The BLTS Archive - Playing With Power
by MizJoely (vze1iwnd@verizon.net)

---

Published: 05-01-07 - Updated: 05-10-07

Author's Note: Here is another story dug out of my archives,
such as they are. This story was written a long time ago but
in our own galaxy, and published in not one but two, count
'em, two fan publications, the second of which (she pointed
out modestly) was a digest-sized zine devoted exclusively to
this story and its sequel. Not published by me, by the way.
Anyway, horn-tooting aside, I hope you enjoy this alternate
view of the NG episode "Power Play" and if enough people
like it, I'll dig out the sequel, "Power Struggle" as well.
Enjoy!

---
Prologue: Point of Departure
---

"If I were you, Picard, I wouldn't pass this way again!" The
menacing growl tainted Deanna Troi's lovely voice, the
rough-edged words ones that should never have passed through
her lips. Then again, the person speaking them was hardly
Deanna Troi; it was, instead, an unknown and nameless
criminal, whose government had, for reasons as unknown as
his name, stripped him from his body and sent his
consciousness--and that of his fellow prisoners--whirling
angrily into the eternal storms that racked this benighted
planet.

Not mad, Picard had said, and he believed that still. Even
after five centuries without a body, the being that now
possessed Troi was not mad. Ruthless, desperate, filled with
hatred and anger. But not mad. The eyes that burned into his
were coldly sane; even the fire of his anger was cool,
calculating. And now it was gone.

Picard raced forward as the glowing balls of energy that
were all the body the prisoners had left deserted Troi, Data
and O'Brien. He caught the half-Betazoid counselor's
suddenly limp and unconscious body in one arm, mouth open to
shout orders to the bridge crew as Worf leapt to activate
the transporter.

It was then that the containment field created by Beverly
Crusher failed.

Picard looked up in frozen horror, unable to move as the
light in the room abruptly returned to normal, and the
beings caught helplessly in their incorporeal prison were
suddenly, frighteningly, free. His last conscious thought as
lightning seemed to explode around and through him was that
he had, finally, failed in his sacred trust to keep his
people safe.

It was a bitter thought to carry into darkness.

---
In The Teeth Of The Storm
---

Narve opened his eyes and looked around the room. He could
feel Picard, trapped and helpless in a corner of his own
mind, and allowed his mouth to twist into a triumphant
smile. "Picard, you're mine," he whispered savagely, as
savagely as he'd first said the words, when he'd been in
Troi's body and merely held Picard hostage. Now, Picard was
truly his. Neatly shut away in a corner of his own mind,
powerless to stop the invasion. And Narve had a body again,
a body he felt more than willing to keep. Being caught in
the body of a woman had been interesting, but he felt much
happier now that he occupied one of the correct sex. The
commander as well, which was only fitting.

He rose to his feet, wiping such irrelevant thoughts from
his mind as he assessed the situation. Troi was still
unconscious--well, that was to be expected; he'd exited her
mind more harshly than necessary, viciously angry at being
forced to leave in the first place, using her pain to eject
himself rather than simply leaving. It would be some time
before any of his men could take her mind... if it were even
necessary at all. Another smile curved his lips as he raked
her trim, slender body with Picard's eyes, a smile that grew
as he felt the captain's outrage at the thoughts and images
that rapidly flooded Narve's mind. He pushed those thoughts
aside as well--for the moment--and turned with a critical
eye toward the others.

They were all occupied now; Verek and Mylal had re-entered
the bodies of Data and O'Brien. Peris had occupied the
Klingon and was already punching in a security override to
the cargo hold doors that would keep Riker from blasting
them into space, as Picard had threatened to do. Narve
nodded approvingly at this action, then noticed that Mast
had entered O'Brien's woman--O'Brien's civilian woman.
Picard's face frowned, and his voice rang out. "We need to
occupy the bodies of the security forces first. It's safe to
assume that they realize their plan has failed; once we
leave this room, they'll be waiting for us." He glanced over
at the rest of his storm-tossed men, who had moved their
essences from the transporter pad and were now waiting near
the door. None of them were fools; the second they realized
that the oh-so-clever containment field created by Dr.
Beverly Crusher in a desperate attempt to control the
situation had failed, they acted.

Thoughts of Beverly Crusher brought more of Picard's
memories to the surface; with a rapidity that would have
astounded the other man, had he been fully able to grasp
Narve's thought processes, the images and memories were
seized, examined and stored away for future reference. It
had been far too long since Narve--or any of his 150 fellow
prisoners, all male, all condemned for the same crime, all
loyal to him--had been physically able to touch anything,
let alone hold a woman in their arms. Now he had two that he
had every intention of exploring further, once he had taken
this ship.

These thoughts flickered through his consciousness far
quicker than it took Peris to finish entering the code that
would open--and keep open--the massive doors to the cargo
hold. Even while they brought a smile of anticipation to his
face, Narve's voice--Picard's voice--barked out orders.
"Remember: Security forces first. We're not likely to
encounter anyone else right now anyway, so that shouldn't be
too difficult to accomplish. They'll have all the civilians
and noncombatants locked away for their own safety. Other
than that, don't worry about whose body you get; you'll be
able to change later, if you want. The bridge is our main
goal."

The other four who now had bodies nodded their heads; the
146 still lost in the small portion of the Storm they'd
brought with them sang their agreement into his mind. They
all knew what to do. Nodding grimly and gesturing with his
phaser with one hand while he hoisted Troi over his shoulder
with the other, Narve followed as his men left the room.

It was almost too easy. Even though the forces confronting
the invaders thought themselves ready, they were woefully
unprepared for the savage force of the Storm. The lightning
grew weaker as more and more members found bodies and left,
but even in this weakened state, it was more than enough to
stun the men and women they encountered.

Riker had desperately attempted to block them from the
bridge; it was the obvious goal. But Worf's memories and
tactical abilities served them well, and it wasn't long
before the bridge crew--Riker, Ro, LaForge, all the rest
except a stunned Beverly Crusher, now being held tightly by
Peris--had been rendered unconscious and taken over.
Regaining access to the computers was the next priority; one
of Riker's first actions had been to lock the invaders out.
A futile gesture; Picard's memories told Narve exactly what
to do to counter that move, and he took immense pleasure in
doing so in front of Riker's disbelieving eyes--before
stunning the first officer into unconsciousness.

As soon as that had been accomplished, the rest of the ship
had been gassed by its own internal security system--yet
another piece of Federation technology that had proven
useless against the invaders--and the remainder of the
former prisoners had been sent to round up every man, woman
and child, imprisoning them in the cargo bays.

Once the prisoners came around, they would no doubt attempt
to escape, and there was always the chance that some smart
guy from engineering would come up with a way to get around
the locks. Then again, Narve thought as he glanced around
the bridge, that was fairly unlikely, since they now had the
smartest guy from engineering right here, with--who? Ah,
Lormis. With Lormis, best computer man in his crew,
controlling him and assimilating his memories. His aura was
unmistakable, the pale blue glow that identified him as
clear to Narve as if his name were written across his host
body's forehead. It was the same for all of them. An
unexpected--but beneficial--side-effect of their time spent
without bodies, discovered during their first, abortive
escape attempt.

"Interesting." Riker's voice interrupted Narve's thoughts,
sounding slightly bemused as Larsch looked with the former
first officer's eyes around the bridge. Larsch had been
forced to stay behind when the pain from Riker's broken arm
kept him from being able to take over that body, and he'd
claimed it for himself, with no one disputing his right to
do so. But now his attention was focused on the three women
on the bridge. "This Riker guy's slept with that one"--he
pointed at Ro, whose occupier, Mesch, merely raised an
eyebrow--"and that one. He slept with that one a lot." His
gaze lingered on Deanna Troi for a moment before passing
over to Beverly Crusher. "He even slept with that one, but
he had some sort of parasite in him that was in love with
her or something--" he shook his head, half in amazement,
half in disgust. "This guy gets around!"

Larsch was the youngest of them, Narve remembered,
suppressing a flash of annoyance at his preoccupation with
the women--and conveniently forgetting his own thoughts
about them. It had been so long since such minor matters as
age, rank or even sex had truly meant anything. Well, not
quite. Rank still mattered, even after five long, hopeless
centuries. Narve remained the leader, had coordinated their
first escape effort and this current, more successful
attempt. He, Narve, had kept his crew from completely losing
hope. Now that he had finally managed to free them from
their prison, their respect for his leadership would be even
higher. But he had to keep discipline. Larsch wouldn't be
the only one thinking with his new hormones. There would be
time enough for his crew to sample the women once they were
safely away and had disposed of the extraneous people.

"We can't keep all the prisoners on board this ship," he
announced, putting thoughts to words. "We can't control them
all. Suggestions?"

"Kill them," Verek said flatly. His golden eyes glittered in
the subdued red lighting that now draped the bridge,
flickering oddly in the silent flashing of the emergency
alarms.

Narve looked over at his second-in-command consideringly;
his suggestion was a quick, easy solution that would satisfy
many of the men. Especially the one who suggested it. Verek
reveled in death and killing; only Narve's orders had kept
him from killing the Klingon or Picard earlier. He would
need to vent his frustrations, but killing helpless
prisoners wasn't part of the Code. Verek occasionally needed
to be reminded of the fact that the Code could not be
ignored. Sidestepped, on occasion; at times interpreted a
little more freely. But never ignored. Besides, it always
paid to try and plan for as many contingencies as possible.
If by some quirk of fate they were ever caught by the
Federation, they had on their side the fact that no lives
had been lost. Wholesale slaughter of the prisoners would
make any punishment far harsher.

"Use the navigation systems," Lormis interjected in his
flat, emotionless tones. "Find some uninhabited planet where
we can dump the ones we can't use. We start slaughtering
them, the Feds will be out for blood if they ever catch us."
Narve nodded his approval; it was the plan he had come up
with, as well. But it always looked better if he took the
suggestions of the crew; that was also part of the Code,
however unwritten.

"You can't get away with this!" Narve/Picard swung around in
surprise, fixing his gaze on the speaker. Beverly Crusher.
Of course. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow and gestured for
her to continue, jerking his head at Peris. The Klingon
hands released the woman, and she stumbled slightly at the
unexpected freedom before snapping erect and turning her
glare on her former captain. "This is a Federation Starship!
Do you honestly think you can try to steal it without
someone stopping you?" She spread her arms angrily, taking
in both the invaders and the entire situation in which she
now found herself embroiled.

Narve shrugged expressively, silently reveling in the
ability to do so. "We've already gotten away with it,
Doctor," he replied in Picard's cultured accents. "And we
will continue to do so. Between our abilities and the
memories of Picard and his crew, we should be able to fake a
most convincing 'accident'; remember, even your
sophisticated sensors couldn't find the crash site of the
Essex."

He smiled as her eyes widened at this revelation. "Then
we'll take all civilians and useless personnel and dump them
on some primitive planet far away from the shipping lanes
and outside Federation territory--maybe someplace just
inside Romulan space, how would that be?--and we'll leave
them there. Someplace where they'll be too busy surviving to
try and create communicators out of rocks and trees," he
added in mocking tones as he glanced around at his crew. "If
anyone does eventually stumble across them, we'll be long
gone and nowhere to be found."

He shrugged once again, then leaned casually against the
railing, his eyes back on the doctor's strained--but still
beautiful--face. It would do no harm to tell her... "Don't
get the idea that somehow one of your people will try and
pass for one of us. We can still 'see' each other, despite
these bodies." He pointed at Worf, busy at tactical. "That's
Peris." The Klingon looked up briefly at the mention of his
name, grunted, and returned his attention to the board. "He
has a distinctive green aura." His hand waved at Keiko,
standing guard by the turbolift, the phaser held so steadily
in her hand clearly set on "kill". "That's Mast. He's an
assassin; his aura is a purplish-red. Blood-colored, you
might say." He smiled.

Crusher felt an almost overwhelming urge to slap that cold,
calculating smile off his--Jean-Luc's--face. She squelched
it mercilessly; such thoughts could serve no purpose. She
had to keep her head, even though her nerves were screaming
at her to run away as quickly as she could. But there was
nowhere to run. Not now, anyway.

She studied the stranger in Picard's form once more. She
could see no sign of the auras he'd described, but had no
doubt that they existed; she could probably even rig a
tricorder to look for them, now that she knew they were
there, now that he'd told her about them... "Who are you?"
she demanded, suddenly determined to know his name. She
refused to think of the man standing before her as Picard
any longer.

"My name is Asrun Narve," he replied, clicking his heels
together and bowing with a mocking gesture. "At your
service... Beverly."

She felt a gasp of outrage escape her lips at his use of her
first name in so familiar a fashion, not to mention the
caressing tone with which he said it. How dare he--! The
outrage was gone as quickly as it came. A man who would
ruthlessly take over another man's body and mind would
hardly stop at something as trivial as over-familiarity. She
almost felt embarrassed by her reaction, while her
professional side clinically noted that concentrating on
trivialities helped keep the mind from being overwhelmed by
the larger picture. The larger, less-than-appetizing
picture.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a voice over
the communications system. "Narve? This is Nal. We've
secured the prisoners. What now?" The voice--it sounded like
Ensign Perry from Security, but Crusher wasn't sure--waited
expectantly.

"Now you select the bodies you want," Narve replied. He
turned away from the doctor, apparently dismissing her from
his mind. "Pick technical staff, people who can run this
ship. It can be done with a crew of 150, or even less;
Picard's memories tell me this. Oh, one piece of advice," he
added. "Pick male bodies. Being inside Troi was interesting,
but there are better ways for a man to occupy a woman."
Raucous laughter burst out, both from the bridge crew and
over the intercom.

Crusher felt as if she were going to be sick. Surely there
was something she could do--! She'd never felt so helpless
before, so vulnerable, even when she'd been kidnapped and
held hostage, even when she'd been trapped in that warp
bubble, horribly alone. But not so alone as she was now,
surrounded by enemies in her own home.

The activities of the invaders over the next few hours went
by in a blur, with only a few events standing out. The
spectacular "accident" that Narve had promised. The invader
inside Ro--Mesch, Narve called him--abandoning the ensign
for Lt. Reg Barclay, the engineer's usually cheerful face
transforming into a cold mask before Crusher's horrified
eyes. Keiko falling to the floor unconscious soon after,
when a security guard was offered to her occupier instead.

Narve flatly forbade her to check on either woman, just as
he had refused to allow her to check on Troi. All she could
do was watch their unconscious forms anxiously, unable to
force the issue because Peris had produced a pair of binders
and secured her hands behind her back, then forced her to
sit on the deck next to tactical. It was humiliating.

The worst of it, she thought dimly, was the way not only she
but the other women on the bridge were being treated.
O'Brien--Mylal, she'd heard him called, a name ironically
similar to the transporter chief's own first name--had
demanded that Narve allow him to "keep" Keiko for his own.
Narve had smiled that same, cold smile and nodded
indifferently. "She's yours; I do try and keep my promises,
you know." His eyes ranged over the rest of the men on the
bridge. "We'll keep some of the other women, never fear,"
he'd added carelessly, but his eyes had lingered on
Crusher's face and she'd felt herself flushing with anger
and embarrassment. This sort of thing just didn't happen on
a Federation starship, to Starfleet personnel!

At that thought, her eyes went involuntarily to the
captain's ready room. Troi had been taken there on Narve's
order, still unconscious, while the one in Data's body,
Verek, efficiently removed anything that could be used as a
weapon and disabled the computer console. Narve's eyes on
the ship's counselor had been almost as unsettling as his
eyes on her own body, and Crusher found herself wondering
uneasily just what this... pirate... had in mind for the two
of them. Not that her unwilling imagination couldn't conjure
up a grim image or two, but she decided she'd better not
think about it. She would either laugh or cry, and hysteria
would not help the situation.

She concentrated instead on being grateful that no one tried
to argue with Narve's decision to send the majority of the
crew and their families planetside. Although Verek's eyes
flashed dangerously when his suggestion to kill them was
turned down, he appeared satisfied to go along with his
commander. She allowed herself to wonder, briefly, how
Jean-Luc was feeling, trapped within his own mind. He was
still there, she had no doubts about that; Narve had said so
and had taken immense satisfaction in describing to her the
flashes of emotion he could feel from Picard's outraged--and
helpless--consciousness.

And, of course, there was the evidence of her own eyes; as
Keiko finally came to and huddled against the wall near
Crusher, her strained face and terrified eyes bore silent
witness to the fact that Miles O'Brien's wife was perfectly
aware of what was going on, her mind obviously undamaged in
spite of everything that had happened. But the other woman
was even more powerless than Crusher to stop the nightmare,
even though she hadn't been secured the way the doctor had.
She didn't even have the rudimentary martial arts training
that Crusher had received as part of her Starfleet
education; she was a botanist, for God's sake! A civilian
botanist. Who had been promised to a stranger that was
occupying her husband's body. Who gives this woman away...

The doctor shuddered at the way her thoughts kept turning on
her. She concentrated instead on what could have gone wrong
with her containment field, what she now knew about the
invaders, anything that might distract her from a growing
sense of panic. Anything. The mysterious "Code" Narve kept
referring to. The apparent ease with which they--especially
Narve, or perhaps, she realized suddenly, only
Narve--submerged their true personalities under the false
ones they'd presented while pretending to be the crewmembers
they'd taken over, personalities that, bit by bit, seemed to
emerge while they were pretending to be "ghosts" of the
Essex command crew. Their immunity to the intruder
containment gases, to phaser fire--surely in that mass of
data she'd accumulated there had to be something she could
use against them! She kept her mind grimly glued to those
thoughts until exhaustion finally overtook her--she'd been
on duty since well before the initial discovery of the
distress beacon--and she sank into a rested, haunted sleep.

---
Getting to Know You
---

Crusher came to with a start. Her legs had fallen asleep,
her wrists were rubbed raw from the unpadded metal bands
holding them, and her hands were going numb. She pulled her
legs out from under her, flexing her fingers and toes, and
stretched with a slight grimace, trying to ease the pain.
Was that what had awakened her?

No. The ship was moving, travelling with its usual smooth
hum through warp space. How long had she been asleep? She
glanced over at Keiko. The other woman had also fallen into
an exhausted sleep, huddled against the engineering console
in a defensive ball, and the doctor found herself marveling
at the body's ability to cope. Tense and strung out as she'd
been, she hadn't thought sleep was possible, not in such a
hostile situation. But sleep she had, and Keiko as well. Ro
Laren? The ensign was nowhere to be seen; perhaps she was
locked in with Troi, perhaps she'd been put with the rest of
the prisoners. It was impossible for Crusher to say; the
other woman had disappeared sometime during the doctor's
unexpected nap.

She still wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but it
felt as if it had been at least a couple of hours. The
emergency lighting was still on; apparently Narve didn't
care how the bridge was lit, as long as he was in command. A
wave of bitter anger passed over Crusher as she glared at
the back of his head.

He was sitting in Picard's chair. Of course. Data was next
to him, with O'Brien on the other side. No. Not Data and
O'Brien; Verek and Mylal. She'd have to remember that, to
start thinking of them by those names. Peris of the
distinctive green aura, in Worf's body, was standing at
tactical next to her, while the one called Larsch occupied
Riker's body, sitting incongruously at navigation.

"This is the place!" Riker's voice rang out cheerily as
Larsch spun around to face Narve. "No intelligent life, not
too many large carnivores--just enough to make things
interesting--temperate climate, large land masses, drinkable
water and edible food. Paradise!" He sounded obscenely
cheerful to Crusher's ears. "Wonder why it hasn't been
colonized before?"

"Because," Verek said in the calmest voice Crusher had heard
him use yet; perhaps being in Data's emotionless body was
affecting him. "It's in disputed space." He grinned evilly,
and any resemblance to Data disappeared. "Disputed with the
Romulans." His eyes sought hers, and he smiled again as he
continued, "So we have to get those people down and
ourselves out of here before we're detected by one side or
the other and someone comes asking our business." He looked
over at Narve. "Right?"

Narve nodded in agreement. "Right." He paused, then raised
his voice to address the intership. "Mast!"

"Mast here," came the prompt response.

"Mylal's on his way down; we're ready to dump them." The
callousness of that statement brought Crusher to her feet;
she leaned heavily against the rail as she glared down at
Verek and Narve. Especially Narve.

"You can't just send us down there with nothing!" she
protested hotly. "At least allow my medical teams to bring
down their equipment and supplies!"

Narve turned to face her as Mylal rose to his feet and
headed for the turbolift. "We've let them take food,
clothing, and a few supplies; we're not barbarians, after
all." His voice, oozing with false sympathy, turned hard.
"But no technology, Doctor. And no you. You're staying on as
my... guest." He turned away again, ignoring her continued
protests, protests that were only cut off when he waved an
irritated hand over his shoulder and Peris lashed out and
backhanded her viciously across the cheek.

She collapsed to her knees from the force of the blow,
blinking away tears of pain. Keiko was also awake, but when
she made a tentative move towards the doctor, Peris growled
at her menacingly and she backed away again, cowed.

It was a mere two hours later when Mylal returned, pausing
briefly by the turbolift before entering the bridge. Verek
was pacing restlessly; none of the others had moved the
entire time Mylal had been away. Except for Narve. He'd gone
into Picard's ready room once and re-emerged a few minutes
later, grinning. "The Counselor is awake," he announced,
turning his face to reveal a bleeding scratch on one cheek.
"Or rather, she was. I felt she needed a little more sleep."
He rubbed his hand suggestively, and Data/Verek burst into
laughter.

Mylal's eyes lingered on Keiko for a moment, but he wrenched
his gaze away and walked down the ramp to take the seat
usually occupied by Will Riker. They were all showing some
self-control now, Crusher thought through a haze of pain;
her cheek still stung from the force of the blow. They
weren't as desperate as they'd been when they first took
over. The further they'd gotten from their former prison,
the more relaxed they became. It was as if they were afraid
the storm would reach up into space and suck them back down
to the planet's surface. Or maybe that was too poetic an
image; maybe they were just more confident the longer they
got away with this... madness.

"They're all down now. Everyone except us and the women,"
Mylal reported to Narve.

The commander nodded, satisfaction clearly written on his
features as he rose and stretched. "Good. Now get us out of
here." This order was directed to Larsch. "Top speed to
neutral territory, as far away as you can manage in a couple
of hours. Then stop. If it looks safe, I'll let the men
celebrate." He smiled, a genuine smile this time that
chilled Crusher's blood more than the artificial ones he'd
bestowed upon her earlier. "They've certainly earned it; we
all have." His gaze returned to O'Brien. "How many did we
keep?"

"Fifty, not including these and Ro Laren."

"Ah, yes. Ro. Where is she?" He glanced around in the
semi-darkness, seeming to notice it for the first time. "Put
the damn lights back on," he snapped, before repeating his
question. "Where's Ro?"

"In my quarters," Verek replied as the normal lighting
suddenly sprang back on. Crusher blinked painfully at the
brightness. "You said Mylal, Larsch and I could have our
pick, so I picked her."

Narve eyed the android now occupied by his second-in-command
doubtfully. "Maybe you should've taken a Human body."

"Don't worry about that, Commander; this body is fully
functional. And I do mean fully," Verek added with a smirk.

Narve looked at him with a touch of envy. "I think I picked
the wrong body."

Verek merely shrugged, still smirking. "We can always
switch, if you like. But I'm getting rather attached to this
body; it doesn't need sleep or food, but it can still
appreciate a woman. And it will, too." He looked around at
his fellow pirates. "All of our bodies will, eh?"

No mistaking that meaning, Crusher thought with a sinking
heart. No mistaking that or the looks O'Brien's invader was
casting on Keiko... or the looks Narve was giving her. She
was almost too worn out at this point to really
care--almost. There was still enough of the analytical
researcher in her to wonder, if the women occupied as much
of the invaders' thoughts as they seemed to, how the men had
managed to control themselves this far. Impressive
discipline, if nothing else. She turned her face away as
these thoughts flitted through her mind, avoiding Keiko's
panic-stricken face as well. She finally accepted that there
was nothing she could do. For now. She closed her eyes so
Keiko couldn't see the defeat in them as Larsch asked Narve
for Troi.

"When I'm finished with her," was the curt reply. "She's the
example." There was a momentary pause after those
cryptic--and chilling--words while he apparently waited for
a protest which never came, then: "Tell the crew the women
are for when we've reached goal; after that we'll work out a
schedule so everyone gets a turn. Same as before; they know
the drill." His eyes caught those of Mylal. "Where did you
put them?"

"Ten-Forward," was the reply. "With Mast in charge. So there
won't be any discipline problems."

"Good. Verek, take the doctor to my quarters and then take
some time to recuperate; android body or no, you've been
pushing yourself a lot." Verek nodded curtly, allowing
himself only the barest of anticipatory grins as the
commander turned to speak to O'Brien.

"Mylal, I want you to stay here while Verek and I are
'occupied'." He forestalled the objection Mylal was about to
voice with a raised finger. "Anticipation makes the meal
taste sweeter," he said. "Have a little patience. You'll get
her soon enough, and I need someone in charge that I can
trust to keep things running smoothly while Verek and I
are... indisposed. Besides," he added, a touch of steel
entering his voice, "you showed a little less control over
your host's mind than I expected from you."

"You can't blame me for that, Commander," Mylal protested,
his eyes flickering briefly toward Keiko before returning to
Narve. "It's not like we've had a lot of practice at this--"

"I didn't ask for excuses," Narve shot back. "You know how
to use your host's memories; you're not supposed to let them
use you. And that's just what happened back in Ten-Forward.
You got lost in O'Brien's memories. So I want you to stay on
the Bridge for now, and practice your control. Got it?"

Mylal's nod of acknowledgement was grudging, but he made no
other protests as Narve turned to face Peris. "I want you in
Ten-Forward, helping Mast. He knows his duty, but I want
someone else down there I can trust not to lose control.
Send Nal to engineering to help Mesch; he's reliable, but he
always had problems keeping his mind on work when there were
women around. Larsch, you stay here, too. Time to practice
your patience as well; when I'm done in there, she's yours."

Crusher refused to open her eyes as she heard footsteps
heading toward the captain's ready room--and Deanna Troi.
There's nothing you can do to help her, Crusher, she
reminded herself wearily. Besides, this is all your fault.
It was your damn field that failed.

That depressing thought chased itself around and around her
mind as Peris pulled her none-too-gently to her feet. "Come
on, you," he growled, pushing her towards Verek, tossing the
restraints at the android. "Narve, it's not fair that Larsch
gets his own," he complained as Verek grabbed her arm and
pulled her toward the door. "He didn't come up."

"He was supposed to and he tried to. That's the Code," Narve
replied flatly. He was standing in the doorway to the ready
room now, obviously intending to enter as soon as he was
done snapping out orders. "It's not his fault the body was
defective at the time. Don't worry; you'll get your turn
soon enough. Do your job, do it well, and you and Mast will
get first pick." Peris' reply, if any, was lost as the
turbolift doors shut on the bridge.

Crusher sagged against the far wall. Verek had released her
arm and was studying her unpleasantly. She tried to ignore
him as he sent the turbolift to the deck containing the
officer's quarters, tried not to think about their
destination, Jean-Luc Picard's cabin in particular. The fact
that the captain was still in his body and would be aware of
what was happening, completely unable to do anything about
it--as Narve had made quite clear--made things even worse.
She couldn't begin to imagine how the captain must feel
right now--or how he would feel when Narve made good on his
threats against herself and Deanna Troi. Just the attempt
made her feel sick.

"Query: what are you thinking, Doctor?" Her head snapped up
at that familiar tone; had Data somehow managed--?

No, Data had not somehow managed. Her head drooped again at
the knowing smirk pasted on Data's mouth. Verek's smirk. I
hope being in Data's body drains your emotions out of you
like pus from a wound, you sadistic bastard, she thought
viciously, but only her eyes betrayed her anger. After
glaring at him for a moment, she hung her head again and
lowered her lashes. Let him think that was as much defiance
as she could muster.

Fortunately for her nerves, they arrived on the proper deck
at that point. Verek took her arm again, pushing her ahead
of him and down the corridor, stopping in front of the door
to her own quarters. Holding her by one arm, Verek marched
her over to her closet, rifled through her clothing, then
removed a light olive dress and tossed it over his shoulder
before pushing her out of the room and continuing down the
hall.

To Picard's quarters.

Crusher's steps slowed reluctantly as they neared the door,
and Verek pushed her forward so she stumbled through the
entrance. The captain's quarters looked as they always had,
the automatic lighting dimly set for "evening", which at
least gave her an idea of how much time had passed since
they'd first gone to investigate the distress signal. The
wall chrono told her even more; had it really only been 24
hours? Twenty-four hours of hell.

Even more hell, she suddenly realized, for Keiko. Molly.
Little Molly must have been beamed down, along with the rest
of the crew and their families. And Alexander. Thank God Wes
isn't here, she found herself thinking gratefully, her heart
going out to the other parents still on board. Thank God he
was safe and sound, back at Starfleet Academy. She wondered
if Keiko felt the same relief that her daughter was at least
away from all this, surrounded by friends and people who
would keep her safe, or simple grief at being separated from
her baby. Probably, Crusher decided, a bit of both.

Verek was beside her again; she hadn't even heard him follow
her into the room. He dangled the binders in one hand and
thrust the dress at her with the other. "You will clean
yourself and change into this." It was a dress she hadn't
been able to bring herself to wear in a long time. The dress
she'd worn one night when Jean-Luc had invited her to his
cabin for dinner. They'd danced, and kissed. Then, with no
sign of regret or any other emotion, he'd sent her away. Of
course it hadn't really been him, any more than it was
really him now, up on the bridge, doing who-knew-what to
Deanna Troi. She couldn't help it; a shudder passed over her
frame as she reluctantly reached for the dress. She wouldn't
put it past Verek to force her into the shower and then into
the dress, wouldn't put it past him to forcibly remove her
uniform to accomplish either goal. "He didn't require that
Deanna be 'cleaned up' first," she couldn't help muttering.

Verek shrugged indifferently. "That was business, Doctor;
this I can assure you is pleasure. Troi is merely the
example; you are the one he selected." His voice hardened.
"Get moving, Doctor. I'm not a very patient man, as you
might have noticed."

He watched as she moved like a sleepwalker across the cabin
and into the bathroom, idly tossing the binders from hand to
hand. "Leave the door open," he called to her. "I could
easily break it down if I had to, so don't get any bright
ideas about locking yourself in." The threat made, he
settled comfortably onto the sofa, his eyes never leaving
her figure. She nodded obediently, draped the dress on the
edge of the small counter, and turned on the water. Sonics,
she decided, wouldn't do it. Not tonight. Her spirit felt as
grubby as her body.

The hot water brought her somewhat out of the apathetic daze
into which she'd fallen. Just because she couldn't think of
any way out of this mess, didn't mean that such a way didn't
exist. She would have to bide her time. Hopefully she'd be
allowed contact with her fellow captives; surely they'd let
her take care of them, as medical officer. She didn't know
if the invaders had taken over any of the medical staff, but
somehow she doubted it. If any of them needed help, they
could force her to do it. Or just knock her out and allow
one of their own members to enter her body and do whatever
needed to be done himself, with the unwilling help of her
own mind and memories.

She shuddered at the thought of having her mind invaded in
the same way the men's had been. The physical violation she
faced now was somehow less frightening than the idea of
having her own mind used against her. But for now, she
reminded herself grimly, only her body was in peril. No use
borrowing trouble.

The shower door jerked open, nearly causing the doctor to
bang her head on the wall in surprise. It was Verek, of
course. Glaring at her. "You've taken long enough, Doctor,"
he said, the glare turning into an appreciative leer. "Dry
yourself off and get out." She obediently turned off the
water, deliberately ignoring his eyes on her naked body. Let
him look, as long as he didn't touch. She pressed the button
that turned water to dry heat, wrung out her hair and
finger-combed it to dryness. Verek never moved, leaning
casually against the edge of the shower, a greedy expression
on his face as she dried herself.

He continued to watch as she slipped the dress over her head
and straightened out her hair--bless Picard for having a
comb!--then turned to present Verek with an inscrutable
face. "Well?"

The alien in android's clothing nodded with alacrity. "Very
well, indeed, Doctor!" He jerked his head towards the door
to the rest of the suite. "Narve will approve as much as I
do. Now march."

Very briefly, Crusher considered trying to escape. He held
no phaser now. As quickly as the idea flashed through her
mind, she dismissed it. Data's body could recapture her very
efficiently; although he seldom displayed his astounding
speed and reflexes, they still existed. At Verek's disposal.
He had no need of a phaser; he could stop her before she
even started to move.

And he certainly wouldn't give her the chance to shut down
Data's body. With Data's memories, he knew that she was one
of the few people who knew precisely where to press. He was
watching her like a hawk, and not just because he had what
her mother would call "dishonorable intentions". He was
waiting for her to try something. Anything. Therefore, she
wouldn't. Not now, not with him. Let him think she was still
in shock, let him think she was beaten. It could only work
to her advantage.

Verek pulled her along by one arm, stopping next to the
closet. "I'm afraid you're in for a little more discomfort,
Doctor," he said with false sympathy as he glanced down at
her wrists, bruised and raw from being confined for so long
within the metal binders. "Sorry about this, but I can't
have you escaping while Narve finishes with the lovely
Counselor." He held up the binders and looked over to gauge
her reaction to both the security devices and his dig about
Troi. Since there was nothing she could do at the moment
about either, Crusher said nothing, but she was sure her
face betrayed at least the fear she was feeling, if not the
anger she was carefully keeping in check.

He clicked the binders over her unresisting wrists, hooking
them over the rod in the closet first. She still said
nothing, merely stifled a groan at the thought of having her
arms held in such an awkward position for any length of
time. "I have no intention of waiting here with you while
the intriguing Ensign Ro Laren awaits me in my quarters,"
Verek added conversationally.

Crusher felt her heart leap at his words. He was going to
leave her alone! Although she was deeply disturbed by the
thought of what was going to happen to Laren--what was
undoubtedly already happening to Dee--she resolutely pushed
such thoughts aside, this time not out of despair, but out
of an urgent need to clear her head. Time alone meant time
to plan, possibly time to escape. She made herself look as
hopeless and defeated as she could, lowering her eyes as if
in meek submission. Data's voice laughed at her, Data's hand
lingered caressingly on her hair and back for an agonizingly
long minute, then he was gone. She was finally alone.

It was time to put her Starfleet training to work.

---
Secret Weapon
---

In a small chamber behind the bar in Ten-Forward, a silent
figure waited. So far the women had been left alone, with
only two men to guard them. An eye peered through the narrow
slit between the wall and the door, focusing thoughtfully on
Dr. Selar, standing regally in one corner. She was the only
woman not chattering in a nervous undertone to a neighbor.

The watching eye blinked, then narrowed with determination.
Selar was the best candidate; although the Vulcan doctor was
not a strong telepath, she was more reachable than any of
the mindblind Humans surrounding her.

The figure drew a deep breath as it edged closer to the
sliver of light offered by the partially open door of the
storage closet. It was taking an immense amount of
concentration to keep Ten-Forward's occupants from
noticing--or remembering--the presence of the small room and
its entrance. Now, it was time to remind Selar of its
existence--and let her know there was someone behind that
door.

It was a dangerous game, but at the moment it was all Guinan
could think of. She'd been off-duty when the original
hostages had been taken, one of the few times she could
remember her intuition and sense of danger failing her so
completely. When the hostages had been freed and the
original set of invaders were safely on their way to the
cargo bay, she'd returned to her domain, to assess the
damage.

The alert status had been specifically intended to confine
all civilians and non-essential personnel to their quarters,
but Guinan had bullied her way past Worf's
second-in-command, arguing that the best place for her was
in Ten-Forward. She'd given Perry no good reason, but he'd
complied anyway. He knew her reputation, and besides, he
didn't have time to argue with her.

Because, as quickly as things seemed to be under control,
all hell broke loose. Guinan, her intuition screaming at her
now as if to make up for failing her in the initial crisis,
had ducked into the small storage room. And waited there.

This time, her intuition was right. She concentrated on
keeping all eyes off her and her small island of security as
former friends suddenly became enemies whose faces were lit
as if from within by a strange, wavering glow.

She'd continued to hide while the ship moved and women were
hustled into the room, under the guard of Perry once again.
Or at least, Perry's body. Whoever controlled that body now,
it was not the earnest young ensign. His eyes now held a
fiery light that seemed to be equal parts enjoyment and
hatred. He was reveling in this situation, in the fear and
confusion his presence and the presence of his companions
was causing among their captives.

His back was to her now; Nal, that was his name. He'd
identified himself when Picard's voice had asked for a
status check over the intercom system mere moments ago.
Nal/Perry had called Picard "Narve," and had reported the
downloading of the remainder of the crew onto some planet
Guinan had never heard of, but whose name she duly noted and
filed in the back of her mind for future reference. Fifty
women were now in the lounge, all of them members of the
crew; no civilians. All of them young, healthy, attractive.
They reminded Guinan of nothing so much as a harem, and she
didn't need her intuition to tell her how correct that
assessment was.

Fifty women here, plus an unknown--but small--quantity of
others elsewhere on the ship. Officer's private stock, were
Nal's exact words. He'd been joined by another security
officer, Ensign Amato, whom he now called Mast. The two of
them had ripped the communicator badges from the women's
chests, Nal gleefully, Mast emotionlessly, and piled them on
the bar. Then Mast had taken his phaser and just as
emotionlessly turned it up to "kill" as he melted the
communicators into nothingness.

That finished, he turned his back to the bar and joined Nal,
his eyes coldly pinned to the uneasy mass of women while his
fingers automatically returned the phaser to its previous
setting of heavy stun. His companion was complaining, in the
manner of common soldiers everywhere, about the privileges
given to the upper ranks, and making crude remarks about
their captive audience. Mast merely continued to watch the
women, silent and suspicious, nodding abstract
acknowledgement of his companion's words, but not really
listening.

Guinan ignored them for now, concentrating instead on Dr.
Selar. The unknown other captives were a wild card factor,
beyond her control and reach right at the moment. Slowly,
painfully, she divided her attention between keeping other
eyes away from her and willing the Vulcan woman to look, to
see the door, and to draw the correct conclusions. Selar's
telepathy might be slightly below average for a Vulcan, but
her intelligence--and her logic--certainly were not. The
question was, would their combined abilities be enough to
accomplish anything?

Just as she was about to fully engage the doctor's
attention, Guinan stopped. Intuition again, and once again
standing her in good stead. The doors whooshed open, and
Worf strode into the room. He was grinning cheerfully, or at
least as cheerfully as the Klingon face could manage. He
greeted the other two men--they called him Peris--and
glanced around the room curiously.

His eyes fixed on Selar, and Guinan felt a moment of despair
as the Vulcan's attention shifted to the Klingon. "Narve
sent me to help out," he said. The voice was somewhat
petulant, an incongruous tone for the imposing Klingon. He
spoke to Mast, but his eyes remained glued to Selar. "He
wants Nal to go to engineering."

"Hey!" Nal protested, but was overruled. It was obvious to
Guinan that he had no desire to leave the women. From what
she'd overheard, it had been long centuries since any of the
invaders had owned bodies, and just as long since they'd
been able to touch a woman. Apparently Narve thought Worf's
occupier more trustworthy than the former Ensign Perry.
Sulking, Nal left.

"The commander says we have first pick," Worf said
conversationally.

Mast merely grunted. Worf did not seem to be overly
concerned at this lack of response. "I think I want the
Vulcan. The Klingon wants her," he added, his voice louder
than normal. For the benefit of the listening women, of
course. They knew as well as Guinan what they were being
held for--Nal's lewd comments told them that much--but
probably hadn't wanted to admit it. Now it was staring them
in the face. One or two broke down and began crying, but for
the most part, Starfleet training and discipline--and the
courage that had allowed them to become members of Starfleet
in the first place--held. Selar merely raised an elegant
eyebrow, then deliberately turned her back and faced the
view port directly opposite the bar.

Worf continued speaking, apparently satisfied with the
reaction he'd gotten from Selar, slight though it was. His
eyes never left the Vulcan doctor's back. "She reminds him
of his Klingon woman. His dead Klingon woman. But he doesn't
know that, not consciously." He tapped the side of his head,
still grinning like an idiot. "I know it, though." He
chuckled gleefully. "We can get to parts of their minds they
don't even know about, and there isn't anything they can do
to stop us. That should help us when we get to pick out our
own women, eh?" Without waiting for a response, he continued
chattering. "Commander's already picked out his woman and
stashed her away in his cabin. It's that red-haired
doctor--"

"Peris, you talk too much," came Mast's soft reply.
Worf--Peris--glared at Mast from beneath imposing Klingon
eyelids, but said nothing. It was obvious that he was afraid
of the smaller man.

Guinan slid noiselessly away from the door. It was
impossible for her to try anything now; Selar was as close
to emotional turmoil as she ever got. She needed time to
calm herself. Guinan knew she couldn't touch the other
woman's mind while it was in this state, and settled herself
as comfortably as possible, going over the scant information
Peris and Nal had revealed. She had a feeling she was in for
a long wait.

---
Good Example
---

Deanna Troi groaned softly as she finally regained
consciousness -- again. She tried not to move for the first
moments of awareness; her body was in enough pain already,
without her adding fuel to the fire. She felt as if her face
had been slammed into a bulkhead. Which, of course, it had.
And as if she had received a terrific shock to her entire
nervous system. Which, she remembered as she finally rolled
over from her stomach to her back, was exactly what had
happened. First a shock on the planet surface, then invasion
by the alien consciousness. Then another shock as that same
consciousness left her, digging viciously into her mind as
he did so, sending her into an even deeper unconsciousness
bordering on coma.

Then, of course, the same alien--he "felt" the same--had
come back, this time in Captain Picard's body. She'd
attempted to escape the minute the doors opened, and had
gotten in one good blow before he slammed her face into the
bulkhead and she lost consciousness yet again. Concussion,
she decided dizzily, was very likely.

She opened a cautious eye, this time suppressing a groan as
the light seemed to stab into her very brain. She dug her
elbows into the floor, raising herself slightly, trying to
ignore the shattering pain that small movement caused as she
continued to lever herself into a sitting position. Once
that had been achieved, she closed her eyes again and leaned
heavily against the wall. Her head was still throbbing,
making thinking difficult.

After a minute, the pain ebbed and she tentatively reached
out with her mind, trying to sense whoever waited beyond the
walls of the captain's ready room.

Triumph and excitement, dizzying in their intensity, were
the first emotions she sensed. They almost overwhelmed her
in her weakened state, but the counselor held onto her
control, delicately picking her way through the mental
fireworks, trying to sense if there were anything a little
less... exuberant.

Fear. It stabbed into her mind suddenly; most--but not all
of it--radiating further away than the bridge. More than one
person, terrified but defiant. One island of cool calmness
in the farther group, so pure it could only be Vulcan in
origin. Dr. Selar, at least, was still alive.

She assessed those sensations only briefly as the more
overpowering emotions, the triumph and excitement, liberally
mixed with drunken elation and the darker emotions of hatred
and lust, threatened once again to overwhelm her.

Troi pulled her senses back to herself, shaking with the
effort. So many conflicting emotions, but easily categorized
to separate the two parties now on board the Enterprise:
captors and captives. But far fewer in number than she'd
expected; Troi felt a thrill of fear stab through her as she
wondered where the rest of the people were. Surely they
hadn't all been slaughtered--! But no. The prisoners were
outraged, frightened, angry and defiant, but they weren't
filled with the kind of numbed shock and grief she'd come to
associate with large-scale loss of life. A minor blessing,
that; she deduced that they must have been put off the ship,
onto some planet or other.

If that were the case, it could be construed as a good sign.
Although the alien who had occupied her mind obviously
wasn't averse to using violence to achieve his goals, he
hadn't slaughtered the crew and families of the Enterprise.
Now, if there were only some way she could use that element
of mercy to her advantage...

Someone was coming. She felt emotions directed toward
herself, and instinctively shrank away from their intensity,
although the person was still outside the door. Then a twin
burst of fear from more than one nearby source that almost
overwhelmed the arrogance and contempt she felt from just
outside the door. Apparently Captain Picard--and he was
still there, she was sure of it, boxed in and helpless the
way she had been at the beginning--and his incorporeal
"guest" were coming to pay her another visit.

Troi knew one thing: she had no intention of facing her
captor crouched against the far wall like a frightened
animal. Slowly, painfully, she rose to her feet, head held
high. It would take only one good breath to knock her over,
she realized wryly, but she would make a good showing for
herself for as long as possible. He would not find her
cowed.

The door slid open. Troi tensed, feeling her already rapid
heartbeat almost double itself. But her face remained
serene, slightly aloof. The massive bruise she knew to be
decorating a large portion of her features did nothing to
alter the image she projected as Captain Picard stepped into
the room.

Narve smiled as he regarded Deanna Troi. She was still
defiant; it was obvious to him that her will alone kept her
on her feet. Head held proudly, only slightly leaning
against the wall to betray her true weakness, she was a
sight to behold.

Or, he thought with a touch of humor as he allowed the door
to shut--and lock--behind him, a sight to be held, as Larsch
would say. He deliberately opened his thoughts to Picard.
What do you think about that? he silently asked his
unwilling host, his thoughts ringing with mockery. It amused
him to taunt the helpless captive, and he ignored Picard's
demands for release, relishing the horror and outrage
emanating from the small corner of his own mind into which
the captain had been shoved. But enough of that; back to the
business at hand.

Narve and Troi faced each other from across the room,
neither one speaking or moving, for a long instant. Then
Narve broke the spell, walking casually, and yet with the
arrogance Troi sensed as part of his basic make-up, to rest
one hip against the captain's desk.

Troi decided to take the initiative. "Who are you?" she
asked quietly.

Narve smiled at the repeat of Beverly Crusher's question and
answered the counselor in a similar, mocking manner. "I am
Asrun Narve. A former political prisoner. You are Deanna
Troi. Former Ship's Counselor." He glanced down at his body.
"This is the former body of Captain Jean-Luc Picard." He
looked around the room with an exaggerated air. "And this is
the former Starship Enterprise, new name not yet decided
upon. Any further questions?"

His sarcastic tone infuriated Troi, but she kept herself
calm, using the Betazoid meditations she'd learned as a
child. They helped. Barely, but it was better than nothing.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, still in the same quiet
tone. "This isn't necessary, surely you must realize that.
We might have been able to help you, if you'd only asked
us." Futile; she could tell by the look in his eyes, even if
his emotions hadn't already given him away.

He slipped off the edge of the desk and walked deliberately
over to her; she tried not to flinch, but only partially
succeeded. His hand reached out and gently outlined the
bruise that covered half her cheek and one eye. "Poor
Deanna," Picard's voice whispered with mocking tenderness.
"Did I do that to you?"

Troi's eyes widened at the emotions she now sensed from him,
and she shook her head in mute protest at what she knew was,
inevitably, going to happen to her in the captain's ready
room. "No," she breathed, then desperately sought to put his
attention elsewhere. "There's no way you'll get away with
hijacking an entire starship," she said, her words coming a
rush in spite of her attempts to slow them down. "If
necessary, Starfleet will order this ship destroyed, rather
than allow it to remain in your possession. By doing this,
you are making the Federation your enemy. It still isn't too
late; you can end it peacefully."

He smiled throughout her entire speech, his eyes never
leaving hers, and when she paused for breath, his hand moved
from her cheek to gently cover her mouth. Narve shook his
head almost regretfully as he said, "Don't try to counsel
me, Counselor. I'm not Jean-Luc Picard. I am Asrun Narve,
Commander of the League of Uxmal Pirates. I take what I
want, the way I always have." The smile deepened and
hardened at the same time. "Right now, what I want happens
to be you. Perhaps you should follow that interesting Earth
adage about this sort of situation: relax and enjoy it."

Knowing it would be useless to resist him, surrounded by his
men and with no one capable of coming to her aid, unable to
fight due to her weakened condition, Troi still tried to
push him away as he crowded her against the wall and
replaced his hand with his lips. The hand moved suddenly to
her throat, cutting off her breath and making her head throb
even more painfully. "I wouldn't take this personally,"
Narve whispered as he pulled her away from the support of
the wall, "but the other women need to realize exactly why
we kept them. When I send you to join them, they'll see you
and understand how useless any kind of resistance, any show
of defiance, would be. And they'll know their place."

His voice had turned conversational, and the dichotomy
between his words and his tone was the most frightening
thing about the situation. He was about to rape her, and he
felt no true passion or even anger about it; to him, it was
a necessity. He would enjoy it, she could sense that much,
but his overwhelming priority was to establish to herself
and the other captives the extent of their helplessness.
Otherwise, she sensed, he would never have taken the time
away from the escape effort his crew was still engaged in.
It was a demonstration of power, pure and simple.

With these thoughts spinning through her mind, Troi's last
attempt at defiance was completely unconscious. The mental
scream of "Imzadi!" burst unbidden from her mind as Narve
pushed her to the floor.

---

"Imzadi!" Larsch jumped to his feet, startled, as the voice
burst into his head. Riker's memory recognized the word,
recognized the voice, and Riker's body had already started
moving toward the ready room when Lormis' voice stopped him
in his tracks.

"Where do think you're going, Larsch?" Lormis' voice was
cold and impersonal, the way the computer expert's voice had
always been. Even when it was merely a voice in the mind.
"Did you just think of something extremely important you had
to tell the Commander?" A note of sarcasm entered his voice,
but only a note. Lormis had too much self-control to allow
his emotions to show any more than that.

Larsch turned, reluctant to tell the other man what had just
happened. "No." He returned to his seat and dropped into it
heavily. "I just thought I... heard something." It sounded
lame, even to his own ears, and he winced inwardly while he
waited for Lormis to question him further.

Apparently the other man was satisfied with that answer, or
at least satisfied enough not to question Larsch further.
For now. But Larsch had no doubt that Lormis would tell
Narve about the incident. And if Narve asked, he would have
to explain what happened, however reluctantly. Or rather,
explain what Riker's memories said must have happened. For
now, he tried to concentrate on the navigation board beneath
his hands. No, he corrected himself, not my hands. Riker's
hands. He stared down at them as a sudden feeling of
disconnection threatened to overwhelm him.

Your hands, now, he reminded himself in an attempt to steady
his reeling senses. Riker may still be in there, but he
isn't in control any more. He never will be again.

He concentrated on that comforting thought, attempting to
distract himself from the disturbing and familiar voice that
had burst, panic-stricken, into his thoughts for one brief,
agonizing moment. Imzadi. He started to shudder, then
stopped himself just in time. Lormis would be watching him
now, from behind the strange VISOR device that hid LaForge's
eyes and Lormis' emotions even more effectively than the
computer man's own impassive features had. He wouldn't
hesitate to report any lapses in control to the
commander--lapses, Larsch thought with a burst of irrational
resentment, that Lormis would never allow himself to have.
Lapses the others were bound to suffer, not having Narve or
Lormis' rigid self-control, or Verek's complete lack of
regard for anyone's feelings but his own--or even Mast's
coldblooded ability to focus on his chosen profession.

No, they were the definite minority in the crew, the few who
control their hosts' emotions as easily as they did their
own. But it didn't matter to them how well the others could
or couldn't handle their own hosts. All Larsch knew was that
he didn't want to have to suffer through the sort of
dressing-down Mylal just had--Mylal, who was still glowering
angrily from his seat in the center chair, staring steadily
at the viewscreen, not allowing his eyes to so much as stray
toward tactical or Keiko O'Brien. Larsch knew, and he knew
that Mylal knew, why she was still on the Bridge. It was a
test, nothing more, nothing less. A test of Mylal's will and
ability to control his host. Larsch could see the struggle
in the Third's eyes; even his own brief burst of aberrant
behavior had failed to gain his attention for more than a
moment. A moment that passed as soon as Lormis spoke.

It didn't help that Riker was constantly, ceaselessly
testing the bounds of his mental prison, or that he kept up
a steady, deliberately malicious stream of invective, a
scathing running commentary that Larsch couldn't quite
manage to cut off. If he had followed Riker's instincts and
gone to the Ready Room, he wasn't sure what would have
happened--or who might have emerged the victor had Riker
chosen that moment to attempt to seize control of his body
once again. Especially if it was already doing something
Riker wanted it to do.

Now was not the time to worry about it, Larsch decided. Nor
was it the time to speculate if Narve was testing him as
well, with his decision to use Troi as the example. He
turned his attention to the navigation board beneath his
hands, this time successfully fighting the sense of
dislocation and the panic it brought.

Riker could rant and rave all he wanted; all Larsch had to
do was ignore him, concentrate on closing the box the first
officer had been locked into. It would become easier to do
so over time, Narve had assured them all of that. Then they
would be able to choose when they wanted to "listen" to
their captive host's minds, be able to show more
discrimination in which memories they chose to display and
use.

Larsch just hoped it would happen soon.

---
Part Two - Seeking Shelter
Escape Plans
---

It didn't take as long for Selar to compose herself as
Guinan had feared. She felt the doctor's calm control return
after only a few minutes--not as clearly as Troi would have,
but clearly enough for the bartender's purposes. She slipped
closer to the entrance once more, mentally reviewing her
tentative plans. She'd revised them when she heard that
Beverly Crusher was still on board, although locked up,
apparently, in Captain Picard's quarters, awaiting the
"mercy" of the pirates now holding them captive.

Crusher was in the Captain's cabin. That was important, and
could be used to advantage. If anyone could do something to
turn the tables on the invaders, it was the ship's CMO. So
now Guinan needed to reach Selar. To create a distraction,
because it was harder to direct eyes away from a moving
figure--and an opening and closing pneumatic door. To
somehow keep the men occupied so that Guinan could slip
away.

It was a longshot, but her intuition--still behaving
contritely, although she hadn't decided whether or not to
forgive it just yet--told her it was the right thing to do.

And now was the time to do it. She took a deep breath,
closed her eyes, and concentrated.

Contact! Selar's eyes widened momentarily, then returned to
their calm perusal of space as seen from Ten-Forward's main
view port. She blinked thoughtfully, turning the mental
touch over in her mind, considering all the possibilities.

It could be a trick. It was logical to assume that the
entities now occupying the bodies of her fellow crewmates
had been able to communicate while they were without bodies.
Which meant that they had some sort of telepathic abilities.
However, they had not demonstrated such abilities since she
had seen them, which led to the hypothesis that those
abilities were limited in scope--that they could not use
them while in the bodies they currently occupied.

Or, she thought, they were only able to use such
abilities--if any--internally now, to access the memories of
their host bodies. And perhaps to control the minds of the
original occupants? She refused to speculate further on that
line; there was no empirical evidence to back up a
conclusion that the minds and spirits of the bodies' true
owners were still whole.

Which, she reminded herself firmly, was completely beside
the point at this moment. She was attempting to ascertain
the veracity of the mental voice which had so briefly and
urgently whispered to her to turn and look at a door behind
the bar that she had somehow forgotten was actually there,
then provide a distraction for the guards.

Her first instinct, she silently admitted, had been to obey.
Training had immediately taken over, reminding her to
consider all possibilities before committing herself to any
actions. The fact that her captors had no need to trap her
in such a clumsy fashion combined with the fact that they
had--thus far--shown no extrasensory abilities, as well as
the fact that the voice was, upon further reflection,
unmistakably that of Guinan, led her to discard that option.

Once again, Selar decided, speculation was useless. Turning
as casually as she could--the women had not been forbidden
to move, and some were pacing nervously or drifting from
frightened clump of women to frightened clump of women--she
wandered closer to the bar, studiously ignoring the men at
the farther end, then seated herself next to Nurse Alyssa
Ogawa.

Feeling the eyes of the two guards upon her, she proceeded
to ask the young Japanese nurse about her health and led her
into a medical discussion. Satisfied that she was merely
attempting to distract a colleague from the situation at
hand, the guards' attention shifted elsewhere, and she drew
a silent breath of relief--especially when Worf's eyes
finally left her, although she would never admit such a
fact--before casually moving her own eyes along the back
wall of the bar.

She continued to hold a low-voiced conference with Alyssa
the entire time; the nurse never even noticed that her
superior's attention was split, since hers was as well,
although for a different reason. She also never noticed the
brief, tight smile that Selar inadvertently let slip as she
spied the door--and Guinan's face before it ducked smoothly
back into the darkness of the small room. Nor did she notice
when Selar's desultory conversation stopped, as she had long
since ceased to respond, too sunk in her own gloomy thoughts
for mere politeness.

That was fine with Selar; Nurse Ogawa needn't speak, as long
as she continued to sit there, partially hiding the Vulcan
doctor from view as she contemplated a way in which to carry
out Guinan's request.

She never considered not doing so; she had enough respect
for the other woman--especially now, when it was quite
obvious that the guards had never seen her and were not now
seeing either her or her hiding place--to do what she asked
without hesitation, once Selar had determined that it was,
indeed, she who had made the request. The only question now
was, how to do it?

The logical answer was distasteful, but, she decided in the
split second it took for her to formulate the plan,
necessary. A sufficient distraction was needed to keep the
attention of both men away from the door; very well. A
small, carefully manipulated riot should do it. Selar had
already ascertained that the phasers the two men carried
were set on heavy stun, not kill, which made her plan risky
but not truly dangerous. Apparently their captors had not
gone to that much trouble to separate this disparate
collection of women--a cross-section of technical
specialists ranging from engineering crew and medical staff,
to navigation and communications specialists--only to shoot
them down in cold blood. She was gambling on their value,
but it was the best chance Guinan had to escape from this
room.

Selar turned back to Ogawa, deliberately catching the other
woman's attention. She was obviously frightened, but equally
obviously determined to control that fright. Selar regretted
what she was about to do, but did it anyway. She spoke to
the nurse for a moment, then moved away to join another
group.

It was beautifully executed. Ogawa was the first to raise
her voice in a shout of barely controlled panic, the first
to demand her release in a voice shrill with hysteria. Then
another woman started, and another, until the two guards
suddenly faced an entire room full of panic-stricken,
hysterical females.

The one called Mast, who had once been Ensign Amato,
suspected it was a cover for something; it was obvious in
his eyes and his attitude. Selar had anticipated that, and
gave him the target he was looking for. She darted suddenly
past the mass of her fellow captives, apparently intent on
using the chaos as a cover to try and escape. Mast and Peris
were forced to split their attention between her and the
crowd that was edging nearer, demanding release. It was an
unnerving situation, and Peris was the first to act,
spraying reckless phaser bursts into the crowd of
approaching women.

Mast kept his head, as Selar had expected, and moved
directly for her as several of the captives were thrown into
abrupt unconsciousness by phasers set on heavy stun. His
slightly compressed lips were the only indication of the
anger he must be feeling. Selar allowed her own lip to curl
in a feral snarl as she headed directly toward him, not
trying to hide her intentions; if she got her hands on him,
she would throttle him and make good her escape.

Mast read her as clearly as she read him, and gave her no
time to act on her intentions. He raised his phaser and
fired directly at the charging Vulcan. In the split second
before the beam hit, she caught a glimpse of the doors
opening and closing over his shoulder, the small noise they
made more than covered by the chaos around her. She allowed
herself another tiny, congratulatory smile as she was
blasted into unconsciousness.

---

It had only been a few minutes since Verek had left; Crusher
could clearly see the wall chrono from her uncomfortable
position in the captain's closet. But it felt longer, as she
formulated and discarded half a hundred desperate escape
plans and turned her wrists bloody with her attempts to
extricate herself from the binders.

Useless, was her first, disgusted thought as she finally
gave up. The binders were meant to hold; although they
stopped short of bonding on a molecular level with the
wearer, they came damn close as they adapted themselves to
the size of the wrists they were wrapped around. All she'd
done was make them shrink a little, so that her hands were
almost completely numb.

"Real good, Crusher," she mumbled to herself. "Even when
Narve lets you out of these stupid things--which he might
not do--your hands are now completely useless." She leaned
her head against her arms, defeated for the moment.

"If your hands are useless, perhaps it's time to try using a
different part of your body: your brain," a familiar--and
unexpected--voice came from behind her. Crusher's head
snapped up and twisted painfully on her neck as she whirled
to gape disbelievingly at the woman who stepped out of the
dim shadows of the captain's cabin.

"Guinan?" Crusher asked, eyes blinking at what must surely
be a vision of some kind.

The vision nodded, then moved closer. It was definitely
Guinan, Crusher realized as her dazed senses started
functioning once again. "How did you get here?" she asked,
her voice lowered in an instinctive whisper.

Guinan shrugged. "That's not important right now," she said,
her voice also pitched low. "What is important is getting
you out of here." She glanced around the closet. "Getting us
all out of here," she added, then produced a thin electronic
probe from one voluminous sleeve. She prodded delicately at
the lock on the binders, then gave a grunt of satisfaction
at the small "click" which indicated they had been opened.

Crusher collapsed against the bartender, who led her to one
of the chairs facing the sofa in the main room. She lowered
the doctor to the seat, and swiftly bound up her raw,
bleeding wrists in strips torn from her skirt hem with a
deft but delicate hand.

Crusher rubbed her hands together when this was done, trying
not to wince at the painful sensation of pins and needles
that indicated returning circulation. "Thank you," she said
gratefully, then looked over her shoulder. "But do you think
it's safe to stay here?"

Guinan nodded. "For now." Her voice was grim. "But not for
long. We need to get to Sickbay, get access to a computer
and get working on a plan to get rid of our unwelcome
guests. Auxiliary Control or the Battle Bridge would
probably be better, but they're occupied." She stood up once
more. "Can you walk?"

Crusher looked around. "To get out of here? I think I could
fly," she admitted, managing a wry grin that Guinan answered
with a brief smile of her own. "But are you sure you want me
to help?" The wryness turned bitter. "I already failed once;
my containment field didn't work."

The other woman grasped Crusher gently but firmly by the
elbow and steered her toward the door. "So you try again,"
she replied, her voice as firm as her grip. "You see why you
failed, and you fix it. Or you come up with another
alternative. Or we come up with another alternative," she
corrected herself. She stopped short of the entrance, head
cocked as if listening. Apparently satisfied, she opened the
door and ducked out of the captain's quarters. Crusher
followed, and the two women raced down the corridor.

The doctor stopped at the turbolift, but Guinan waved her
impatiently on, going instead to the nearest Jeffries Tube.
Crusher glanced doubtfully at her swollen hands, still
tingling from the painful return of full circulation, then
nodded her assent to Guinan. She was right; using the
turbolift might call unwanted attention to themselves.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Crusher followed Guinan
and began to climb.

---
Temporary Sanctuary
---

They reached Sickbay without meeting any of the intruders,
for which the doctor sent a heartfelt prayer of gratitude
Heavenward. And, double miracle, it was empty. Her surmises
about the pirates appeared to be correct, and Guinan
confirmed them when Crusher explained her reasoning in
uneasy whispers.

"They took over no medical personnel; they only kept Dr.
Selar and a few of your female nurses, and the women they
kept are strictly for their own personal use," Guinan
explained distastefully. Crusher nodded her understanding,
her mind shying away once again from Deanna Troi. They could
best help her and the other prisoners by staying calm and
working toward a solution. "There are about 150 of them,"
Guinan continued as she and Crusher entered the CMO's
private office. "And about 55 of us. What do you know about
them?"

"That they're immune to phaser blast, at least heavy stun,
but pain can knock them out of their hosts. And that the
intruder containment system didn't appear to have any effect
on them," Crusher replied. "The EM radiation containment
field held them, at least for a short while." The doctor
stared helplessly at her console before looking back up at
Guinan with an expression of intense frustration. "I don't
know how to work this so they don't find out! For all I
know, they have everything set up on a silent alarm, or it
could be locked against any use; the minute I try anything,
they could come after us."

As if on cue, the door to Sickbay slid open. Crusher looked
up with a start, then relaxed--only slightly--as Ro Laren
appeared. The Bajoran ensign looked around the dimly lit
Sickbay, caught sight of the two women in Beverly Crusher's
office and headed directly towards them. "Dr. Crusher!" she
exclaimed as she entered the small room. "Guinan! How did
you get away?"

She had somehow managed to hold onto her uniform, Crusher
noted with a flash of suspicious resentment, then bit her
lip in embarrassment at having such a thought. Guinan had
already told her only the men were currently being used as
hosts, and she knew very well that Ro had been "given" to
Data. Besides, there were easier ways to recapture the two
of them without resorting to this kind of subterfuge.

"Let's just say I have a few tricks up my sleeve," was
Guinan's evasive response. "What about you? How did you get
away?"

The Bajoran shrugged, looking guiltily at Crusher from
beneath her lashes before responding to Guinan's question.
"I know how to shut Data off," she finally answered,
half-defiantly, half-reluctantly. "Please don't ask me how I
know."

"I don't care if you found out by seducing a Romulan spy,"
Crusher snapped back. "Right now, we need to concentrate on
getting ourselves out of this mess." She glanced at the
other two in turn, waiting until they both nodded their
agreement before turning back to her computer. "Ensign, do
you know if the consoles are being monitored, or if they've
been disabled?"

Ro shook her head. "No. They're too confident of themselves;
they haven't taken any security precautions, not even that
fancy forcefield they put on Ten-Forward." She snorted
disdainfully. "They have their people stretched pretty thin
all over the ship: seven or eight on the bridge, two or
three at weapons control, a few on the Battle Bridge and
Auxiliary Control, quite a few in engineering, and two
guards in Ten-Forward for the rest of the captives. The rest
are scattered all over the ship, at Life Support and in the
Computer Core area and a few other places. Inspecting their
new home or something." She hesitated, frowning in
concentration. "Plus there are two other prisoners not being
kept with the rest."

"Keiko O'Brien and Deanna Troi," Crusher agreed, impressed
by the extent of the Bajoran ensign's knowledge. "How did
you find all of this out?"

"Data," Ro replied simply. "Or Verek. Whoever he is. He was
more than happy to boast to what he thought was a captive
audience. So I let him talk until he got tired of it and
made a move for me. Then I turned him off--literally. His
little ball of light didn't float out, so it's unconscious
too. Or at least trapped," she added, radiating grim
satisfaction. "It should be a while before he's missed,
since he was off-duty, but I don't know how long we have."

"Probably not as long before I'm missed," Crusher replied.
"Narve was quite explicit as to his plans for me--after he
'finished' with Deanna." She turned uncomfortable eyes back
to the console. "I'd better get started trying to figure out
what went wrong with that damned containment field. Right
now, it's all we've got. Laren, you have to come up with
some way to jolt them out of their bodies, while I work on
this. Guinan--" the flood of orders stopped as Crusher
looked uncertainly at the alien bartender.

"Guinan will stand guard," she finished for the doctor. "And
Guinan will make sure that anyone looking in on us won't see
us." She looked over at the communicator badge Ensign Ro
still wore. "Better get rid of that; they destroyed the ones
the rest of the prisoners had," she advised, then left the
small office to wait by the main doors to Sickbay.

"She wasn't one of the prisoners," the ensign remarked
quietly to the doctor as she removed her badge and handed it
to Crusher before moving to the auxiliary control board.
"Definitely not their type. How did she manage to keep from
getting thrown off the ship with everyone else?"

"Probably the same way she intends to keep them from seeing
us if they look in," Crusher replied, taking the
communicator--thankful now that hers was still attached to
her uniform in Picard's quarters--and dropping it down the
disposal chute. "We'd better get to work."

---

Only a short amount of time had passed when a violent
shudder rocked the ship and the red alert claxons began
ringing. "That felt like a photon torpedo blast!" Ro
exclaimed. "We must be under attack!"

"By who? Why?" Crusher asked, then shook her head
impatiently. "Well, whoever it is, they just gained us a
little more time. With any luck, our unwelcome guests will
be too busy with this fight to worry about us."

Ro frowned. "Unless Narve starts looking for Verek."

Another shuddering blow; Crusher clutched the edge of her
desk to steady herself. "Frankly, I don't think they'll have
time. This distraction may be just what we need. I'm almost
there... " She turned her attention back to the computer
screen.

"If it doesn't get us all killed," Ro muttered before
turning back to her own screen.

---
Under Fire
---

"What the hell was that?" Picard's voice roared at the
bridge crew as Narve staggered from the captain's ready room
under the force of another photon torpedo blast. Red alert
claxons were sounding stridently and the emergency lighting
had come back on.

"Unidentified ship firing on us!" Larsch shouted, his eyes
still focused on the screen. Riker's body and Riker's
memories knew what to do, and Larsch could feel Riker's
concern for the safety of the ship overpowering his own
instincts to fight the invasion of his thoughts. For once,
both men were working together; Riker's fingers flew as
Larsch activated the shields and brought the ship into
closer view.

"Identify it, dammit!" Narve roared as he ran over to stand
next to Larsch. "Did they try to communicate first?"

"No," came the quick reply.

"Then blow them out of space," Narve snarled. He whirled to
face Tactical and Mesch, his man there. "Find out who they
are, then destroy them," he ordered, his voice hoarse with
anger. "They attacked without identifying or challenging, so
the Code doesn't apply."

"They're locals," Mesch reported after a tense moment. He'd
finally gotten the schematics to come up; being in combat in
a strange ship and a strange body had rattled him for a
moment, but he was adjusting. "Call themselves the Maturi.
Strictly small league. They're too arrogant to join the
Federation, and too backward to do much but yap at their
borders. No match for this ship."

Narve nodded. "Good. Send them a message; tell them the
League of Uxmal Pirates sends them to their Final Sleep."

Mesch nodded, baring his teeth in a feral smile that
completely transformed Reg Barclay's innocuous, perpetually
anxious features into a cruel mask. "Message sent,
Commander. They demand to know what we're talking about.
They say they recognize us as a Federation ship, and tell us
to get the hell out of their territory."

Narve smiled, a slow, chilling curl of the lips with no
humor in it. "Fire. And Mesch, destroy them slowly."

---

The alarms finally stopped blaring and the lighting returned
to normal. No more blasts rocked the ship; apparently,
whoever had attacked had been taken care of, one way or
another. Crusher frowned at the screen before her in
abstract concentration, too intent on her work to worry now
about who had attacked and why, too busy to even worry about
what had happened to the other ship at the end of the
attack. She had discovered the reason for her first field's
collapse. It was too close to the high end of the spectrum;
bring it down a little lower--there! "That should hold
them," she said with satisfaction. "The only problem we have
now is how to get them out of their bodies."

Ro turned around at the doctor's words. "I think I've got
that under control," she announced, waving a computer disk
triumphantly in the air. "It's a variation on what we tried
before, tied in with shipwide communications and the
transporter system, now that it's been freed up. They still
have their communicators; all we need to do is home in on
anyone wearing one, shock them out of their bodies, and let
them get caught in your field. Once they're all trapped, the
transporter takes over and we beam the bastards into space."

Crusher started to object to the ensign's coldblooded
attitude, then stopped. Why not? They'd done nothing to
recommend leniency, and it would probably be safer if they
were dissolved into space, rather than kept on board in a
field that she was afraid might collapse once again.

It was a tempting thought; too tempting. Crusher shook her
head. "No," she said flatly. She saw the objection in Ro's
eyes and spoke before the ensign could: "I said no and I
meant it. We will transport them back to their prison, then
we will rescue the rest of our people. We will slap a
quarantine on that sector of space, and we will work on
getting our lives back to normal. As the ranking officer, I
am making this an order, Ensign; is that clear?"

She held Ro's gaze until the rebellion she saw there
subsided and the young Bajoran nodded sullenly. "There will
be no 'accidents' with the transporter, either," the CMO
continued in the same steely voice. "They are to be beamed
into space if and only if the containment field fails." She
paused, then added painfully, "Again. Since I've done this
one in even more haste than the first one, there's always
that possibility. In that event, I expect you to do what
needs to be done, to keep them from regaining control of
this ship. Is that understood?"

"Quite clearly, Commander," Ro replied, her formal tone not
quite hiding an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. Crusher
nodded in reply, then took a deep breath and turned back to
her controls. She wouldn't have to worry about Ro disobeying
orders, not now. But she pitied the invaders if her field
failed; they would find themselves dispersed into open space
in a heartbeat.

All except one. "Damn," Crusher whispered softly. She'd
forgotten about Data. "Ensign, have Guinan come back here.
We've overlooked something."

Ro looked puzzled, but she called Guinan over softly. They
both turned to face the doctor enquiringly.

"Guinan, I'm not sure if this will work on Data while he's
deactivated," Crusher said hesitantly when the three of them
were together again.

Guinan nodded in immediate understanding. "You need someone
to revive him, and since you two will be otherwise occupied,
I'm elected."

Crusher nodded and smiled apologetically. "That's about it.
Can you do it? I realize there's some danger involved, but I
honestly can't see any other way to manage it. We can't
leave that pirate in Data's body." She plunged on. "I'll
contact you directly, through Data's communicator. When I
do, you reactivate him and get the hell out of the way."

"Just show me where to press," Guinan said firmly. "And make
sure you get him out of there as quickly as possible; I have
the feeling Verek won't be terribly happy to see me."

"That's for sure," Ro muttered in agreement. She moved over
to her control panel while the doctor explained, quickly and
succinctly, "where to press." When Crusher finished, Guinan
looked at the two of them, smiled encouragingly, and left.

---

Guinan slipped into Data's quarters like a wraith,
unobserved by anyone. She slowly let her breath out as her
eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, then glanced around the
room, looking for the android.

He was slumped over on the bed he kept mainly for the sake
of fitting in a little better with his Human companions, his
eyes lifeless, his body as motionless as death. Guinan
repressed a shudder at the sight; it was positively
ghoulish, as if she were actually looking at a corpse. She
looked around the spacious room once again to regain her
equilibrium--Data's cat was nowhere in sight, poor
thing--then deliberately walked over to the bed and pushed
Data over on his side to better reach his communicator.
"Guinan to Crusher," she said softly.

"Crusher here," came the doctor's tense voice.

"Ready when you are. I'll reactivate him at your signal.
Guinan out." She pulled the communicator badge off and
rolled him over on his stomach, placing the badge on his
shoulder.

"Confirmed," the doctor replied tersely. The communicator
was silent once again.

Guinan moved into position, one hand hovering over Data's
lower back, the other supporting her lightly against the
bed, her body tensely coiled to jump away from him at the
slightest sign of movement. She licked her lips nervously,
waiting for the signal that would either end this madness,
or bring the wrath of the invaders down on them all.

---
Say Goodnight, Gracie
---

It was over. Narve sat back casually in the captain's chair,
eyes half closed as he viewed the wreckage. The Enterprise
certainly had impressive armaments; he toyed with the idea
of going on to attack the hapless cruiser's home planet,
then discarded it. Too high profile, at least for now.
Besides, the men were still too unstable, the idea of their
freedom and their working knowledge of this vessel too new
to them to risk taking the Enterprise into real combat. Even
though the skirmish had helped them vent five centuries
worth of frustrations, they still weren't ready for
large-scale combat. "Get us away from here," he said. "This
time, Larsch, try to hit neutral territory without any
belligerent locals, will you?" His tone was casually
insulting, and Larsch turned to glare at his commander.

"You said two hours, neutral territory. That's what this
space is," he protested sulkily.

"You could have looked for something unoccupied," Narve
pointed out. A smattering of laughter broke out at that, but
quickly died as the commander glared around the bridge. "Do
I have to tell you everything?"

"Get off my back," Larsch muttered, lowering his eyes and
turning back to his console. "Are you done with my woman
yet?" he asked abruptly, ignoring Riker's furious cursing.
The man had not stopped since he realized what was happening
to Troi, and Larsch had gone past amazement at his
vocabulary into irritation that he showed no signs of
stopping the flow of invective, even when Larsch managed to
shut him off for a few, blessed minutes of silence. Each
time he lost that tiny bit of control, however, Riker was
there, still cursing, not even seeming to notice the
interruption. It was beyond irritating; it was infuriating.
Perhaps it was this irritation with Riker that did it;
whatever the reason, Larsch snapped at Narve without
stopping to think about what he was saying--always a
mistake. Especially where the commander was concerned.

Narve arched a sardonic eyebrow. "A bit possessive, aren't
we? After this bit of idiocy, I'm not sure you deserve your
own."

Larsch spun around once more, anger clouding Riker's
features. "You can't do that!" he protested hotly.

"Watch me!" Narve snarled in return. "I'm the Commander
here; you've been following me for over five centuries. Are
you challenging me now? After all," he added mockingly,
"it's in the Code."

Larsch looked around uncertainly at his crewmates. Their
faces were closed, impassive, but he knew they'd back Narve
over him. He was junior to almost the entire crew, and Narve
had gotten them out of prison, into bodies and onto this
ship. He didn't have a chance. He lowered his eyes again.
"No, Commander," he finally answered, disgusted with himself
for backing down. "It must be the hormones; this guy's full
of 'em. It's been a long time since I had any." He tried to
ignore the mocking laughter ringing through his head, but
couldn't; Riker's amusement as his expense was even worse
than the man's cursing.

More laughter outside of his head, this time comradely.
Narve joined in, nodding his appreciation--and
understanding. Larsch wouldn't challenge him, not now. But
he'd have to watch that young man in the future--the
possibly endless future, since they could transfer from one
body to another if necessary--watch him very carefully.
Verek should be told to keep an eye on him; Verek, who was
content being Second, content with the position and power he
wielded without having to deal with the responsibilities of
being Commander, and who would never challenge.

Narve frowned, then looked around the bridge. Verek should
have been there by now; even if he couldn't make it to the
bridge during the battle, he should have come afterwards. No
matter what he was doing, or who he was doing it with.
"Computer," Narve raised his voice to address the ship's
communications, "where is Ver--Data? Where is Commander
Data?"

"Commander Data is in his quarters," the flat, emotionless
voice replied.

A sense of uneasiness began growing in Narve. This was
definitely out of character for Verek, who loved a good
battle more than any of them. "Computer," Narve said,
urgency coloring his voice, "what's he doing there?"

Before the computer could answer, there was a powerful jolt
of energy all over the ship. No! he tried to scream, hearing
Picard's shout of triumph as intense pain forced him and his
crew from their stolen bodies. Defeat tasted as bitter to
him as it had to the Enterprise's captain.

---

"Now, Guinan!"

The doctor's voice came from the communicator, and Guinan
didn't waste a second. She touched Data in the precise spot
Crusher had shown her, then jumped back.

Data remained motionless. Guinan frowned and cautiously
craned her head forward for a closer look.

Not cautiously enough. Data's hand shot out and wrapped
around her throat as he rolled rapidly over to sit up on the
edge of the bed. "Who the hell are you?" Verek snarled,
looking wildly around the room. He shook her impatiently.
"Where's Ro Laren?"

Guinan choked and pulled ineffectually at his hand, trying
to pry his fingers from around her throat. He shook her
again, then arched his back in shock as the energy blast
finally struck him. His hand tightened on her throat
reflexively, then loosened as the glowing ball of energy
that made up his essence flew out of the android's chest.
The containment field came on a fraction of a second later,
and Guinan felt herself relax as the transporters pulled
Verek away from her.

"Guinan?" She looked over at the hand that she'd pulled away
from her throat, then followed the arm to the shoulder, and
from there up to Data's puzzled face. "What has happened?"

Guinan managed a smile as she pulled herself to her feet,
coughing a little as she sat next to Data on the bed. "It's
a long story, Commander," she said wearily. "But it's one
that's going to have to wait a while. There are a lot of
people who need our help right now."

---

"They're out!" Ro reported tersely. Crusher nodded, fingers
flying as she activated her modified containment field.

"Got you," she muttered under her breath. "Now to transport
them down to the cargo bay... " This was the most delicate
part of the operation; if even one escaped, the entire plan
could fail.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Ro looked up from her
monitor. "They're all down there," she said, smiling
slightly. "What next, 'Captain' Crusher?"

Crusher took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair.
"Now we get back to that planet, dump them, and retrieve our
people."

Before the other woman could do more than nod in agreement,
a voice came over the intercom. "Dr. Selar to Guinan; can
you hear me?"

Crusher smiled at the welcome sound of her second's voice.
"Selar? This is Dr. Crusher. What's your status?"

"It would appear that the invaders have all been expelled
and the crewmen they occupied rendered unconscious," the
cool Vulcan voice replied. "Our nurses are examining them
now."

"Good," Crusher replied, undisguised relief in her voice.
"Have the rest of the crew take their posts; we're on a
tight schedule. As soon as the prisoners have been returned
to their planet, we need to rescue the rest of our people.
The coordinates should be in the navigation log."

"Understood, Doctor. Selar out." The intercom went dead as
Crusher turned to Ensign Ro.

"You'd better get to the bridge," Crusher advised Ro. "I'll
stay here and monitor the containment field; you can access
the transporters more easily from there, if you have to.
Just let me know when we arrive."

Ro nodded, spun on her heel and left, just as Guinan
reentered Sickbay. The older woman walked over and leaned
casually against the doorframe as she looked at Crusher.
"Data's on the bridge; it didn't take him long to recover."
She peered closely at the doctor, taking in her weary eyes
and tense posture. "Well," she said, her tone deliberately
light, "you've had a taste of command now, Doctor; what do
you think?"

Crusher shook her head and smiled wryly as she allowed
herself to relax a little in her chair. "I think I'll leave
it to the people who were trained for it," she replied, then
frowned as other worries finally caught up with her
conscious mind. "Guinan, Keiko O'Brien and Deanna Troi are
still on the bridge, as far as I know. Would you--"

"Take care of them?" Guinan nodded. "If they need medical
attention, I'll send for Selar." Then she was gone as well,
and Crusher was alone.

---
Aftermath
---

"This has been the longest week of my life," Beverly Crusher
announced to no one in particular. Which was just as well,
since there was currently no one in her glass-walled office
to announce things to. She leaned back in her chair and
stretched, then, reluctantly, returned her attention to her
desk.

"Chief Medical Officer's Log continued," she dictated
tiredly. "It has been a week since our ship and crew were
invaded by the beings calling themselves the League of Uxmal
Pirates, who have been returned to their prison planet.
Everyone has been restored to full health, and there are no
long-term physical problems being experienced by anyone. As
for mental problems... " She allowed her voice to trail off
as she considered her next words. The computer waited
patiently; if she didn't speak for a full thirty seconds, it
would beep a gentle reminder to her. If she still didn't
speak after a full minute, it would shut itself off.

But Beverly Crusher wasn't one to make anyone wait, even a
computer. She continued after only a few seconds had passed,
"As for mental problems, I do not feel fully qualified to
make those evaluations, but since our Ship's Counselor is
currently among the incapacitated, I am doing the best that
I can. I have already recommended that the entire crew be
granted at least a month's leave, and Starfleet has
agreed--on a rotating schedule leaving not less than
one-quarter of the crew on board at any time, a condition to
which I can only agree, since neither I nor Captain Picard
are being given any choice in the matter." She paused again,
considering. "Computer, strike that last sentence from the
entry, please." She waited for the beep of confirmation
before continuing. "Starfleet has agreed to a month's leave
for all crewmembers, on a rotating basis, with unlimited
time being granted for... special cases." She paused. "End
of entry," she said abruptly, turning away from the desk to
contemplate the wall behind her chair. "Even the cases that
don't think they need extra time," she muttered under her
breath irritably.

Deanna Troi had not made a very good patient. She had
insisted that she was fine, that there was no need for her
to take medical leave at all, that there were no
repercussions from the fact that she had been raped by her
commanding officer--especially since he wasn't exactly
himself at the time, in any sense of the word.

She kept insisting the same thing after the return of the
pirates to their prison planet, in a calm and rational
voice, until Crusher finally, reluctantly, released her
friend from Sickbay and let her go back on duty.

The fact that the empathic Counselor couldn't set foot back
on the bridge without flashing back to the incident with
Asrun Narve made doing her job more than slightly difficult;
the additional fact that she began to panic every time
Picard was near her made it almost impossible. When she
punched Will Riker after he came upon her unexpectedly in
her office, Crusher put her foot down. "Dee, you're not a
superwoman," she snapped angrily when Ogawa brought a
shaking Deanna Troi to her office that morning. "I'm going
to order you into therapy if you won't go of your own free
will. And don't think I won't," she added threateningly. The
fact that her friend only nodded meekly and took the
tranquilizer Ogawa was offering didn't make Crusher feel any
better; if Troi were anywhere near to being herself, she
would have put up at least a token argument.

Picard wasn't any better. He'd agreed to accompany Troi to
Betazed for counseling, but steadfastly refused to admit
that it was for his own good as well as hers, refused to
admit that the rape had affected him almost as deeply as the
counselor. Refused, in fact, to admit that any of the events
involving the pirates had affected him beyond the simple
fact of their happening. Crusher supposed she should be
grateful he was allowing himself any counseling at all, and
hoped that whoever was assigned to their case on Betazed
could force Picard to deal with things, instead of simply
avoiding them.

The way, Crusher realized, he'd been avoiding her. He'd been
doing it since he was released from the prison of his own
mind, only he'd been doing it so skillfully she'd not really
noticed. Not until Deanna was readmitted to Sickbay,
awaiting transport to Betazed. She tried not to take it
personally; he wasn't really making an effort to maintain
contact with anyone. It was just his way of dealing with the
trauma of what he'd been forced to do and watch. But no
matter how much she told herself that, she still had a
nagging feeling there was something more going on.

All in all, Crusher decided, she'd had enough. They all had.
A week had passed, and now it was time to let the healing
process begin. She refused to speculate further on Picard's
motives and feelings until he returned from Betazed. She had
every confidence that both he and Troi would, indeed, be
returning to the ship. There were some others she had her
doubts about. Keiko and Miles O'Brien sprang instantly to
mind, and Crusher frowned. She had a feeling they might not
return to the ship, or at least, Keiko might not. There was
only so much a person could endure, and this might have hit
the limits of Keiko's strength. And Miles loved his wife
more than he loved being on the Enterprise; Crusher would
place whatever anyone cared to wager on that one.

She stood up and stretched again. A hot shower was just what
she needed right now; she'd done more than enough brooding
on a situation that was effectively out of her control.
She'd just look in on Dee and let Selar take charge; she
could see her Vulcan second-in-command hovering outside her
office. Not in an obvious way; she would have a perfectly
logical reason for staying near Crusher's office for the
past half hour. Which, coincidentally, was the exact amount
of time Crusher had remained past her own shift.

She walked out of her office with a smile and wave for
Selar, who merely nodded and waited with grave patience for
her superior's approach. The Vulcan doctor stepped forward,
listened with continued gravity to Crusher's last-minute
instructions, then politely but firmly shooed the other
woman toward the door. "Good night, Doctor," she said.
"Counselor Troi is sleeping; I do not feel it would be
conducive to her continued rest if you were to disturb her
at this time. I shall inform you of any changes in her
condition."

Crusher blinked as she suddenly found herself on the
opposite side of the door, in the main corridor. Then she
shook her head at herself. Selar didn't need her hanging
around all night; it was time to give it a rest. All the
details had been taken care of, from minor paperwork to
major surgery. All she needed to do now was walk down the
corridor, get in the turbolift, and return to her quarters.
Tomorrow, shore leave would begin. Her footsteps, reluctant
at first, quickened eagerly at that thought.

Tomorrow night she would be on Earth, with Wesley.

---

Selar looked up from the computer screen. She'd begun filing
the remainder of the reports, in her usual efficient manner,
when she felt eyes upon her back. She turned in
exasperation, expecting to see Dr. Crusher behind her; the
CMO had been working herself too hard, in Selar's
opinion--based on a combination of logic and simple
empirical evidence--and it would be just like her to
"remember something she forgot to do" and come back to
Sickbay.

It was Lieutenant Worf. He was standing uncomfortably in the
doorway to Dr. Crusher's office. "Can I be of assistance?"
Selar asked him in her usual formal manner, successfully
masking her surprise at his presence.

The Klingon security officer cleared his throat
uncomfortably, then squared his shoulders. "I came to
apologize for my recent behavior in Ten-Forward," he said
stiffly. "I made some... inappropriate remarks to you."

Selar raised an eyebrow and turned to regard the Security
Chief as her fingers moved automatically to save the
documents she had been filing. "It was not you who made the
comments to which you are referring," she finally replied.
"It was the being inhabiting your body. Logically, you have
said nothing for which you need to apologize."

Worf shifted uncomfortably, looking up at the ceiling as if
for guidance before returning his eyes to hers. "That is
true," he conceded. "However, I still need to apologize
because he pulled some of the things he said... from my
mind." The Klingon's lips lifted in a slight snarl at the
memory. He would rather kill himself than to ever again go
through the utter humiliation of having his very thoughts
invaded, his mind taken over and his body left as helpless
as a puppet while he was forced to stand by and do nothing.

Selar smiled slightly, the most expression she ever allowed
herself, even on a ship full of illogical, emotional Humans.
"Again, no apologies are necessary. I hold nothing that the
entity said to me against you. No matter what the source of
those comments," she added drily.

Worf nodded with a grunt of understanding. The Vulcan doctor
would not accept an apology she deemed unnecessary. Very
well. He turned toward the door, then paused in the act of
leaving. "Peris was incorrect in one thing; I am not
attracted to you merely because you bear some slight
physical resemblance to K'Ehylar."

With that intriguing comment, he was gone, and Selar felt
her eyebrow climbing toward her straight black bangs, this
time of its own accord. "Interesting," she murmured, then
returned to her work with an imperceptible shrug. But she
had a feeling that this conversation was far from finished.

Alyssa Ogawa noticed the tiny smile hovering over Dr.
Selar's lips at the end of their duty shift, blinked, rubbed
her eyes, then shook her head as she walked out the door.
She was definitely overtired, to imagine that Selar was
smiling for no reason. But then, it had been a long week. A
very long week.

---

Guinan looked around Ten-Forward. It was nearly deserted,
and not merely due to the time of night. Three-quarters of
the crew and their families were too busy preparing for
shore leave--an entire, blessed month of relaxation or
counseling, or some combination of both. It would be
strange, with so few people left on the ship. Especially
with both Captain Picard and Commander Riker gone at the
same time. Unprecedented, in Guinan's opinion, but then,
Data was hardly in need of recuperation, especially when he
termed the entire, traumatic series of events,
"interesting." He had certainly been agreeable to being left
in charge of the ship while she was set on a month-long
charting mission. A mission that was scheduled to end as
soon as Captain Picard returned.

Guinan's faint smile turned to a frown. She knew the pain
her friend was feeling now, pain he denied at every turn.
She hoped the counselor on Betazed would be able to help him
face those feelings--and, perhaps, others that helped cause
the pain. Because Guinan knew that it wasn't only his
imprisonment by Asrun Narve that was eating at his heart and
soul, nor was it the things the pirate commander had used
Picard's body to do to Deanna Troi while the captain was
forced to watch, helpless to stop any of it. No, it was more
than that, and Guinan sincerely hoped that the counselor on
Betazed could help Picard face the one thing that he might
not be so willing to acknowledge, the one thing that Narve
had ruthlessly plundered from Picard's innermost thoughts.

His feelings for Beverly Crusher.

Those feelings had been painfully obvious to Guinan for some
time now--in fact, ever since she came aboard the
Enterprise. No matter how successfully he masked them to
others--especially himself and the good doctor. And,
surprisingly, Counselor Troi. Or maybe the counselor did
know; she practiced being inscrutable enough that Guinan
sometimes had a difficult time figuring her out. At any
rate, if the Betazoid counselor knew anything, she certainly
wasn't telling. Which, Guinan decided, was probably wisest.
It was the reason she herself had said nothing, preferring
to let nature take its course.

The smile returned as Guinan picked up a cloth and began
methodically wiping down the bar, wiping away as well her
momentary lapse into speculation as she returned her
thoughts to more practical matters. It would be safe to
close down a little early tonight; she'd already dismissed
her staff, assuring them for the millionth time that they
were not deserting her, that she had no desire to take shore
leave and would be perfectly capable of running the bar
until they returned. Fortunately, they wanted to be
convinced, and gave her much less trouble than they might
have otherwise.

Once they were gone, Guinan decided with an impish grin, she
could indulge herself in a month-long game of wondering how
things were going to be when everyone returned.

Especially between a certain captain and doctor.

---

Ensign Ro Laren threw the last of her belongings into her
overnight bag. She didn't need a lot--a uniform, a few
changes of clothing, the usual necessities. Then she sat on
the edge of her bunk and stared around her quarters. "Well,
that was easy; what next?" she muttered to herself.
Technically she was off-duty, but shore leave didn't
officially commence until 0700 hours, ship's time, and it
was only 2230 hours now.

Initially, she'd dreaded the thought of a month's time to
herself, not only because she had nowhere to go and no one
to go with, but also because time away from work was
generally time spent brooding on her stint in a Starfleet
stockade. She couldn't even talk to Counselor Troi about her
fit of nerves, since the Counselor had been placed off-duty
since that little incident with Commander Riker. Which left
Ro uneasy with no one to talk to.

No one except Guinan. Who listened very sympathetically,
made some casual remarks about her own lack of a place to go
to when she had time off and her extra enjoyment of that
time since she knew she could go anywhere she wanted to
without worrying about hurting someone's feelings or
juggling schedules. Suddenly, being free to do as she wanted
for an entire month seemed much more attractive to Ro; she
confessed that she'd always wanted to visit the Mars Colony.
Which, of course, Guinan said was a lovely place to visit.
The next thing she knew, Ro found herself booking passage
and making hotel arrangements. And looking forward with
impatience to the very thing she had dreaded only a short
time before.

All thanks to Guinan, who had, in the final analysis,
offered very little advice. Just listened in her quiet way
while Ro spoke and agreed with her.

Which led in turn to Ro's current state of impatience. She
glanced at the wall chrono. Five minutes had passed while
she was lost in her thoughts, and she found herself too
restless to sleep. No, too excited to sleep, she corrected
herself ruefully. Excited in a way she barely remembered
from childhood, when an event such as her birthday was
approaching. Not wanting to wait for it to come, but not
wanting it to pass so quickly she missed it.

"Ro Laren, you are being ridiculous," she told herself as
she rose abruptly to her feet and marched over to her
dresser. She pulled out a nightshift and slipped into it,
then slid beneath the covers. She reached over and dimmed
the lights, closing her eyes determinedly. The morning would
come that much faster if she went to sleep now.

The morning, and her shore leave.

---
Epilogue: One Month Later
---

Crusher frowned as she stepped out of her uniform, tossed it
into the cleaning chute, and headed slowly for the shower.
It was the end of her first day back on duty, and something
had been nagging at her all day. It had taken until now to
figure out what it was, and that had happened only after
she'd established what it wasn't.

It wasn't, for example, Miles and Keiko O'Brien. As she'd
feared, they wouldn't be returning to the Enterprise once
the long-term shore leave they had requested was up.
Instead, Miles had accepted the next best thing to a
planetside posting; he'd be taking over as Chief of Ops on
the new station orbiting Bajor, Deep Space Nine. Crusher
would miss them, but she wished them well and hoped it was
everything they expected.

It wasn't even the fact that the O'Briens weren't the only
ones not returning to the ship. Not everyone was able to
deal with what had happened; at least three crewmembers had
requested planetside postings, and four spouses had informed
the captain that they wouldn't set foot on the
Enterprise--or any other starship--again. And although that
was regrettable, it still wasn't what was bothering the
doctor.

Nor was it Deanna Troi or Will Riker, both of whom had,
fortunately, returned to the ship. Troi had unexpectedly
asked Riker to join her on Betazed after her initial
counseling sessions were finished, and he had just as
unexpectedly agreed. Or maybe not so unexpectedly, Crusher
mused as she tested the water. For all that their
relationship defied categorization, at least in her mind,
they still had a solid friendship and a long history
together. From the messages her friends had sent to Earth,
things seemed to be working out. Troi had told Crusher that
Riker had arrived shortly before Jean-Luc Picard left to
spend the remainder of his leave on Earth. She wouldn't say
anything about the captain's participation in Troi's
rehabilitation therapy--nor did Crusher expect or want her
to--only that he had helped her to work things out, and that
she had managed to get past the trauma of being an unwilling
participant in a rape. Of both of them being unwilling
participants in a rape.

Crusher's frown returned as she stepped into the shower.
That was what was bothering her. Jean-Luc Picard.

He was still avoiding her. That hadn't changed, and she
realized that she'd expected it to. She'd expected things to
return completely to normal, at least between the two of
them, once therapy and shore leave were over. But that
wasn't how it was working out. Oh, he hadn't been avoiding
her in obvious ways, not so a person could put their finger
on it. He'd simply been too busy to so much as speak to her
in anything other than an official capacity. The few times
they did speak, Crusher had the distinct feeling he was
embarrassed, if not downright ashamed of something. Now she
found herself wondering what might be causing that reaction;
the fact that Narve had picked her as his personal "prize"?
But Jean-Luc seemed to have no problems dealing with Deanna
Troi, from what she could tell, and that had been the more
traumatic of the things Picard had been forced to witness
his own body doing. All that had been done to the doctor, if
she thought about it, was to be back-handed, leered at and
chained in a closet.

Crusher couldn't help it; she burst into laughter at the
direction in which her thoughts had turned. "I sound like
the heroine of an old-fashioned romance novel," she said,
blowing her reflection in the mirror a kiss. "Call me
Beverly, 'The Captive Doctor'." Still laughing, she dried
herself off, her good humor restored as she was finally able
to put things in perspective--something her own counselor
had told her to expect.

Once her initial amusement faded, her mind returned to the
problem of Jean-Luc Picard. Why was he avoiding her?
"Beverly, you're just being paranoid," she said to herself
as she shrugged into her deep green robe and tossed the
still-damp towel in the general direction of the laundry
chute. "It's probably nothing more than the fact that he
still thinks he failed us, somehow." She poured herself a
glass of wine and settled in on her sofa. She'd only been
back a day, after all. If he continued to avoid her, she'd
confront him. And maybe confront him about a few other
things as well... "Music, please," she said aloud,
addressing the computer. "A little Vivaldi would be
nice--the Four Seasons." Time to relax, Beverly, she chided
herself. You shouldn't be worrying about something that may
very well turn out to be nothing. Not your first day back
after shore leave, anyway.

The door chimed. Crusher jumped a little, but only a little,
and answered it. Her frown at being interrupted from her
evening of doing nothing disappeared when Jean-Luc Picard
hesitantly entered the room.

When he saw how she was dressed, he backed up a step. "I'm
sorry, Doctor," he apologized. "I didn't realize--that is, I
was not aware that you were preparing for bed. I'll come
back some other time." He turned to go.

"I'm not going to bed," Crusher called out to him
reassuringly. "I just took a shower and was feeling lazy.
Would you like a glass of wine? Some tea, maybe?" So much
for confronting him; apparently he was ready to confront
her. So much the better.

Picard turned back, fully entering the room, and nodded. "A
cup of tea would be lovely." He moved to the replicator.

Crusher tucked her feet up beneath her demurely, sipping her
wine and eyeing him over the rim of the glass as he ordered
"Earl Grey, hot". He was nervous, she realized, continuing
to watch as he took the chair opposite her and sipped his
tea. Intriguing.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, while
Picard very obviously collected his thoughts. Crusher had
never seen him so unnerved before--at least, not since the
oh-so-interesting Vash had appeared on board. She debated as
to whether or not she should point that out to him, then
decided not to. He would probably bolt like a frightened
rabbit, she thought with amusement, then composed herself
and waited for him to say whatever it was he had come here
to say.

When tea could no longer be used as an excuse to avoid
conversation, he spoke. "Beverly," he began, then stopped.

"Yes?" she asked when he seemed to require prompting in
order to continue.

Picard cleared his throat. "I came here tonight for two
reasons: to thank you for everything you did during our
recent crisis, and to apologize." He held up a hand at her
protesting expression. "Please, allow me to finish." She
nodded, but the questioning look remained on her face. "I've
put in your name for a commendation for the way you took
charge and kept the situation from deteriorating into a
complete disaster. I've recommended several other people for
them as well; Ensign Ro, Dr. Selar, and Guinan."

Crusher smiled, but it was a serious smile. All traces of
frivolity had vanished when Picard began speaking; he was
obviously working up to something, and she suddenly had no
desire to heckle him. "I know all this, Jean-Luc," she
replied, deliberately using his first name. "Surely that
isn't what you came here to tell me. What's this about an
apology?"

"I want to apologize for avoiding you," was his frank
response. Crusher blinked in surprise, not expecting so
blunt an admission, but held her comments as he continued,
"I've been doing a great deal of thinking lately, especially
about the fact that it's my fault you were 'selected' by
Narve."

"Your fault?" Crusher placed her wine glass on the table and
stared at the captain. "How on earth could it be your
fault?"

Picard looked down at his hands, then back up into her eyes.
"Because, Beverly," he answered softly, his eyes never
leaving hers, "if he hadn't read my true feelings for you,
he never would have singled you out to receive his
'attention.'"

Crusher leaned forward in her own seat. "What feelings would
those be, Jean-Luc?" she asked in the same quiet tone. My,
my, wasn't this an interesting development, some small voice
commented in the back of her mind. She ignored it,
concentrating on the man sitting before her.

"Must I spell them out?" he asked, then held up a hand.
"Don't answer that, it was a foolish question." He stood up
and turned toward the door, hands clasped behind his back.
"Narve selected you because he knew how much it would pain
me to see... someone I cared for abused in such a fashion."

"Someone you cared for?" Crusher repeated questioningly, her
mind whirling. "Is that who I am? Someone you care for?"

Picard nodded, still unable to turn and face her. "Someone
I only now am realizing how much I care for," he said, his
voice tender. "I hadn't intended to say anything to you, but
somehow... " His voice trailed off in embarrassment.
"Somehow," he continued after a moment, "I couldn't just
come back and allow things to remain the way they were."
Never mind that the counselor had recommended just such a
thing, once she finally ferreted out the root of the
captain's residual guilt. "I needed to let you know how I
feel, how I've been feeling and denying that I feel." He
cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I wanted to tell you
that, no matter how you may feel about me, I love you. And
have for quite some time."

The statement hung in the air between them for long seconds,
while Crusher absorbed all its implications and examined her
own emotions. Then she rose from her seat, walked silently
to stand behind him, and put one hand on his shoulder. He
turned, seeing her own emotions clearly reflected in her
eyes, and hesitantly leaned over to kiss her.

"Just for the record," Crusher whispered after a moment, "I
love you too. In case you weren't sure." She hesitated a
moment before continuing. "You weren't the only one denying
how you felt; I've had... very strong feelings for you
almost since I first came aboard the Enterprise. I convinced
myself that I couldn't tell you because it would ruin our
friendship, that you couldn't possibly return my feelings. I
might never have said anything if you hadn't come to me
first." She smiled impishly. "Maybe our little encounter
with the League of Uxmal Pirates wasn't all bad." She held
her breath at her own audacity; how well he took that
statement would let her know how well he'd recovered.

"Perhaps," Picard murmured before bending his head and
pressing his lips to hers. "I do know this much: I have no
intention of allowing you to back away from this
relationship, any more than I intend to. I think we've both
done enough of that."

"Indeed," was all the reply Crusher made before ordering the
lights dimmed and the door locked. She had no intention of
being interrupted by anyone else tonight.

Nor, if she had her way, any other night.

---

The End