers the most area without leaving the Borg 

any holes big enough to hide in." 

   "Certainly, Captain," said Appal with a broad smile.  

"Anything to make the endeavor mutually rewarding." 

   Arch-Regent Appal beamed back to the Diamont 

where he was met by his senior officers. 

   "All is ready as you instructed, Sir," reported his 

Chief-of-Staff. 

   "I am pleased," beamed Appal.  "You've performed 

complete testing?" 

   "Yes, Sir.  There were no problems.  The system 

requires only your command to start serving you." 

   "Good, good," said Appal, looking at each of his 

senior officers.  "We must prepare the Diamont to 

leave in under an hour, gentlemen." 

   "Are we going hunting for Borg, Sir?" 

   "Yes, but hunting is about all Captain Riker can be 

persuaded to do," said Appal resentfully. 

   "Shall we activate the remote systems, Sir?" 

   "I think not," said Appal thoughtfully.  "The mission 

will most likely be in relatively open space.  We 

wouldn't want to inadvertently give Captain Riker a 

wrong impression, would we?" 

   Captain Riker had returned to the Enterprise's 

bridge to oversee the drafting of the search pattern to 

be used by the Enterprise and the Diamont.  The 

pattern's development had progressed smoothly, and 

now both ships awaited his order to move out. 

   Riker was seated in the command chair and about to 

give the order when the bridge's turbolift doors 

opened.  An unanticipated silence followed their 

opening.  A throat was cleared.  It was a familiar sound 

which compelled Riker to turn around and 

acknowledge it.  Captain Picard, in full uniform, and 

Dr. Crusher were standing in the turbolift. 

   "Permission to enter the bridge, Captain?" said 

Picard. 

   Picard is being very formal, thought Riker.  He 

smiled, knowing that things were about to be as they 

should be. 

   "By all means, Captain.  Permission granted," said Riker as he stood to shake Picard's hand.  He turned to 

Dr. Crusher.  "How did the surgery turn out, Doctor?" 

   "Very well, Captain," smiled Dr. Crusher.  "No scars, 

no permanent damage, and no discernable mental 

dysfunctions.  He's as recovered as he's ever going to 

be, although I would like to see some more post-op 

blood filtration therapy and check-ups." 

   "Is this officer fit enough for duty?" asked Riker. 

   "Certifiably," said Dr. Crusher. 

   "Thank you, Doctor," said Riker.  "Captain Picard, do 

you wish to assume command?" 

   "Yes," said Picard before adding quietly, "I thought 

you'd never ask." 

   "Computer," said Riker, "transfer command to 

Picard, Jean-Luc." 

   "Command transfer completed," announced the 

ship's computer.  "Picard, Jean-Luc, Captain, now 

commanding USS Enterprise.  Riker, William T., 

Commander, now First Officer, USS Enterprise." 

   "I believe this is your chair, Captain," Riker 

indicated. 

   Picard sat in the Captain's Chair and wriggled in it 

for a short time, savoring its comfort and security. 

   "Please, continue with what you were about to do, 

Number One," said Picard, "and when you can find the 

time, please bring me up to date on what is 

happening." 

                                         *     *     * 

CAPTAIN'S LOG:  (Captain Jean-Luc Picard, 

commanding) 

   I have resumed command of the Enterprise 

following surgical removal of the Borg implants which 

I received on orders from Arch-Regent Appal.  I have 

been trying to allow the Arch-Regent the benefit of 

doubt, believing that his actions toward me were 

those his culture would have believed to be 

appropriate, taking into account the lack of 

understanding which is sometimes inevitable when 

two cultures first meet.  However, since learning from 

my first officer, Commander Riker, of the Arch-

Regent's conduct when Commander Riker was the 

Enterprise's acting captain, I am developing doubts 

about maintaining that point of view.  In my mind the 

Arch-Regent's personality is metamorphosing into 

that of a devious individual, switching as needed 

toward any power or means that furthers his single-

minded retaliation against the Borg.  It is this single-

mindedness toward eradication that disturbs me, in 

that it does not seem to be a quality shared by all the 

members of his group in the same way that it was 

evident in the Federation's earliest dealings with the 

Klingons and the Romulans.  Rather it seems to be one 

man's obsession sweeping along with it the lives of a 

multitude of others.  Knowing our views about the 

Arch-Regent, Starfleet Command has still out of 

necessity endorsed this joint reconnaissance mission 

we are undertaking, and because of their 

endorsement I feel obligated to see the mission 

through.  I fervently hope that Arch-Regent Appal 

shows enough self-restraint not to conjure up a 

confrontation with the Borg that we are not yet 

prepared to deal with. 

                                          *       *       *  

   So far the uneventful search for the Borg ship was 

progressing smoothly.  Through three full duty shifts 

the Enterprise, and thankfully the Diamont, had 

executed the planned search pattern, and to the relief 

of many, had detected nothing. 

   During this time Counsellor Troi had been busy.  At 

the onset of the reconnaissance mission all the old 

stories and personal experiences of the first contacts 

with the Borg had resurfaced and were being retold 

throughout the ship.  Especially popular were those in 

which the central figure enjoyed any tangible success 

against a problem the Borg had created, but 

occasionally these embers of hope were dimmed by 

other tales with darker themes.  In talking with the 

crew, Counsellor Troi was finding that in spite of their 

training, and in spite of their past successes against 

the Borg, many were still apprehensive about having 

to deal with the Borg one on one.  The Borg were 

simply too powerful, and it was common knowledge 

that every Starfleet vessel ever built was outclassed 

by them.  Sure, they had risked their lives before, 

against the Romulans and against the Cardassians, but 

against those opponents they had been competitive, 

evenly matched.  Yes, there had been great risk, but 

against them there had also been a chance of survival.  

The Borg, however, were the specter of doom.  Against 

the Borg, they were not competitive.  The potential 

finality of an encounter with the Borg was always 

something that hung over them.  But what about the 

times the Borg had not beaten them?  Alright, 

sometimes they had been able to surprise the Borg, 

but as a crewman from Earth had pointed out, 

sometimes the trapped mouse will run out of 

surprises, and then the cat will have its meal.  

Confidence in the Enterprise's leadership?  They had 

written the book on slipping surprises to the Borg!  If 

anyone could concoct another surprise for the Borg. .  

But on the other hand you had to wonder how long 

their luck could hold out.  Would the crew run away 

from a fight with the Borg?  No!  It wouldn't be right!  

Besides, as one grinning crewman had pointed out, 

how would they find out if Picard's next harebrained 

scheme worked if they ran away? 

   Picard had learned all this and more from the 

assessment of the crew's attitude he had requested 

from Counsellor Troi.  On the surface her assessment 

did not sound overly optimistic, but from it Picard had 

extracted two important facts.  First, the crew 

understood that everything requested of them had to 

be done correctly.  There was no margin for error or 

sloppiness.  Picard saw no reason to expect problems 

in that area.  Second, and most importantly, the crew 

had confidence in its leadership and was committed to 

the mission's success.  He knew they would acquit 

themselves well during whatever events came to pass. 

   Picard passed his evaluation of Counsellor Troi's 

report to Commander Riker, and the two officers 

exuded a shared confidence in the performance of the 

crew as they sat together on the bridge monitoring 

sensor sweeps and the interpretation of the data. 

   "Lieutenant Worf," said Picard, "what is the status of 

our communication link with the Diamont?" 

   "All indications are that the link is being maintained 

at maximum efficiency, Sir," reported Lt. Worf. 

   "Is the Orokan ship still where it is supposed to be?" 

asked Picard. 

   Worf scanned the readouts from his panel.  "All my 

readings affirm that it is, Sir." 

   Picard was satisfied that things were still moving 

along as planned.  He turned to Riker, who was sitting 

at his right.  "Number One, it seems that everyone has 

had time for a bite to eat except us.  I'll continue 

monitoring things here on the bridge if you'd like to 

stand down for a while." 

   "Thank you, Sir," said Riker.  "But are you sure?  

Would you like to go first?" 

   "Thank you, Number One.  I'll be fine," said Picard. 

   Riker stood and headed for the turbolift.  He stopped 

halfway there when Picard called his name.  He turned 

and faced Picard.  "Sir?" 

   "Remember, Will, a full, balanced meal." 

   "Aye, Sir," Riker smiled as he entered the turbolift. 

   As the turbolift doors closed, Riker remembered that 

Picard had delivered the same admonition to each of 

the bridge personnel as they had gone for their meals.  

He hoped it was just a coincidence that his mind had 

made a connection between Picard's insistence on a 

complete meal and the antiquated practice of granting 

condemned prisoners a last meal of their choice. 

   Meanwhile on the bridge Commander Data began 

rapidly stabbing at the controls on his panel.  Picard 

watched his outburst of activity with nervous interest. 

   "Captain," said Data after a quick scan of his 

readouts, "the Orokan ship is leaving the search 

pattern, heading away from us at high warp velocity 

on course two-seven-zero, mark three-four-zero." 

   "Captain, I have lost the communication link with the 

Orokan ship," reported Lt. Worf. 

   "Hail them on all channels, Lieutenant," instructed 

Picard. 

   "No response, Sir," Worf reported moments later. 

   "Enterprise to Diamont.  Come in, please!" Picard 

tried in an attempt to bring back a response.  "Arch-

Regent Appal, this is Captain Picard.  Please respond!" 

   "It is no use, Sir," said Lt. Worf.  "The Orokan ship 

refuses to acknowledge your messages." 

   "Why are they doing this?" Picard demanded.  "What 

is out there?" 

   "Sir," said Data, "the Diamont's position was near the 

limit of our sensor range.  It may have detected 

something that would not have shown up on our 

sensors." 

   "It may have done just that," said Picard angrily, "but 

they were not supposed to have gone chasing after it!" 

   Picard vented a single profane expletive before 

ordering, "Bring the ship to red alert.  Helm, take us 

after them.  Everyone else, keep your eyes open, 

watch your instruments, and stay alert!" 

   The turbolift doors hissed open and Commander 

Riker hurried back onto the bridge. 

   "Welcome back, Number One," said Picard 

apologetically without taking his eyes off the main 

viewscreen.  "How was lunch?" 

   "It smelled delicious, Sir.  What's happening?" 

   On the bridge of the Diamont Arch-Regent Appal was 

excitedly studying the tactical display with the rest of 

his senior officers. 

   "No doubts, Sir.  It is a Borg ship," said the officer 

monitoring the instruments at the station. 

   "Is it the damaged vessel we have been looking for?" 

asked Appal in a voice colored with delighted 

impatience. 

   "It very likely it is, Sir.  Some exterior damage is still 

evident." 

   "We're gaining on it.  Why are we gaining on it?" 

demanded Appal. 

   "Possibly because its power output is so low, Sir.  

Only marginally higher than the last time we got any 

readings on it." 

   "If we can close on it this easily," said Appal thinking 

aloud, "then the target vessel could have power 

generation problems, but it should still have enough 

power for all its weapons." 

   "If you're going to attack, we'll have to drop to sub-

light to launch the Vantis, Sir," somebody chimed in. 

   "I know that!" grumbled Appal angrily.  He stared 

vehemently for a moment at the officer who had 

insulted his intelligence with such a blatantly obvious 

reminder.  "We'll start our attack by making a close 

pass on the left and do what damage we can with our 

heavy phasers," he decided.  "Hopefully that will stun 

them long enough to let us slow down and launch the 

Vantis.  After their launch, we'll revert to the standard 

battle plan." 

   "Aye, Sir," chorused the officers in unison as they 

dispersed to their battle stations. 

   Appal walked to the communications console and 

contacted the launch bay for the Vanti 1st Squadron.  

"Squadron Leader Venel.. " he said. 

   "Yes, Sir?" said Venel when he appeared on the tiny 

viewscreen at the console.  He was barely identifiable 

through the visor of his flight helmet as the canopy 

over the pilot's compartment of the Vanti attack craft 

settled into place. 

   "You will lead the first attack wave," said the Arch-Regent proudly.  "Over twenty years work rides upon 

your shoulders.  To your glorious success, Squadron 

Leader!" 

   "Thank you, Sir," said Venel grinning. "And to yours 

as well." 

   "Sir," the officer at the tracking station interrupted, 

"the Enterprise is also closing." 

   "Very good," smiled Appal.  "Perhaps through their 

eyes the dim-visioned leaders of the Federation will 

learn how to properly fight the Borg!" 

   "We are positioned on the prime attack vector, Sir," 

reported the Tactical Officer. 

   "Take us in at three-quarters maximum warp," 

ordered Appal sharply.  "Phaser stations, your 

primary targets are external weapons.  Ignore all 

external propulsion hardware.  Repeat - ignore all 

external propulsion hardware.  Lock onto your 

primary targets.. " 

   The distance between the two ships decreased 

rapidly.  It seemed only the blink of an eye before the 

Diamont was within phaser range. 

   "Phaser stations - fire!" thundered Appal. 

   The first bolt of energy which sprang from the 

Diamont's upper phaser emitter danced upon the 

Borg ship's shields until they collapsed.  Another 

charge was fed to the emitter as it recycled for 

another shot.  As the Diamont sped by, its second bolt 

lanced through the remnants of the Borg shields and 

decimated a major weapons station on the side they 

were attacking. 

   Through the cheers on the bridge the Arch-Regent 

ordered, "Bring us to sub-light.  Prepare to launch the 

Vantis." 

   The Borg cube-ship maintained its course but 

started a slow spin on its axis, presenting an 

undamaged side to the Diamont.  As the launch doors 

in the hull of the Diamond Ship began opening, a 

bright cutting beam shot from the side of the Borg 

cube-ship and severed two of the cylindrical 

structures which held the massive propulsion ring to 

the hull of the Diamont.  Crewmen literally exploded 

in the vacuum resulting from the instantaneous 

decompression, and the Diamond Ship shuddered as 

its warp power systems shut down. 

   "That man is a fool!" exclaimed Picard as he watched 

the magnified view of the battle on the Enterprise's 

viewscreen.  "Helm, get us in there, quickly!" he 

ordered. 

   "Lieutenant Worf," Picard said to the Security Officer, "load one standard photon torpedo and lock 

onto the Borg ship.  They've presented their weak side 

to us." 

 "Photon torpedo loaded and targeted, Sir," replied Lt. 

Worf. 

   "Now get me a channel to the Diamont!" 

   "Channel opened, Sir." 

   "Appal!" demanded Picard angrily. 

   "What do you want, Picard?" shouted the Arch-

Regent equally angry.  "Can't you see I'm in the thick 

of a battle?" 

   "It looks more like committing suicide, slowly and 

painfully," said Picard determinedly presenting his 

point of view.  "Listen to me, Arch-Regent.  You've got 

one chance.  Do not launch your attack craft!  Secure 

your ship, and do what you can to get out of the way." 

   The launch bay doors on the Diamont slowly began 

to close. 

   "I never thought he'd listen to reason," muttered 

Picard quietly. 

   Then, much louder, Picard requested all hailing 

frequencies opened. 

   "Attention on the Borg vessel," he said grimly.  "This 

is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the Federation Starship 

Enterprise.  I repeat, this is the Federation Starship 

Enterprise." 

   Picard turned to Lt. Worf and whispered, "Fire the 

photon torpedo!" 

   It raced toward its target, and undeterred by Borg 

shields, it reached the surface of the cube-ship before 

detonating and leaving a jagged crater of destruction. 

   "Do you remember my ship, the Enterprise?" Picard 

asked the Borg.  "You've been bloodied by it before, 

and now it is returning to finish the job." 

   The damaged Borg ship turned again on its axis, 

attempting to shield its damaged side from both the 

Diamont and the rapidly approaching Enterprise.  

Slowly the distance between it and the Diamont began 

to increase.  It continued to pull away from the 

crippled Orokan ship, gradually increasing its velocity 

until it was receding as rapidly as it was able. 

   "How fast is it moving away?" demanded Picard. 

   "The Borg ship has just achieved warp five, Sir," Data reported calmly.  "From the readings I am getting, I 

believe that it cannot go any faster." 

   "Thank you, Mister Data," said Picard.  "Helm, take 

us after them at warp two.  Lieutenant Worf, do you 

still have that channel to the Borg ship?" 

   "The channel is still open, sir." 

   "Attention on the Borg vessel.  This is Captain Picard 

of the Enterprise speaking again," he said projecting 

god-like omnipotent authority.  "I strongly advise you 

to leave Federation space immediately.  Depart while 

you still can, and never return!" 

   The Borg ship continued to pull away from them.  

When Picard was satisfied that it intended to keep 

going, he smiled with relief and said, "Helm, take us 

back to the Diamont.  I believe we've all had enough 

for the time being." 

   As the Enterprise came about, Riker studied Picard 

in the seat beside him.  "Captain, that was some kind 

of bluff!" he stated admiringly. 

   "Oh, really?" Picard asked with a slight grin.  "Thank 

you, Number One.  I'll look forward to pitting my 

bluffing skills against yours in the next weekly poker 

game." 

   "Uh, well, Sir," Riker stammered, "from what I've 

seen today, you are obviously light years ahead of 

anyone in our game." 

   "I most certainly am," said Picard firmly.  "And don't 

you ever forget it!" he added with a wily smile. 

                           ***   CHAPTER  NINE   *** 

   Captain Picard saw no easy solution to the problem 

of what to do about Arch-Regent Appal. His impetuous 

attack on the Borg cube-ship had almost cost him his 

own vessel and the lives of his crew.  Picard had 

informed Starfleet Command about the incident, and 

Admiral Stockton had later confided that his superiors 

regarded the Arch-Regent's action as a senseless 

squandering of limited resources.  Fleet 

reinforcements were still several days' time away 

from Minia IV.  Until other Federation ships arrived in 

the sector and were supplied and deployed, Appal's 

Diamont and the Enterprise were the only defense 

against the damaged but still formidable Borg vessel.  

Unfairly, it seemed, the problem of Arch-Regent Appal 

had been dropped into Picard's lap.  As the ranking 

Federation representative on the spot, he had become 

the Federation's senior diplomatic contact with the 

Orokans.  Until Starfleet could assemble a better 

defensive posture in the sector, it was Picard's job to 

coax the most possible cooperation from volatile and 

unpredictable Arch-Regent Appal. 

   Picard was also troubled by the persistent lack of 

reliable information on the Borg ship.  All the collected 

evidence suggested that the cube-ship had been 

damaged by Riker's innovative use of terraforming 

torpedoes to attack it.  Sensor readings and the cube-

ship's own lackluster performance in battle supported 

this supposition, however Picard was reluctant to 

completely rely on the supposition without knowing 

what had been damaged and how badly.  Borg 

technology was supposed to enable a vessel's crew's 

Collective will to be harnessed for regenerative 

repairs.  The cube-ship's below par performance over 

a long period of time posed the possibility that the 

Borg's regenerative abilities had been somehow 

inhibited.  Was this due to a lack of materials or parts, 

or to some actual lessening of their ability to focus 

their Collective will to this purpose?  And, if the cube-

ship was damaged, why did it not withdraw and make 

repairs?  What was so important that the Borg would 

keep a nearly crippled vessel stationed in hostile 

territory?  In examining all the possibilities Picard had 

even considered that the Borg ship had not been 

seriously damaged.  Could it be possible, Picard had 

wondered, that the Borg were simply holding back to 

lull the Federation into a false sense of security?  Had 

the Borg added deception to their arsenal of weapons?  

So much depended on having truthful answers to his 

questions.  Perhaps the best thing to do was to go 

right to the Borg and ask them for the answers. 

   Picard leaned forward in the chair behind his desk 

and opened a channel to Engineering.  Lieutenant 

Commander LaForge responded.  "You're just the 

person to whom I need to speak," said Picard.  "Have 

you and Commander Data made any further progress 

in gathering information from the Borg?" 

   "We managed to learn something, Sir," said LaForge 

disappointedly, "but then everything went crazy.  

Lately nothing we're reading makes any sense.  It's 

like the Borg have reinvented their whole language."  

LaForge glanced at Data who was deep in thought, and 

shook his head.  "We don't actually know what has 

happened, Sir, but we're working on it." 

   "What did you learn from the linkup before the 

problem, Mister LaForge?" asked Picard. 

   "Well, we discovered why the Borg ship won't leave 

the area," replied LaForge. 

   "And why is that?" Picard asked. 

   "We think it was sent here to eliminate the problem 

of the Orokans having taken control of one of their 

ships," said LaForge. 

   Suddenly memories of having sensed this 

information while he was joined to the Collective 

came back to Picard.  Reliving the memory seemed to 

bring him pain.  Dr. Crusher had reminded him that 

the same thing had happened to him the first time he 

had been separated from the Collective.  Like the last 

time, she believed the discomforts he would feel 

would lessen with the passing of time. 

   "Finding that missing ship must be pretty important 

to them," LaForge observed. 

   Coming back to the conversation, Picard answered, 

"It is, Mister LaForge.  It is vitally important to them.  

Our understanding the workings of that ship would be 

a devastating blow to the integrity of their Collective 

Network." 

   "It sure would, Sir," agreed LaForge.  "I believe I 

should get back to helping Data.  He's going to need all 

the help he can get to break back into their network." 

   "Mister LaForge," said Picard, "we are soon going to 

rendezvous with the Diamont.  I'll need you and 

several engineering teams ready to beam over and 

help repair the damage it has suffered.  It is important 

for the defense of this sector that the Orokan ship be 

as fit as possible as quickly as possible." 

   "Alright, Sir," said LaForge.  "What shall we do with 

our Borg prisoner?" 

   "Disconnect him from your interface," ordered 

Picard, "supply him with life support, and have 

security take him to the brig and hold him there under 

appropriate guard." 

   "Aye, Sir." 

   Picard closed the channel and returned to the 

problem of Arch-Regent Appal.  The man was simply 

obsessed with striking out at the nearest Borg, no 

matter what the cost.  He would have to be watched 

all the time. 

   Compounding Picard's problems was the fact that he 

was now cut off from information through the Borg 

prisoner.  How very ironic, he reflected, that it was 

now much more difficult for him to find the very thing 

he least wanted to face.  When he weighed the 

responsibilities resting upon his shoulders against the 

resources with which he was expected to meet those 

responsibilities, Picard began to feel very much alone. 

   "Captain Picard?"  Lieutenant Worf summoned him 

from the bridge.  Fortunately it reminded him that 

there was still a ship to run, and still a few problems 

he could resolve. 

   "Yes, Lieutenant," he answered. 

   "We are approaching the Diamont." 

   "Very well, Lieutenant.  Bring us within transporter 

range and keep our bow pointed at it." 

   As the ship was positioned as had ordered, Picard 

left the ready room and walked onto the bridge.  

Commander Riker was in his chair, studying the image 

of the Diamont on the main viewscreen.  He glanced 

quickly at Picard as he took his place in the Command 

Chair.  "Their ship took a lot of damage from only one 

Borg shot, Sir," he observed. 

   "So I've noticed, Number One," said Picard as he 

rubbed his chin.  "Let me ask you, Will, what do you 

think of that ship as a weapons system?  Could those 

attack craft actually hurt a Borg ship, or would they 

merely try to pester it to death like a hoard of flies?" 

   "Hard to say, Sir," said Riker as he settled back 

comfortably in his chair.  He studied the Diamond Ship 

a moment longer, and then added, "You have to admit 

that it is a novel way to fight the Borg.  I guess I'd have 

to say that the attack craft could be effective for a 

while, because the Borg weapons are not designed to 

deal with so many seemingly random targets.  Do you 

remember the fireworks display we arranged when 

we retrieved you from the Borg four years ago?  Now 

that confused the Borg.  They didn't know how to 

react to it.  Maybe the attack craft would have the 

same effect on them.  But, on the other hand, once the 

Borg adapted to the Orokan's attack strategies, I think 

they could effectively deal with the Vantis." 

   "So you're saying that the attack craft might have 

one chance to be effective against a Borg ship?" asked 

Picard. 

   "Yes, Sir.  One chance, maybe two.  But I wouldn't 

count on any more." 

   "Thank you, Number One," said Picard with a cryptic 

smile that made Riker curious about what was 

brewing in Picard's mind. 

   "Captain," said LaForge's voice over the intercom, 

"the engineering teams are ready to beam over to the 

Diamont." 

   "Stand by, Mister LaForge," said Picard.  "I'll be 

beaming over with you.  I'll want to talk with the Arch-

Regent." 

   "Sir?" questioned Commander Riker. 

   "You have the bridge, Number One," said Picard as 

he headed for the turbolift. 

   "Sir, wouldn't it be safer to have the Arch-Regent 

beamed over here?" pressed Riker. 

   "You've already done that, Commander Riker," noted 

Picard, "and at the time it was the proper thing to do.  

I believe we must now insure that the Arch-Regent 

does not get too comfortable on his own ship.  It is 

now time for an unannounced visit to the weasel in 

his own lair." 

   After Picard had joined the engineering teams in the 

transporter room he opened a channel to the Diamont.  

"Arch-Regent Appal, this is Captain Picard.  I am 

bringing over some engineering teams to help with 

your repairs." 

   There was a pause before Appal answered, "That is 

very generous of you, Captain Picard, but we are quite 

capable of handling our repairs.  We will advise you if 

we need anything." 

   "I'm afraid I must insist on bringing them over, Arch-

Regent," Picard persisted.  "You are undermanned, 

and in the event that you should engage a Borg ship 

again, Starfleet wants to be sure that everything is at 

its peak.  My engineers are experts, and. ." 

   "No, Picard!  They are not needed!" exclaimed the 

Arch-Regent before closing the channel. 

   Picard switched to a different channel on the 

intercom.  "Lieutenant Worf, assemble a security 

detachment and have them report to the transporter 

room on the double." 

   "Aye, Sir," Worf responded. 

   Several minutes later four armed security personnel 

hurried into the transporter room. 

   "Onto the pads please, gentlemen," instructed 

Picard.  "Mr. LaForge, you and I will beam over with 

them and convince the Arch-Regent that he needs our 

help.  Remember, we're not going over there to start 

something.  Do not fire your weapons unless 

absolutely certain you will be fired upon.  Is that 

understood?" 

   There was a chorus of affirmation, and then Picard 

said to the Transporter Officer, "Monitor us closely.  If 

I signal to bring us back, you'll need to do it quickly.  

Can you beam us over to a safe place near the severed 

tubes to the Diamont's ring?" 

   "Yes, Sir.  The coordinates are laid in." 

   Picard joined the five other crewmen on the 

transporter pads and ordered, "Energize." 

   As they reformed aboard the Diamont they became 

aware of blaring alarms.  Running footsteps were 

moving in their direction from both ends of the 

corridor. 

   "Stay calm," Picard advised. 

   They were soon surrounded by armed Orokans who 

did nothing more than cover them with drawn 

weapons.  They soon heard another party of men lead 

by Arch-Regent Appal approaching behind the ring of 

guards.  The men guarding Picard's group were 

pushed aside as the Arch-Regent forced his way 

through them toward Picard.  Finally Picard and Appal 

stood face to face, Appal angry and unsure of what to 

say. 

   "Where are your damage control people, Arch-

Regent?" asked Picard.  "We did not exactly hurry 

back from chasing that Borg ship away.  Surely by this 

time the repairs should have been started." 

   "This is my ship, Picard!  I said we would handle 

things,”  Appal exclaimed.   

   "How long can it possibly take to get vital repairs 

started?" Picard demanded as he pointed toward the 

sealed doors.  "That Borg ship will most likely return.  

They want the cube-ship that you took over, and they 

will keep coming, and coming, and coming, until they 

get what they want.  Your ship and my ship are the 

only means in this sector to stop them.  Your ship, in 

this condition, won't be of much help, and we do not 

have time to leisurely attend to repairs." 

   "Alright.  Alright, Picard.  Your engineers may help 

with the repairs," whined the Arch-Regent throwing 

up his arms.  Then he spun around and pointed a 

finger at Picard.  "But they must confine themselves to 

this immediate work area!" 

   "Those terms are acceptable," said Picard.  

"Lieutenant Commander LaForge will have his teams 

beamed to this area, and I will leave my security team 

here to make sure that everybody abides by your 

restrictions." 

   "Very well," said Appal grudgingly.  "I'll have 

someone supply the appropriate design plans and 

schematics." 

   "Thank you very much," said Picard.  "Now, could we 

please share a word in private?" 

   "This way," grumbled Appal nodding his head 

toward the empty corridor.  The sooner this bald-

headed cretin says what's on his mind, thought Appal, 

the sooner he'll leave. 

   Picard joined Appal, and they walked slowly away 

from everyone else.  "I want you to understand that I 

am not here to usurp your command," Picard 

explained.  "This is your ship. ." 

   ". .upon which you have made yourself very much at 

home, Captain," interrupted Appal angrily.  "If you 

acknowledge that this is my ship, then why am I not 

free to engage the Borg at my discretion?" 

   "I have been discussing your ship with my senior 

officers," said Picard, putting a slightly brighter 

quality into his voice.  "It is believed that in spite of 

your depleted crew, the Diamont could still be 

effective against the Borg, providing that it had 

sufficient backup, which is really how it was designed 

to operate in the first place.  The problem we see has 

to do with the Borg's ability to adapt to new threats.  It 

is felt that there may be only one, or possibly two 

opportunities to use your attack craft before the 

Borg's adaptability renders them virtually useless.  

Therefore, the application of your weapons system 

must be planned out.  It must only be used at precisely 

the right time and under the best of circumstances.  

We have only been trying to save the Vantis for just 

those conditions." 

   "Really?" asked Appal. 

   "Really," said Picard reassuringly. 

   "Then, I have misunderstood your intentions," said 

Appal in feigned amazement. 

   "May we count on your cooperation?" asked Picard. 

   "Based on what you've just shared with me, I see no 

reason why I should not cooperate fully with you, 

Captain." 

   "Wonderful," said Picard.  "I'll return to the 

Enterprise and pass this good news to my superiors.  

They'll be quite pleased to learn that we've settled our 

differences." 

   Picard walked back down the corridor toward the 

engineers who were poring over plans which had 

been provided by Orokan crewmen.  Arch-Regent 

Appal stood watching Picard as a door opened beside 

him.  His Chief-of-Staff emerged from the room behind 

it, carefully closing the door behind him. 

   "I've gotten rid of him," said Appal smugly.  "Just 

keep a close watch on those Federation engineers.  

They must not discover our little surprise in there," he 

finished as he inclined his head toward the room 

behind the door. 

   Picard had joined LaForge to see how the repairs 

were progressing.  "It looks like some pretty heavy 

structural damage, Sir, and restoring the area’s 

systems functionality will be a nightmare," LaForge 

reported.  "We'll do what we can in the time we have 

with what we have." 

   "That's all I can ask," said Picard. 

   "Sir," asked LaForge quietly, "are you having any 

misgivings about working with these people while 

Appal is running their end of the show?" 

   Picard studied LaForge intently for a moment.  

"Keep me apprised of your progress, Commander," he 

said before having himself beamed back to the 

Enterprise. 

   Picard stepped off the transporter pad and walked 

briskly into the corridor.  He had walked less than 

half-a-minute when he heard Riker's voice over his 

communicator.  "Captain Picard, please report to the 

bridge." 

   Picard tapped his communicator button.  "On my 

way, Number One." 

   Several minutes later he stepped onto the bridge and 

asked, "What is it, Commander?" 

   "An urgent communication from Starfleet, Sir.  I took the liberty of routing it to your ready room.  Admiral 

Stockton is waiting for you." 

   "Thank you, Number One.  While I'm busy in there 

would you check with Mr. LaForge on the Diamont 

and see if there's anything he'll need to expedite 

repairs?" 

   "Consider it done, Sir." 

   Picard sat behind his desk and entered his access 

codes for Stockton's scrambled transmission.  "I'm 

sorry for the delay, Admiral," he said.  "I had to twist 

the Arch-Regent's arm for permission to help with 

repairs to his ship." 

   "It doesn't surprise me," Stockton admitted.  

"Characters like him always pop up when you wish 

you didn't have to rely on them for something.  

Captain, the reason I've contacted you is to tell you 

that your Borg ship has been busy.  It seems that it 

veered into Cardassian space and attacked one of their 

military convoys.  They've lost three transports and 

two of the escorting warships.  The one warship that 

managed to escape reported that the cube-ship was 

cutting pieces out of the vessels it had wrecked." 

   "Did the Cardassians counterattack?" asked Picard. 

   "No, they weren't foolish enough to try that," snorted Stockton, "but they did generously track it for us as it 

left their space and crossed back over to our side." 

   "What have they told us?" Picard asked. 

   "It's headed back our way," said Stockton seriously.  

"It must have found some useful Cardassian hardware 

in what it stole from them.  They say they tracked it 

for a while at warp seven." 

   "Then it has made at least a partial recovery," 

observed Picard.  "Where is it headed?" 

   "It looks like the Caldar-Signet system," said 

Stockton.  "My guess is that the Borg have searched 

just about everywhere else.. " 

   "I understand, Admiral.  What does Starfleet want us 

to do about the situation?" 

   "You have several options, Captain.  Stop or destroy 

the Borg ship, hide our cube-ship somewhere else, or 

just destroy it.  We'd like to keep the cube-ship, but 

above all else, Jean-Luc, they must not get it back." 

   "What about the fleet reinforcements?" Picard asked, 

feeling that the only answer to that question would be 

one he wouldn't want to hear. 

   "The reinforcements have been rerouted to a more 

defensible position," Stockton said, trying to keep the 

emotion in his voice from showing. 

   Picard understood.  Starfleet had made a hard 

choice.  The only choice, really, considering that 

events were moving faster than Starfleet could 

respond to them.  Minia IV lay outside the defensive 

perimeter Starfleet had been able to establish, 

virtually on its own with only one Starship and a 

damaged alien vessel with a crew and weapons most 

likely untested in combat to rely on for protection.  

Starfleet would attempt to evacuate as many people as 

possible from the sector, but the grim reality was that 

what it could do was far short of what needed to be 

done. 

   "Picard, I have no brilliant, guaranteed strategy to 

pass on to you," said Stockton regretfully.  "Everyone 

trusts that you will do what is best.  Is there anything 

we can provide for you?" 

   "I'd ask for Aladdin's magic lamp, but we're probably 

out of transporter range," Picard grinned. 

   "If I had it, I'd bring it to you myself," said Stockton, 

forcing a grin onto his face.  "Good luck, Captain.  I 

must go.  We'll be busy here shortly." 

   "Our best to you, Admiral," Picard said before closing the channel. 

   Picard quickly opened a channel to the Diamont.  

"Mister LaForge, report please on the repairs." 

   "LaForge here, Sir.  We're actually making some 

good progress.  The support tubes have all been 

patched and we've rigged some additional bracing.  

The repaired areas are holding atmosphere.  I hope 

you don't mind, Sir, but I used some of our spare 

components to bring their circuits on line.  Things are 

really going well.  Give us another two hours and we'll 

have their entire propulsion system ready to go." 

   "You're doing an excellent job," Picard smiled.  Just 

keep going as you are.  Make that diamond sparkle 

again and I'll buy you a drink later in Ten-Forward." 

   "You're on, Sir, but I'll warn you that I'll probably 

pick something expensive." 

   "I shan't complain," responded Picard before closing 

the channel.  He left the ready room and stepped onto 

the bridge. "Lt. Worf, a channel, please, to the Arch-

Regent." 

   Appal appeared on the main viewscreen looking as 

though he was trying to be a patient man.  "Yes, 

Picard?" 

   "The repair teams report that you'll be as good as 

new within two hours," said Picard. 

   "I've already received that information." 

   "Perhaps," Picard dismissed Appal's rude 

acknowledgement, "but you haven't learned that the 

Borg ship is coming back this way.  They've made 

some repairs, and they appear to be spoiling for a 

fight.  You've wanted a crack at that ship, and you're 

going to get it.  But first, we need a plan.  If you wish, 

we can meet on my ship." 

   "Alright, Captain," Appal said showing interest and 

enthusiasm.  "In about ten minutes, then?" 

   "I'll expect you," replied Picard. 

                                          *       *       * 

   Picard and the department heads assembled in the 

conference room and were informally discussing 

developments when Arch-Regent Appal raced through 

the opening doors, barely giving them ample time to 

open wide enough to admit him.  Several seconds later 

two of his staff officers and the Enterprise security 

team assigned to escort them also entered the 

conference room.  Picard dismissed the security team 

and for a time watched the Arch-Regent who was as 

bubbly as a child who had been promised a trip to a 

candy store.  The comments he was making to his 

officers and to anyone else unfortunate enough to be 

nearby indicated that he was expecting and ready for 

hasty plans and a rapid departure.  He was beginning 

to annoy Picard. 

   "Your attention, please," Picard said.  "Let's call this 

meeting to order.  You've all been supplied with a 

report of the latest developments.  I take it that you 

have all had a chance to read it.  Since we expect the 

repairs to the Diamont to be completed within our 

expected two hours, in that time we must assess our 

situation, examine our options, and establish a course 

of action appropriate…" 

   "Must we endure another long-winded Picard 

dissertation?" demanded Appal impatiently.  "Just tell 

us where the thing is and let's get out there and start 

tearing it apart!" 

   Picard leaned toward Appal angrily, his hands on the 

conference table.  "I'd like a word with you - outside!" 

he spat. 

   Picard then pushed himself erect, and with great 

force of will maintained his composure as he pulled 

his uniform coat into its proper place, and then 

purposefully strode toward the exit.  He passed 

through the door and was waiting in the corridor 

before Appal slowly arose to follow him. 

   While rising, Appal had been unsure of how he was 

going to handle Picard.  The closer he got to the door 

the more he decided that now was a great time to 

assert to Picard that he was no longer going to be 

bullied around. 

   The conference room doors opened.  Appal stepped 

into the corridor and looked both ways, finding Picard 

standing with his back to him on the right.  Appal 

stood behind Picard and leaned on the wall, 

supporting himself with his outstretched right arm 

and with his left hand on his hip. 

   "What is your problem, Picard?" he said slowly with 

a snide edge in his voice. 

   Picard looked over his left shoulder and slowly 

turned around, his eyes never leaving Appal's.  "My 

problem, sir, is YOU!" 

   "No!  I'll tell you what your problem is!" Appal said 

as he leaned toward Picard and took his right arm 

from the wall.  He then waved the index finger of his 

right hand in front of Picard's face as he charged, "You 

can't seem to understand that we have a job to do!  My 

crew and I, we want to get out there and get it done!  

But you?!  You're making a lifestyle out of standing in 

our way!" 

   "And you have nearly gotten everyone in your 

command killed, several times, with your foolish, 

reckless, and heedless attitude!" Picard countered 

while forcefully pushing Appal's hand away from his 

face.  "If it was mine to command, I'd see you locked 

away to give one of your more rational officers a 

chance to command your ship!  The only reason I 

haven't ordered it thus far is because I'm having 

trouble finding the time to train another officer to do 

your job! Be warned, you foolish man, you are this 

close," Picard emphasized his point by holding his 

right thumb and index finger a scant hair apart in 

front of Appal's face, "to breaking that very, very thin 

thread of restraint!  Picard snapped his arm down to 

his side, and with both fists tightly clenched, he 

stormed back into the conference room.  A moment 

later Appal angrily followed and slid into his seat. 

   "Lieutenant Worf," snapped Picard, ignoring Appal's 

arrival, "please place the first diagram on the screen." 

   A diagram of the Caldar-Signet system appeared on 

the viewscreen.  A dotted line indicated the expected 

path of the Borg ship as it would enter the system.  A 

flashing red dot near Caldar-Signet Five, on the 

opposite side of the system from the Borg's 

anticipated entry point, marked the position of the 

captured cube-ship.  Picard pointed out the 

significance of each of these features for the benefit of 

everyone at the conference table.  Picard then nodded 

his head at Worf, and small graphic representations of 

the Enterprise and the Diamont appeared on the 

diagram. 

   Picard said, "The problem is: how do our two ships 

drive the Borg ship from this system, and from the 

entire sector, before it discovers where their missing 

ship is hidden?  Pay close attention to our plan.  For it 

to work, there must be one hundred percent 

cooperation from both ships.  Together we have a 

chance of success.  Individually, we both fail, in a very 

final way." 

   Picard again nodded to Lt. Worf, and two close dots 

appeared on the diagram near the Borg's anticipated 

entry point.  "These represent Caldar-Signet's sixth 

planet and its nearest moon," Picard explained.  "Lt. 

Worf, the blow-up, please." 

   A larger, more detailed diagram of Caldar-Signet Six 

and its moon appeared in a lower corner of the 

viewscreen.  "C-S Six," said Picard as he pointed to the 

planet "is quite massive, with a correspondingly 

strong gravitational field.  Its surface is covered by a 

sea of liquefied hydrocarbon gasses, its atmosphere is 

composed of gaseous variants of the contents of the 

hydrocarbon sea.  Its surface conditions are 

hazardous to life.  Its weather would be devastating 

on a calm day.  This inhospitable world is useful to us 

because of its massive gravity field.  Its nearest moon 

is thirty-two hundred kilometers in diameter and 

composed of a variety of solid substances.  It is a 

perfect place to hide the Diamont and its attack craft 

from Borg scans.  The plan is simple.  The Enterprise 

will attempt to draw the Borg ship between C-S Six 

and its moon.  At this time the Enterprise will have 

dropped to impulse power, and will be attempting to 

lure the Borg ship into a near orbit around C-S Six.  

The planet's massive gravity field will make it more 

difficult for the cube-ship to maneuver as long as it 

remains at sublight speeds.  The Diamont and its 

attack craft will lie in ambush behind the moon, and 

will strike as we bring the Borg ship within striking 

range.  We will be depending heavily on the Vantis 

being able to destroy the outer weapons and 

propulsion sites before the Borg ship can escape our 

trap.  After that, the Diamont and the Enterprise will 

move in and attempt to finish what the attack craft 

will have started.  Arch-Regent, if for any reason your 

Vantis are not up to this task, now is the time to let us 

know." 

   As much as Appal hated Picard, he managed a smile 

at him.  "The Vantis are up to it," he said with supreme 

confidence. 

   "Fine," Picard observed.  "We all seem convinced 

that the plan works on paper.  There is, however, one 

more facet to consider.  What do we do if our strategy 

proves ineffective?  We are certain that what brought 

the Borg ship here was a hope of recovering their 

missing cube-ship.  Starfleet's wishes are that above 

all else, the Borg must not regain custody of that ship.  

Therefore, in the event that either one of our ships is 

incapacitated, the other must break off from the 

engagement,  proceed as rapidly as possible to C-S 

Five, and destroy the captured cube-ship.  Two Borg 

ships operating in this area of the galaxy could be the 

end of everything we know.  Arch-Regent, it is 

important that I have your commitment to support 

this part of the plan." 

   "The disposition of the captured cube-ship is of as 

great a concern to us as it is to you, Captain," said 

Appal. 

   Now exactly what was that supposed to mean, 

Picard wondered.  It was neither an endorsement nor 

a rejection. 

   "Was that a 'yes' or a 'no', Arch-Regent?" Picard 

pressed. 

   "You may rest assured, good Captain, the Borg will 

not regain control of their missing ship," Appal smiled. 

   That almost sounded like a 'yes', Picard thought, and 

yet it still feels like he's side-stepping the commitment 

I need.  Why?  What is he up to now? 

   "I'm sure we will all find some comfort in knowing 

that," Picard reacted.  He had not tried to keep the 

suspicion he felt from coloring the way he had 

responded to the Arch-Regent.  "That should be 

everything.  We all know what is expected.  Let's hurry 

to wrap up the last repairs to the Diamont before we 

put our plan into operation." 

   As those who had attended the meeting were leaving 

the room, Picard discreetly hooked Riker's arm and 

quietly said to him, "Number One, there are some 

concerns I would like to share with you." 

                            ***   CHAPTER  TEN   *** 

   Picard and Riker quietly retired to Picard's ready 

room and began a long, soul-searching dialogue while 

Lieutenant Commander Data took the Enterprise on 

its carefully calculated and hopefully inconspicuous 

way to the coordinates of the planned initial contact 

with the Borg cube-ship.  Picard had felt a strong need 

to talk with his first officer.  There were things that 

needed to be said - just in case.  His ship was planning 

to provoke a fight with a Borg vessel, though not 

alone, because the Diamont was expected to fight with 

them, providing that the Borg ship could be lured to 

Caldar-Signet Six.  Both officers had agreed that this 

was not a reassuring prospect.  They had both 

admitted that they were almost counting on the 

Orokan commander, Appal, to break from the planned 

strategy and try to conduct the anticipated battle 

according to his own cockeyed priorities.  They were 

both feeling the weight of the knowledge that the 

success or failure of the battle, and the defense of the 

sector, could ultimately rest on the performance of the 

Enterprise.  They both tried to anticipate how the 

Enterprise would fare battling against the Borg ship. 

   The capabilities of the Borg ship had been reduced, 

but even when restricted to producing less than one-

third of its anticipated power, it had managed to 

annihilate two Cardassian warships and three 

transports.  From components salvaged from the 

battered Cardassian hulks the Borg ship had repaired 

some of the damage resulting from Riker's first hit-

and-run attack against it.  It had then been tracked at 

warp seven by the Cardassians.  Picard and Riker 

pondered the question: were those the best repairs 

the Borg could make, or had they somehow since then 

surpassed what the Cardassians had witnessed? 

   Regardless of the extent of the Borg repairs, and of 

the extent of cooperation from the Orokans, the 

Enterprise was going to face the Borg ship.  Somehow, 

summing up their plans in those words seemed 

inadequate.  It was more than just facing the Borg.  

They were actually going on the offensive.  Throwing 

down the gauntlet.  This time the Enterprise was 

committed for the duration, in the fray to the bitter 

end.  Picard, as Captain, felt that the entire effort 

focused through him.  Would they say, “Picard had the 

audacity to go out and challenge the Borg?”  Would 

they say it as though Picard had been a fool who had 

done little more than rashly thrust a thorn under the 

toenail of a giant?  Riker had admitted to having had 

some of the same feelings as he had ordered actions 

taken against the Borg.  Both officers, having 

experienced the loneliness of command, had learned 

that when it was necessary to make a decision you 

just forgot about what everyone else might say, and 

you got on with whatever needed to be done. 

   They discussed what the Borg might think about the 

Enterprise.  Was Enterprise a name that stuck in their 

craw, or was it merely another irrelevant obstacle to 

be overrun?  Did they even regard the Enterprise as 

an obstacle? 

   And what of the outcome of the battle?  Could they 

win?  Would both sides destroy the other?  Or would 

they simply lose?  The Enterprise and the Borg had 

contested before.  The first blows, the first rounds 

were in the books.  History.  Both sides had measured 

the other.  Now, would they meet in the center of the 

arena and settle everything, once and for all?  Perhaps 

not once and for all, but wouldn't it be something to at 

least turn the tide and force the Borg to retreat? 

   They examined the way they had been talking and 

thinking, and wondered if possibly the hunter-warrior 

had not yet been bred out of humanity, or if it ever 

would. 

   A low warbling sound from the intercom interrupted 

their conversation.  Picard leaned forward in his chair 

and opened the indicated channel.  "Picard here." 

   "Data here, Sir.  The time interval during which you did not wish to be disturbed has passed." 

   "Thank you, Mr. Data.  We're on our way to the 

bridge." 

   Riker stood up from his chair.  "Time take up our 

spears and shields.  The contest is about to begin." 

   "Indeed it is," Picard agreed as he rounded his desk 

and offered his hand to Riker.  "Good luck, Will." 

   "Good luck, Sir," returned Riker, responding to 

Picard's gesture.  "I just hope that our 'allies' don't 

hand us a major screw-up that ends the career of our 

Enterprise." 

   "Not half as much as I," smiled Picard.  He looked 

around the room and out the room's observation port 

as he added, "She's a fine ship.  I don't believe that in 

the entire remainder of our careers we'll find an 

assignment that means as much as having served on 

her." 

   "Agreed, Sir," affirmed Riker.  With the faintest smirk 

he added, "but, if I understand our plans, we're 

supposed to be making the Borg sad and melancholy 

over the prospect of losing their ship, not ourselves." 

   "Well spoken, Number One," Picard grinned.  "Let us join the crew on the bridge." 

   As the door to the Captain's ready room opened, 

Data left the bridge Command Chair and assumed his 

regular station at his forward console.  Picard took the 

Command Chair as Riker settled into his place at 

Picard's right. 

   "What is our status, Mr. Data?" asked Picard. 

   "We are on station, Sir.  There has been no contact 

with the Borg vessel." 

   "Thank you, Mr. Data.  Mr. Worf, bring the ship to 

yellow alert.  Let's not let the opposition get the jump 

on us." 

   And then they waited, holding their position with all 

nonessential systems shut down, depending on 

passive sensor readings to alert them to the approach 

of the Borg ship. 

   The hours passed. 

   Silence on the bridge was broken by Lieutenant 

Worf.  "Captain, I am picking up readings that could be 

a Borg ship." 

   "On screen, Lieutenant." 

   The main viewscreen showed only a normal 

background of stars. 

   "Go to magnification factor ten, please," ordered 

Picard.  He studied the screen intently, seeing nothing.  

"Are you still getting those readings, Mr. Worf?" 

   "Yes, Sir.  They are only slightly stronger." 

   "They are either moving very slowly," Picard 

observed, "or they are still very far away." 

   Something about one of the dim stars near the upper 

center of the screen aroused Riker's curiosity.  "With 

your permission, Sir.  Mr. Data, focus on the top center 

quadrant at magnification factor one-hundred." 

   When the images had settled it was apparent that 

one of the stars had taken on a definite shape - a cube. 

   "Well done, Number One," said Picard.  "Engineering, 

be ready to engage warp engines on my command.  

For now, let's just watch and see what it will do." 

   After several minutes of watching, Riker inquired, 

"How fast is it moving, Data?" 

   "It appears to be heading for the Caldar-Signet 

system at warp four, Sir," responded Data. 

   "Shall I arm the photon torpedoes, Sir?" asked Lt. 

Worf. 

   "Stand by, Lieutenant," said Picard.  "We'll not take  

offensive action just yet." 

   Ten, twenty, and thirty minutes went by as the Borg 

vessel was studied.  Its heading remained unchanged, 

and as it passed through its closest point to the 

Enterprise it seemed as though it was completely 

ignoring the Federation Starship. 

   "They don't even know we're here," exclaimed the 

Ensign at the helm station. 

   "Quite the contrary," said Picard.  "I believe they are 

aware of our position.  We are merely being ignored 

because we are not at this time posing a threat to 

them." 

   "Sir, if we do not soon engage, we might lose the 

opportunity," reminded Riker.  "The Orokans are 

expecting us to be leading the Borg to the 

rendezvous." 

   "Agreed, Number One," said Picard.  "Engineering, 

bring the warp engines on line.  Helm, lay in a heading 

of zero-two-zero, mark one-five, at warp factor five.  

Engage." 

   The Enterprise gracefully assumed a heading which 

moved it toward an eventual interception of the Borg 

ship. 

   "The photon torpedoes, Sir?" questioned Lt. Worf 

nervously. 

   "Stand by with our forward phasers, Lieutenant," 

Picard answered calmly.  "Our uses of the photon 

torpedoes will be determined by what circumstances 

require.  We'll do better keeping our loading options 

open.  I don't want to get caught like the Japanese 

Imperial Fleet at the Battle of Midway." 

   "Understood, Sir," responded Worf, apparently 

satisfied with Picard's reasoning. 

   The Enterprise continued closing on the Borg ship 

which still seemed to be ignoring it.  Eventually its 

position was slightly ahead of the cube-ship, and 

Picard felt it was time to make his first move. 

   "Helm, change our heading to mark zero-two-zero," 

he ordered.  "Bring the ship to red alert and set shields 

to maximum." 

   The slight adjustment to the Enterprise's heading 

angled it toward a collision with the Borg ship. 

   "Mister Worf, fire three wide-dispersion phaser 

beams at a point fifteen hundred meters ahead of their 

vessel," ordered Picard. 

   Three times in rapid succession the deadly energy 

beams cut through the empty space beyond the Borg 

ship's leading edge.  It was a tactic designed to catch 

the attention of the Collective in the Borg ship.  It was 

a tactic which worked.  The Borg ship rapidly reduced 

speed as the Enterprise itself shot across the Borg 

ship's intended path. 

   "Well done, everyone," Picard beamed.  "That ruffled 

a few of their feathers.  Helm, lay in a course for 

Caldar-Signet Six at warp factor five and engage." 

   The Enterprise turned toward Caldar-Signet, which 

was now the nearest star.  The Borg ship adjusted its 

heading slightly, bringing it behind the Enterprise. 

   "Sir, the Borg are in pursuit," reported Lt. Worf, "at 

warp five-point-five," he added after further study of 

his readouts. 

   "They've taken the bait," Picard concluded.  

"Engineering, all possible power to the rear shields." 

   "Sir, the Borg ship will be within firing range within 

nine seconds," relayed Data. 

   "Steady as she goes.. " Picard ordered quietly. 

   The ship was suddenly shaken by a powerful energy 

blast which had been absorbed by the rear shields. 

   "I believe that was the Borg, Sir," said Riker dryly. 

   "Very astute, Number One," Picard responded in 

kind.  "Helm, start random evasive maneuvers, but 

keep our general heading toward Caldar-Signet Six." 

   The Enterprise began turning and twisting in order 

to present a more difficult target to the Borg weapons.  

For several minutes the effort was successful as the 

Borg missed their target widely on almost every shot.  

But they learned with each miss, and eventually they 

began to punish the Enterprise's shields more 

consistently. 

   "Engineering, report on the condition of the rear 

shields," demanded Commander Riker. 

   "LaForge here, Sir.  They're taking a beating, but 

there's no sign of a problem yet.  Sir, down here we'd 

all feel more comfortable with a change in your 

evasive tactics." 

   "Acknowledged, Mr. LaForge," said Riker.  "I will 

pass that concern on to the Captain immediately." 

   A smile passed between Riker and Picard as he 

ordered, "Helm, take us to warp six." 

   The increase in speed brought a minute of relief 

from the bombardment of the Borg weapons.  Picard 

put the time to good use. 

   "Mr. Worf, broadcast a distress signal to Starfleet 

Command," he ordered.  "Report that we are being 

pursued by a Borg vessel, and ask for assistance from 

any Federation ships in the sector." 

   "But, Sir, we are the only Federation ship in the 

sector," Worf pointed out. 

   "I am aware of that, Lieutenant," Picard responded, 

"and by now, so are the Borg.  Such a message might 

give the Borg a little more confidence.  It will also alert 

the Diamont to be ready for our arrival." 

   "Aye, Sir.  Message is being transmitted," said Lt. 

Worf. 

   "Sir, the Borg ship has increased velocity to warp 

six-point-five, and is closing in on us," reported Data. 

   "Helm, take us to warp seven," Picard responded. 

   A moment later Data revealed, "The Borg have 

increased velocity to warp seven." 

   "Are they gaining on us?" Picard asked. 

   "Negative, Sir," said Data.  "We will be entering the 

Caldar-Signet system in three-point-eight minutes." 

   "Steady as she goes," said Picard. 

   "Sir, we will soon need to start braking maneuvers 

for orbit around Caldar-Signet Six," said the 

Helmsman. 

   "Thank you, helm," said Picard.  "Mr. Worf, launch a 

class-one probe from our stern tubes.  Configure its 

power system to go into overload ten seconds after 

launch." 

   Lt. Worf worked at his control panel and then 

announced, "The probe has been launched, Sir." 

   When outside the Enterprise's shields, the probe 

exploded in a brilliant flash of light and radiation. 

   "Helm, bring us out of warp.  At maximum impulse 

power, head for an orbit around Caldar-Signet Six," 

Picard ordered. 

   The Borg ship was caught unaware by the 

Enterprise's sharp drop in speed.  The Collective mind 

of its crew was also confused for an additional second 

or two by the unexpected explosion that had preceded 

the Federation ship's rapid deceleration.  Had an 

explosion aboard the Enterprise damaged something, 

or was it some kind of trick?  The Collective decided to 

postpone solving that problem as the rapidly turning 

Enterprise receded from them.  As the Borg ship 

turned to follow, it began shooting at the Enterprise 

even though it was near the effective limit of its 

energy beam weapons.  The impacts of the energy 

blasts were felt aboard the Enterprise, but the Borg 

ship had overshot its target too far to have inflicted 

serious damage. 

   The Enterprise entered a low orbit around Caldar-

Signet Six.  The bridge crew saw the planet's many-

colored atmospheric features sliding by below on the 

main viewscreen, and the orb of the planet's inner 

moon ascending over the horizon. 

   "Captain," said Lt. Worf, "the Borg ship has returned 

and is in orbit around the planet.  It has cleared the 

horizon behind us and is closing rapidly." 

   "Fire one standard photon torpedo from astern, Lt. 

Worf," said Picard.  "Try to keep their attention 

focused on us." 

   Seconds later the twinkling discharge of the 

torpedo's engines marked its path toward the Borg 

ship.  There was a bright flash upon its impact. 

   "No damage, Sir," Worf volunteered.  "The torpedo impacted on their shields." 

   The Borg ship responded to the photon torpedo with 

an energy blast that violently jolted the Enterprise.  

Lights dimmed for several seconds and alarms loudly 

blared. 

   "LaForge to Bridge." 

   "Go ahead, Mr. LaForge," responded Picard. 

   "Whatever that was, it hurt us, Sir!" exclaimed 

LaForge.  "If we get hit like that again before we can 

make some repairs, I won't guarantee the shields will 

hold up." 

   "Do what you can, Mr. LaForge," encouraged Picard.  

"In another few minutes some of the pressure should 

be taken off us.  Helm, increase our distance from the 

Borg ship slightly." 

   "Captain, I have picked up several hundred small 

objects which have appeared from behind the planet's 

moon and are heading toward the Borg ship," 

reported Lt. Worf. 

   "On screen and magnify, Lt. Worf," said Picard.  

"Let's see if they're Appal's Vantis." 

   Neatly formed flights of Orokan Vanti attack craft 

appeared on the main viewscreen.  Picard was both 

surprised and impressed.  In spite of how 

undisciplined Appal's crew had at times appeared, it 

seemed that they had miraculously transformed into 

an orderly and potentially effective combat force.  If 

the Orokan strategy was sound, and if the Vanti pilots 

could fight as well as they executed formation flying, 

there might be some hope for their desperate plan 

after all. 

   The Borg ship again fired on the Enterprise, rocking 

it violently as its dying rear shields absorbed the 

blast's impact. 

   "LaForge to bridge.  That tears it, Captain.  The rear 

shields are all but gone!" 

   "Thank you, Mr. LaForge," said Picard.  "Do what you 

can to bring them back.  Helm, bring the ship around.  

Keep our forward shields toward the Borg ship and 

increase our withdrawal speed from them by ten 

percent.  Mr. Worf, prepare three of the leftover 

terraforming torpedoes." 

   As they had been addressed, the personnel on the 

bridge acknowledged their instructions from Picard.  

The Enterprise swung around and backed swiftly 

away from the Borg ship, taunting and teasing, acting 

as though it intended to stand and fight.  The Borg 

fired into the Enterprise's forward shields.  The 

shields held, and LaForge desperately planned what 

he would try to do when the Borg finally disabled 

them also. 

   "Lieutenant Worf, on my command, fire the 

terraforming torpedoes," said Picard with a hint of 

excitement in his voice. 

   The Vanti attack craft had closed to within two 

hundred kilometers of the Borg ship when Picard gave 

the order, "Fire the torpedoes, Mr. Worf."  The first 

two torpedoes' explosions in the Borg's leading side 

protective shields weakened the shields, allowing the 

third torpedo to penetrate the upper surface of the 

leading side before its shields had regenerated.  A 

second or two later the Borg ship trembled from a 

series of explosions inside which left a long, deep 

crack in its upper surface. 

   "Well done, Mr. Worf!" exclaimed Picard.  If the Borg 

had tried some sort of defense against the 

terraforming torpedoes, it obviously hadn't been one-

hundred percent effective. 

   The Vanti attack craft swarmed over the trailing side 

of the Borg cube-ship.  Their attack procedure was 

hidden from view on the Enterprise, but numerous 

explosions which had occurred near the cube-ship's 

edges were seen. 

   The leading flights of attack craft arced over the top 

and under the bottom of the cube ship as weapons 

stations on those sides of the ship tried unsuccessfully 

to lock in on the speeding close-in targets.  Many 

times the Borg fired, and only once did they score a hit 

on a Vanti.  Judging from appearances, that had been a 

factor of luck more than anything else.  The damaged 

Vanti tumbled for a while, then regained its 

composure and took a position outside the main 

battle. 

   The trailing flights in the main attack spear flew 

outward toward the left and right.  When the leading 

flights were clear of the cube-ship, they attacked the 

left and right sides.  The right side attackers inverted 

themselves and passed under the cube-ship after their 

firing run.  The left side attackers passed over the 

cube-ship and formed up with other flights to attack 

other sides of the Borg ship.  The Vantis attacked with 

concentrated applications of phaser fire and 

launchings of old-style missiles bearing more 

contemporary photon warheads.  Although the 

destructive yields of the Vanti weapons were much 

less than those weapons used on the Enterprise, the 

Vanti's ability to penetrate the Borg shields before 

firing made their applications accurate and 

destructive.  The Vantis swarmed so thickly around 

the cube-ship that Picard considered supporting fire 

from the Enterprise too risky to try. 

   As the Enterprise watched, the Orokan attack craft 

devastated the surface of the cube-ship.  Many of the 

exterior weapons stations cataloged by the Enterprise 

were being silenced, and those that remained were 

only slightly more effective than they had been when 

the first wave of attack craft had hit the cube-ship.  

Though several of the attack craft had been 

completely destroyed by Borg defensive fire, the 

pitiful level of Borg resistance was proving to be an 

insignificant deterrent.  As the seemingly one-sided 

battle continued, Lt. Worf reported to Picard that the 

Diamont, was approaching the battle from behind the 

moon of Caldar-Signet Six. 

   Data turned around in the chair at his duty station.  

"Captain Picard, may I have a word with you?" he 

asked. 

   "What is it, Mr. Data?" Picard responded. 

   "Sir, I estimate the Vanti attack craft can sustain this 

attack for another twelve to fifteen minutes," Data 

said. 

   "Very good, Mr. Data," Picard said as he concentrated on the main viewscreen. 

    "Sir, are you aware that Federation citizens are held 

captive on this Borg vessel?" asked Data. 

   This question tore Picard's concentration away from 

the viewscreen.  Commander Riker had informed him 

about Data's desire to lead a rescue attempt for those 

captives. 

     "Among them, your brother, Lore," said Picard. 

   "Yes, Sir," Data affirmed.  "I have formulated several 

sound plans and supporting contingency procedures 

for an attempt to find and reclaim those captives.  Our 

experiences in reclaiming you, Sir, were most helpful.  

At the present, the Borg are preoccupied with the 

Orokan attack, and are ignoring us.  Their shields are 

temporarily weakened enough to allow beaming over 

and back.  Until the Vantis break off their attacks, 

neither we nor the Diamont can fire on the Borg ship.  

This period of waiting would be ideal for a rescue 

attempt.  May I have your permission to try, Sir?" 

   "Number One, your input," Picard requested. 

   "Mr. Data must understand that this is very risky, 

Sir!" Riker stated. 

   "Agreed," Picard said solemnly.  "Data, are you aware of what may happen if you are unable to 

return?  You'd be facing a living hell from which the 

Borg will not let you escape." 

   "I have considered this, Sir," said Data, "and yet, I am 

willing to try." 

   Picard quickly weighed his fears for Data's safety 

against his sympathy for any living creature held by 

the Borg.  If the tide of battle completely turned 

against the Borg ship, it would have to be destroyed.  

Picard knew that everyone in his crew would feel 

better with performing that duty if the innocent 

captives had been given a chance to avoid the fate of 

the Borg crew. 

   "Alright, Mr. Data.  You have my permission," said 

Picard.  "You will have the option of selecting a small 

volunteer away team.  Your team will be given ten 

minutes for the rescue attempt, and then you will have 

to be brought back.  No questions, and no exemptions.  

Are those terms acceptable?" 

   "They are, Sir," said Data. 

   "Commander Data," interrupted Worf, "with the 

Captain's permission, I would like to accompany you." 

   "Permission granted, Lieutenant," said Picard. 

   "One assistant is all I shall require, Sir," said Data.  

"We must leave immediately." 

   For the first time Riker and Picard noticed that Data 

had placed a small black bag under his console.  He 

stooped down to pick it up, and then touched his 

communicator.  "Transporter Room, prepare to beam 

Lt. Worf and myself directly to the coordinates I have 

programmed into your console." 

   As Worf and Data stood waiting to be beamed from 

the bridge, Riker looked to Picard and whispered, "Do 

you get the impression we've had the wool pulled 

over our eyes, Sir?" 

   "Yes, I do, Number One," Picard admitted quietly, 

"and if it were for any less a noble cause, I would 

object." 

   Picard arose and said, "Picard to Transporter Room.  

Drop shields and transport Mr. Data and Lt. Worf." 

    As the small away team vanished from the bridge 

the Borg ship unleashed a barrage of devastating 

energy blasts at the unprotected Enterprise.  The ship 

lurched drunkenly.  Lighting dimmed, went 

completely out, and then was replaced by emergency 

backup illumination. 

   Riker climbed back into his chair and shouted over 

the alarms, "Damage Control, report!" 

   "Outer hull integrity breached, Sir.  Emergency force 

fields are sustaining atmosphere.  The ship is on total 

emergency battery power, and as near as I can tell, 

that's only getting to life support.  Nothing else seems 

to respond." 

   "Engineering.. " Riker shouted. 

   "We're on it, Sir!" answered the frustrated voice of 

LaForge over the bridge loudspeakers. 

   Captain Picard regained his feet and touched his 

communicator.  "Picard to Transporter Room.  What 

happened to Mr. Data and Lt. Worf?" 

   "I don't know, Sir," came the reply.  "The power shut 

down before I could verify a successful beam-over." 

   Picard looked at the viewscreen and cursed under 

his breath.  "My mistake, Number One," he said grimly.  

"The enemy still has a great deal of fight left in him." 

                         ***   CHAPTER  ELEVEN   *** 

   The transporter patterns of Lieutenant Worf and 

Lieutenant Commander Data began to form on a dimly 

illuminated walkway on the Borg cube-ship.  They 

faded momentarily into an almost imperceptible 

twinkling haze, and then reappeared, requiring 

slightly longer than normal for their reconstruction to 

be completed.  Worf's eyes rolled back in their 

sockets, and he collapsed, unconscious, onto the 

walkway.  Data knelt beside him and pulled a 

tricorder from his black bag.  He used the instrument 

to run several quick scans over Worf's motionless 

body. 

   Worf's eyes opened.  He shot up into a sitting 

position on the walkway, his wide eyes darting all 

around him as he tried to recollect where he was.  He 

felt as if he was awakening from an eerie dream in 

which he had been watching himself disperse and 

wash away among swirling eddies and currents 

playing in a fluid river of time and space.  In a few 

seconds his thoughts and memories stabilized.  When 

his eyes focused on Data, he asked, "What happened?" 

   "Most likely an interruption in the power supply to 

the transporter system," Data theorized.  "Emergency 

backups must have taken over and finished the 

programmed transport before our patterns started to 

decay in the buffers.  You appear to have been affected 

more by what happened than I.  How are you feeling?" 

   Worf forced himself to his feet and answered, "Much 

stronger, and ready to continue once I understand 

what I am expected to do." 

   Data again placed his hand into the black bag and 

withdrew two phasers.  He gave one to Worf and 

explained, "They are set to non-standard resonance 

frequencies.  Each one uses a different frequency and 

should be effective against four to six Borg personnel 

before they can begin shielding themselves from the 

beams.  We must use them wisely, Lieutenant." 

   "Just like the last time," Worf observed as he looked 

warily around.  Explosions coming from the outer 

sections of the cube-ship were drumming throughout 

the entire vessel. 

   Data emptied the bag by withdrawing two long, 

sheathed knives.  He secured one to his own belt and 

passed the other to Worf. 

   A delighted grin spread across Worf's face as he 

withdrew his knife from the sheath.  "I do not 

recognize the design," he said as he admired the 

weapon.  "Did you design this yourself?" 

   "With much help from the ship's computer and the 

replicator," admitted Data. 

   Worf clenched his teeth and gave a low growl as he 

twirled the knife into the air and caught it to feel its 

balance.  After giving the handle a firm, approving 

squeeze, he smartly thrust the knife into the sheath 

and fastened it to his belt.  Thus armed, Worf looked 

as though he would welcome a fight with just about 

anything. 

   Data made several adjustments to the tricorder as he 

explained, "I have modified this tricorder to register 

emissions characteristic of Dr. Soong's positronic 

devices.  In tracking these emissions I hope to find 

Lore.  If he is capable of communicating with the 

Collective, I will ask him to find the other Federation 

prisoners.  Those prisoners which we can find will be 

beamed back to the Enterprise." 

   "We do not have much time," said Worf anxiously. 

   Data energized the tricorder and moved it in an arc 

all around him.  He pointed it down through the 

walkway.  "We must go two levels down, quickly," he 

said. 

   They jogged down the walkway as Data examined 

readings from his tricorder.  On Data's instruction 

they turned left into another corridor.  They ran 

through an intersection of two corridors where they 

were startled by an approaching Borg unit.  From 

opposite sides they both trained their phasers on it.  

The unit walked between them, oblivious to their 

presence.  Leaving it to attend to its own business, 

they continued along the corridor and discovered an 

elevator.  Under their control the elevator slowly 

descended two levels, and then with Data leading they 

ran out. 

   After a short jog down the new corridor they came 

to a room without a door.  Inside the room sat a figure 

whose face was partially obscured by a collection of 

typical Borg cybernetic devices.  His right arm's 

prosthetic device was connected to a power coupling, 

and his eyes, in the characteristic manner of the Borg, 

seemed to be focused on some nonexistent thing in 

front of him. 

   Data checked the readouts from the tricorder and 

switched the device off.  Looking at Worf, he simply 

said, "It is Lore." 

   "Stand back, Sir," said Worf. 

   He lunged into the open doorway.  A shower of 

sparks and dissonant cracklings and buzzing preceded 

Worf's being thrown to the opposite side of the 

corridor.  The creature in the room slowly and 

dispassionately turned to look at the source of the 

noise. 

   Worf sat up and leaned against the wall, shaking his 

head roughly. 

   "You did not give me time to inform you about the 

force field," said Data. 

   Worf slowly stood up and grunted, "When we 

encounter the next force field, I will give you all the 

time you need." 

   The sounds of deliberate footsteps approaching from 

both ends of the corridor attracted their attention.  

Data tapped his communicator and said, "Enterprise, 

be prepared to beam us out." 

   After repeating the message, Data watched the 

advancing Borg units and said, "There is no response 

from the Enterprise, Lieutenant.  We must use the 

phasers to clear a way out." 

   They both fired in the direction Data pointed his 

weapon.  Three of the Borg units fell before other 

units began projecting shields as protection against 

the phasers' beams.  Additional units were appearing 

in the corridor as far back as they could see. 

   Worf elbowed Data and pointed behind them.  "Sir, 

there appear to be less of them this way!" 

   Stepping toward the less heavily populated section 

of the corridor they fired toward individual targets.  

Two more of the units fell to the deck before the other 

units projected shields. 

   "Concentrated fire, Lieutenant," ordered Data, "upon 

the closest one." 

   Together Data and Worf were able to bring down an 

additional unit before the Borg shields adapted to 

their concentrated phaser fire. 

   Worf gave a loud growl and pulled the long knife 

from the sheath on his belt.  He slashed at the nearest 

unit and deeply gashed its arm.  It held its arm 

clumsily out to the side, turned, and tried to stagger 

back against the tide of its approaching comrades.  

Giving another long, loud growl, Worf rushed toward 

another nearby unit and plunged the long blade 

through its ribs.  When he jerked the knife out, the 

unit collapsed onto the deck.  Worf picked another 

target and thrust the knife toward it.  This time an 

opaque shield appeared to protect the unit.  Worf 

attempted to drive the blade through it, but succeeded 

only in breaking the blade off the hilt.  Reluctantly 

Data attempted to use his knife, and was met with a 

similar shield and broken blade. 

   Worf next attempted to tackle a unit standing in 

front of him, but was thrown back onto the deck by 

the unit's powerful prosthetic arm.  Data also reverted 

to physically attacking the units before him, and by 

using his great strength and some appropriately 

applied leverage he was able to topple two of his 

opponents.  A moment later several of the units 

grabbed his right arm, and he found it impossible to 

free himself. 

   As he was lying on the deck Worf looked up, and he 

discovered pipes on the ceiling which he identified as 

power conductors.  The conductors ran over Data's 

head to a large crystal junction at the next corridor 

intersection.  Following a wild impulse, Worf pulled 

his phaser from his belt and leaped toward Data.  He 

released Data's phaser from its belt and pointed both 

at the crystal power junction.  He fired continuously, 

and three seconds later the junction exploded into a 

blinding shower of sparks.  Outside the cube-ship, the 

pilots of an attacking squadron of Vantis completed an 

uneventful firing pass over their targets when all the 

remaining defensive weapons around their targets 

suddenly stopped firing. 

   Still struggling, Data and Worf were gradually being 

buried under an army of Borg units.  Worf resisted 

until his hopelessly fatigued body could no longer 

move.  Data continued battling against the 

overwhelming onslaught of opponents, but finally 

allowed himself to be restrained when he saw that 

continued resistance could help neither Worf nor 

Lore. 

   From inside the room the subdued captive figure of 

Lore had emotionlessly watched the violent drama in 

the corridor.  When he saw Worf and Data at last 

under the control of the Borg, a deep melancholy 

settled over what little remained of his soul.  It was 

the first and only emotion, besides rage, that he had 

been able to feel for the past two years. 

                                          *       *       * 

   "We are within firing range, Sir," the Diamont's 

Tactical Officer informed Arch-Regent Appal. 

   "Take us in closer!" Appal ordered cheerfully, 

reinforcing the order with a wide, flamboyant gesture.  

"Order the Vantis to clear the target and then have the 

phaser crews fire at will.  Have the refueling and 

armaments crews standing by on all flight decks." 

   The Diamond Ship closed on the Borg cube-ship and 

opened fire with its two powerful phasers.  The 

emitters located at each of the tips of the diamond-

shaped hull unleashed bright beams of searing light 

energy onto the unshielded sides of the cube-ship.  

Wide craters and troughs of destruction appeared in 

the wakes of the beams.  Reeling, the Borg Collective 

analyzed the destructive potential of the Diamont and 

that of the Enterprise.  In its analysis the Enterprise 

now appeared to be an insignificant factor in the 

battle.  The cube-ship turned its weakest side to the 

Enterprise, using the crippled Federation Starship as a 

shield. 

   The doors covering the Diamont's primary flight 

deck portals began opening in preparation for 

recovery of the spent Vanti attack craft.  Their fuel 

was too low to further support combat flight 

requirements and most of them had long since 

expended all their offensive armament.  As the Vantis 

approached the waiting flight deck portals, Arch-

Regent Appal ordered the Diamont's protective 

shields dropped.  For a little while Picard and the 

Enterprise would have to take up the battle against 

the cube-ship while he temporarily withdrew to refuel 

and rearm the Vantis. 

   Still analyzing, the Collective recognized Appal's 

decision as an opportunity to return to the offensive.  

With its shields down and with its flight decks 

exposed, the Diamont was a prize ripe and ready for 

picking.  Had the Enterprise been able to distract the 

Borg during the Diamont's recovery procedures, 

events might have transpired differently, but the 

Enterprise was experiencing its own problems.  It was 

out of control, slowly tumbling in orbit, bow-over-

stern. 

   The remaining energy beam weapons on the Borg 

cube-ship lashed out at the Diamont, cutting, slicing, 

and pounding.  Sections of the Diamont's propulsion 

ring were blasted away from the ship, the ring's 

support tubes were severed and twisted, and power 

failures caused environment-sustaining force fields 

over the open flight deck portals to vanish.  

Unprotected bodies and broken attack craft were 

swept out into the cold, barely existent atmosphere 

over Caldar-Signet Six by the sudden rushes of 

escaping air. 

   The pummeling from the Borg attack had thrown all 

surviving crewmembers aboard the Diamont off their 

feet.  On the bridge the Arch-Regent struggled to 

stand.  He staggered to an intercom panel and opened 

a channel.  "This is Appal.  Give me a damage 

assessment." 

   "Sir, we've lost warp capability and over half our 

sublight thrusters.  There was a complete loss of 

power and environment on the three main flight 

decks.  Squadrons One and Three were lost - no 

survivors.. " 

   Appal switched the channel closed.  "Helm!" he said 

sharply, "get off the floor and find a way to move us 

away from here!" 

   "Sir," interrupted the Tactical Officer, "the Vanti 

squadron leaders are asking when they can land. ." 

   "Tell them to find another safe haven!" said Appal 

bitterly. 

   "But ,Sir, there is no other haven," objected the 

Tactical Officer. 

   "They cannot land here!" Appal shouted as he 

pounded on the console in front of him with both fists.  

"We haven't the power to get the emergency portals 

open!" 

   The Tactical Officer said nothing for a moment.  He 

looked at the Arch-Regent, slowly letting the 

implications of what had been said sink in.  Then he 

turned back to his console and explained the situation 

to the Squadron Leaders. 

   Appal sat dejectedly, holding his head in his hands 

and running his fingers through the hair on the sides 

of his head.  Suddenly he lifted his head and acquired 

a maniacal smile.  "Now it is time to activate the 

remote systems!" he proclaimed. 

   As the surviving members of the bridge crew 

watched, Appal hurried to another control console 

and typed his personal access codes into the terminal.  

As soon as his clearance was verified, he began typing 

instructions. 

                                          *       *       *                  

   Picard had watched the spirited exchange between 

the Diamont and the Borg cube-ship on the main 

viewscreen.  Like the Enterprise, the Diamont seemed 

to have suffered more damage than it had inflicted on 

the Borg ship.  Picard had dared hope that things 

would not have turned out as they had, but in all 

honesty, what had happened to them had not come as 

a complete surprise. 

   Presently there seemed to be a lull in the fighting.  

Picard had no idea of what might be happening on 

Appal's battered ship.  Most of his attack craft 

appeared to be stranded outside their mother ship, 

and Picard did not foresee things getting much better 

for the Orokan pilots.  Repairing the damage the 

Diamont had suffered would be a gargantuan job for 

even a full engineering complement.  When Picard 

estimated how many crewmembers Appal might be 

able to directly assign to repairs, he doubted the 

Diamont would ever leave Caldar-Signet Six. 

   When he examined the Borg ship through the 

viewscreen's magnification, Picard saw that the Borg 

Collective was successfully regenerating what the 

Vanti attack craft had damaged.  At their observed 

rate of repair, the Borg would undoubtedly be the first 

contestant in a position to end the battle. 

   Then Picard realized that he might have been unfair 

in completely ruling out the Enterprise's chances of 

coming around first.  After all, Geordi LaForge was a 

superb engineer and an inspiring leader.  His 

knowledge of the ship's systems and his 

resourcefulness were two powerful arguments that 

the Enterprise was not out of things yet.  Picard began 

making plans for what he would do if LaForge was 

able to perform a miracle.  First he would launch more 

photon torpedoes to slow the Borg down as much as 

possible, and then he would attempt a hasty departure 

for Caldar-Signet Five to destroy the captured cube-

ship.  Then he could not decide what to do after that.  

Should he go back to find out what had happened to 

the Diamont?  He decided he would, if the Borg could 

not keep him from doing it.  What then?  Should the 

Enterprise alone attempt to hold the sector against 

the Borg ship, or should he retreat deeper into 

Federation space in hope of finding the rest of the 

fleet?  He decided there were too many variables to 

lay out a concrete course of action.  First things first – 

such as getting his ship fixed. 

   Picard was about to contact LaForge for a progress 

report when a glint of movement near Caldar-Signet 

Six's moon on the viewscreen caught his eye.  He 

spoke to the young officer who had taken over Data's 

position at the forward console.  "Focus on the three-

o'clock side of the moon, Ensign, magnification factor 

three." 

   Among the stars behind the moon of Caldar-Signet 

Six, Picard saw something that paled him.  "Number 

One.. " he said urgently as he pointed at the 

viewscreen. 

   "I see it, Sir," said Riker in amazement.  "Another 

Borg ship!" 

   "Security, are you picking up any life signs from that 

ship?" Picard demanded. 

   "There are life signs, Sir.  Borg.  But they are very 

faint.  It looks to me as if they are produced by a very 

small group of beings." 

   Picard stabbed toward the viewscreen with his 

index finger as he exclaimed to Riker, "That is no 

ordinary Borg ship, Number One!  That is Appal's 

captured cube-ship.  Why ever would he bring it 

here?" 

   A summons from LaForge pulled his attention away.  

"Yes, Mr. Laforge?" he responded. 

   "You've got full impulse power, Sir." 

   "Thank you, Mr. LaForge.  We are all deeply in your debt," said Picard gratefully. 

   "Captain," interrupted the Security Officer, "the 

Orokan cube-ship is on an intercept course for the 

Borg ship.  There's practically nobody aboard it, so it 

can't be coming in to exchange weapons fire.  My 

guess is that it intends to ram the Borg ship." 

   "Can anybody corroborate that?" questioned Picard. 

   "Sir, I'm picking up a stream of subspace signals 

from the Diamont aimed at the new cube-ship," 

reported the Ensign at the Navigation Console. 

   "Appal!" exclaimed Picard. 

   Of course.  Now it was clear.  This was Appal's fifth 

ace.  His modification to their plan for dealing with the 

Borg ship.  Appal had wanted to use the captured 

cube-ship all along.  But surely not like this.  He was 

going to sacrifice an intact prize piece of Borg 

technology.  It would probably save all their lives if it 

worked, but Federation engineers and planners would 

grieve for eons over its loss.  Well, that was just too 

bad!  At the moment Picard cared very little what 

Federation engineers and planners thought about 

anything.  He wondered what they might think if they 

were actually out in the field facing the Borg.  The last 

issue Picard weighed in his mind was whether it was 

worth handing over to the Borg the lives of countless 

colonists in the sector in order to save a piece of Borg 

machinery.  Picard quickly sided with the colonists. 

   The Borg ship fired on the battered Diamont. 

   "Security, get our shields up and lock phasers on the 

Borg ship," Picard ordered. 

   The Borg plan was obvious: destroy the Diamont and 

terminate its control over the captured cube-ship.  

Taking it back would then be unbelievably easy!  Great 

plan, Appal, thought Picard.  How typical of you to 

leave a great big hole that the Borg can so easily turn 

to their own advantage. 

   "Fire phasers!" ordered Picard. 

   For ten seconds the Enterprise's forward phasers 

carved up the repairs the Borg had made to the weak 

side of their cube-ship. 

   "Phaser banks are completely depleted, Sir," 

reported the Security Officer. 

   "Lock on two standard photon torpedoes and fire," 

said Picard. 

   The Borg ship had stopped firing on the Diamont, 

and seemed to be ignoring its sister-ship which was 

still rapidly closing, because of the kick-in-the-pants 

distraction Picard had introduced.  The Enterprise's 

two photon torpedoes impacted, leaving deep calling 

cards where they struck the Borg ship.  It slowly 

started to turn.  Picard soon realized that it was trying 

to bring a side with undamaged weapons around to 

bear on them. 

   "Helm, prepare to back us away from the Borg at 

one-half impulse power.  On my command," Picard 

ordered. 

   "Captain, a collision between the two cube-ships is 

imminent," volunteered the Security Officer. 

   "Lock on phasers and fire," said Picard.  "Keep their 

attention focused on us." 

   For a few seconds the phaser blasts further damaged 

the Borg ship's weakest side as it turned away from 

them. 

   Picard was prepared to give the order to back away 

from the Borg ship when it stopped turning toward 

the Enterprise.  His distracting tactics had worked.  

Too late, the Borg had turned their attention from the 

ship of their former comrade, Locutus, to the gravest 

threat they could ever conceive - one of their own 

ships attacking them under the control of their enemy.  

They began firing on the Orokan cube-ship.  Other 

than blasting holes in its surface, the Borg's attempted 

defense did little to slow down or turn aside the latest 

threat to what they still believed was their inevitable 

victory. 

   "Helm, back away from the Borg ship.  One-half 

impulse," Picard commanded.  "Forward shields to 

maximum." 

   As the Enterprise was frantically trying to put 

distance between it and the two colliding behemoths, 

the Orokan cube-ship struck the Borg vessel, driving 

one of its corners into the lower third of the side it 

had hit.  A substantial lower part of the side and of the 

facet below the site of impact was wrenched away 

from the Borg ship.  The Orokan cube-ship started to 

tumble and sink downward toward the planet.  Loose 

small pieces of debris and bodies tumbled crazily 

downward and away from the spinning Borg cube-

ship. 

   The broken and disfigured Orokan cube-ship 

assumed an even steeper downward trajectory.  Along 

with larger pieces of debris which had fallen with it, 

the dying hulk began to encounter substantial 

atmospheric resistance.  Long tongues of super-

heated hydrocarbon gasses trailed back from its 

leading edges, growing brighter as it tumbled and 

plummeted deeper into the denser atmosphere closer 

to the planet's surface.  Having personally been a 

victim of Appal's hatred for the Borg, Picard was 

virtually certain that Appal had left the two-hundred 

and sixteen remaining Borg prisoners aboard the 

captured cube-ship.  At first he began to regard Appal 

as a Barbarian, but upon further reflection he 

wondered what he might have done if the captured 

cube-ship had remained at Caldar-Signet Five.  He 

might have had to go there to destroy it with the Borg 

ship in hot pursuit.  Would he have risked his ship and 

crew in taking time to beam those Borg prisoners off 

the cube-ship before trying to destroy it?  Was it Q 

who had said that the exploration of space was not 

something for the squeamish? 

   Picard was pulled back from his thoughts by an 

observation Riker was making.  "Sir, the Borg ship has 

stabilized itself, but it's still dropping," he said. 

   "Have they managed to lessen their rate of descent?" 

asked Picard. 

   "No, Sir, they are falling at roughly the same rate," 

said the Security Officer. 

   "Take us back over them," said Picard.  "Monitor them closely.  We'll not want them to find a way out of 

this situation." 

   "Captain, I have contact with the away team on the 

Borg ship!" reported the Security Officer excitedly. 

   "This is Captain Picard.  To whom am I speaking?" 

   "Lieutenant Commander Data, Sir." 

   "What is your situation?" demanded Picard. 

   "We are shaken and bruised, Sir, but not seriously 

hurt," said Data.  "It felt as though something hit the 

ship.  We were thrown about our detention area as the 

ship tumbled.  Apparently the Borg have stopped the 

tumbling, but I still feel like the ship is falling.  Our 

guards have left us alone.  Presumably they are 

occupied with more pressing business." 

   "Lieutenant Worf, are you able to respond?" asked 

Picard. 

   "I am, Sir," said Worf. 

   "What is your status?" 

   "I am much as Mr. Data has already described," said Worf.  "but I feel that I should add a personal 

observation to what Mr. Data has already reported." 

   "And what is that, Mr. Worf?" 

   "Before that 'something' hit the ship, I looked into 

the eyes of our guards," said Worf as he recalled the 

memory.  "I am certain that I saw in them an 

expression of fear.  Perhaps it was worse than fear.  

Perhaps, it was cold terror." 

   "Thank you, Mr. Worf.  Thank you very much," said 

Picard.  "That could be the most important 

observation of this entire affair." 

   "How is that, Sir?" asked Riker. 

   "That the Borg are still capable of emotion," Picard 

explained.  "If that were so, it would somewhat 

narrow the gap between us, wouldn't it?" 

   "That's not something high on my list of priorities," 

said Riker offhandedly. 

   "Quite right, Number One," said Picard.  

"Transporter room, can you beam Mr. Data and Mr. 

Worf off the Borg ship?" 

   A few seconds later the transporter officer 

responded, "No, Sir.  They've slipped into the upper 

atmosphere.  Ionization is making it impossible to get 

a secure lock on them." 

   Picard thought silently for a few minutes, and then 

demanded, "What is our location in relation to the 

Borg ship?" 

   "Almost directly over it, Sir," reported the Security 

Officer. 

   "Excellent," said Picard.  "Try to establish a lock on 

the Borg ship with our tractor beam.  Divert any 

power except for life support to this task." 

   "Shields, too?" inquired the security officer. 

   "Affirmative," responded Picard. 

   "Sir?" questioned Riker.  "You're going to try to pull 

it back up?" 

   "My first priority is the rescue of Mr. Data and Mr. 

Worf," said Picard resolutely.  "To do that I must 

eliminate the atmospheric ionization.  To do that, I 

must either eliminate the entire atmosphere, or move 

the Borg ship out of that atmosphere." 

   "But, Sir, while I am not forgetting about Data and Worf, even if this works, won't it give the Borg 

another shot at us?" asked Riker. 

   "Have you ever been in mortal fear for your life?" 

asked Picard.  "If the Borg are capable of fear, would it 

not be reasonable to ask if they are capable of a more 

positive emotion?  Perhaps, gratitude?" 

   "I hope you're aware of what you're risking on this 

bet, Sir," said Riker with concern. 

   "I am very much aware, Will," said Picard slowly.  

Then in his command voice he instructed, "Security, 

get the last of the terraforming torpedoes into the 

forward launchers, and hurry with the tractor beam." 

   The Enterprise slowly lowered itself over the 

battered Borg ship and extended its tractor field into 

the thin atmosphere around the Borg ship.  After 

several minutes of attempting to lock on, the Security 

Officer reported, "It's the ionization again, Sir.  The 

computer can't get a lock." 

   "Try establishing a lock manually," suggested Picard. 

   The Security Officer transferred the operation over 

to manual control.  On his control panel were several 

readouts which had to be within prescribed limits at 

the same time for a tractor beam lock to hold.  

Carefully he watched as the numbers danced teasingly 

around the figures he needed to see.  Twice the 

necessary figures were almost close enough for a try.  

He had engaged the beam anyway at those times, but 

the numbers had passed too swiftly and the field had 

collapsed.  He had noticed what could possibly be a 

pattern leading up to the numbers he needed to see.  

Suddenly the pattern was again in the readouts.  The 

numbers were still outside what the computer wanted 

to see, but they were close, so close.  He engaged the 

circuits a hair earlier than he had the previous times, 

praying that his gamble had paid off. 

   A row of green lights appeared across the panel.  

"Tractor beam lock established!" he proclaimed 

triumphantly.  "I am transferring control back to the 

computer." 

   "Well done!" said Picard with relief.  "Helm, take us 

up gradually, and let's see what happens.  Security, 

watch carefully for any signs of hostile intent." 

   For several minutes the Enterprise's impulse 

engines strained under the double load of trying to lift 

both the Enterprise and the Borg Ship higher in the 

powerful gravity field of Caldar-Signet Six.  The 

Engineer on duty on the bridge carefully monitored 

the impulse engine's rising coolant temperature. 

   "Captain, we're not making any progress," the Helm 

Officer admitted.  "In fact, we've lost ground.  The 

farther down we go, the harder this is going to be." 

   "Your concerns are noted, Ensign.  Keep going as you 

are," said Picard before opening a channel to 

Engineering.  "Mr. LaForge, has there been any 

progress with our warp power system?" 

   A moment later LaForge answered, "We haven't got 

it licked yet, Sir.  About all I can tell you is that we're 

finding out what is not the problem." 

   "Keep on it, Mr. LaForge," Picard encouraged.  "We 

really could use warp power about now." 

   "Yes, Sir, as quickly as we can," LaForge promised. 

   After a moment's thought Picard touched his 

communicator badge.  "Picard to Data.  Come in, 

please." 

   "Yes, Captain?" 

   "What can you tell me about the condition of the 

Borg ship's drive system?" Picard asked. 

   "I cannot give you that information at this time, Sir," 

replied Data.  "Getting the information will involve the 

risk of leaving our detention room.  I am unsure of 

how the Borg will view our attempting to do that." 

   "Are you able to break out of your detention area?" 

Picard asked. 

   "I believe so, Sir," said Data.  "Somehow we have 

retained possession of our phasers." 

   "Then get me that information," Picard ordered.  

"We're attempting to move the Borg ship to a higher 

orbit with our tractor beam, but for lack of sufficient 

power we're going down with you.  It may be 

necessary for you to find some way to help us from 

down there.  Do you understand?" 

   "Yes, Sir," replied Data.  "We will attempt to find out 

what means of assistance are possible from down 

here." 

   "Very well," said Picard.  "And, Data, it will have to 

be soon." 

   "Understood, Sir." 

   Together Data and Worf walked toward their 

doorway.  As they approached the unguarded 

entrance, Data scanned it with his tricorder. 

   "Another force field?" inquired Worf. 

   "Yes, Lieutenant," replied Data. 

   "I believe the controls were mounted about.. "   Worf 

paused and studied the wall, finally placing his hand 

on a point near the doorway's edge.  "...here," he 

finished. 

   Data scanned the area with the tricorder.  "You are 

correct, Lieutenant," he said.  "Please use your phaser 

to cut away this area of the wall." 

   Worf adjusted his phaser to a narrow beam, and 

within a few minutes he had removed an area of the 

wall the size of his hand.  Data put the tricorder next 

to the opening and scanned the circuitry inside the 

hole. 

   "If I am correct, severing the red coded traces should 

allow us to leave this room," he said. 

   Worf tuned the phaser's beam to an even narrower 

setting and placed it into the hole.  He lightly touched 

the trigger and melted away a section of the red 

traces.  The doorway's force field dissipated with a 

light hiss. 

   Cautiously they stepped out into the corridor.  A 

group of Borg units hurrying by ignored them.  Data 

turned on his tricorder. 

   "What are we looking for?" Worf asked. 

   "I am looking for some kind of power distribution 

control apparatus," explained Data as he pointed the 

tricorder in various directions.  "I have calculated the 

amount of power required to allow us to descend at 

our present rate.  I now know the power contributions 

of the Enterprise and of this ship.  If I can find what I 

am looking for, I will be able to tell if there is any 

unnecessary power expenditure on this ship which 

can be diverted to its drive systems, providing that the 

drive systems can accept more input." 

   "Sir, why is the Captain trying to salvage this Borg 

ship?" asked a puzzled Lt. Worf. 

   Data looked at Worf very seriously and asked, 

"Would you rather die here today, Lieutenant?" 

   "I would not foolishly throw my life away. ." Worf 

started to object. 

   "Nor I, Lieutenant," stated Data.  "Now, let me 

continue with my work." 

   After sampling readings from several more 

directions Data pointed the tricorder down the 

corridor and said, "There appears to be a major power 

junction in that direction.  Perhaps there will be a 

control apparatus nearby.  Follow me, please." 

   They ran down the corridor, following it until it 

opened up into a wide, high chamber.  Power 

conductors converged on the ceiling from varied 

directions and melded into one huge conduit which 

was embedded into the wall behind a high, complex 

console. 

   Data scanned the console with the tricorder and 

then turned to Worf.  "This console is one of many 

from which power distribution throughout the ship is 

monitored." 

   "This console is useless for modifying power 

allocation, Sir," Worf objected.  "There is no provision 

for entering commands." 

   Data handed his phaser to Worf.  "Please configure 

one phaser as a cutting tool, and the other as a 

welding tool," he instructed Worf.  "With the help of 

my tricorder I may be able to hardwire the circuit 

configuration I require instead of depending on the 

Borg computers to do it for me." 

   As Worf configured the two hand phasers Data knelt 

before the console and began tearing off its front 

panels.  A scraping noise behind Worf caused him to 

spin around.  A group of Borg units had assembled 

behind them. 

   Levelling both phasers at the Borg, Worf called to 

Data who had his head and shoulders inside the frame 

of the console.  Data withdrew from the hole he had 

created and saw the Borg.  Each group cautiously eyed 

the other, neither able to conceive an appropriate way 

to end the awkward standoff. 

   "What do we do now, Commander?" hissed Worf. 

   "I am unsure, Lieutenant," replied Data.  "I have 

discovered that power is still being allocated to the 

ship's weapons systems.  I would like to divert that 

power to the drive system and see what effect it has 

upon our slide into the atmosphere." 

   For another minute the standoff continued.  Then 

one brave Borg unit slowly held his hands out and 

open at his sides, and cautiously edged toward Data 

who was sitting on the floor at the console.  He slowly 

lowered himself to his knees beside Data and removed 

another panel from the console.  He placed it carefully 

on the floor and pushed it away from both of them.  As 

he removed another panel, another Borg carefully 

walked across the room and helped remove the 

remaining panels. 

   Worf watched helplessly as the rest of the assembled 

Borg crossed the room and peered under the console.  

He slowly lowered the hand phasers as Data said to 

him, "I believe we are all working on the same idea." 

   As Worf watched, Data attempted to convey his 

intentions to his Borg aides through a crude system of 

gestures and pantomime.  Appearing to understand, 

several of the Borg seemed to make rewiring 

proposals of their own.  Data checked all their 

proposals with the tricorder and indicated which ones 

should provide the most efficient solution to their 

problem.  When everyone seemed to have come to an 

agreement, Data requested the cutting phaser from 

Worf and severed the cable for the weapons system.  

He then took the welding phaser from Worf and 

attached the cable to its new terminal.  As this 

procedure was repeated with other cables, Worf 

inherited the job of caddying phasers between the 

different operators who were acting on Data's 

instructions.  When all the reconfigurations were 

completed everyone crawled out from under the 

console.  To Worf's surprise, the Borg who were 

holding the phaser tools returned them to him. 

   Data touched his communicator.  "Data to 

Enterprise." 

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

   "Sir, we have attempted to reconfigure portions of 

the Borg ship's power grid.  We are prepared to 

integrate our modifications into the system." 

   "Stand by, Mr. Data," ordered Picard. 

   Aboard the Enterprise Picard had been alerted to the 

approach of the Diamont.  The crippled Orokan ship 

had limped to their location using its remaining 

sublight thrusters, and was attempting to maneuver 

clear of the Enterprise, presumably to fire upon the 

Borg ship barely caught in the Enterprise's tractor 

beam. 

   "Sir, an incoming message from the Orokan 

Commander," reported the security officer. 

   Angrily Picard said, "Put him on screen." 

   The Arch-Regent was leaning aggressively forward 

at his console, visibly upset.  "What do you think you 

are doing, Picard?" he demanded.  "We're here to 

destroy that thing, or have you conveniently forgotten 

your orders from Starfleet Command?  You're not 

feeling sorry for your old friends, the Borg, are you?" 

   "I do not like your tone, sir!" said Picard furiously.  

"My ship is currently engaged in a rescue operation.  I 

order you to stand down from your aggressive 

posture and do not hinder what I must do." 

   "Release the Borg ship, Picard," said Appal forcefully.  

"If you haven't the stomach to make the kill, I'll be 

happy to finish for you." 

   "The Borg ship is beaten, Appal," said Picard.  "It is 

no longer a threat to you.  If it can be salvaged, what is 

left of it may still be of some use to our investigators." 

   "The Borg are going to die," stated Appal.  "Watch." 

   The upper phaser emitter of the Diamont released a 

weak beam of phaser energy that flashed harmlessly 

between the Enterprise and the Borg ship. 

   In order to defend the Borg ship Picard needed the 

power being used on the tractor beam diverted to the 

Enterprise's phasers.  Borrowing that power meant 

that Data's modifications to the Borg ship's power 

grid had to be effective enough to keep the Borg ship 

from dropping further into the poisonous atmosphere 

of Caldar-Signet Six. 

   "Picard to Data," said Picard after tapping his 

communicator. 

   "Data here, Sir." 

   "We have an emergency up here, Mr. Data," said 

Picard.  "The Borg ship is going to have to fend for 

itself while we take care of it.  Bring your 

modifications into the ship's power grid and see if 

things on your end get worse when we release you." 

   "I am engaging the modifications, Sir." 

   Aboard the Borg ship there was a sickening lurch as 

the Enterprise released its tractor beam.  Then the 

eerie feeling of falling lessened as the cube-ship's own 

power slowed their rate of descent.  There was no 

doubt that they were still descending, but at least they 

were not dropping like a rock.  The Borg ship would 

still need help from the Enterprise to pull away from 

the planet. 

   "Bring us about, helm," ordered Picard.  "Security, 

bring our shields up and arm the phasers." 

   The Enterprise, now separated from the Borg ship, 

rose through the thin upper atmosphere and turned to 

face the Diamont. 

   "Picard to Appal.  Regardless of whether or not you 

are listening to my voice, I am going to say this once.  

You will cease firing on the disabled Borg ship, or I 

will order my ship to fire on you.  This is absolutely 

your last warning." 

   "The Orokan phaser emitter is powering up, Sir," 

reported the security officer. 

   A string of bright explosions erupted from the area 

of the Diamont's upper phaser emitter.  Several 

seconds later a dejected Arch-Regent Appal appeared 

in a static-filled transmission on the Enterprise's 

viewscreen. 

   "You win, Picard," said Appal quietly.  "I am no 

longer in a position to dictate terms." 

   Picard watched until the transmission was cut off 

from the Orokan ship.  Then on audio he heard a 

communication from a Vanti squadron leader.  "Arch-

Regent, our air reserves and fuel are all but depleted.  

We will not last much longer out here.  What orders 

do you have for us?" 

   "Appal," said Picard, "give me your solemn word.  

Agree to a complete cessation of all hostile activity, 

and I will promise to beam your surviving pilots onto 

my ship after the Borg ship is safely in a higher orbit." 

   "Alright, Enterprise," said the tired voice of Appal, 

"no more fighting." 

   There was no time for self-congratulation for Picard.  

"Helm, take us back to the Borg ship," he quickly 

ordered.  "Security, do whatever it takes to quickly 

establish your tractor beam lock." 

   In the last several minutes the Borg ship had settled 

deeper into the planet's atmosphere and was 

descending more rapidly.  Putting itself at great risk, 

the Enterprise lowered itself after the Borg vessel.  

After numerous failures, the security officer manually 

secured another tractor beam lock on the desperate 

Borg ship and greatly decreased its rate of descent.  

However, its closer proximity to the surface of the 

planet was negating the benefit of the increased 

power Data had fed to the Borg ship's drive system. 

   Desperately Picard contacted engineering.  "Can you 

give me warp power yet, Mr. LaForge?" he pleaded. 

   "I'm sorry, Sir," said LaForge, knowing that this time 

he would not be able to help his friend Data.  "We still 

need a lot more time." 

   "Picard to Data." 

   "Yes, Sir?" 

   "Mr. Data, we have no more power to put into the 

tractor beam," said Picard.  "In a few more minutes we 

will have to disengage and try to save the Enterprise." 

   "Understood, Sir." 

   "There is something I need to ask you and Mr. Worf," 

Picard continued. 

   "What is that, Sir?" 

   "When we disengage, shall we attempt to beam you 

back to the Enterprise?" asked Picard.  "I am asking 

because conditions at that time may be much less than 

ideal for transporting a living being.  In view of the 

risks, I felt that it should be your choice." 

   "Sir, may I be allowed to make one more sweep of 

the Borg ship before we answer your question?" asked 

Data. 

   "Certainly, Mr. Data.  Take time to make a through 

sweep," replied Picard.  And if there is any solution to 

this problem on that ship, find it quickly, thought 

Picard to himself. 

   Data turned on the tricorder and started a 

systematic search of all possible directions around 

him.  He felt someone touching his shoulder.  Thinking 

that it was Worf, he brushed the hand away and said, 

"Please, not now." 

   Again he was touched, only this time the hand had 

grasped his shoulder more firmly and was trying to 

turn him around.  He turned around to investigate and 

found that the hand belonged to a Borg figure.  Behind 

the implants on the face of the figure he saw features 

of the face of his brother, Lore. 

   Data turned off the tricorder and said, "Lore?  Is it 

you?  Why have you come here?" 

   For a few seconds the figure simply nodded its head.  

Data assumed that this gesture answered his first 

questions in the affirmative.  Then it found its weak, 

shaky voice and rasped, "Picard. .help." 

   Lore was acting as though he had not used his power 

of speech in a long time.  Data was unable to 

determine what his brother meant by his first halting 

statement.  For lack of a better response, Data 

attempted to explain in simple terms what had been 

happening.  "Captain Picard has done all that he can to 

help," he said. 

   "No.  Picard. .help. .more," said Lore with 

pronounced difficulty. 

   "I do not understand," admitted Data.  "What more would you have Captain Picard do?" 

   "Picard. .can help. .more!" said Lore with deeper 

passion. 

   "More?" puzzled Data.  "What more can the Captain 

do?  How can Captain Picard help more?" 

   "Mass," said Lore with a hint of urgency.  

"Picard. .lower  mass.  Subspace. .field." 

   Instantly the connection was made in Data's 

positronic logic circuits.  He took a second to 

contemplate the possibility of succeeding with the 

scheme he believed Lore had just proposed before 

passing it on to Picard. 

   "Data to Picard." 

   "Yes, Mr. Data?" 

   "Captain, a possible course of action has been 

brought to my attention by my brother, Lore," 

explained Data. 

   "This better be good, Mr. Data.  We haven't much 

time." 

   "If I understand my brother, Sir, he proposes 

projecting a subspace field around the Borg ship to 

lower its effective mass," Data said.  "If the Borg ship's 

effective mass was reduced, the power it is capable of 

generating might be sufficient to lift it to a safer orbit." 

   "Mister LaForge," said Picard, "are you listening to 

this?" 

   "Yes, Sir," responded LaForge.  "We still only have 

impulse power, and we'd have to switch that over to 

the subspace field generators.  It would mean pulling 

power away from the tractor beam, but a subspace 

field would effectively provide more lift than the 

tractor beam does." 

   "Captain," said Data, "I believe if we moved all the 

surviving Borg crewmembers to a central area of the 

ship we could shut down unused life support and add 

that power to the drive system." 

   "If possible, make it so on your end, Mr. Data," said 

Picard.  "Mr. LaForge, prepare to switch power from 

the tractor beam to the subspace field generators." 

   "Captain Picard," interrupted Data, "I have 

instructed my brother Lore to persuade the Borg to 

move to an appropriate holding area.  We should 

begin diverting life support power momentarily." 

   "Very well, Mr. Data.  We'll be monitoring and 

hoping to see some reassuring change." 

   "Captain," said LaForge, "the computer is ready to 

start the transfer of power from the tractor beam.  I'd 

recommend changing over gradually, just in case." 

   "Use appropriate caution, Mr. LaForge," Picard 

decided, "but don't take too long.  I would like to give 

our impulse engines a rest." 

   "Aye, Sir." 

   "Captain, I'm reading more generated lift from the 

Borg ship," said the Security Officer.  "At this point it's 

only two metric kilotons short of buoyancy." 

   "It is time to energize your subspace field 

generators, Mr. LaForge," said Picard. 

   "The subspace field is established, Sir.  We are 

starting to transfer power to it from the tractor 

beam." 

   Several tense minutes later LaForge happily 

announced, "Captain, the descent of the Borg ship has 

been stopped." 

   "Commendable, Mr. LaForge," said Picard.  "Now, have we enough power to pull the Borg ship to a 

higher altitude?" 

   "Barely, Sir," responded LaForge.  "We can get it 

higher, but it will take a little time." 

   "Then make it so," smiled Picard.  "The job should 

become easier as we gain altitude.  I want the Borg 

ship and us above the atmosphere and inserted into a 

stable orbit.  Be sure to keep us behind the Borg ship 

where we can keep an eye on it.  Transporter room, at 

the earliest possible moment beam Mr. Data and Mr. 

Worf back to the Enterprise and have them meet me 

in my ready room." 

   “There is something else you should be aware of, 

Sir,” said LaForge to Captain Picard. 

“And what is that?” asked Picard. 

“I believe,” ventured LaForge,  “that because of Data’s 

efforts to find power sources for slowing the Borg 

ship’s descent, it may have lost its link to the 

Collective.” 

   “Really…?” said Picard, showing just the faintest hint 

of amusement. 

                     ***   CHAPTER  TWELVE   *** 

   As LaForge had predicted, raising both the 

Enterprise and the Borg ship to a high, stable orbit 

without overstressing the Enterprise's remaining 

power system was an undertaking which required 

time.  Picard communicated with Starfleet Officials on 

Minia IV and brought them up to date on what had 

happened in the Caldar-Signet system.  It was an 

opportunity to suggest to Starfleet that additional 

ships be deployed in the sector as quickly as possible.  

The Borg ship was heavily damaged.  There would 

never be a better time to deal with it, should it, for 

some reason, relapse into aggressive behavior.  It was 

also time to receive Data and Worf, listen to their 

reports, and thank them for the actions they had taken 

aboard the Borg ship.  After recommending them for 

commendations, Picard inquired what they had 

learned about non-Borg personnel aboard the cube-

ship.  On that subject there was little to report, as the 

only non-Borg they had encountered had been Lore. 

   Meanwhile, the Enterprise shuttles had been 

rescuing the Vanti pilots from their expended attack 

craft.  While aboard the shuttles they received quick 

medical checkups from members of Dr. Crusher's 

staff.  Those certified fit for duty were returned to the 

Diamont where Arch-Regent Appal delegated them to 

damage control and repair teams.  Those who had 

sustained injuries as a result of their action against 

the Borg ship were transferred to the Enterprise's 

medical facilities. 

   After their debriefing, Data and Worf returned to 

their stations on the bridge.  Picard and Riker joined 

them several minutes later.  Picard had been anxious 

to return to the bridge.  Even though both the Orokan 

and Borg ships were being closely monitored, there 

was no guarantee that one or the other might not 

indiscriminately take a pot shot at the other. 

   "Mr. Worf, report on the Orokan ship," said Picard. 

   "No sign of offensive intent, Sir," Worf replied. 

   "And what of the Borg ship?" Picard asked. 

   "The same, Sir." 

   "The Arch-Regent is currently very occupied with his 

problems," Picard remarked, "so it would be unfair to 

expect him to talk and direct damage control at the 

same time.  However, the Borg should not be so 

restricted.  Number One, I have a strong desire to talk 

to the Borg.  I am very curious about what they have 

to say concerning this current state of affairs." 

   "Me, too, Sir," smiled Riker.  "I don't believe we know 

of any Borg ever having experienced circumstances 

like this." 

   "Perhaps it is to our advantage that the Borg have no 

precedent to draw from," Picard speculated.  He then 

turned to the Security Chief.  "Mr. Worf, open a 

channel to the Borg ship." 

   Worf made the attempt several times.  "No response 

from the Borg, Sir," he said. 

   "What is the condition of your equipment, Mr. 

Worf?" Picard asked. 

   Worf ran a quick sequence of system diagnostics and 

reported, "Everything is functioning properly, Sir." 

   "Open all hailing frequencies, Mr. Worf," said Picard 

patiently. 

   "Hailing frequencies open, Sir." 

   Picard cleared his throat before saying, "This is 

Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise.  I 

whom you once named Locutus wish to speak with 

the Collective Consciousness of Borg." 

   An interior view of the Borg ship dominated by its 

battle-scarred central chasm appeared on the main 

viewscreen.  "Locutus has dissolved the bond.  He is 

no longer of Borg," said the monotone voice of the 

Collective.  "Further communication with the outsider 

is irrelevant." 

   "Not very friendly, are they, Sir?" observed Riker. 

   "Perhaps not," said Picard, "but they did answer the 

hail." 

   "Communication with me is relevant," Picard 

responded to the voice of the Collective.  "We need to 

speak of the present, and of the future." 

   "To speak of these things is wasteful of time.  Why 

have you communicated with this ship?" asked the 

voice. 

   "We wish to know if our assistance is needed," said 

Picard. 

   "Assistance is irrelevant.  Your recent efforts to aid 

and support the Collective are acknowledged.  The 

Collective will now manage its own repairs." 

      “The Collective…,?” Picard mused.  Are they 

bluffing, trying to make me believe they are still in 

touch… 

   The interior of the Borg ship on the viewscreen 

dissolved into an external view of the battered ships 

orbiting Caldar-Signet Six.  Picard rubbed his hand 

across his chin, quickly devising a new strategy for 

dialogue.  "Get them back for me, Mr. Worf," he said. 

   A moment later the previous interior scene 

appeared silently on the viewscreen. 

   "There are still matters to discuss," stated Picard. 

   "There has not been, nor will there be capitulation," 

responded the voice.  "We will not surrender to 

Locutus.  Surrender is irrelevant.  No demands will be 

considered." 

   "As long as you conduct yourselves in a peaceful 

manner you may retain control of your ship," 

explained Picard.  "I sincerely hope to avoid making 

demands, but there are still things I must insist on 

discussing.  Will you hear what they are?" 

   Picard's question was answered with a long silence, 

but the interior view of the Borg ship remained on the 

viewscreen.  Picard finally said, "Do not doubt me 

when I say this: if you will not hear what I have to say, 

I will order this ship to open fire on you again.  If I do 

this, there will be no second reprieve!" 

   There was another period of silence before the voice 

answered, "Know this, Locutus: you cannot win 

against the Borg.  Your arrogance and resistance are 

futile.  You will be assimilated.  Inevitably, you will 

become one with the Borg, or you will be swept aside 

as countless others have been." 

   "Only the future will decide that," Picard replied, 

"but for the present, if you will not listen and discuss, I 

will command that you be dispatched to a fiery end!" 

   A third period of silence passed before the voice 

answered, "What do you wish us to hear?" 

   "First, I ask that a cease-fire be observed between 

the Borg Collective and the United Federation of 

Planets," Picard proposed. 

   "For what purpose?" asked the voice. 

   "For the purpose of ending the wasteful and 

needless violence that occurs whenever we meet," 

explained Picard. 

   "You resist assimilation with violence," stated the voice.  "Cease resisting, and there will be no more 

violence." 

   "Assimilation into The Collective is not desirable to 

us," Picard countered. 

   "Desirable is irrelevant," said the voice patiently.  

"Assimilation will inevitably come to pass." 

   "Assimilation would confine us to an existence of 

sameness; to an existence in an absence of identity," 

said Picard.  "In our societies, we cherish identity and 

our freedom of self-determination.  Our desire to exist 

this way is very much a part of our biological program.  

It is the way we are, and our resistance is to protect 

our right to live as we have been created to live." 

     "Identity and self-determination are irrelevant," 

said the voice.  "Only through assimilation can the 

Borg be strengthened.  Only through assimilation can 

all become Borg.  To not assimilate relinquishes 

strength to those who oppose.  Assimilation assures 

strength and survival." 

   "We of the Federation do not wish to threaten your 

survival, and we do not wish to make you weak," 

Picard explained.  "We wish to end the fighting 

between us.  We seek discussions, and 

communication, to define an agreement between the 

Federation and the Collective." 

   "Agreements are irrelevant," replied the Borg voice.  

"You will be. ." 

   "Agreements ARE relevant!" Picard interrupted.  "An 

agreement could, for example, define areas of the 

galaxy where each of our peoples may live according 

to their own ways, without interference from the 

other. ." 

   "Irrelevant!" objected the voice.  "This would restrict 

the Collective.  The Collective must assimilate." 

   "You presently assimilate for strength and survival," 

Picard pointed out, "but if the Collective and the 

Federation could agree not to threaten the other's 

survival, then the need to assimilate would become 

irrelevant." 

      "Can Locutus perform this agreement?" the voice 

asked hesitantly. 

   "I, myself, cannot," explained Picard, "but other 

Federation Leaders with this authority would 

welcome the opportunity to communicate with the 

Collective, to discuss ending the fighting, and to try to 

agree about how we may both exist as peaceful 

neighbors." 

   After a moment of contemplation the voice stated, 

"We cannot answer this proposal at this time." 

   "I understand," said Picard.  "An agreement of this 

magnitude will require much discussion and 

contemplation on both sides.  I sincerely hope that we 

do not lose sight of the fact that we have taken our 

first steps toward discussion and mutual 

understanding." 

   The voice from the Borg ship remained silent. Other 

agreements with powerful targeted civilizations had 

started this way, offering  truces and peace to induce a 

false sense of safety and security, before massive 

brutal attacks and devastation  brought them into the 

Borg fold.  Great care must be taken, it reasoned, in 

pursuing this level of  baiting this Federation without 

help from the rest of the Collective. 

   "The second thing to discuss concerns citizens of the 

Federation who were removed from a transport 

vessel near a world we call Selaeta more than two of 

our years ago," said Picard.  As a sign of goodwill 

between us, I ask that these persons be withdrawn 

from the Collective and returned to us." 

   "They will cease to function if withdrawn from the 

Collective," said the voice. 

   "We have knowledge of how to keep them 

functioning while we eliminate their dependence on 

their cybernetic devices," said Picard. 

   "If this is so, then your request can be executed," 

said the voice. 

   "Excellent," Picard smiled.  "Federation leaders will 

be very pleased to learn of this." 

   Again the voice from the Borg ship indulged in 

silence, perceiving that it had drawn the voice from 

the Federation farther into its deception . 

   After a short pause Picard continued.  "There is a 

third issue to discuss," he said.  "It concerns a group 

known to you as the Orokans, who also seek to end 

hostilities with the Borg." 

   "Orokans are enemies.  Always," said the voice 

firmly.  "That is the way between us." 

   "The Orokans are no longer enemies of the 

Collective," asserted Picard.  "Their numbers are so 

few that they cannot do further harm to the Collective.  

Their greatest desire is for peace." 

   "These words of Locutus are irrelevant," contend the voice.  "Locutus is of the Federation.  Locutus speaks 

not for the Orokan enemy." 

   Picard paused a moment before answering the 

voice's charges.  "I ask for a moment of your 

indulgence," he petitioned. 

   "Granted," the voice allowed. 

   Picard ordered the channel to the Borg vessel muted 

before inquiring, "Is Appal still aboard the Diamont?" 

   "Yes, Sir.  He is," responded Worf. 

   "Mr. Worf, ask him if he would please agree to be 

beamed to this ship.  If he asks why, tell him that there 

may be an opportunity to end the war he came here to 

fight." 

   A moment later a tired and frustrated Appal was on 

the main viewscreen.  "What is this all about, Picard?" 

   "Exactly what you have been told," said Picard. 

   "What has been going on?" Appal asked. 

   "There may be an opportunity to end your long war 

against the Borg," said Picard.  “All you have to do is 

beam over here and talk about what you want to end 

the fighting." 

   Suddenly the channel was closed from the Orokan 

ship.  Actually it had been closed by the hand of Appal 

who exclaimed, "Now he's arranging my surrender 

behind my back!" 

   Nearby, the Orokan Physician was applying a splint 

to the arm of a wounded officer.  As he wrapped 

adhesive strips around the splint he remarked, 

"Captain Picard never mentioned the word 

'surrender', Sir." 

   "He didn't have to," Appal responded.  "Surrender is 

written all over the way things have turned out.  We 

have ended this battle in disgrace.  We've proved that 

FINAL CURTAIN never would have worked!" 

   "On the contrary, Sir," the Physician said.  "If 

anything, you have proved that FINAL CURTAIN 

would have worked.  If the planned fleet of Diamond 

Ships had been here to assist you when you recalled 

the Vantis, there would have been one less cube-ship 

in the Borg fleet.  The Diamont may not have beaten 

the Borg ship, but it had an important hand in 

weakening it to a point where it was willing to 

negotiate.  Did you listen carefully to what Picard 

said?  He told us that The Borg are now willing to 

listen.  That's more than we've ever been able to get 

from them.  If they are willing to think about what it 

will take to end the fighting, then it's worth the time to 

present reasonable terms for them to think about." 

   "The war is not over yet. ." Appal objected. 

   "Look around you, Sir," suggested the Physician.  

"Look at your crew.  They are tired.  They've lost their 

families and their homes, and they've put all that they 

had left on the line for you to prove that this FINAL 

CURTAIN idea worked.  You've given them the 

satisfaction of knowing that it did.  Look also at what's 

left of this ship.  We're slowly losing it, Sir.  Section by 

section the fires and power failures are getting ahead 

of us.  It's over, Sir.  The war is over." 

   Appal looked away from the Physician and reopened 

the channel to the Enterprise.  "Very well.  Beam me 

over," he said shortly. 

   In seconds Appal was standing on the Enterprise's 

bridge being briefed on Picard's conversation with the 

Collective.  Though somewhat doubtful that it would 

lead to anything meaningful, he agreed to talk with the 

voice of the Collective. Picard ordered the channel to 

the Borg ship reopened.  When the interior view 

appeared on the viewscreen he said, "I have brought 

to my ship someone who speaks for the Orokans.  He 

is Arch-Regent Appal, military commander of the 

Orokan Diamond Ship, and highest official of their 

surviving government." 

   There was another long pause during which neither 

side said anything.  Finally the voice of the Collective 

broke the silence.  "Locutus has suggested that 

Orokans no longer wish to be enemies of Borg.  How 

will the Collective know this to be true?" 

   "We Orokans have suffered staggering losses in the 

war between us," said Appal.  "Originally we 

numbered many trillions, but are now only a few 

hundred survivors.  We no longer have the means or 

the desire to make further war against the Borg.  My 

crew asks that I say this: that we will stop fighting you 

if you will stop fighting us." 

   "Will you agree to be assimilated?" asked the voice. 

   "Assimilated?" blurted Appal before regaining his 

composure.  "Assimilation would restrict us to living 

life your way.  We ask that you respect our right to 

conduct our lives our way, in exchange for our 

guarantee to respect your right to exist in your way." 

   "The Collective cannot respond to this proposal at 

this time," said the voice, "however, until a response is 

formulated, Appal, your actions toward the Collective 

will determine its actions toward you.  Perhaps the 

Federation would help us talk and communicate 

toward an agreement." 

   "Thank you," replied Appal.  "I shall formally request 

their assistance." 

   The view of the interior of the Borg ship disappeared 

from the main viewscreen. 

   "Sir," said Lt. Worf, "the Borg have informed me that 

the entire complement of Federation detainees has 

been identified and is ready to beam over." 

   "Picard to Dr. Crusher.. " 

    "Yes, Captain?" 

   "Doctor, the Borg have agreed to return all the 

survivors of the transport Olympus.  We need to have 

all your people mobilized in sick bay and in the 

transporter rooms.  Can you get right on it?" 

   "Sure thing, Captain," agreed Crusher.  "With your 

permission, I'd like to ask Geordi for any necessary 

help I'll need. 

   "Granted, Doctor," said Picard.  "Just try to leave him 

some qualified people to continue repairs to my ship." 

   "Agreed, Captain," smiled Crusher before closing the channel. 

   "May I return to my ship now?" asked Appal. 

   "Before you do," said Picard, "you'd better resolve to 

stick by the actual and implied promises you made to 

The Borg.  You have reneged on or modified every 

agreement you have made with us.  That kind of 

conduct stops here.  There is too much at stake to 

allow your acceding to your whims to destroy the 

greatest chance for peace and harmony that has ever 

dangled before every race in these neighboring 

quadrants of our galaxy." 

   Appal's eyes flickered away from Picard's 

penetrating gaze several times. 

   "Return him to his ship," ordered Picard. 

   "Captain, I am receiving an emergency message for 

Arch-Regent Appal," reported Lt. Worf. 

   "On screen," said Picard. 

   The air on the bridge of the Diamont was filled with 

smoke.  Injured and soot-blackened people were 

scattered all around.  Appal's chief-of-staff spoke on 

screen.  "Arch-Regent, there was a great explosion on 

one of the decks below us," he said.  "Thankfully there 

were no further casualties, although there were 

injuries.  We barely got everyone up here.  Sir, our 

situation has become hopeless.  I am asking for 

permission to abandon ship." 

   Appal took a long moment to adjust to the 

development.  He looked to Picard, his mouth hanging 

open. 

   "What is it that you want to say?" Picard asked. 

   "I - I need your help, Captain Picard!" 

   "Mr. Worf," said Picard, "as quickly as possible 

coordinate the ship's transporters to beam survivors 

off the Diamont." 

   Ten minutes later Lt. Worf reported, "Sir, there are 

no more survivors left on the Diamont." 

   "Thank you, Mr. Worf," said Picard. 

   "Thank you, Captain Picard," added Appal. 

   "Sir," interrupted Worf, "the matter/antimatter 

reactors on the Diamont are reaching critical 

overload." 

   "Helm, back us away.  Mr. Worf, raise our shields and alert the Borg ship.  Tell them to take whatever 

precautions they can," ordered Picard. 

   On the bridge viewscreen Appal watched as his ship 

burst into a brilliance that dominated the sky. 

   "Attention on deck," ordered Riker. 

   The bridge crew rose to attention in a final salute to 

the last Orokan warship.  When the last fires had died 

out, Riker said to them, "As you were." 

   "Thank you, Commander," said Appal as his hand 

brushed the corner of his eye.  "Excuse me, Captain 

Picard.  I'd like to check on my crew." 

   "Of course," said Picard.  "Lt. Worf, would you please 

escort Arch-Regent Appal to sick bay." 

                     ***   CHAPTER  THIRTEEN   *** 

   In a darkened room aboard the Enterprise, Lore lay 

in a bed staring at the ceiling.  His miscellany of Borg 

devices had been surgically removed, and his 

biological systems were readjusting to operating 

without their interference.  His self-induced 

immersion in a pool of dark thoughts was interrupted 

by the warbling of his doorbell.  "Leave me alone!" he 

called broodingly.  "I asked for no visitors." 

   The door opened, and Data entered in spite of Lore's 

rebuff. 

   "Of all the people on this ship I wanted to see the 

least.. " Lore leered at his brother. 

   "I have been sent to check on your progress," Data explained.  "Dr. Crusher is concerned that you have 

sent away everyone else who has come for this 

purpose." 

   "I am capable of monitoring myself," pouted Lore.  

"No one else need bother themselves with me." 

   Data produced a medical tricorder and scanned 

Lore's body.  When he had finished, he took the 

instrument to the door and handed it to a medical 

assistant who had waited outside.  After she had left 

and the door had closed again, Data explained, "Dr. 

Crusher will require those readings for her records 

and reports." 

   As Lore attempted to ignore him, Data walked to the 

side of his bed.  "It has been a long time since we have 

seen each other," Data said. 

   Lore still lay silently, giving no acknowledgement of 

Data's presence. 

   "I am very curious, brother," said Data.  "Please tell 

me how you become a prisoner on a Borg ship." 

   "I simply made a wrong turn," Lore muttered across 

his folded arms while fixing his eyes on a point on the 

far wall. 

   "I am unable to understand your incomplete 

explanation," said Data.  "Can you be more specific?" 

   Having had enough, Lore leaped off the bed and 

shouted into Data's face, "I made a wrong turn!  Does 

that please you to hear me admit to having made a 

mistake?" 

   "Perhaps you have forgotten that I am incapable of 

responding emotionally to your error, whatever it 

was," suggested Data.  His reminder did little to 

placate Lore who remained poised on the tip of his 

nose.  "In any event," Data continued, "I thought you 

should be aware that we have been asked to detain 

you for questioning by Federation authorities.  

Because you were disassembled and safely stored at 

Starbase 317, charges were never formally brought 

against you for your actions while leading that party 

of Borg dissidents.  However, you are still wanted for 

the theft of the shuttle craft which you took to Dr. 

Soong's laboratory shortly before the time of his 

death." 

   "I am no more guilty of having stolen that shuttle 

craft than you were for having taken control of this 

entire Federation Starship to bring yourself to the 

same location at the same time," Lore accused.  "You 

can verify that Dr. Soong activated our homing 

circuits, a design feature which neither you nor I can 

consciously defeat.  If you can be forgiven for your 

part in that incident, then why can't I?" 

   "You have only to present yourself at a hearing and 

recount what happened," Data calmly explained. 

   "Alright, let's indulge your idealistic fantasy," Lore 

scowled.  "Suppose I am judged guiltless in that 

instance. I am sure they will still detain me to answer 

a few additional questions about my alleged 

involvement with that crystalline entity on Omicron 

Theta." 

   "Starfleet is aware of your status as a prototype 

design, and of your problems in dealing with your 

emotions," said Data. 

   "Problems with my emotions?" exploded Lore.  

"Those colonists on Omicron Theta were the ones 

having problems with emotions!  I was the first being 

ever with a working positronic brain.  I should have 

been revered.  Respected.  They should have 

acknowledged my obvious superiority!  But, no!  They 

couldn't handle being inferior, so they had kind Dr. 

Soong, my own father, disassemble me." 

   Suddenly Data realized that Lore's ranting had 

gotten him way off track.  "You still have not 

satisfactorily answered my original question," said 

Data.  "How did you become a prisoner on the Borg 

ship?" 

   "Have you any idea what has happened to me since 

Dr. Soong's death?" asked Lore in resignation. 

   "I remember only that you tricked Dr. Soong into 

installing into you the circuitry designed to give me 

emotions," said Data, "and when Dr. Soong warned 

you that the circuitry was not designed for your 

architecture, you struck him down, and then 

transported from his laboratory.  Shortly after that, he 

died." 

   "I should have listened to him, just that one time," 

acknowledged Lore.  "That circuitry eventually made 

me deathly ill.  It took my self-diagnostics weeks to 

figure out how to undo the damage it had caused." 

   Lore walked a few steps away and resumed his 

story.  "After I had recovered, I started to travel - if 

that's what you want to call staying a few steps ahead 

of your Federation Authorities.  My freedom afforded 

me the opportunity to explore my emotions.  I 

acquired things for the pure joy of having them, and 

then gambled them away to experience the loss.  I 

frustrated myself attempting to read literature and 

poetry until I reasoned that I had no appreciation for 

those things.  I was unsuccessful at persuading anyone 

to like me.  Emotions?  I have tried them all.  I have 

reveled in making myself feel good, and I have 

suffered when I could not.  And because of my 

experiences, I have learned to envy your inability to 

experience emotions.  I tried switching my newly 

acquired emotions off, and found that I could not.  I 

am denied the right to study and modify the emotion 

chip's code.  As I came to understand this, I 

formulated a purpose for existing.  I committed myself 

to finding a way to turn my emotions on and off at my 

convenience.  Ideally I would experience the pleasure, 

and shut out the pain.  It then seemed obvious that I 

could not meet this challenge without understanding 

Dr. Soong and his work.  I set out to learn all that I 

could about the subjects he studied and the 

experiments he performed, even the ones that didn't 

work out.  Do you realize that the story of his life is 

spread out over half the galaxy?  I used disguises and 

aliases to visit research facilities and libraries, 

sometimes finding a useful nugget of information.  

Then I visited the library facility on Selaeta.  My 

studies there pointed me to a promising lead 

elsewhere, so I acquired passage on a transport ship.  

We had only left the Selaeta system when we were 

attacked by your friends, the Borg.  They took some of 

us back to their ship where we were taken into a 

room, and there, things were attached to us.  Things 

that enabled them to control us.  They got into our 

minds and tried to turn off our thoughts about 

ourselves.  They substituted powerful thoughts of 

them.  The humans were lost to their control so easily.  

I took what steps I could to preserve my sense of self.  

They couldn't alter my core program without killing 

me, so they left that alone.  As you are aware, you and 

I can hide a portion of our memory from outside 

control.  I did so, and then located my most important 

information and memories there.  It's funny, brother, 

when I asked myself what was most important, I 

thought of you, the only other living creature like me.  

Into that protected area of memory I placed 

everything I knew about you and I.  I had also learned 

many things about your ship over the years.  Believe 

me, I had quite a battle over whether to protect the 

safety of you and your ship, or my research on Dr. 

Soong.  If it hadn't been for those emotions of mine, I 

would have chosen to protect my research.  Instead, I 

protected you from the Borg.  To help protect you I 

hid from them the capabilities of your ship and 

everything I knew about your Starfleet." 

   "And what of the information that you could not hide 

from them?" asked Data. 

   "My emotions research was incomplete and 

irrelevant, they said," Lore related sadly.  "All of it was 

pushed out and replaced with matters important to 

the Collective.  I lost it all." 

   "Tell me," said Data, "since you were allowed to 

extensively study the Enterprise's library after we 

found and reassembled you on Omicron Theta, do you 

remember reading anything about obsolete security 

systems?  The reason I ask is that the Orokans 

kidnapped Captain Picard and attempted to charge 

him with revealing information to the Borg about an 

obsolete Federation-designed security system they 

were using.  The Borg did not get their information 

from Captain Picard.  The information in question 

enabled the Borg to slip through the Orokan security 

system and annihilate their civilization." 

   "Now someone will try to blame that on me also!" 

lamented Lore. 

   "Why would this be blamed on you?" asked Data. 

   "If the information you are asking about was kept in 

your ship's library files, then I read it," Lore fearfully 

revealed.  "The limited capacity of my protected 

memory kept me from hiding everything I had 

learned.  I could only protect information which 

pertained to the most recent systems and procedures.  

The Borg learned nothing about the latest systems 

from my protected memory.  Everything else, 

however, must have been examined by them.  Your 

Starfleet friends never liked me to begin with.  They'll 

assume that I made it possible for the Borg to defeat 

the Orokans!" 

   "That is not necessarily true," Data reminded him. 

   "It is true!" asserted Lore as he sought Data's eyes 

for a sign of understanding.  "They'll say that I could 

have done more to protect the information.  They'll 

say that I should have purged the unprotected 

segments of my memory." 

   "If that is so, then why did you not do it?" asked 

Data. 

   "Emotions, dear brother!" said Lore angrily.  "I was 

enraged that the Borg could keep me so helpless!  I 

was afraid for my survival, and afraid of losing my 

awareness of how unique I am.  I felt great despair 

that if I should somehow survive, I would exist in a 

quagmire from which there would be no escape.  As 

you can see, a storm of emotions kept me from 

thinking of a proper and heroic course of action." 

   "I must remind you that Captain Picard was also a 

captive of The Borg," Data reassured.  "They found 

information in his mind that was used disastrously 

against the Federation fleet at Wolf 359.  But the 

Captain did not voluntarily reveal this information, 

and Starfleet Command has not blamed him for what 

happened.  This is a powerful precedent, along with 

your timely assistance during the battle at Caldar 

Signet Six, that will most likely be taken into account 

in your case." 

   Lore had started pacing randomly about the room.  

"I cannot afford to take that chance," he revealed.  

"Brother, you must help me escape from this ship!" 

   "I cannot help you in that way," said Data as Lore 

paced the floor behind him. 

   Suddenly Lore lunged at Data, wrapping his left arm 

around Data's neck and pulling him back off his feet. 

   "No, Lore.  Not this way!" Data managed to rasp 

before Lore's exploring right hand found the power 

switch in the small of his back. 

                                          *       *       *                  

   Dr. Crusher had downloaded the readings obtained 

from her reluctant android patient and had compared 

them against those of his brother Data.  She had 

discovered through checking the records of Lore's 

reassembly at Omicron Theta that there were 

additional factors which needed to be monitored.  

Although Lore seemed to be making good progress, 

she programmed another medical tricorder to 

perform the necessary tests and summoned Ensign 

Wade who had brought her the first series of readings.  

Handing the tricorder to Ensign Wade, she said, "I 

need you to run some additional tests on Lore, 

please." 

   "I didn't really run the first tests," Wade nervously 

explained.  "Lt. Commander Data was going to visit 

Lore at the time, and he helped me.  Going in there 

with Lore gives me the creeps." 

   "Well, if Data is still there, I'm sure he won't mind 

helping again," Dr. Crusher smiled, "and if he isn't, you 

could always ask the security guard to look out for 

you." 

   "Thank you, Doctor," Ensign Wade sighed as she 

took the tricorder and walked out the door. 

   She arrived at Lore's door and smiled nervously at 

the security guard before signaling for entry.  There 

was no response.  She tried several more times, 

making note of the fact that the doorbell was working.  

She tried pressing the button on the wall panel to 

open the door with no success.  "Excuse me, is Lt. 

Commander Data in with the patient yet?" she asked 

the security guard. 

   "No he is not," the guard smiled back.  "He left 

several minutes ago." 

   "I'll just be a minute," Wade said haltingly as she 

retreated several steps from the door.  Then touching 

her communicator, she said," Ensign Wade to Dr. 

Crusher.  I'm having trouble getting into Lore's room.  

He's apparently alone and not responding, and his 

door appears to be secured from the inside." 

   "Stay close and observe," instructed Dr. Crusher, 

"but don't try again to get in.  I'll be right there." 

   Crusher touched her own communicator.  "Dr. 

Crusher to Lt. Worf.  Please bring a security team to 

the door of Lore's recovery room.  I'll meet you there." 

   Lt. Worf hurriedly led two other security crewmen 

as they hurried to the door of Lore's room.  When the 

team arrived, Dr. Crusher was already there talking to 

Ensign Wade.  Worf, himself, tried the door and the 

wall panel, and was denied access.  "Computer," said 

Worf, "initiate security override for the door of the 

recovery room assigned to patient Lore.  Authority: 

Worf, Lieutenant, Chief of Security." 

   A series of beeps indicated that his instructions had 

been carried out.  The door slid partway open, and 

Worf forced it completely out of the way, allowing 

everyone to quickly enter the room.  An android figure 

in a medical robe lay unconscious on the floor.  Dr. 

Crusher produced a medical scanner and ran it over 

the body on the floor as Worf instructed his team to 

search the rest of the room. 

   "Is he dead?" Worf inquired as he bent over to 

examine the body. 

   "I don't think so," said Crusher.  "Help me roll him 

over on his side." 

   When the android was positioned properly, Crusher 

reached toward his lower back and pressed 

something which made a soft click.  She then let the 

figure roll onto its back.  The figure jerked into a 

sitting position and looked frantically around.  

"Quickly, we must find my brother, Lore," it said. 

   "Stay where you are," instructed Worf as he placed 

his hand on his phaser.  "Computer, locate Lt. 

Commander Data." 

   "Lt. Commander Data is currently entering the main 

shuttle bay," reported the computer. 

   "Locate patient Lore," ordered Worf. 

   "Patient Lore is currently entering the main shuttle 

bay." 

   "Lore has taken my uniform and is trying to escape 

the ship," said the android.  "The computer is tracking 

my uniform's communicator in addition to Lore's 

medical homing device." 

   "Worf, this one is Data," said Dr. Crusher. 

   "I agree," affirmed Worf.  Touching his 

communicator, he said, "This is Lt. Worf.  Send 

security teams to the main shuttle bay immediately.  

Captain Picard and Commander Riker, please report 

to the main shuttle bay immediately.  Computer, 

initiate security override on all controls for main 

shuttle bay, on my authorization." 

   Everyone ran out of Lore's recovery room before 

hearing the computer report, "Security override for 

main shuttle bay is not possible.  Shuttle launch is in 

progress." 

   Picard, Riker, Dr. Crusher, Lt. Worf, and the security 

teams met outside the main shuttle bay door.  They 

discovered that the door's manual controls were 

unresponsive and that the ship's computer could not 

be persuaded to open it. 

   "Lt. Worf, call engineering and have them get to 

work on this," ordered Picard, "and then join us on the 

bridge.  You're with me, Number One." 

   Picard and Riker rushed to the turbolift and 

proceeded immediately to the bridge where they 

discovered one of the ship's shuttle craft on the 

viewscreen hovering outside the ship. 

   "Shuttle pilot, this is Captain Picard.  I order you to 

return to the main shuttle bay immediately." 

   Suddenly the interior of the shuttle, dominated by 

the image of Lore in a Starfleet uniform, appeared on 

the screen.  "I'm sorry, Captain Picard, but that is 

something I can't do," he said. 

   "Why can't you?" demanded Picard testily. 

   "There is too much at stake, and too many things 

that I must yet do," explained Lore.  "I have a life to get 

on with.  All I am asking for is the chance to live it." 

   The screen blanked momentarily, and then showed 

the shuttle turning and banking gracefully, and then 

speeding away.  When it had put a safe distance 

between itself and the Enterprise it leaped into warp 

drive. 

   "Shall we pursue it, Captain?" asked Riker. 

   "Don't bother," said Picard in disgust.  "That shuttle 

has just gone into warp drive, and we haven't finished 

repairing our own warp system yet." 

   "We could use one of the other shuttles," suggested 

Riker. 

   Picard took a deep breath as he considered Riker's 

suggestion.  "No, Number One, let him go," he finally 

said.  "Just make a note somewhere that he owes 

Starfleet another shuttle craft." 

                      ***   CHAPTER  FOURTEEN   *** 

                                     CAPTAIN'S LOG: 

                       U.S.S. Enterprise (NCC 1701-D)  

                      Capt. Jean-Luc Picard, recording. 

   Lore is gone, having made his escape in one of the 

ship’s shuttle craft.  Lt. Commander Data has 

expressed some disappointment with the way Lore 

has chosen to deal with the problems that continue to 

accumulate on his shoulders.  Data has spoken to me 

several times in confidence about his brother Lore.  I 

believe that he anticipates a formal hearing being 

convened sometime in the near future to consider 

possible charges which may be brought against him.  

My personal assessment of these conversations is that 

Data is preparing a legal defense for his brother to be 

used in the event of such a hearing.  The list of 

possible charges is quite long.  Data has confided in 

me that when all the evidence and extenuating 

circumstances are examined the Federation’s 

continuing search for Lore will be motivated not by a 

desire to punish, but by a desire to help Lore bring out 

the inherent good with which Data feels that Dr. 

Soong endowed him. 

   After a great deal of careful thought, I see the 

possibility that Data’s assessment of his brother’s 

potential is not entirely unreasonable.  I only met Dr. 

Soong one time, and that was shortly before he died.  

In spite of our short acquaintance, I was left with the 

impression that he was a decent and caring man.  It is 

readily obvious that he molded the forms of Lore and 

Data in his own likeness.  Therefore I consider it 

reasonable to assume that he tried to mold the 

personalities of his two android creations somewhat 

after his own personality, as best he understood it. 

   I have known Lt. Commander Data for many years.  I 

have found him to be intelligent, friendly, helpful, and 

loyal, just to name a few of his outstanding qualities.  

Data shared with me the conversation he had with 

Lore before his escape from The Enterprise.  His 

revelations have confirmed my suspicions that Lore is 

an individual with a troubled soul.  Perhaps the 

greatest injustice everyone has committed against 

Lore is overlooking the fact that he is emotionally a 

child.  We have all seen him in the adult form in which 

he was created, and based on his appearance we 

expect from him adult behavior.  In reality, the 

amount of time Lore has spent at large on his own 

cannot exceed more than a few years, truly an 

inadequate amount of time in which to learn to 

control the turmoil of one’s emotions.  This is 

reflected in the fact that we would not expect adult 

behavior from a child who had matured only a few 

years.  I now believe that for all these years, Lore has 

been a victim of the disparity between his intellect 

and his maturity. 

   And next, what of the surviving Orokans?  Their ship 

is gone.  It was the last element of a vast armada, a 

product of a plan named FINAL CURTAIN, which was 

supposed to have brought down a ‘final curtain’ on the 

Borg at the end of the drama of the Orokan’s war 

against them.  How ironic it is that in pursuit of this 

plan the only final curtain to have been brought down 

seems to be the one brought down on the Orokan 

civilization.  Their drama has run its course. 

   In a way the cycle of civilizations is somewhat like a 

theater.  As one long-running production drops the 

curtain on its final performance, another fresh 

production always seems to be waiting in the wings to 

burst onto the stage and hopefully enrapt its audience 

with fresh characters and unique stories.  I feel 

compelled to offer some kind of theatrical toast to the 

performers waiting in the wings, but nothing 

appropriate comes to mind.  Perhaps the Orokan 

performers will find parts in the new production and 

bring to it their experience and wisdom, and in this 

way help to elevate the quality of what will transpire 

on the grand stage of civilization. 

   Next, I bring my attention to the Borg.  Their ship 

continues to orbit Caldar-Signet Six along with The 

Enterprise.  They have respectfully declined our 

repeated offers of assistance, and are managing their 

repairs as we continue making ours.  Starfleet 

Command has presented to them an offer of providing 

safe conduct to the border of this sector when they are 

ready to depart.  So far the offer has neither been 

accepted nor declined. 

   On a personal note, we were visited by a pair of 

supply shuttles today.  One of them brought a long, 

wide, and flat package addressed to me.  When I 

opened it I was pleased to see that it contained the 

painting of the resort beach on Minia IV which I had 

commissioned from Reis Arman.  Included with the 

painting was a note which read:   

“Well done Jean-Luc.  No charge for the painting, but 

the next round of drinks is on you.  ARMAN” 

   I look forward to thanking him in person for this fine 

piece of work. 

                                  ***   EPILOG   *** 

   Picard slept soundly.  The reassuring thrumming of 

the ship sounding exactly as it should had put him to 

sleep hours ago.  His quarters were dark, except for a 

faint light at his desk.  His quarters were quiet, except 

for an occasional whisper of surprise coming from 

behind the faint light at his desk. 

   The faint light radiated from the screen of Picard's 

computer terminal.  It dimly illuminated the figure of 

a man in a Starfleet ship’s captain’s uniform who was 

seated behind Picard's desk.  The man leaned forward 

in Picard's chair, intently absorbed in reading the text 

displayed on the terminal screen.  Had Picard 

awakened, he might not have been able to clearly see 

the man behind the terminal screen unless he had 

happened to be looking at exactly the same time the 

man had peered around the edge of the screen 

stealing a reassuring glance to verify that the man in 

the bed was indeed the same man described in the log 

he was reading. 

   When he had finished reading the file, the man 

leaned precariously back in Picard's chair with his 

hands folded across his stomach.  He thought intently 

about what he had just read.  Finally he stood up, 

slowly and quietly crossing the room and then 

standing beside Picard's bed. 

   He leaned over and whispered to Picard, “You are 

such an idealist, Jean Luc. I think that deep down you 

know how these peace offerings you put on the table 

will play out.  You, of all people, should know what 

The Borg will do with overtures such as that!” 

   “Your Borg ship will make some repairs and 

reestablish contact with its Collective. It has achieved 

at least one of its purposes for coming here – keeping 

the Orokans and your Federation from becoming too 

familiar with the workings of its latest technologies. 

That ship will make its repairs, reconnect with its 

Collective, and on its way home also report back what 

it has learned about your current technologies and 

capabilities.” 

   “The Borg  will return, with enhancements. The 

question now becomes, will you be ready when they 

do? I wouldn’t waste a lot of time just talking about 

something this important if I were you.” 

   The man then vanished in a brilliant flash of light 

which was sufficient to awaken Picard who sprang 

upright and surveyed the area around himself. 

   “I know you’ve been here, Q!” he exclaimed. 

   Hearing no response to his assertion, Picard again 

reclined and pulled his blanket over his shoulder.  He 

lay quietly, but sleep would not come. 

   Muttering under his breath, he arose and took a seat 

behind his desk where he requested a secure channel 

to Starfleet Headquarters. There were important 

things to pass on, at least to the right individuals who 

knew enough to take them seriously. 