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.