The BLTS Archive - Power Struggle
by MizJoely (vze1iwnd@verizon.net)

--

Published: 06-14-07 - Updated: 11-27-07

Author's Note: Here it is, the long awaited beginning to the
sequel to my story "Playing With Power".

---
Prologue: The Calm Before the Storm
---

"Wesley is getting suspicious."

"Hmm?"

Beverly Crusher rolled over and poked her companion in the
ribs. "I said, Wesley is getting suspicious. And you've
stolen the covers again."

"Hmm." An arm appeared from beneath the stolen covers,
snaked its way around her waist and hauled her closer.
"Better?"

Crusher sighed in mock exasperation, then snuggled closer to
her companion. "Much." After a second, however, she
straightened back up. "But you still haven't acknowledged my
first statement."

"You sound like Data when you talk like that," Jean-Luc
Picard mumbled complainingly. His eyes remained closed, but
popped open when he felt the weight of her stare on his
forehead. "All right," he sighed, pulling himself up to join
her in leaning against the cushioned headboard. So much for
sleeping in. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and blinked
blearily at Beverly, not quite awake, at least not enough
for this conversation. "Wesley is getting suspicious.
Suspicious of what?"

She regarded him out of steady blue eyes. "Of us."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "You've mentioned something to
him?" There was an undercurrent of unease in his voice that
he hoped she didn't hear. It was possible that Wesley still
resented him for convincing the boy to come clean after that
mess at Starfleet Academy a few months prior. It was equally
possible he was completely over it, but Picard had no way of
knowing since he hadn't spoken to Wesley since then. From
what Beverly had shared with him, her son was working
diligently to make up his lost year, but that was about all
he knew.

"Not yet," Crusher replied. "Nor did I plan on it, not until
we'd discussed it first. But I don't like keeping him in the
dark, not about something as important as this."

Nor should she, Picard realized. Their relationship was
hardly a secret, but it wasn't exactly something they
displayed in public, at least not on the ship. They still
kept separate quarters, and if their breakfasts together no
longer involved travel time on most mornings, well, that was
no one's business but their own. Of course Will Riker knew
exactly what was going on, as did Deanna Troi, but they had
thankfully kept any comments to a minimum. "Beverly, it's
perfectly fine with me to talk to Wesley about our
relationship, especially since I would very much like it to
continue. As, I hope, do you."

She poked him in the ribs. "You know how I feel about you,
Jean-Luc." Her mischievous expression faded, replaced by an
intensity Picard found disconcerting. "You know how much I
love you."

"I love you too," he murmured in reply, pulling her close
for a heartfelt kiss that left them both breathless. Before
things could continue further, however, Beverly pulled away
under pretense of fluffing her pillow.

"Well then, I think it's time I told him we were involved.
That we're in a relationship."

They both fell silent as they thought about the implications
of her words. Although their current relationship had its
origins in near tragedy – they'd finally acknowledged their
feelings for each other after the ship and crew had been
hijacked by bodiless entities calling themselves the League
of Uxmal Pirates – things couldn't have been better between
them. It had been six months; although Jean-Luc had been
content to leave things as they stood, he had always known
it couldn't last. This trip to Risa had been their first
public outing together, and he was sure their coinciding
leaves had raised a few eyebrows. Leaving Wesley – and his
own family – out of the loop any longer made no sense at
all.

"You're right," Picard finally said. Crusher gave him a
suspicious look. "No, I mean it," he insisted. "There's no
need to keep our relationship a secret, from your son or
anyone else. I'd like to introduce you to my brother and his
wife and son." Well, not so much Robert who disapproved of
anything Picard did just on principal, but he felt it was
important to let Beverly know that he was in complete accord
with her on this. That he wasn't just indulging her request.
That he committed to this relationship at the same level.

"Good." Crusher's voice oozed satisfaction. "I was afraid
you'd argue with me. After all," she added dryly, "everyone
knows how much you value your privacy."

The eyebrow rose once again, then waggled rakishly. "Just
how much detail were you planning to impart?"

Crusher responded by whipping her pillow around and hitting
him with it. "Don't be an idiot!" she exclaimed with a
laugh, hitting him again for emphasis. Picard merely raised
his arms to protect his head against her attack. "I'm only
going to tell him we've been seeing each other." Another
raised eyebrow, another hit with the pillow. "Don't raise
that eyebrow at me, mister!" She laughed. "I won't tell him
how much of you I've been seeing! Especially since we came
to Risa!"

Picard's response was to grab Crusher's pillow away from her
and wrestle her back under the covers.

---

Two days later, proclaiming that she needed a break from
lounging under the Risan sun, Beverly announced her
intention to go shopping. "I'll probably be here most of the
day," she warned Picard as they neared the gates to the
famous bazaar. "You've managed to keep me distracted this
long – and don't think I haven't appreciated it! – but the
need to shop is beginning to weaken the barriers of common
sense."

"I told you, not to worry. I have some plans that will keep
me busy," Picard assured her, not for the first time that
morning. His companion seemed to feel as if she were
abandoning him, if only for a single day. "Remember, there
are several archaeological sites I'm interested in visiting.
I'll meet you back here around dinner time. Will that be
long enough?"

"Probably." Crusher grinned at Picard's expression of mock
horror; the sun was barely over the horizon, and the
prospect of an entire day spent shopping was enough to give
any man the collywobbles, as Nana Howard would put it. "If I
don't show up by bazaar close at sundown, come in after me!"

"Agreed." Picard gave her a chaste peck on the cheek and
waved good-bye as she disappeared through the gates.

---

Beverly appeared around the agreed time, give or take a few
minutes. Picard was sitting on a bench, and rose to greet
her. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting!"

Picard kissed her warmly and took her hand as they navigated
through the crowd. "I hope you're hungry, because I'm
starving," Crusher announced as they emerged into the
relative quiet of a side street. "I haven't eaten since this
morning!"

A smile was her only response. Crusher smiled back,
squeezing Jean-Luc's hand as they strolled down the street.
This vacation had been perfect, exactly what they needed. It
had been a particularly trying year, and the ship's
five-year refit was a welcome relief to everyone on board.
The ship's CMO hadn't been to Risa for years, and was more
than willing to accept Jean-Luc's invitation to join him
after visiting her son on Earth. The beaches were
magnificent, the atmosphere relaxing and the shopping, as
she'd just proven to her satisfaction, was superb. It was
everything she'd hoped for, and more. It was a chance for
them to explore their infant relationship, away from the
often-chaotic confines of the ship.

Right now, however, the only thing Crusher was interested in
exploring was a good meal. And she spotted the perfect
place...  "Look! It's that restaurant Will recommended," she
exclaimed, taking Jean-Luc's arm to drag him laughingly
across the street. "The food had better be as good as he
claims," she added as they entered the main door.

Jean-Luc was fairly quiet during the meal, but Beverly
hardly noticed, swept up in her own enjoyment as she was.
She asked him how his day was; receiving a bare
"educational" as an answer, she continued to chatter
brightly about the shops and beaches and food with a
bubbling enthusiasm that made her feel like a teenager.
Picard seemed content to watch and listen to her, smiling
and making occasional comments.

"I think I've been talking too much," Crusher said with a
smile as they headed back to their hotel. Picard's response
was a brief kiss, to which she enthusiastically responded.

It wasn't long before they reached their hotel; the
restaurant was closer than she'd thought. She'd have to keep
that in mind, Crusher noted. The food had been quite good...

She stopped short as they entered their room, looking around
in dumfounded amazement at the number of packages she'd
managed to accumulate during the course of the day. They'd
been delivered to the hotel as soon she made the purchases
and now lay in piles, both on the floor and covering every
horizontal surface of the room – with the single exception
of the bed. Their Risan hosts had thoughtfully left that
piece of furniture clear. "Did I really buy this much? I
didn't realize I had it in me... "

"Apparently you do," was Picard's response. She turned to
tap him playfully on the chest, only to have him grasp her
wrists and pull her closer for a hungry, passionate kiss
that left them both breathless. Picard kicked the door shut
behind them as Crusher responded to the kiss, pressing her
body against his and twining her hands behind his head.

Picard maneuvered their bodies smoothly around the piled
packages as they remained locked in each other's arms,
stopping only when they reached the bed. Their clothing came
off easily, courtesy of Risa's more than casual dress code.
Both wore simple shorts and shirts and very little else.
Sandals and underclothing topped the rumpled heap on the
floor as passion flared.

They were both ready and more than ready as they fell onto
the bed, Jean-Luc raising his body above Beverly's as he
pressed fervent kisses along her neck and chest. He was
smiling again, and Crusher felt a tiny frown crease her
forehead. There was something about the smile that made her
uneasy, something dark and possessive. Surely that look of
triumph in his eyes was just her imagination? Thought fled,
and she closed her eyes as a dizzying feeling of ecstasy
consumed her.

But it wasn't her imagination when she opened her eyes
afterward to see her lover gazing down at her with an ugly,
gloating smile distorting his features. And it wasn't her
imagination when he said softly, chillingly: "My dear
Beverly, you've no idea how much I've looked forward to this
moment. Six months is a long time to wait, but you've
certainly made it worthwhile."

Crusher's eyes widened in horror. The voice was that of
Jean-Luc Picard, but the words belonged to someone else,
someone she'd never thought to hear again; Asrun Narve,
Commander of the League of Uxmal Pirates, whom she'd long
believed safely back in exile on their storm-swept prison
planet.

She screamed.

---
By A Kiss Betray'd
---

Inside his own mind, trapped and helpless as he'd
vowed never to be again, Jean-Luc Picard was
screaming as well. Screaming his hatred to the
pirate now occupying his body, screaming his anger
and outrage at having been shunted off to a corner
of his own mind and forced—again!—to watch
helplessly as his body participated in a rape. To
watch with horror the moment Beverly realized
something was horribly wrong.

A moment too late. As soon as recognition entered
her eyes and she screamed her own anger and
betrayal, Narve brought Picard's fist up to
deliver a smashing blow to the side of her head,
then a second blow that brought her to full
unconsciousness. He rose from the bed after that
act of casual brutality, looking around the room
as he stepped into Picard's clothes. With a
triumphant smile, he found what he was looking
for: the decorative cording from one of the many
boxes containing Beverly's recent purchases. He
yanked it from the package without regard for the
contents, which spilled onto the floor in a
jumbled heap. Picard numbly noted a shirt that
he'd admired, no doubt meant as a surprise for
him, along with a few other articles of clothing
before Narve turned back toward the bed, striding
with grim purpose.

Pausing only long enough to throw Crusher's
clothing back on her unconscious form, Narve knelt
on the bed and bound her hands and feet together
with the efficiency born of long practice. When he
finished, he jumped back to his feet and tapped
Picard's combadge. "Narve here; you there, Mylal?"

"Affirmative, Commander," came the prompt
response. "I was able to reset the combadges to
our private frequency with no problem. Are you
ready for pick up?"

Narve glanced around the room, then down at
Beverly's body. "Oh yes," he replied softly. "More
than ready. Narve out." Hope you enjoyed the show,
Picard, he thought gleefully to his mental
captive, the first sign of true emotion he'd shown
since his sickening joy at finally having Crusher
and Picard exactly where he wanted them. Don't
worry, it isn't over yet.

Picard's roar of outrage was heard by non one
except Narve, whose only response was a triumphant
smile as the whine of a transporter filled the
room.

They were gone.


Betazed ---

"Will?" Deanna Troi called softly into the
darkened room, having finally managed to drag
herself away from yet another formal reception her
mother had insisted on throwing in Deanna's honor.

He was already asleep, having left the party a
full hour earlier; too much Betazed hospitality,
she thought fondly as she smiled down at his
peacefully dozing form. She shrugged out of her
filmy party dress and snuggled down next to him,
not bothering to remove the elaborate headdress
she had donned for the evening's festivities. Her
mother had foisted it on her, but Will had admired
it, as well as the elegant tumble of dark curls
the headdress topped, so she decided to share it
with him one last time—if, of course, she could
wake him up. It would certainly be fun tto try;
this visit home was definitely more enjoyable than
the last  one had been.

She frowned at the memory. When Will had agreed to
come with her the last time—had it really only
been six months ago?—it had been a time of quiet
convalescence for both of them, a time during
which the scars of rape and possession had slowly
begun to heal. During that time their friendship
had blossomed, sturdier than ever. They'd returned
to the Enterprise after that second visit easier
in their minds than when they'd left.

Many things had happened between that time and
now, including a doomed love affair for each of
them. She'd become involved with the leader of a
colony of genetically engineered isolationists,
and he'd started seeing a member of a supposedly
gender-neutral race who had decided she was, in
fact, a she—and very attracted to Will Riker.
Allen had elected to remain with his people when
they once again turned their backs on the larger
universe, and Soren had been psyho-adjusted by her
world's government "for her own good," not only
losing her sense of being female, but also her
feeling for Will.

Troi's eyes clouded as she remembered the pain of
those encounters; double pain for her, since she
felt Will's ache of loss as acutely as her own.
But those bittersweet episodes, to her continued
amazement, served only to deepen their friendship,
as no casual sexual encounter ever could.

Those encounters also led to a revelation that
still filled her with wonder; the fact that she
still loved Will Riker, loved him intensely and
passionately and—almost—unselfishly. She was truly
happy for him when his feelings for Soren
deepened, had wished him success in that troubled
relationship. A small part of her had sighed
wistfully, perhaps, but she'd easily suppressed it
in light of his happiness.

It was partly his pain after that relationship had
been so abruptly and unfairly terminated that
prompted her to offer him the hospitality of
Betazed once again, this time during the ship's
refit, and partly her own desire to explore the
possibilities of their relationship. Because
slight though the tinges of jealousy and relief
were, the fact that they even existed at all was a
sign that her feelings for the only man she'd ever
called "Imzadi" were far from resolved.

"Not while we're serving on the same ship," she'd
told him on more than one occasion. Words that now
came back to haunt her. Wasn't that the entire
reason behind permitting families on board ships
like the Enterprise? So that people in
relationships could serve together, instead of
having marriages destroyed and families strained
past the breaking point by long-term separation?
Had she only been hiding behind that as an excuse?
She determined to find out, to focus for once on
her own emotions and not those of others. Except,
of course, for one particular other.

Once on Betazed, everything seemed to fall into
place. The second night on the planet they'd gone
to a restaurant Deanna's mother had recommended,
and were pleasantly surprised to find that
actually lived up to Lwaxana's rapturous
descriptions. A perfect dinner was followed by an
evening of dancing and talking and just being
together. Will's first kiss had been tentative,
Deanna's own reaction equally hesitant, until
they'd pulled back to look into each other's eyes.
At that moment, Deanna knew exactly how she felt;
all the doubts and confusion fell by the wayside
at the feeling of loved she sensed from him. And
at the equal feeling that arose in her own heart.

"Imzadi." Startled, still half-caught up in the
pleasant memory of rediscovered love, Deanna
looked down to see Will's warm hazel eyes looking
up at her. She hadn't even realized he was awake,
too busy concentrating on past emotions to sense
ones belonging to the here and now.

She leaned forward to offer him a kiss, but
hesitated. Something was off; faintly, as if from
far away, she could sense an urgent need aimed
directly at her. Before she could do anything to
respond to that need, however, Will pulled her
down for a passionate kiss.

Deanna never even felt the phase Larsch used to
blast her into unconsciousness.

---
Home Less
---
The Enterprise

Ensign Ro Laren broke into a smile as she sighted
the door to her quarters, sighing with relief. She
pushed her short, dark hair back behind her ears
and scratched absently at the ridges on her nose
as she regarded that unremarkable portal. Shore
leave was over, and here she was, back home. That
thought brought her up short; when had the
Enterprise become home? Sometime over the past
year and a half she'd stopped thinking of the ship
as her latest stop-over and started thinking of it
as the place she belonged. She'd never expected
that, never expected that she would ever again
have a place and a people that meant so much to
her. Coming home to the Enterprise meant coming
home to people who cared about her, people she
cared about in return. It was a good feeling, one
she hadn't had since childhood, and then only
briefly. Her youth in the Bajoran refugee camps
had been filled with too much turmoil and
bitterness.

Not that things were perfect on the ship, she
quickly reminded herself, but she'd never felt the
urge to run away and never look back, another new
feeling for her. Perhaps she wasn't that
interested in taking the assignment Starfleet had
recently offered, to act as Bajoran liaison on the
former Cardassian space station recently
re-christened Deep Space 9. Chief O'Brien and his
family had transferred there four months ago, so
Miles could take over as Chief of Operations, and
there was a Bajoran Major acting as temporary
liaison until she made up her mind. She had
another month to reach a decision, and that alone
told her how much Starfleet wanted her in that
position. "You've come a long way from the
Starfleet stockade," she murmured to herself
wryly. "Guess they finally decided to trust you."
Of course, Captain Picard had trusted her first;
shouldn't her first loyalty remain with him?

Still ruminating on these things, she keyed in the
code to open the door and strode into her
quarters, tossing her shoulder bag onto the
nearest chair before calling for the lights. She
stretched, then turned to key the privacy lock on
her door, wanting a few more hours to herself
before anyone came looking for a pinochle partner
or another warm body for a holodeck adventure.

Data was standing next to the door. Ro barely had
time to do more than register his unexpected
presence before he moved forward, grasped her
wrists and slammed her against the bulkhead, all
in one blindingly fast motion. "Greetings, Ensign
Ro Laren."

While Ro struggled to catch her breath, Data
pressed his body against hers in a manner that
completely eliminated any opportunity for attack
or escape. One hand continued to hold both her
wrists in a painful grip, while the other reached
down and ripped her communicator badge from her
chest. He flung it across the room as Ro resorted
to her only means of alerting anyone that
something was wrong. "Computer–" she managed to
shout before Data grabbed her by the throat,
choking off the rest of her words.

"Naughty," he said in a chiding voice, easing his
hold enough for her to regain her breath. "Not
that it matters; it won't answer to you, and
there's no one free on this ship to help you." His
face was close to hers, close enough for her to
see the expression of cruel enjoyment on his face.
"I believe we have some unfinished business. Did
you miss me?"

Verek waited until her eyes widened in outraged
recognition, then smiled. "No games this time, my
dear Laren," he purred. "Your hands aren't going
anywhere they're not supposed to." He squeezed
slightly, to emphasize his point, waiting until
she grimaced with pain before easing his grasp.
"Narve told me to bring you to the others, but he
didn't say I had to do it right away."

As he swooped in for a brutal, possessive kiss, Ro
Laren knew with a hollow feeling of panic that she
was trapped in a nightmare.

---
Forward Motion
---

"Alexander is still with your parents?"

Worf nodded in response to Selar's question. They
had beamed on board at roughly the same time and
were heading down the corridor toward the
turbolifts. "He will be visiting with my parents
for two more weeks. We spent much of our leave
visiting my brother, so when he asked to remain on
Earth a little longer, I allowed it. The school
year does not officially begin until then,
anyway." It still felt strange to be raising a
child on the ship, but Worf was adjusting. "My
parents were happy to keep him. It has been six
months since they last saw him."

Selar nodded her understanding, both of what he
was saying and what was left unsaid. Six months
ago the Enterprise had been invaded by the
self-styled "League of Uxmal Pirates." A traumatic
time for all involved. "It is logical that he
would choose to remain with them, and that they
would wish to keep him with them," she said. "I am
sure they will enjoy the opportunity to
become... reacquainted." For the first time in her
life, the Vulcan doctor put herself off-balance by
speaking words without first considering their
meaning. Worf might misunderstand her, might
believe that she was referring to someone other
than his son and parents... or he might understand
it quite well, she admitted to herself. Because
that was exactly what she had been doing.

Not only had it been six months since the attack
on the ship, it had been six months since she'd
been on active duty. She'd requested an extended
leave of absence in order to return to Vulcan,
ostensibly to study, but she knew as well as
Captain Picard that it had also been because of
the invasion of the ship by the League of Uxmal
Pirates. Although she had remained relatively
unharmed, both physically and mentally, the same
was untrue for the man standing next to her.

Worf, like the other male prisoners, had been
under the mental domination of one of the
entities. An entity that had made some
declarations that disturbed Selar's
self-possession. Those declarations in turn had
disturbed Worf's self-possession to the point that
he felt compelled to tender an apology to her for
those words. Or at least the manner in which they
had been spoken to her. What had been most
disturbing to Selar had been Worf's diffident
admission that the pirate had taken the thoughts
literally from Worf's own subconscious. Selar
apparently reminded Worf, at least physically, of
his dead mate K'Eyhlar, which point the entity had
pointed out in a manner that could only be termed
"gleeful." Worf had admitted as much, then had
surprised her by further stating that the
resemblance was only part of the reason he was
attracted to her.

Her reaction to this admission was the real reason
she'd gone to the Vulcan Science Academy Center
for Healing and Medical Arts; she'd been startled.
Intrigued. Pleased. Almost, she'd said something
to Worf, asked him to elaborate, but her usual
reticence stopped her before the words passed her
lips. Selar never acted impulsively, or at least,
she never used to.

Now, here she was, walking next to Worf, speaking
impulsively, even after so long a hiatus immersed
in research and the coolly logical minds of her
Vulcan colleagues. Apparently his ability to
fluster her remained unchanged. Interesting.

They entered the turbo lift in silence, but it was
Worf who broke that silence. "Getting reacquainted
can be difficult." He was looking at the door,
rather than at her, but as she turned to look he
did as well. His deep brown eyes met hers
squarely. "I did not realize how much I would miss
you while you were gone."

Selar allowed the corner of her lips to quirk
upwards in acknowledgment of his words, although
she refused to admit to the flutter of pleasure
those words caused. "I would be pleased if you
would share some refreshments with me before we
return to duty." More impulsive words; Selar
decided not to concern herself with her
uncharacteristic behavior unless it affected her
while on duty. Or while visiting home; her
conservative Vulcan mother would certainly not
approve. She found herself wondering with a
distinct feeling mischief how she would react if
her only daughter brought home a Klingon husband…

"I would be pleased to join you. That is, if you
are not too tired," Worf added hastily. He seemed
as uncertain as Selar, which had the effect of
steadying her. Of crystallizing her tentative
conclusions.

"Worf, if we are to initiate the relationship we
are both contemplating, we must first continue the
process of becoming reacquainted."

Worf nodded solemnly. "Perhaps you are right," he
replied, proving to Selar's satisfaction that she
had not misjudged the situation.

They continued in silence to Ten Forward. Selar
found herself much more comfortable now that they
had embarked on the next, logical phase of their
relationship, but she could tell that Worf wasn't,
not yet. In spite of their passionate natures,
Klingons tended to be cautious in the area of
selecting a mate, and she knew Worf well enough to
understand that was exactly what he would expect:
formal bonding at some point, nothing casual.
Which was also the Vulcan way. It was curious how
similar Vulcans and Klingons actually were, much
more similar than others, especially members of
their respective races, would like to believe. In
her opinion, Klingons simply had yet to discover
the path to mastering their emotions.

Worf was nervous, although he hoped it didn't
show. After K'Eyhlar's death, he hadn't permitted
himself to contemplate forming an emotional
attachment to another woman. But ever since their
encounter with the League of Uxmal Pirates, the
Vulcan doctor walking next to him had been on his
mind. If he was honest, he would be forced to
admit she'd been on his mind even before then, but
he'd tried to ignore his growing interest in her
as more than a fellow crewmember. The fact that
she appeared to harbor similar thoughts was
surprising, but gratifying. The one thing he hated
most about initiating intimate relationships was
the uncertainty. Selar, with typical Vulcan
forthrightness, had eliminated that concern.

They entered Ten Forward and automatically headed
for a table, then stopped as they simultaneously
realized something was wrong. Guinan wasn't there,
but she wasn't due back for a few more days. The
problem was that no one else was their, either, a
situation Guinan would never tolerate. Ten Forward
was always open, and there was always someone on
duty as long as there was a single Enterprise crew
member needing to be served.

"Perhaps Rico is in the store room," Selar
suggested tentatively, naming Guinan's second in
command as the most likely candidate to be in
charge during her absence. Not that she believed
her own suggestion for a minute; whether you
called it logic or instinct, something about the
emptiness of Ten Forward, especially at the end of
a long-term crew absence, seemed wrong.

Worf merely grunted; it was obvious he believed
that possibility about as much as she did. Without
speaking, he jerked his head to indicate the door,
and they started backing toward it.

They never reached the dubious safety of the
corridor. Although some instinct warned Worf to
turn at the last minute, it was too late. Twin
phaser bursts took them both out instantly,
knocking them unconscious to the floor before they
even had a chance to see who shot them.

---
Waking Nightmare
---

Selar came to rapid consciousness, but kept her
breathing slow and even and her eyes closed as she
assessed the situation without alerting her
assailant to the fact that she was awake. A hand
on her chin, jerking her head upward, told her
that subterfuge was futile, so she opened her eyes
and looked at her captor.

It was Worf. He smiled hungrily down at her as she
jerked her chin out of his grasp, the smile
turning to laughter as she pushed herself away
from his crouching form. He watched as she pulled
herself to her feet and stood with her back
against the wall, studying him. Worf had not fired
the phaser shot that had taken her down; in the
split second before unconsciousness overtook her,
she had seen him fall. Someone else had been
responsible for the attack, and since Worf's
reaction was atypical, logic forced her to the
conclusion that something had happened to him
during that time.

"I never got a chance with you last time, but
Narve says I get my choice this time. So I picked
you." Worf's face and form, Worf's voice, but not
Worf's words.

Selar's voice remained steady as she spoke.
"Peris. How...unfortunate."

He laughed again, casually jumping to his feet.
Selar took that moment to exam their surroundings,
but no longer. It would be unwise to remove her
attention from Peris for longer than that. By the
layout and emptiness of the room, she ascertained
that they were in unused quarters somewhere on one
of the crew decks. A bed on one side, table and
chairs on the other, the entrance to the bathroom
behind Peris and a closet no doubt behind herself.
Nothing to use as a weapon save her own abilities.
Peris had never struck her as the most intelligent
of Narve's pirates, but he had access to Worf's
mind and memories and knew how difficult it was to
perform a nerve pinch on a Klingon, knew about
Vulcan strength and mental abilities...

"I wouldn't bother if I were you." Peris
interrupted her analysis of the situation,
gloating, a swagger in his step as he moved closer
and leaned a casual arm against the bulkhead
behind her. His grinning face came within inches
of her own. "I know all your tricks, Vulcan. You
may be strong, but I'm stronger, and Worf knows
you're not the strongest telepath, either. You may
as well just give up."

"You speak in cliches," Selar said coolly.
"However," she conceded, casting her eyes modestly
downward, "you are also correct. Struggling
against overwhelming odds would be illogical." She
allowed him to put Worf's hand to her cheek,
anticipating the sudden tug on her hair and moving
her head a fraction of a second before he could
jerk it back. She suffered through his kiss long
enough to snake her own hands around his neck in
apparent acquiescence.

Her fingers tightened when they reached certain
spots on either side of his neck, twisting
viciously at nerve centers only recently
identified by the Vulcan Science Academy as being
vulnerable to a variation on the nerve pinch. It
wasn't information she had expected to find of
use, certainly not this soon after learning it.
When Worf fell to her feet, stunned and nearly
unconscious, the look of surprise on his face
could almost be considered comical–if one weren't
a Vulcan, of course.

Not that Selar wasted any time on studying Worf
before yanking the phaser from his loosened grasp
and hurling herself through the door and into the
corridor, weapon at the ready. Nor did she bother
waiting to see if Peris was expelled by the trauma
of the attack. No information was available as to
the minimum level of pain required to free someone
from the influence of an Uxmalian; all the hurts
done to their hosts last time had been much
grosser than a Vulcan nerve pinch, even one as
unrefined as the one she had just performed.

She made her silent way down the deserted
corridor, every sense straining, part of her
attention on the concern that Peris might have
recovered enough to try and follow her, the rest
on remaining out of th way of any of his cohorts.
Until she understood the situation a little
better, she would have to treat anyone she
encountered as an enemy. It was obvious that Narve
and his pirates had the ship completely under
their control, which meant she either had to
escape or summon help by sending a communication
detailing as much of the situation as she
understood as quickly as possible. Time was of the
essence. Under the circumstances, she forgave
herself the use of the cliche.

She turned another corridor, freezing momentarily
at the sound of approaching voices. She ducked
back around the corner, having noted every
possible hiding place during her short journey,
and made her way back to the nearest one as
stealthily as possible.

Not stealthily enough. Her foot bumped against the
wall as she misjudged the distance, and in the
dead silence the small noise sounded as loud as a
phaser blast. She held her breath, the better to
hear if anyone had noticed.

A nearby shout told her the answer to that
question. Abandoning stealth in favor of speed,
she turned and raced back down the way she'd come.

A door opened; without pausing in her flight, she
aimed a phaser blast at the occupant. Friend or
foe, it didn't matter; the phaser was set on heavy
stun, and she would explain or apologize as
necessary. Later. First, it was imperative she
evade recapture.

Another door opened, another phaser blast aimed at
the opening, but this time the occupant was ready
for her. Peris. Of course. He hurtled himself at
her ankles in a low dive. Selar fell to the deck
with a grunt, the phaser flying from her hand as
it struck the carpeted flooring. She fought as
hard as she could; there was no way she would make
this easy for any of them, but especially not for
Peris. He affronted her, using the body of a man
she was embarking on a relationship with, using
that man's own mind against him, and he offended
her as well with his crass obviousness. Narve, at
least, had been all business when it came to the
subject of rape; Peris all too obviously relished
the thought of forcing himself on her.

Not this time. She gouged at his eyes, her fingers
clawed for maximum damage, and he howled with
pain, cursing her in a language she didn't
recognize. The tone, at least, was unmistakable.
Before she could attack again, however, she felt
the cool touch of a phaser against the back of her
neck and froze, only her eyes moving as she sought
to identify this newest threat.

"Peris, shut your hole and get up." Geordi
LaForge's voice was cold, his face unreadable
behind his metal VISER. "You, stay put." He
pressed harder with the phaser in case she didn't
realize he was talking to her, and Selar obeyed.
That cold, quiet voice was more dangerous than
Peris at his most menacing.

Peris pushed his way out from under her, wiping
blood from his cheeks and the corner of his left
eye. Good, she'd done more damage than she
originally thought. "I had it under control," he
whined.

"Sure you did." That same flat, uninflected voice
cut Peris' complaints off before they could begin.
"You were supposed to take her to the detention
center."

"Narve said I could pick who I wanted this time."
The whine turned defensive. "You heard him,
Mylal--"

"Yeah, I heard him, but you and I both know he
meant after we got under way, not while we're
still docked in the Sol system," Mylal cut in,
sounding bored. "Besides, you're supposed to be
part of the witch hunt."

"But Mylal..." Peris stopped as Mylal half raised
his free hand. The phaser shifted slightly in his
grasp, but Selar didn't make the mistake of
believing now would be a good time to try and
escape. She waited until Mylal indicated she
should rise to her feet, then did so, nothing the
presence of Ensign Singh standing next to Narve's
Third, his phaser pointed at her as well. Peris
picked up the weapon she had dropped, and she
allowed herself to concede defeat. This time. But
there would be another time and place, and she
would make certain to be ready for it.

"You're overdue at the shuttle bay, Peris, and you
know how well Narve tolerates delays." Peris
gulped audibly at the threat behind his superior's
words. "Mast is waiting, and he's not very
patient, either."

"All right, I'm going," Peris muttered, turning
away in defeat. But not before glaring a promise
at Selar, who merely raised an eyebrow as he
trotted away.

"Take her to the others," Mylal growled to Singh,
who nodded and shoved the phaser into her back.
Selar obediently headed down the corridor as he
took her arm.

She would bide her time.

For now.

---
The Big Picture
---
Somewhere In Space


Crusher struggled for consciousness, wondering
vaguely why her head ached so much. I thought Risa
used synthehol, she thought blearily, opening her
eyes a crack. Her arms and legs ached as much as
her head; what on earth had she been drinking last
night? She concentrated on getting her eyes to
focus; a look at her surroundings might help her
memory.

She wasn't in the hotel room she and Jean-Luc had
taken, and she wasn't in her familiar quarters on
the Enterprise. The small room she gazed at was
completely unfamiliar to her. She struggled to
rise, only to make the shocking discovery that her
hands and feet were securely bound. She wiggled
her feet forward enough to see that they were tied
with a piece of familiar-looking cord. Hadn't she
seen it somewhere recently, wrapped around a
package?

Memory returned in a flood as she stared down at
herself in stunned disbelief. Narve. Somehow,
Narve and his crew of exiled pirates had escaped.
Again. Successfully, she silently corrected
herself, fighting down panic. Time to take stock
of the situation, put that valuable Starfleet
training to use.

She looked at her surroundings more carefully,
noting the details this time that told her she was
on board a ship of some kind. She could feel the
almost-silent thrum of warp engines, could see the
slight curve to the bulkheads, the way the
furniture was securely attached and arranged for
maximum efficiency. A small ship, then. The room
held the bed she was laying on, a desk hinged to
the wall, and a small chair beneath it that swung
out on a hinge when it needed to be used. The door
was located next to the desk, and was opening even
as she noted its position.

The doctor struggled to raise herself from her
supine position. Whoever was coming through that
door was definitely not a friend, and she had no
desire to put herself at any more of a
disadvantage than she already was.

"Ah, good, you're awake." Picard's voice rang with
mock cheer as Crusher managed to pull herself up
into a sitting position, leaning awkwardly against
the bulkhead. Narve had changed into a black
jumpsuit with a vaguely militaristic look to it,
something harsh and unyielding. As harsh and
unyielding as the pirate commander's eyes. "I
apologize for the rather crude method I had to
employ to silence you, but I doubt I could have
convinced the hotel staff your screams were those
of passion."

"How did you escape?" Crusher demanded, ignoring
his insincere apology. He might not have enjoyed
hitting her the way Verek would have, but he
certainly didn't regret it.

Narve shook his head, a mocking smile distorting
Picard's features into something alien. "You like
to get right to the point, don't you? Well, I
suppose there's no harm in telling you. Let's just
say that there are many spacefaring races that
find a warn-off beacon incredibly difficult to
resist. Some don't grasp the implications, some
are thrill seekers, and some," he smiled an evil
smile, "are just plain greedy. I've never been a
Ferengi before; it was quite an experience," he
mused, then looked down at himself. "But I must
say I prefer a human body, it's a little more
similar to our own." Crusher filed that
interesting point away for future reference. "And
this one in particular suits me quite well; I've
grown rather fond of it."

Before Crusher could blurt out the angry retort
she felt building in her throat, Narve pressed his
lips against hers. "Just as I've grown fond of
this body," he whispered, stroking her arm
possessively.

Crusher jerked herself away from his touch, only
preventing herself from spitting in his face by
the sure knowledge that he would consider it a
reason to "teach her a lesson." Her reaction only
seemed to amuse the pirate; he grinned briefly,
then frowned and reached down to the top of one
boot, pulling out a dagger. Crusher couldn't help
the gasp that escaped her lips before she clamped
her mouth tightly shut; it was just the type of
reaction Narve seemed to enjoy, and she wouldn't
give him the satisfaction.

"Making you nervous, am I?" he asked, turning the
knife so the blade caught the light, glinting with
silver fire. "Don't worry, it's not intended for
this," he taunted as he moved closer and slid the
cold steel lightly across her throat. A thin line
of blood followed the blade's path as he moved it
down to her ankles to slice through the cord. Then
he yanked her around so he could reach her wrists,
holding them tightly in one hand after the cord
there had been severed.

"Don't try anything," he whispered coldly, his
breath so close to her face she could feel her
hair stir with every word. "Don't even think about
it. I've been handling knives like this my whole
life; I doubt very much that you could get it away
from me." He touched the weapon lightly to the
nape of her neck, and Crusher shivered again as
she nodded, ever so slightly, to acknowledge the
threat.

She believed every word he spoke. When he pulled
the knife away and released her hands, she brought
them forward and rubbed her wrists where the cord
had chafed. Satisfied that she would be no
trouble, at least for now, Narve wiped the knife
along the carpet and returned the blade to its
hiding place in his boot with a smooth movement
that indicated he hadn't been exaggerating his
expertise.

Crusher reached up and gingerly felt at the
shallow wound on her neck, grimacing at the blood
that came away on her fingertips. She ignored
Narve as much as she could, under the
circumstances, concentrating on the circulation
now returning painfully to her hands and feet. He
was sitting intimately close to her on the bed,
watching her with a faint, amused smile hovering
about his lips. A smile that failed to reach his
eyes. She avoided them the most; all the humanity
was burned out of them in the cold light of Asrun
Narve's alien presence.

"What do you want?" she finally asked, once the
blood in her extremities had returned and the
painful tingling subsided. She pressed the corner
of her loose top to her throat to stop the
bleeding, ducking her head awkwardly but thankful
she could thus continue to avoid his eyes.

Narve's smile deepened. "Come now, Beverly," he
purred. "Surely you know what I want." His gaze
lingered on her body, and she felt herself
flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

"You wanted off your prison planet," she continued
doggedly, trying to keep the conversation on a
different level. "You've achieved that. So why
take such a risk in kidnapping Starfleet officers?
Why not just leave? We will be missed," she
pointed out.

"No, you won't," Narve contradicted her. "After I
re-appropriated the good Captain's body, I
returned to the hotel and told them to send our
belongings to the Enterprise after we 'checked
out.' After that, as far as Starfleet is
concerned, we reported to the ship a little ahead
of schedule, like the dutiful officers we are. All
nice and official."

"But why us?" Crusher allowed her bewilderment to
show, in her face and her voice. "You've got your
freedom, why go to all this trouble when you could
have just returned home without risking being
found out by Starfleet?"

"Freedom isn't all we want." Narve's voice held an
edge, the first overt sign of emotion he'd allowed
her to see. "We could have simply kept the Ferengi
vessel and gone our way, but that isn't how my men
and I do things. We aren't cowards; we don't run
from a fight. You ruined our plans the first time
we escaped, and so we sought revenge. Thanks to
you and your captain, we're about to have it all."

"How?" The question was involuntary, but Crusher
needed to know, even as she realized she wouldn't
like the answer. If she received one.

Narve appeared to be in a cooperative mood. "How
do you think, Doctor? It took a lot of time and
planning, but we found out your schedule, who was
due to return to your ship immediately after the
refit. While I was taking care of your precious
Jean-Luc, my men were taking care of the rest of
the crew. By the time I had you on board this
ship, we'd already received word that the
Enterprise was under our control. We're on our way
to rendezvous with it now."

"We stopped you the first time," Crusher snapped.
"And we'll damned well do it again."

Narve's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I don't think so," he
said softly. "Your bartender won't be around this
time to interfere." His eyes grew impossibly
colder. "My best assassin, Mast, is going to take
care of that damned witch once and for all."

Crusher tried not to let her fear show in her
eyes. If Narve was cold, Mast was ice itself in
human form. She suppressed a chill at the thought
of him stalking Guinan, reminding herself that the
alien bartender had tangled with Q and the Borg
and survived to tell about it. Surely Mast
wouldn't be beyond her ability to deal with! "It
sounds like you've got everything covered," she
said slowly.

"I'd like to think so," Narve acknowledged.
"Careful planning has gotten us this far. Once we
have the ship safely out of Federation territory…"
he shrugged. "The possibilities are endless." His
eyes glinted with an emotion Crusher was in no
hurry to identify, and he leaned closer to her.
"We don't rendezvous with the ship for several
hours," he said in a near whisper that chilled her
more than any amount of yelling would have.
"However shall we pass the time until then?"

There was no longer mistaking the glint in his
eyes as he pulled her closer, and there was
nothing she could do to stop him. Not this time.

And if he was right, not ever.

---
Damsels in Distress
---
Earth

Guinan wasn't normally one for shore leave,
vacations, whatever you wanted to call time off
from her self-imposed starship duties, but the
ship's five-year refit was an exception. She found
herself at loose ends, with nothing in particular
to do and no one to do it with. Cpt. Picard had
finally made a quasi-public declaration of his
personal relationship with Dr. Crusher by making
no secret of the fact that they were meeting each
on Risa, which left reminiscing about old times
off her list of Things To Do While On Vacation.

Instead, she went to Earth. It had been literally
hundreds of years since she'd been there, and she
knew she would enjoy a quiet game of "I remember
when there was a building here" and "look what
they've done to the place since the 1890s." It
would be fun, she decided, and so it proved.

Until her last day. The day Mast tried to kill
her.

---

Guinan was walking down a street in a picturesque
town near San Francisco. She wasn't sure what
street it was; it was near the cliffs, there were
people on it and shops lining it, and that was all
she needed to know. That, and the fact that she
was actually feeling some regret that she would be
leaving in the morning, returning to the ship she
currently called home.

Her intuition was the first thing to warn her;
something was wrong. A quick glance around
confirmed that someone was following her. As she
casually turned to look into a shop window, she
saw the tall form of an Enterprise security guard
turn away so swiftly she would have doubted she'd
seen him at all if her intuition wasn't currently
screaming at her to get away.

More worrying than such atypical behavior from
someone she knew was the blood-freezingly familiar
purplish-red aura haloing his form.

How the hell had Mast gotten free?

She didn't bother trying to answer that question,
not now. Now, she was in danger, every instinct
she owned was screaming at her, and didn't
hesitate to act as those instincts told her to.
She ducked into a shop that carried fabric and
sewing needs for those who preferred unreplicated
clothing. Her expression remained serene to a
casual viewer, but she knew her lips had tightened
and that her eyes were narrowed in concentration.

Mast was free. Mast was on Earth. Mast was
stalking her. Therefore Mast's crewmates must also
be free, Narve and all the rest of them. Free, and
seeking vengeance. She'd stood in their way, now
they sought to keep her from doing so again. Like
lightning to a tree, her mind instantly came to
the correct conclusion; they wanted the ship
again, if they didn't already have it. She was
alone on Earth, the ship was preparing to leave
space dock, and the crew was even now in the
process of reporting back to duty a full week
before their civilian families and co-workers were
supposed to join them. Hijacking their bodies
would be a piece of cake under these
circumstances.

These thoughts flashed through Guinan's mind in
the time it took her to enter the shop, note its
contents, and move toward one of the overflowing
tables near the back. She picked up a piece of
metallic silver fabric, staring at it critically
before returning it to the table and moving toward
the shelves bracketing the discreet door labeled
"Employees Only." She allowed herself only the
briefest of grim smiles as she did so. She hadn't
survived Q and the Borg and countless other
threats thrown at her by the Universe only to be
taken out by some body-snatching parasite from the
Uxmal Galaxy.

Especially since they did not appear to appreciate
the value of a good Listener.

---
The Enterprise

Seventy-five women had been herded into a
secondary cargo bay, like so many reluctant sheep.
Ensign Ro scanned the room, forcing her mind away
from recent events through sheer force of will.
Living under the heel of the Cardassians had given
her the ability to distance herself, however
temporarily, from personal tragedy. It was a
survival trait, the ability to shove her emotions
aside until a convenient time to process them.

"None of the other prisoners have been injured."
Ro swung around as Dr. Selar spoken, returning her
attention to the small group huddled in the
corner. Dr. Selar, Counselor Troi, Dr. Crusher,
and herself, all standing with their backs
literally against the wall. They were the only
ones who had been singled out for "special"
treatment, according to the others she'd spoken
to. They all agreed with Selar's earlier
assessment, that it was because they'd been
instrumental in foiling the pirates' first attempt
to steal the ship and its crew. Them, and one
other... 

"Has anyone seen Guinan?" That was Crusher,
holding herself very stiffly, ignoring the
injuries to her neck, wrists and ankles, the most
obvious injuries any of them had suffered. Ro knew
her own neck was decorated with finger-shaped
bruises, and she still found it difficult to speak
above a whisper. It would have been obvious that
Crusher had been taken while still on Risa, even
if she hadn't already confirmed that was where she
and the captain had been ambushed; she was wearing
only rumpled blue shorts and a matching top and
was barefoot. She had just been brought into the
room moments before, Ro quickly bringing her to
join the others as Selar had requested.

"I do not believe Guinan will be joining us," the
Vulcan doctor replied. Like Ro and the majority of
the other prisoners, she was in uniform, her
smooth black hair rumpled for the first time Ro
ever remembered seeing. "They would consider her a
threat, and very likely unsuitable for their
secondary reason for choosing their current
captives."

Ro braced herself. Crusher was the only one of the
prisoners not to undergo the "process," as Selar
coolly referred to the humiliating and painful
search they'll all undergone before being let
loose in the confines of the cargo bay.
Humiliating, painful, and purposeful... 

"Secondary reason?" Crusher frowned, glancing over
at Troi.

The Counselor was also in civilian clothes, a
gauzy party dress that had no doubt once been
lovely. She was as shoeless as Crusher, her hair
tumbling down her bare shoulders in a disarray
that would be repaired only by diligent use of a
hairbrush and comb, neither of which was currently
available. Nevertheless, she radiated a calm that
Ro envied, even though she suspected it was as
much a front as her own stoic demeanor. "When Dr.
Selar and I were brought in, we were scanned and
searched physically. They removed anything they
thought might be used as a weapon, including all
jewelry." Ro's hand went to her ear involuntarily;
it had stopped bleeding but still ached. The
pirates hadn't been gentle in removing her
earring.

When Troi faltered, obviously searching for the
best way to tell the next part, Selar stepped in,
smoothly taking up the narrative. "After that, we
were forced to examine and remove all
contraceptive devices from our fellow captives, as
well as each other. When we initially resisted,
they shot Ensign Shalla from Engineering. They
said they'd been ordered to make an example of her
if we resisted in any way. She was brought to
Sickbay," Selar added. "Her injuries were serious
but quickly treated." She nodded toward the door.
"She is there now, with her sister Viarra." The
twins hadn't even been on board the ship the last
time the Uxmalians had taken it over.

"They removed contraceptive devices and had you
examine everyone for what? Childbearing
capabilities?" Crusher asked, her voice
incredulous.

Troi nodded. "If the Uxmalians intend, as before,
to return to their home galaxy, such a journey
would take hundreds of years. No one on board
would live long enough...  "

"So they need breeding stock," Ro finished, her
voice harsh, raspy, but clear.

"Breeding stock," Crusher repeated, her voice and
face reflecting the loathing she felt at such a
concept. "They'll force us to have children, then
take over those children's bodies whenever they
want to...  " This time she was the one unable to
go on, with Selar, relentlessly logical, reaching
the conclusion.

"They will bring our daughters up to bear more
children, and our sons to be nothing more than
future hosts. And they will no doubt eliminate any
they consider extraneous to their needs."

The others looked as sick as Ro felt. She'd
understood the implications of the removal of her
contraceptive device and brusque medical exam, but
hadn't allowed herself to follow to the logical
conclusion Selar had so brutally pointed out.
Extraneous offspring would be eliminated, and so,
too, would they once their usefulness was at an
end.

---
Earth
---

Guinan ducked through the small door and followed
the narrow corridor to the back room of the shop
as smoothly as if she'd traveled that route a
hundred times. She didn't expect this tactic to
throw Mast off her track, just hoped it would buy
her a little time. Time to think, time to plan.
He'd followed her into the shop, abandoning any
attempt at evasion once he realized she'd
recognized him. Even though she'd waited until she
was temporarily blocked from his view by an influx
of customers, she knew it wouldn't take him more
than seconds to figure out where she'd vanished
to.

She startled a pair of employees on break as she
hurried through the small back room, not bothering
to say anything as she focused on the back door.
They half-rose to their feet as she passed, but
she kept going and was out the door before they
could do or say anything more. Mast would be
following, and she had to put more distance
between them as quickly as possible.

Guinan sped down the alleyway that ran the length
of the row of attached buildings she'd just left,
her mind working at lightning speed as she tried
to orient herself. Both the alley she was in and
the quiet side street she was fairly certain it
opened onto were the worst possible places to be
when Mast inevitably caught up with her; the busy
street she'd abandoned earlier was safer. The
assassin was unlikely to act in front of so many
witnesses. If she could just keep ahead of him,
long enough to throw him off her trail, to be able
to take the time and spare the concentration to
mask her presence, she would be able to escape and
report his presence to the local Starfleet
authorities.

There was a sound behind her, and she increased
her speed, sparing a moment to glance over her
shoulder. Mast was coming, had caught up to her
faster than she anticipated. Guinan lowered her
head and hunched her shoulders as she sped up,
running flat out, expecting at any moment to feel
a phaser blast. It never came. Mast didn't seem to
be in any hurry to catch up to her, and it wasn't
long before she found out why.

She'd reached a dead end. Guinan skidded to a
disbelieving halt as she faced, not the street
she'd expected, but instead the shimmer of a
low-level force field. She'd run toward the cliffs
by mistake. And now she was trapped.

The sound of approaching footsteps told her just
how much of a dead end this was. Her mind raced as
she took in her situation, looking rapidly around,
noting the location of the force field controls
just above shoulder level on the wall next to her,
the lack of doorways, even the roughness of the
cobblestones beneath her feet. With all that in
mind, she turned and prepared to the do the only
thing she could. Clearing her mind, she
concentrated on what she had to do.

No sign of emotion crossed Mast's borrowed face as
he turned the corner and saw his prey. Trapped, as
he'd anticipated, with no where to go. She knew
it, too; her eyes snapped open and she bit her lip
as she spotted him, and the phaser he now held at
the ready. Aimed at her. She backed away from him,
one hand trailing along the wall as if to brace
herself. If he'd been the fanciful kind, he might
have imagined he smelled the fear rolling off her,
fear that shone so clearly in her eyes and body
language even as she fought to keep it from her
expression. Imagination, however, had never been
one of his weaknesses. He was a killer, good at
his job, taking a quiet satisfaction in his skill
but never more than that. Because of this lack of
emotion, the centuries of imprisonment he and his
crewmates had just escaped weighed less heavily on
him than any of the others, including Narve.

Control of his own emotions meant he was equally
adept at dealing with his host's emotions; he
would never lose control the way Verek had during
their first escape attempt. Even Narve had no idea
how easy it was for Mast to ignore the emotional
outbursts of others, simply because he was not
subject to them himself.

Not even now, when he was about to kill an enemy
that had caused so much trouble for him, who had
been behind the riot in Ten Forward that had
allowed the women to escape, did he feel more than
a fleeting sense of satisfaction. He was
completing his assigned mission, not exacting
personal vengeance. Even if he had been acting
from such emotion, Guinan was going to be just as
dead when he finished with her. He raised the
phaser.

Guinan stared at him, her face and body tense as
she lifted her arms in a warding gesture... 

... and slapped her hands down on a control panel
she'd been concealing behind one sleeve, lowering
the force field and launching herself over the
cliff in a move that startled Mast with its speed
as  well as its desperation. He wasted no more
than a single blink of an eye before he, too, was
in motion, his body moving even as his mind 
continued to process what he'd just seen. His hand
was already aiming the phaser with the same
careful precision he brought to all his 
assignments. As he watched Guinan's body
disintegrate in the phaser beam, he gave a tiny
nod of approval. She hadn't pled for her life, 
hadn't tried bargaining or bribery; nor had she
wept or screamed. Instead, she tried the only
thing she could. One last attempt at escape.

A failed attempt. He noted the churning surf
below, the jagged rocks  at the bottom of the
sheer cliff face that she would never have been 
able to escape, even in the unlikely event that
his shot missed. Even if she had landed, he would
have found a way to follow, to destroy her body
rather than leave anything to chance.

He stood for a moment longer, then holstered his
phaser as emotionlessly as he had used it.
Pressing his comm badge, he spoke.  "Mast here.
Mission accomplished."

"Good." Worf's voice was thick with satisfaction,
almost unrecognizable through the gloating tone.
"We'll meet you at the  shuttle. Peris out."

Mast carefully restored the force field, then
turned and walked  briskly down the alley without
a backward glance.

---
Boarding Party
---

Mast disappeared around the corner. Behind him, a
figure stirred, then stepped out of the darkness
of a nearby doorway once it was clear he was gone
and not coming back.

Guinan raised a shaking hand to wipe the sweat
beaded on her forehead, then sprinted down the
alleyway after Mast. It was a strain to use her
abilities so soon after masking herself and
creating a false image for the assassin to 'kill',
but she had no other choice. I'm getting too old
for this, she thought. Way, way too old.

Putting such useless thoughts behind her, she
quickened her pace. Mast was just ahead, and she
concentrated on just being part of the crowd. It
was a particularly useful skill, the ability to
blend in with a crowd while at the same time
keeping an individual from realizing they were
being watched. She'd narrowly escaped death this
time, and she was determined not to be caught off
guard again.

Now, the only trick was how she was going to get
back to the Enterprise. Following Mast was all
well and good, but if he transported anywhere she
was out of options. She was betting on him having
a shuttle nearby; all she could do now was keep an
eye on him and hope for the best. If she lost him,
her next step would be to contact Starfleet
Command and alert them to the situation. If she
had the time to spare, she would do it now, but
she knew once she was on the comm system it would
be too late; Mast would be gone, and along with
him any chance of finding out exactly what the
Uxmalians were up to. That the Enterprise was
involved, she had no doubt; why else take over
another of her crewmembers?

So all she had to do was follow him, get aboard
the ship without getting caught, alert Starfleet,
stop whatever the pirates were planning, help
rescue the crewmembers whose bodies' they'd taken
over, and make sure no one was killed in the
process.

"Piece of cake," she muttered sourly.

---
The Enterprise
---

"Mast is aboard," Larsch reported, swiveling
around to face Narve. "He confirms that the witch
is dead."

Narve nodded; he'd expected nothing short of
success where his chosen assassin was concerned.
"Good. That's one less complication." He smiled.
"Now we can put our plans into action and get the
hell out of this galaxy. Is everyone on board?" He
glanced at Verek.

His Second nodded. "The entire crew is aboard, all
150 present and accounted for. Also the 75 women
in Cargo Bay 3. The rest of the crew were secured
as ordered."

The remaining Enterprise crew had been stranded on
a small moon in an out-of-the-way system. Once the
ship was safely under way, an automatic distress
signal would be sent out, allowing them to be
rescued. Verek had protested, reminding Narve of
leaving a live enemy at your back. Narve had
countered with the blunt truth: if they killed
hundreds of Federation citizens, Starfleet would
be relentless in seeking justice for the deaths,
and the penalties would be more severe than those
exacted for mere kidnapping and hijacking.
Obliteration, perhaps, rather than mere return to
exile. "No mass murders," he'd stated, and Verek
had backed down, especially after Narve added:
"Not in this galaxy, at least." That had more than
satisfied his bloodthirsty Second, the promise of
vengeance to be wreaked on those who had
imprisoned and exiled them to this remote and
primitive area.

Verek spoke up once more. "Starfleet believes the
entire crew is on board, and we're supposed to
head out on a short diplomatic mission before the
families are due to return."

"Then by all means, let us head out," Narve
replied, his cold smile matching that of his
Second. "Mr. Larsch, you know what to do."

Larsch had stubbornly insisted on reoccupying
Riker's body, even after the trouble he'd had
maintaining control over his host's mind the last
time, and even though Riker wasn't a navigation
specialist the way Larsch was. Narve was willing
to overlook the first fact, as long as Larsch
could maintain control better this time around,
and was amused by the second. Whether he realized
it consciously or not, he was broadcasting his
intention to Challenge someday. Not necessarily
Narve himself, but certainly Verek, his Second,
or, more likely, Mylal, his Third. Mylal had opted
to inhabit the Chief Engineer's body this time
around in the absence of Transporter Chief
O'Brien, and Narve could practically see Larsch
calculating his chances every time the two them
met up. It would certainly be entertaining, Narve
thought, waiting to see how long it would take
before Larsch found the courage, or the backing,
to try.

Narve allowed none of these thoughts to show as
Larsch turned back to this board and set the ship
on its ostensible heading. By the time Starfleet,
or anyone else for that matter, realized that
their flagship was missing, it would be too late.
He moved to the center seat and sank into it,
luxuriating in the feel of it beneath his body,
noting how well they fit together. Chew on that,
Picard, he smirked silently. I have your seat, I
have your ship, I have your woman, and I have your
body. Everything that was yours is now mine, and
this time you won't get it back. Ever. "It's time
this Storm returned, and time, perhaps for this
ship to be rechristened. We agreed on
Stormbringer, did we not?"

There was a shout of agreement from his men, but
nothing but silence from Picard. Narve could feel
the sullen resentment emanating from his host's
imprisoned consciousness, and reveled in it. The
name they'd chosen was perfect, both as a symbol
of their former bondage, and as a not-so-subtle
threat. The Storm was returning, and their galaxy
would know the wrath of a Storm unbound by the
restrictions of a physical body. Although their
jailers hadn't intended it that way, they'd
actually done the exiles a favor by separating
their consciousnesses from their bodies; now, they
could take over any body they chose, wreak havoc
or vengeance at their leisure. They'd been granted
virtual immortality as well, another unintended
benefit. What had been deemed a more merciful
punishment than death would spell doom for the
descendents of those who had set that punishment
on them.

"Course plotted in to mimic our assigned route, to
be overridden at the predetermined set point to
head us toward the Uxmal Galaxy," Larsch
announced, interrupting Narve's musings. "ETA,
approximately 297.5 years."

Narve smiled, Picard's inadvertent burst of
outrage echoing through his mind just long enough
for him to enjoy his prisoner's helplessness.
Then, with ruthless efficiency, he shut Picard
into a mental ‘box,' casually thrusting him aside
until he felt like tormenting him further with
glimpses into the outside world.

That ability, which came so easily to Narve and
some members of his crew, had proven unexpectedly
difficult for the rest of his men. He'd
automatically assumed that because he could do it,
they would be able to manage it as well, but their
last attempt at a takeover of the Enterprise had
proven the dangers of that assumption. One of the
few who could manage was Verek, which was a
relief. Verek had his faults; his control of his
temper wasn't always what it should be, but at
least it was his own temper he had a hard time
controlling. The first time this ship had been
taken, Mylal had nearly lost himself in Miles
O'Brien's memories, and Larsch had barely kept
Riker restrained.

This lack of control might prove to be a problem
in the future; a man whose attention was split
between an internal struggle for control and
whatever was going on around him could be
dangerous. If any of them were distracted by such
a struggle during a battle, it could have
disastrous results. Fortunately, they had a long
journey ahead of them through intergalactic space;
plenty of time for his men to perfect their
control.

The hosts might struggle, the female hostages
would no doubt make numerous attempts at escape,
but in the end time was on his side.

---
Control Issues
---

The struggle for control over a recalcitrant host
mind was the furthest thing from Verek's thoughts.
He was unaware of Narve's doubts in that area, too
preoccupied with more personal concerns to notice
those of his commander.

Verek had closed Data's admittedly powerful
intellect into as effective and inescapable a box
as Narve had Picard's, and took no small
satisfaction in knowing he was one of the few of
his commander's men that could do so. What he
hadn't told Narve, however, was that he was also
able to limit the outside knowledge that Data
received, that the android was only an observer of
outside events when and if Verek allowed him to
be.

He took even more satisfaction in knowing that
even Narve couldn't control Picard to that extent.
Whether it was because of Verek's personal
abilities or something to do with the way Data's
positronic brain was partitioned, he neither knew
nor cared. As long as it was something he could do
and no one else could, he would keep it to
himself. Knowledge was power, and even though he
had no aspirations to lead this crew, neither was
he foolish enough to think that his lack of
ambition was shared by others. He had seen Larsch
calculating his chances of Challenging Narve the
last time this ship had been under their control,
and he knew others felt the same way. Not that
anyone had a problem with Narve, but Verek knew
almost everyone thought they could run things
better, given half a chance. No matter how wrong
they might be; he knew that Narve was the right
one to lead them. He had them now, but one slip
and it could all be over. That was the way it had
always been, and they accepted it. It made the
game that much more exhilarating.

Or at least, it used to. Now, on the eve on almost
certain success, something was bothering him, and
it had taken him most of the day to pin it down.

It was the subtlety of the problem that had caused
him so much difficulty, but he had finally figured
it out. He wasn't feeling as satisfied as he
should be. Not that he was in the habit of
dissecting his emotions, but something was telling
him some, some instinct was warning him, that
there was something off about those emotions, and
that it had been building for some time now.

He'd been in control of Data for nearly a month, a
month during which he'd been forced to maintain
rigid control over his own emotions in order to
keep the plan from being found out too soon.
Unlike the first time he'd taken over Data, there
was more riding on his maintaining that control
and less desperation in the immediate
circumstances. It had helped, knowing they were
already far from that damned prison and the
endless whirling of the storm they'd been both
trapped in and an integral part of. This time he
was under much less of a strain not only because
he and his fellow prisoners had already made good
their initial escape, but also because he wasn't
facing anyone who brought out his more combative
instincts, like the Klingon or Picard. Not
unintentionally, Data had been the first person
back on the ship after his “leave,” and that
solitude had helped Verek perfect his mimicry to
the point where it had become almost second
nature.

Perhaps that was the problem; he'd become so used
to suppressing his emotions, attempting to be Data
to the few people who weren't already assimilated
by fellow Uxmalians, that he simply needed to
remember it was safe for his own personality to
re-emerge.

He'd give it some more time; if, however, the
problem turned out to be more complicated than it
appeared, he would be faced with a dilemma: he
would either be forced to admit a weakness to
Narve, who had never been one tolerate weakness in
any of his followers, or he would have to find
some other way to deal with the situation.

He only hoped the second option would be available
to him.

---

The Trouble with Verek
---
They materialized in one of the secondary
transporter rooms. Crusher took a step forward as
she saw Data at the console, then stopped as she
realized it wasn't the longed-for rescue. Even if
Data hadn't been smiling, the phaser in his hand
would have been a dead giveaway. "Why did you
bring us here?" she demanded. May as well take the
initiative.

"Ro Laren, what a pleasant surprise!" Verek said,
ignoring Crusher. He pulled the Bajoran ensign
closer, thrusting the phaser against her head. She
stood stoically, even as Troi's face betrayed a
flash of the pain the other woman was feeling.
Verek jerked his head toward two pair of binders
sitting on the edge of the console. "Put these on.
I'll kill Laren if you don't." He leaned forward,
brushing her wounded ear with his lips as he
whispered, "How kind of you to offer yourself as
hostage to their good behavior."

Troi and Crusher stepped down from the transporter
pad, trading unhappy glances as they obediently
slid their hands into the restraints. Once they
were secured to Verek's satisfaction, he pulled Ro
around, keeping her directly in front of him as he
ordered the other two to walk slowly in front of
him out of the doors and into the deserted
corridor.

"We'll be making a brief stop; since I wasn't
expecting you, I'll have to put you someplace
while I conclude my business with these two,"
Verek told Ro. "But don't worry; I'll be back
to... keep you company." Ro didn't respond, but
couldn't help the stiffening of her shoulders at
the implications in Verek's words. She felt the
rumble of a low chuckle in the back of his throat,
and had to resist the impulse to turn and stare at
him. Had that chuckle sounded... forced?

Verek said nothing else until they reached their
destination: Data's quarters. Of course. He
ushered them all inside, locking the door and
herding them toward the closet. Data's cat, Spot,
hissed at him and ran into the other room, which
Verek ignored but Ro and Crusher both noted and
filed away for future reference. In this
situation, knowledge was most definitely power.
"You, Doctor," Verek ordered. "Come here."

Crusher held her hands out obediently and allowed
Verek to remove the binders without protest. The
phaser was still securely jammed against Ro's head
as she followed his next orders and placed her
binders on the wrists of the younger woman.

When the binders were securely fastened, Verek
transferred the phaser to Crusher's head and
ordered Ro into the closet. "Don't try anything,"
he said. "You might be thinking that I wouldn't
kill Crusher after going to so much trouble to get
her out here, but there's another doctor back in
the cargo bay that'll be just as useful. And just
so you know, the computer console and replicator
are disabled till we leave Federation space, per
Narve's orders."

Ro didn't bother answering, but the hatred in her
eyes spoke volumes as the door whooshed shut,
closing her off from the other women's view.

Troi and Crusher moved quickly as Verek increased
his speed. Neither was surprised when he brought
them to a turbolift, and from there to Sickbay.
"The transporters are offline again, only
available for use by myself, Narve and Mylal," he
started to explain, but Crusher cut him off.

"So we surmised. What do you want with us?" She
met his eyes, gaining some satisfaction when he
was the first to turn away. It was becoming
increasingly obvious that Verek had taken them out
of the cargo bay for his own purposes, not on
Narve's orders, and she was curious to know
exactly why he'd risked his commander's wrath in
taking these actions.

"I have a... situation I need your assistance with."
He hesitated, then continued. "I need to know if
there's something wrong with this android body, if
being in it might be able to affect me." Verek
pushed her toward a medical cart, on which waited
a tricorder and an array of medical sensors. "Take
some readings, Doctor, and tell me if everything's
the way it should be." The phaser never wavered in
his grip, but Crusher felt a wave of relief at no
longer feeling its muzzle against her temple.

Although neither his face nor his voice showed it,
Crusher concluded that Verek had to be desperately
worried to admit to any kind of weakness, no
matter how vaguely worded. Doubly so to admit it
to prisoners. She and Troi exchanged glances
before the doctor lowered her eyes to the
tricorder, made a few adjustments, then held it up
to scan Data.

"All Data's readings are normal," she pronounced
after a moment spent frowning over the readout.
"Nothing appears to be physically wrong... no, wait,"
she said with a frown. She made another
adjustment, then held up the tricorder and scanned
him again. "Now what is that," she murmured,
intrigued in spite of the dangers of the
situation.

"What? What is what?" Verek demanded.

"I'm not sure," Crusher replied, too preoccupied
with the unusual neural readings to notice Verek's
hand tightening on the phaser. Troi, however,
tensed as Crusher finally looked up. "I need to
modify this tricorder to monitor your biochemical
signature." At his blank expression, she added:
"Your aura. That's what Narve called it. I presume
you can see it as well as he can?"

Verek nodded, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why
do you need to monitor it?"

"It might give me the information I need to
interpret this information," Crusher explained
patiently, tapping the tricorder with one finger.
"I don't know a lot about you, either in your
previous or your current physical states, the
differences between you in a body or out of one.
If I'm going to help you with whatever it is
that's driven you to bringing Counselor Troi and I
here, then I have to know a lot more than I do
right now."

Verek frowned, then nodded. "All right," came his
reluctant agreement. "Go ahead and make your
modifications. But don't try anything," he warned.
"I'll be watching, and Data knows enough about
modifying your equipment to send out a distress
signal that I'll be able to tell if you try
anything like that. If you do," he added, nodding
at Troi, "she'll pay the price." He brought the
phaser up with deliberate slowness to rest against
the counselor's cheek.

Crusher nodded. "I understand." So much for Plan
'B.' She lowered her eyes, to block out the view
before her. It would only distract her at a time
when she needed to focus on the task at hand. Part
of that task was clearly spelling out her next set
of actions for Verek, so he didn't misinterpret
anything she did. "First I'm going to take some
readings on myself and Counselor Troi, to act as a
comparative baseline." She didn't wait for an
answer, just turned the tricorder first on Troi
and then on herself.

Crusher went very still as her readings came up,
then raked her eyes over them a second time, just
to confirm that she'd really seen what she
thought. But it was still there, one anomalous
reading disrupting the comforting stream of
otherwise familiar data. She knew Troi must have
sensed her reaction, but also knew the other woman
would keep it to herself. She forced herself to
return to the task at hand.

It didn't take long to calibrate the tricorder to
read Verek's aura. She smiled in grim triumph as
she scanned Data, then brought the tricorder over
to the computer to download the information. There
was no need for Verek to warn her against trying
anything; he merely nodded and shoved Troi closer,
the better to monitor the two of them. The
counselor handled it with a cool stoicism Crusher
wasn't sure she could have managed were their
positions reversed. Troi offered a tiny smile of
encouragement, no doubt sensing the doctor's
concern for her, but continued to wait silently as
Crusher finished the data download and forced
herself to focus on the information that began
scrolling down the computer screen.

After a few minutes, Crusher managed a triumphant
smile of her own as she transferred the new
algorithm back into the tricorder and pointed it
at Data's head. A cool blue light flickered into
existence on the tiny screen, just as she'd hoped
to see, with the information being translated into
text and figures below the image. She added a
filter to allow her to view Data's positronic and
neural networks, to compare the current reading
with information she already had on file, then
factor in the aura and Verek's own distinctive
neurological readings...  

Crusher frowned, made a few more adjustments, then
compared the new results to the readings she'd
just taken. "Verek, what do you know about your
aura? Is it the physiological manifestation of
your neural link to your host, or does it serve
some other purpose?" When he hesitated, she added
impatiently, "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't
important for me to know."

"Narve says it functions the way you described,
but he also believes its linked to our
consciousness in other ways," he admitted
grudgingly.

"How?"

Verek shrugged. "He says it has something to do
with the way we were forced out of our bodies,
that it's a way for us to be identified. They
didn't spend a lot of time explaining things to us
after we were tried and condemned," he added with
a hint of sarcasm. "Just drugged us, told us our
punishment, and shipped us off to what they
thought was the middle of nowhere."

Troi frowned as he spoke, but kept her thoughts,
whatever they were, to herself. But Crusher could
see her eyeing Verek with a speculative gleam that
hadn't been there before. "So they marked you,"
was all she said, still addressing their captor.
"Something to let them know if you'd managed to
take over a body before your imprisonment." It
made sense; if the Uxmalians had developed a way
to remove a consciousness from a body, then it
stood to reason that they would also develop a way
to return it as well.

"Is any of this going to help me?" was all Verek
asked.

"I don't know," Crusher replied. "But any
information could be useful. The problem is, I
don't know what I'm supposed to being looking
for."

"I just want to know if being in Data's body,
since its synthetic, could affect me," he said
after a long moment. "I don't want to have to give
it up, so I have to know everything I can about
it."

Crusher waited a beat, then turned back to the
computer console. She used a virtual keyboard to
input her instructions and respond to queries,
rather than using voice commands. Verek wanted to
be secretive, fine; then so would she. She was
under no illusions; Narve had demonstrated a lack
of tolerance for any perceived deficiencies in his
crew, and she doubted he would be lenient just
because Verek was his Second. If there was
something about Data's body that could affect
Verek, at the very least he would be forced to
give up that body, which Verek obviously didn't
want to do.

It didn't take Crusher long to find something, now
that she had something more to go on. "Now that's
interesting," she murmured.

"What?"

"Your aura appears to be wavering," Crusher
replied, foregoing the scientific explanation for
the purely descriptive. It would have more of an
impact than "the bioelectrical field you emanate
is exhibiting some anomalous energy readings
indicative of pattern fluctuation." She turned
back to the tricorder with a frown. "Taken in
conjunction with the other data I've gathered, it
almost looks as if there were some kind
of...  internal struggle going on."

"That's not possible, Doctor," Verek replied
flatly. "There has to be another reason. I am in
complete control of this body. Commander Data is
still my prisoner; nothing has changed."

"Hasn't it?" Troi interjected suddenly. "I can
sense your emotions, and they aren't nearly as
strong as they were even a short time ago."

Understanding dawned in Crusher's eyes, along with
a savage glee she was only partially able to
contain. She aimed the tricorder at Data once
again, to see if Troi's empathic evidence could be
quantified.

"That's ridiculous!" Verek spat out, his voice
straining to eject the words with an angry snarl
and failing miserably. "How could something like
that happen?" It obviously wasn't what he'd
expected to hear, but even the panic in his voice
was muted, faded, like the colors in an old
painting.

"It's Data's body," Crusher replied, keeping her
voice carefully neutral. "It's affecting your
emotions. They no longer have a physical housing;
they've basically been going on momentum. All you
have is the memory of emotions, rather than the
real thing. Your mind has retained those memories,
just as it retained it cohesiveness when it was
separated from your body. But now you have a new
body, one that wasn't designed to process
emotions."

"How is this possible?" Verek asked, sounding even
more subdued.

"I suppose it's because you've been in Data's body
long enough for his physiology to affect your
neurological functions," Crusher said with a
shrug. "Your personality, your sense of self,
haven't changed, but your emotions are controlled
to a large extent by the neurological and chemical
processes in your nervous and endocrine systems,
in your brain. Which is now Data's positronic
brain."

His reaction wasn't long in coming. "Well, Doctor,
if that's the case, then perhaps its time I took a
new body." No hesitation there; once the problem
was defined, he instantly made the only decision
possible. He raised the phaser, taking careful aim
at Crusher...  

...  before collapsing to the deck in a lifeless heap
before the disbelieving eyes of the two women.

"And maybe it's time you had your stolen body
taken away from you," Guinan said, nudging Data's
unconscious form with one toe before raising her
eyes to those of a still-gaping Beverly Crusher.
"Well, Doctor, it seems to be my lot in life to
rescue you from these pirates."

---
Comings and Goings
---

Crusher's mouth clicked shut as she groped for
something to say. "Where did you come from?" she
finally managed to get out. "I didn't even see
you!"

"Nor did I," Troi added. "I didn't even sense
you."

"And don't think that didn't take a lot of
concentration," Guinan replied, looking steadily
at both women. "Too much for me to try and
influence Verek as well; if he'd turned around,
that would have been the end of it. If he saw you
two reacting to me, no matter how briefly, he
would have known something was up."

She didn't bother explaining how strained her
resources were after what she'd gone through,
first in deceiving Mast and then his companions on
the shuttle as it made its way back to the
Enterprise. Not to mention spending a week
ghosting around the less-used decks of the ship, a
ghost ship indeed with only 150 men moving around
it after housing over a thousand people. She'd
been unable to gain access to any of the
computers, communicators or weapons, but had
gleaned the location of the 75 prisoners. It was
pure luck that she'd chosen today to make her way
to Sickbay, in hopes that eventually a prisoner
would be brought in for treatment. At least, she
believed it was luck; she certainly hadn't been
the one to influence Verek's timing.

"I apologize for turning your attention away from
me," was all she did say. "It was necessary or I
wouldn't have done it.

Crusher nodded acceptance of Guinan's words, Troi
echoing the gesture as the doctor knelt next to
Data's unconscious form. She plucked the
electronic key to the binders from his lax hand,
then released Troi, who rubbed her wrists
gratefully. They offered Guinan a hasty
explanation of how they came to be in Sickbay,
then returned their attention to Data.

"The first thing we need to do is hide the
evidence," Crusher announced, rolling their fellow
crewmate fully onto his back with a grunt of
effort. "I don't think anyone else knows what he
was up to, or else Narve would have put the ship
on red alert. Especially if anyone noticed the
transport; Verek timed it for when one of the
guards had stepped outside. It's possible the
other guard acted as his accomplice and just
turned a blind eye when we vanished, but I don't
know that for sure. Either way, I doubt he'll say
anything to Narve, at least not right away. That
leaves us some time." She pulled Data's
communicator off his chest and handed it to Troi,
who threw it down the nearest disposal chute as
Crusher rose to her fee.

"Now what?" the counselor asked.

"We should get Ensign Ro out of Verek's quarters,"
Crusher replied. "Once Narve realizes Verek is
missing, she's sure to be discovered and
questioned."

"You said Verek relocked the transporters, so it
sounds like we'll have to get her out ourselves,"
Guinan put in. "Plus that means we can't count on
them to capture the pirates."

Crusher nodded. "Which means we'll have to get
more creative this time. Verek enabled this
computer console," she tapped it with one finger,
"which means we can use it. I have an idea--"

Before she could continue, Troi raised a hand to
silence her. "I think it would be best if you
waited until I left before you explain anything."

"Leave? Where are you going?"

"To free Ensign Ro." She stooped to pick up
Verek's phaser, hesitated, then handed it back to
Crusher. "You'd better keep this, Beverly. Ro and
I will make our way back here if we can, but if
don't return in a reasonable amount of time you
and Guinan should consider us captured and get as
far away as you can."

"Good luck," was all Guinan said. Crusher gave her
friend a quick hug, then watched silently as she
made her way to the Jeffries tube, wrenching the
cover free and crawling inside, quickly
disappearing from view. Guinan replaced the cover
while Crusher looked around for a good place to
hide Data's body.

"What's next?"

Crusher walked over to the nearest bulkhead and
pulled a crash cart aside. Behind it was a storage
locker. She opened it and gestured toward its
empty interior. "We put Data in here with a
tricorder to shield his readings; I should be able
to rig one to make it seem there's nothing there
that shouldn't be. Plus we'll put this," she
touched the handle of the cart, "back in front of
it." She suited words to action and moved back to
Data's body, lifting his arms. Guinan grabbed his
feet and the two of them managed to half-drag,
half-carry him to the locker and stuff him inside.
While Guinan made sure he was completely inside,
Troi quickly rigged the tricorder, then handed it
to the other woman and headed for the computer
console.

"Now we get ready to leave."

"And go where?" Guinan shut the door and locked
it, then moved the heavy cart in front of it while
Crusher dashed over to the computer console and
gave it a rapid-fire string of commands. "This
computer has a direct link to the one in the bio
lab two decks down, so I should be able to remote
start it from here—yes!" she interrupted herself,
smiling in grim satisfaction. "All set." She
picked up the medical tricorder she'd used to scan
Verek's aura and ordered the computer to
deactivate itself. "Let's go." She hesitated, then
handed Guinan the phaser. "You're going to have to
act as bodyguard, I'm afraid."

Guinan merely nodded and took the weapon,
automatically checking its settings before
settling it comfortably in her right hand. "It's a
job I've held before, and since I can't do
whatever it is you plan on doing, it makes perfect
sense."

They headed for the Jeffries tube, Guinan pulling
the panel shut behind them before turning
awkwardly around in the cramped space and
following Crusher as she headed for the junction
to the next level. "So, is the plan one you can
share, or do you think you'd better keep it to
yourself?"

"Do you think the Uxmalians can possess you?"
Crusher asked in response.

Guinan smiled, although the other woman couldn't
see it. "No," was all she said.

Crusher took her at her word, explaining her idea
in short bursts as they crawled along. "I think I
gathered enough neurological data from Verek to
figure out how they were separated from their
bodies. And from that, I should be able to
reverse-engineer it in a way our own technology
can duplicate or at least come up with a
comparable method."

"And what exactly did they do?"

"Their minds and bodies were put out of phase,"
Crusher continued the explanation, somewhat
breathlessly, pausing as they started down the
ladder. "The aura is not only the physiological
manifestation of their mental energy, but has been
deliberately modified to make it easier to tell if
they attempt to take over someone's body. I
believe the original procedure may have been
developed for medical purposes, rather than
judicial, then modified. Perhaps as a type of
anesthetic," she theorized. "Remove the
consciousness from the body, perform the
procedure, then reintegrate the two after healing
has commenced."

"Which helps us get them out of their stolen
bodies how?" Guinan asked, gently nudging the
doctor back on topic as they left the ladder and
continued down another tube. Only a few more
minutes, the doctor had estimated, and they would
be at the next junction, only meters away from the
entry to the bio lab.

Crusher threw an apologetic grin over her
shoulder. "Sorry, I was lecturing. The upshot is,
based on the neurological information I obtained
and the way the auras were modified for
identification, I believe I can create a subspace
field that will simulate the method by which they
originally separated from their bodies. One the
field is generated, they'll be forced out and
won't be able to back in until its shut down. By
then we should be able to get the transporters up
and running, capture them, contain them, and get
them back off the ship."

"And out of our lives for good," Guinan agreed. It
was a well-thought out plan, as long as Crusher
was as confident of her ability to put it into
action as she sounded.

And as long as they were granted enough time to do
so.

---
Stumbling Blocks
---

Troi reached Data's quarters without incident. She
studied the door from the relative safety of a
nearby alcove, reaching with her empathic senses
as well as listening and looking around carefully.
She neither saw nor heard anyone, and the only
presence she sensed was that of a highly outraged
Ensign Ro Laren. Taking a deep, calming breath and
letting it out slowly, Troi darted from her hiding
place and raced the few paces down the corridor to
Data's quarters. When she arrived, she wasted no
time in punching in the medical emergency code she
hoped would override any locks Verek had placed on
the door, her fingers moving nimbly even as she
continued to broadcast her empathic senses in
hopes of eluding any pursuit.

The door slid open mere seconds later. Troi's sigh
of relief turned to a startled "oof" as she was
suddenly shoved to the deck. It was Ro, who had
managed to free herself from both the binders and
the closet, and had been waiting for someone to
try and enter Data's quarters. She'd hurled
herself through the entrance before the doors had
fully opened, rolled off and bounced to her feet,
pausing only long enough to determine who it was
she'd downed. She held a combative pose until Troi
said quietly, "I've come to get you out. Verek has
been taken care of for now, but we don't have much
time before Narve realizes something's wrong."

Ro nodded, pulling Troi to her feet without
bothering to apologize. The two women aimed
themselves at a dead run for the Jeffries Tube
Troi had just exited. Time was truly of the
essence; if they could make it into hiding without
getting caught, Crusher's tentative plans might
still have a chance. If not... 

Troi refused to consider any option other than
success. She continued after Ro without pause,
casting her empathy like a net as she sped down
the hall, every sense straining.

They almost made it. Less than ten feet away from
the entrance they sought, Troi sensed another mind
bearing down on them. She shouted a warning to Ro,
but it was too late. Mast's emotions were as
controlled and hard to read as those of a Vulcan;
Troi hadn't sensed him until he was much closer
than she realized. A phaser blast tore into the
wall beside her, and she froze. Ro, however,
continued stubbornly wrenching at the cover to the
tube, stopping only when a second phaser blast
came close enough to singe the hairs on the back
of her hand. She pulled her hands away slowly,
cursing under her breath and turning to face their
captor with a great deal of hatred. They'd been so
close... 

Mast spoke not a word, showed not a sign of being
surprised or angry at their presence. He merely
waved them away from the opening and waited,
phaser trained directly at them, until he was
joined by a breathless pair of former security
guards. The proximity of Verek's stolen quarters
had apparently not escaped Mast's notice; he set
the two newcomers to guard the women while he
cautiously checked to make sure no one else was
where they shouldn't be.

He emerged from the doorway with a quick shake of
his head. Still without speaking, he jerked his
head at the others and continued down the corridor
to the nearest turbolift, waiting with no sign of
impatience as the guards hustled the women down
the hall to join him.

"Bridge."

Mast's coldly spoken order was the only thing he
said, or allowed anyone else to say. When one of
the guards started a jeering comment to Troi, Mast
cut him off with a glare. Troi and Ro exchanged
worried glances as they sped toward their
destination, each wondering why Mast was waiting
to question them regarding either their escape or
Verek's whereabouts. The bridge was the last place
they wanted to be right now, but the longer it
took for anyone to try and get information out of
them, the longer Crusher had to put her plans in
motion.

Troi had no illusions about how easy it would be
for Narve to extract whatever information he could
get from either of his newly recaptured prisoners;
all he had to do was order one of his men to
possess them and he would have a starting point in
searching for Beverly, not to mention the possibly
more valuable information that Guinan was alive
and free on the ship. Unfortunately, as she knew
from past experience, he was equally willing to
use more conventional means to break a prisoner's
will, and she anticipated that with a dread she
did her best to hide from the others. It would
serve no purpose to allow Ro to see how frightened
she was, and she certainly had no intention of
giving her captors that satisfaction. She had
faced down her demons with Picard after Narve had
used the captain's body to rape her during their
last encounter, but that wasn't the same as seeing
Narve in charge of him again. Not the same at all... 

Troi stumbled as Mast shoved her out of the
turbolift and onto the bridge, but she quickly
regained her footing. She automatically sought out
Will Riker, sitting at Ops, but forced her glance
away as Narve stepped into her line of sight. It
was the first she'd seen of him, and it didn't
surprise her to find that he'd disdained even the
marginal camouflage of a Starfleet uniform in
favor of a sleek black jumpsuit that gave Picard's
features a stark, forbidding aspect more suited to
the personality now dominating the captain's body.
She felt her stomach clench at the sight of him,
but did her best to keep an emotionless façade.
Even so, she couldn't help a slight flinch as his
gaze swept over first herself, then Ensign Ro,
before turning to their captor for an explanation.
"Mast?"

"I brought them here so you could question them
directly," the assassin replied as he moved away
from the two women, allowing his companions to
continue to act as guards. "I found them trying to
get into a Jeffries Tube near Verek's quarters." A
significant pause. "He, however, was nowhere to be
seen."

"How convenient." Narve eyed the two women coldly.
"I take it your presence has something to do with
my Second's absence?" There was an underlying fury
to his words that Troi sensed was as much at
himself for not noting Verek's absence as at their
apparent escape.

Ro opened her mouth to retort, but Narve raised a
hand to stop her. "Please, spare me the bravado,
Ensign. I expect neither you nor Counselor Troi to
tell me anything remotely approaching the truth,
so let me guess. Verek decided to let you out
early, in direct contradiction of my orders,
because he felt he could 'handle' you. Instead,
you handled him and managed to free the Counselor
in the process, from under the very noses of my
guards." His tone did not bode well for whoever
had been on duty when they had supposedly escaped.
"Am I close?"

"Reasonably," Troi allowed, amazed at the way she
was able to control her voice, to keep it from
trembling, when all she wanted to do was--what? To
run, to hide? Or to attack the man in front of
her, demand that he release the captain and leave
them all in peace? She was shocked at the rage she
suddenly felt, a rage that quickly overtook the
fear. Rage at what Narve had done to her, to
Picard, and to all the others. She had to do
something, channel that rage; now was possibly the
only chance she would ever have.

Unaware of her emotional turmoil, Narve's eyes had
grown colder, if that were possible. "'Reasonably'
is not sufficient, Counselor," he said, biting off
every word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
"I prefer to discover the truth myself. Since I
don't expect either of you to reveal Verek's
whereabouts to me willingly, I feel it would be if
I simply allow one of my men access to Ensign Ro
in a more... direct... manner." A smile played briefly
across his lips as he raised one hand and brushed
it almost gently across Troi's cheek. "I will deal
with you later... personally."

She flinched away from his touch. The implied
threat was exactly what she had braced herself to
hear from him, and part of her still responded to
that threat with blind terror, but she barely
noticed it beneath the rage and contempt she also
felt. Narve's plans would fall to ruin, just as
they had last time, and she was determined to do
whatever she could to bring him down. Not only for
her own sake, but for the sake of every other
victim he had ever tormented.

---

Larsch watched the by-play between the two
prisoners and Narve avidly. Hey, Riker, there's
our Woman, he taunted. Riker, who had fallen
silent as soon as Troi appeared on the Bridge,
retreated, as if Larsch had finally found a way to
get to him. Larsch followed the other man's
consciousness eagerly, concentrating all his
energy on forcing his captive to hear what he had
to say for a change. He was tired of being on the
receiving end of Riker's considerable store of
invective, no matter how justified, and anxious to
return the favor.

What's the matter, Riker? Can't stand the thought
of Narve 'dealing' with Deanna the way he did last
time? Don't like the idea of him touching her that
way? Well, guess what, you'll get to watch, up
close and personal, when he gives her to me after,
he jibed, pushing his essence deeper within
Riker's mind as the other man fled in what could
only be construed as blind anguish. Not so loud
now, are you?

Larsch reveled in the sensation of the other man's
pain, at his obvious desperation to escape the
reality of Larsch's words. Finally, finally he'd
found a way to shut Riker up, maybe even for good!
He should have known that using Troi was the way,
that she was his host's weakness. It felt great,
so damn great, to finally get in the last
word... First he gets her, then I do, he taunted
ruthlessly. Commander never gives his word unless
he means it, he never breaks it, and he promised
her to me. Promised her, you got that, Riker? He
continued in that vein, crowding on Riker's
figurative heels as the other man continued to
mentally retreat deep within the limits of his
interior prison.

That was Larsch's first mistake. Riker had been
waiting for a chance like this, the only chance he
would ever get. The instant he felt Larsch's
control slip, as soon as the Uxmalian's energy was
focused on forcing Riker to pay attention to him,
Riker fought his way along the empathic link he
still shared with Deanna, swarming past Larsch's
startled consciousness as if it wasn't there,
putting all his energy into a desperate plea.

Imzadi! Troi's eyes widened at the unexpected
mental appeal from Will Riker. It lasted only a
heartbeat, the moment between Larsch's lapse in
control and his realization that Riker had reached
outside his prison, but it was enough. Before
Larsch could sever the link, Troi followed it
back, strengthening it as she went. Larsch was
divided between his struggle to contain Riker and
Troi's sudden invasion, and a moment's hesitation
was all the other two needed. Troi mentally threw
herself into the fray, blocking Larsch's desperate
attempts to stop them, giving Riker time to do
whatever it was he was planning, even as she
shared the knowledge of Crusher's freedom with
him. He needed all the information she could
impart right now.

Another heartbeat, another decision Larsch had to
make. Another mistake. Troi was the invading
presence; in a blind panic, Larsch lurched to his
feet, concentrating his efforts on thrusting her
out, unaware that he was being stared at by the
others on the Bridge, all but Troi, whose eyes
remained wide and staring at nothing.

Riker chose that miscalculated instant to act.
Troi sensed his intent, even as Larsch forced her
fully back into her own mind. She did what she
could to keep his focus on her by suddenly giving
way, forcing him to mentally "stumble" at her
unexpected lack of resistance.

Before anyone else could react, before they were
even aware there was something to react to, Riker
had taken temporary control of his body, shouting
out a string of code that authorized the computer
to lock out everyone but the Chief Medical
Officer.

Ro, who had been watching for anything she could
use, was the first to react. While her guard's
attention was on Riker, she pulled backwards out
of his loosened grip. A kick to the back of his
knee and a smashing blow to the other man's face
gave her enough time to whirl and dive into the
turbolift, shouting out a destination ten decks
below. Although the guards recovered enough to
rush the turbolift doors, she was gone before they
could stop her.

Troi, still off-balance from her recent mental
scuffle, stood docilely while Narve tightened his
hold on her, turning to glare at Larsch.

Who had lost control and allowed it all to happen.

---
Crime & Punishment
---

Larsch, gasping and sweating in panic, managed
somehow to thrust Riker back into his mental
prison and regain control of the other man's body,
but not without being forced to endure the other
man's wordless howl of triumph. His eyes locked
with those of Troi, who merely stared back at him,
eyes shining with triumph. "No." Larsch gasped
out, horrified. "That's impossible!"

"Yet it happened." Larsch wrenched his gaze from
that of Deanna Troi to meet the deadly anger of
his commander's eyes. "Unless I'm very much
mistaken," Narve continued, his tone implying he
didn't believe that for a minute, "you just lost
control of your host and gave Commander Riker a
moment of freedom. Didn't you." He snapped his
fingers, and two of the watching pirates sprang
forward to grasp Riker's arms in grips of iron,
yanking Larsch to his feet and dragging him closer
to Narve and Troi.

Larsch wet his lips, too terrified to struggle or
protest their hold. "I – I – " he stammered, then
stopped, unable to deny what had just happened.
Because he had either lost control of his host or
his mind, and Narve was not the man to tolerate
either.

"Because of your stupidity," Narve continued, his
voice deceptively calm, "we are no locked out of
the command functions of this vessel until Beverly
Crusher releases control to us. I wonder how such
a thing could happen." He shook Troi roughly, but
she endured the crushing tightness of his fingers
on her arm with equanimity, lifting her chin a
notch. Just enough to let Narve know he was
guessing correctly as to her complicity in this
matter. "I wonder what the chances are that the
CMO is still safely locked away in the cargo bay?"
He turned his attention back to Larsch. Crusher
would have to wait; punishment took precedence in
matters like this. To delay was to imply weakness,
something he could never show in front of his men.
"You knew Troi and Riker shared an empathic link,
yet you did not sever it. I wonder why." It was a
question that demanded answering, no matter how
flat a tone in which it was issued.

"I thought it might be useful, a way to control
Riker or Troi," Larsch babbled, shrinking as far
from Narve's relentless approach as his captors
would allow, stomach churning with terror. Riker
had finally fallen silent, but even that brought
no comfort to his beleaguered invader.

Narve strode up to Larsch, eyes burning with a
cold, savage fury. "Of course you did. Useful in
an attempt to overthrow me, no doubt." He ignored
Larsch's convulsive, guilty start. "If I'd
realized you were still having difficulties
controlling your host, I never would have allowed
you one with access to such sensitive information.
That was my mistake." His last words were nearly a
whisper. "One I intend to rectify."

"But Commander, you don't understand," Larsch
began, his gaze traveling desperately around the
bridge as he continued to shrink away from the
other man, looking for support and finding nothing
but contempt from his crewmates.

"You're right, I don't understand," Narve agreed.
"Furthermore, I don't wish to understand." He
turned, slowly and deliberately, to look at Mast.

All he did was nod, and the other man stepped
forward. All color drained from Riker's face as
Larsch stared wildly around the Bridge. "No," he
whimpered, still finding no support. The contempt
reflected on the crews' faces was liberally
interspersed with anticipation, ugly grins and
nudges between men who knew what was coming next.
"Please, Commander, it was an accident, a mistake,
it'll never happen again…"

Narve ignored Larsch's continued pleading, moving
to sit in Picard's command chair, leaning back and
steepling his fingers. Leaving Troi standing
uncertainly where he left her, with Mast on one
side and Larsch and his captors facing them. Narve
turned his piercing gaze on the two men Ro had
escaped from, still standing uneasily by the
turbolift. "You, two—redeem yourselves. Find Ro
and bring her back. If you find Crusher as well,
you may escape punishment entirely." They saluted
stiffly before hastening into the turbolift.

Troi felt their relief almost as strongly as
Larsch's terror, which was in turn almost
overwhelmed by the eagerness and bloodlust of the
crew surrounding them. Everyone except Mast and
Narve, who were like two calm pools in the midst
of a whirling maelstrom. The commander looked at
Mast. "You know what to do."

Mast nodded, pulled out his phaser—and shot
himself.

Troi tensed as Mast's incorporeal form floated
free of Lt. MacGyver's body, then gasped as it
plunged directly toward her. She raised her arms
as if to prevent the attack, but there was no way
for her to stop the invasion of self.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself
helplessly locked away from control of her own
body, barely in control of her own thoughts. It
was a frighteningly familiar feeling, one she'd
hoped never to experience again. She could do
nothing but watch from a corner of her own mind as
Mast brought her back to her feet and moved toward
Larsch, who continued pulling vainly away from his
captors. It wasn't until the assassin stood
directly in front of Riker's body that Troi was
allowed to understand her invader's intention. She
cried out in mental protest, but Mast ignored her,
focusing instead on the task before him.

He raised Troi's hands, lacing them almost
tenderly on either side of Riker's face. Larsch
flinched at the contact as if it burned and
strained to pull his head away, to no avail. Mast
held him ruthlessly still in that deceptively
delicate hold. Troi felt her lips smiling, sensed
Mast's slight anticipation at being allowed to do
what he did best, but nothing more. If he felt
anything else, he was successfully keeping it from
her. She sensed then that this was how he always
was, that he never felt more than the satisfaction
of a job well done, no matter how gruesome a job
it might be. It was a frightening realization and
made this encounter all the more surreal. Troi
found herself pleading with him to stop, but he
ignored her even as he brought her lips forward to
meet those of Riker in a parody of a kiss that
quickly turned brutal—as brutal as the impact of
Mast's mind on that of Larsch.

Troi could only watch in horror as Mast followed
the slender telepathic link she shared with Will
Riker, taking the same path she had used with such
desperate effectiveness only moments before.
Larsch hadn't had the presence of mind to sever it
completely, and now he was about to pay for that
lack of foresight. Mast ruthlessly plunged into
Riker's mind, but it was Larsch he was after,
Larsch whose consciousness he honed in on as he
abandoned the link, severing it as casually as he
broke off the parody of an embrace in his quest
for Larsch's innermost self.

Troi keened soundlessly as the link abruptly
vanished, at the mental anguish it caused both her
and Will, but Mast would not allow himself to be
distracted even by so traumatic an event in his
host's mind. He ignored her, concentrating fully
on the task at hand.

The bridge was silent, frozen with half-dreaded
anticipation, until Larsch broke that silence with
a whimper that began deep in his throat, growing
until it became a howl of agony that echoed
through Troi's mind as well as her ears. She could
feel herself howling as well, as Larsch's pain
reverberated through her, making her feel as if
her own mind were the one being torn apart. Only
the cold clarity of shock kept her sane and aware,
horribly aware, of everything Mast was doing, how
he was doing it, and exactly what he was trying to
accomplish with this invasion. He allowed her that
knowledge, absently, as if just remembering her
presence—but more, she sensed, because he wanted
her to see exactly what her vaunted empathy was
capable of inflicting on another sentient being's
mind. It was nothing more nor less than a
calculated lesson in cruelty, and Troi wanted to
flee inside herself, throw herself into a mental
corner and cower there until it was over, but Mast
wouldn't let her. Even though he concentrated the
bulk of his mental energies on the destruction of
Larsch's mind, he managed to spare enough to keep
her alive and aware throughout the entire,
horrific ordeal.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do
about it. Nothing at all, as Mast swarmed all over
Larsch's mind, searching for weaknesses. Larsch's
lack of ability to fully control Riker outweighed
even his considerable personal vanity and
ambition, and Troi felt it as Mast pounced eagerly
on the other man's frustration and exhaustion at
the constant war his mind was waging against his
putative captive. Troi's empathy was the weapon
Mast used to feed on that frustration, on Larsch's
terror and humiliation, compounding the emotions
and forcing them back upon themselves until they
utterly consumed the other man's mind.

Riker remained free of the attack, but Troi sensed
that the horror of what Larsch was enduring was
too much for his host, who fled in self-defense to
the place where Larsch had tried so unsuccessfully
to confine him. Fled and cowered there, his primal
terror etching itself forever on Deanna Troi's own
mind, even as she wished desperately to be able to
join him in—she hoped—temporary oblivion.

It was over in a matter of minutes. As soon as
Troi's hands left Riker's face, he dropped to the
deck, eyes vacant, body limp. Troi thought she
glimpsed a flicker of fading luminescence that
vanished as Narve rose to his feet and walked
over, prodding Riker with one toe. "Dead?"

Mast nodded. Troi watched dully through the
killer's eyes as Narve smiled in satisfaction.
"Good."

"Riker isn't," Mast said, as if noting something
of little worth. "His body shouldn't be too
damaged to use again, either."

"Excellent. It's a strong, healthy body; no sense
in letting it go to waste. We'll have that Vulcan
doctor Peris is so fond of check him over." The
mention of the doctor brought a frown to Narve's
face. "Or Crusher. She has to be found."

"Already on it, Commander." Mylal stepped forward,
his eyes hidden by Commander LaForge's VISOR. "I
sent out all available men to join the two you
sent out. I also told them to be on the look-out
for Verek," he added. "But I didn't do anything
with the other prisoners, I wasn't sure how you
wanted to handle them."

"Verek took Crusher and Troi to Sickbay after
stashing Ro in his quarters," Mast offered. "They
managed to deactivate him. Troi believes Crusher
hid him, although she doesn't know where, after
they ditched his comm badge." He did not mention
Guinan's presence, nor did he explain how or why
Verek had freed them in the first place, but Troi
was too dazed to do more than note the omissions.

Narve accepted this information with a nod before
turning back to Mylal. "Have Peris take some men
down to the detention center for a head count.
Have them question the guards and the prisoners,
especially Selar. She's Crusher's Second; tell him
to find out what she knows and if she can do
anything about the mess Verek allowed Riker to get
us into."

He wore a doubtful scowl even as he spoke. Troi
knew that only Beverly would know the necessary
code, but she understood Narve's position; every
straw must be grasped if they were going to make
good on their plans.

"Tell the men to stay in their own bodies unless
absolutely necessary," he threw over his shoulder
as he turned back to Mast. "I wouldn't put it past
the good doctor to have some kind of trap set up,
just waiting for one of us to be vulnerable."
Mylal nodded and started issuing orders while
Narve gave his full attention to Mast.

"Excellent work, Mast," the commander praised.
"You killed their witch and you handled this in an
exceptional manner, and you'll be amply rewarded
for both." Narve glanced down at Riker's body.
"Right now, I want you to take him to the brig."

"What about Troi?" Mast asked indifferently. He
could care less what body he inhabited, and if
Narve wanted him to stay put, then he would.

The other man paused, weighing his options. "Get
back in your own body; we'll chance it now, here
on the Bridge. I have plans for the Counselor that
don't include anyone but me and her. And Captain
Picard, of course," he added. "The three of us
have an appointment; apparently she's interested
in seeing a bit of history repeat itself, and I am
more than willing to oblige her." He leaned
closer. "Last time, Deanna," he whispered, "it was
strictly business. This time, it's personal, and I
can promise you I am a different man when acting
on my own behalf rather than for my crew."

He stepped back. "When you're back in your own
body, get her to the brig with Riker, until I can
spare the time for her."

Mast nodded and stepped back, reaching down to
pick up the discarded phaser. He conscientiously
sat Troi next to Lt. MacGyver's body before
repeating the process of stunning himself to
freedom—and her to a blessed oblivion. Narve
watched closely, but nothing interfered with the
process.

Before Troi slipped into unconsciousness, however,
she was aware of two things: Mast's fury at being
tricked by Guinan, and his determination to kill
her for real this time.

---
Q&A
---

Something was happening. Selar looked up as the
inside guard, the one named Kyris who wore Reg
Barclay's body like an ill-fitting suit, sat bolt
upright, apparently in response to some
communication he'd just received. He tilted his
head toward the badge on his chest as if to hear
better, his face blanching visibly as he listened,
even from across the room. He looked up, staring
wildly around as if searching for something, or
someone. After stammering a response voiced too
low for even Selar's exceptional hearing, he
scrambled to his feet, then smacked one hand
against his communicator and spoke into with
obvious urgency.

As Selar had expected, the doors to the cargo bay
opened and a second man raced into the room, face
nearly as pale as that of his companion.
"Everyone! In rows, against the far wall! Now!"
Kyris barked as the other man aimed his phaser
rifle at them. Heavy ammunition for unarmed
prisoners, Selar noted with a pinprick of
amusement, but perhaps not considering that three
of their number had been plucked from their midst
apparently without their guards being the wiser.
She rose obediently to her feet, catching Alyssa
Ogawa's eye and giving a tiny nod, which the other
woman returned; obviously, their surmise that
Crusher, Troi and Ro had been taken without
Narve's approval or knowledge was correct.

Before she could do more than join the other women
lined up in weary rows, the doors slid open again,
and three more guards burst into the room, also
heavily armed. Peris, she noted dispassionately,
was at their head. They ignored Kyris, who was
babbling some kind of apology or justification,
instead focusing on the captives. While the other
guards appearing to taking a head count, Peris
seemed to be looking for a specific person.
Herself, no doubt. Selar couldn't even cite logic,
just instinct, for her absolute surety in this
matter.

The fierce grin Peris bared as his eyes locked
with her was all the answer Selar needed. Instinct
had proven correct. She didn't move, just waited
for him to come up to her. He grabbed her roughly
by the arm and pulled her with him toward the
profusely-sweating Kyris. "Well?"

Kyris shook his head. "Crusher, Troi, and Ro are
missing." He didn't bother to elaborate or offer
excuses. "We'll question the other prisoners and
get to the bottom of this."

Peris nodded. "Everyone except the lovely doctor
here. Narve wants me to question her personally."
He headed toward the door, not quite dragging
Selar along; she would never submit to such an
indignity and therefore kept a wary eye on his
body language. That alone kept her from stumbling
to a halt as he abruptly stopped and threw over
his shoulder. "In case you were wondering, Narve's
planning on questioning you as well. Says he can't
believe no one saw anything." His grin widened as
Kyris blanched even whiter. Selar couldn't help
but note that Reg Barclay's face was especially
suited to expressing terror. She also noted that
Narve did not seem the type to tolerate mistakes;
it was apparent Kyris shared that opinion.

Selar and Peris left the cargo bay without further
backward glances. The other prisoners knew exactly
what Selar knew: that three of their number had
been plucked away via transporter for reasons
unknown. And now, it was obvious, without Narve's
awareness. She felt no pity for whomever had taken
such a bold move, if it was one of the pirate
commander's own men. Nor had she joined her fellow
prisoners in their speculation as to the reasons
behind the abduction. Or rescue, depending on how
optimistic the speaker had been at the time the
whispered comments had begun flowing between them.
Abduction or rescue, the only result so far had
been a raising of suspicion among the Uxmalians,
which could possibly benefit their prisoners. She
was content to wait for the correct moment to act.

Peris kept his vice-like grip on her arm the
entire time they marched down the corridors. Nor
did he remove his phaser from its place against
her side. He said not a word until they reached
Sickbay, not the destination Selar had expected.
"Here we are."

She raised an eyebrow as he pulled her through the
doors, stopped, and ordered them locked behind
them. "Am I to be questioned here?" she permitted
herself to ask.

Peris ignored her as he searched Sickbay, dragging
her with him as he peered under the furniture and
opened cabinets. Whatever he was looking for, she
ascertained, was too large to be contained in a
drawer, as he completely ignored smaller places of
concealment in favor of larger spaces. Including
the Jeffries tube that had been installed during
the refit. He peered in it, but seemed unwilling
to let her go in order to explore it further.

Once he'd finished his rather haphazard search, he
indicated a chair and finally released Selar's
arm. She sat down as indicated, keeping an eye on
the phaser he still held directly toward her as he
slapped his comm badge. "Peris to Narve."

"Narve here. Did you find Verek?"

"No. Crusher must have moved him after Troi left,
hidden him somewhere else." Selar did not
volunteer the information that Peris had missed at
least three potential hiding places large enough
to hold a body; if Worf didn't know they were
there, then she certainly wasn't going to share
that information with Peris. "Want me to keep
looking?" Peris asked with a marked lack of
enthusiasm.

"No," Narve's voice came back. "Once the others
find Crusher, I'll make her tell me where she hid
him. Selar is your priority now." The comm badge
when silent.

Selar found this conversation highly informative,
brief though it was. Crusher was not in custody,
but Troi apparently was, and Verek was missing.
Interesting. Logic dictated that he must be the
one responsible for removing the other women from
the cargo bay, but without his commander's
approval or knowledge. Even more interesting.

Peris turned his attention back to his prisoner
with a gleam in his eyes that did not bode well
for her. Selar found it difficult to look at him
as he watched her through Worf's eyes, especially
since she knew the Klingon was there as well,
locked up and helpless and no doubt roaring with
frustrated outrage. Once again his chosen mate was
in peril, and once again he was unable to assist
her. She returned her complete focus to Peris as
he began to speak. "We're cut off from command
functions, locked out by some kind of medical
emergency code." He yanked her to her feet and
shoved her against the bulkhead. "Narve wants you
to override it."

"Such a medical emergency code can only be
overridden by the CMO," Selar replied evenly. She
wasn't lying, not entirely; if necessary she could
probably figure out a way around the medical
lock-down. But not for these pirates, not without
a fight.

"Narve thought you'd say that." Peris bared his
teeth in a parody of a smile. "It might even be
true. But I'm supposed to make sure you're telling
the truth, and find out what you know about how
Dr. Crusher escaped. Using any means I deem
necessary," he added, obviously savoring every
word.

Selar studied him, gauging his words and the
intent behind them. "You could simply take control
of me," she pointed out, although logic predicted
his most likely response; if that were his intent,
he would have done so in the cargo bay, in the
presence of others.

As expected, he shook his head. "Only as a last
resort. Narve doesn't want anyone out of their
bodies until we find Crusher and Verek and find
out what the hell she did to him."

He moved closer, pressing the phaser once more
against her side as he crowded her against the
bulkhead. "Then how do you intend to verify
whatever information you believe I will give you?"
Selar asked, knowing he would expect her to ask,
and willing to play along until she could find
some way to turn the situation to her own
advantage. She glanced at the medical cart that
blocked the entrance to what she suspected to be
Verek's current hiding place. "Drugs?"

"Them too," Peris agreed, then lunged forward and
sank his teeth into her shoulder so quickly she
had no time to react beyond a slight hiss of pain.
He flung the phaser across the room and grasped
both her forearms. She felt her uniform tear as he
pulled his head back with a sharp motion, and
ignored the blood flowing from the wound he'd
inflicted.

She understood now. He was disdaining more
effective means of interrogation in favor of
fulfilling his own frustrated desire to revenge.
She had escaped his custody, and now she must pay.
He would no doubt administer the drugs Narve
expected him to use as soon as he had forced
himself upon her sexually.

It was the moment she had been waiting for, the
time for her to make her own move. The longer she
delayed Peris, the better the chance that Dr.
Crusher would find another way to outwit Narve's
pirates, or at least send out a distress signal.
Without further thought or analysis, Selar seized
on the course of action she knew she must now
follow, knowing she had to move quickly and
convincingly. She spared a moment's concentration
on speeding up her heartbeat, allowing her
breathing to become ragged as she used the most
expedient meditation she knew to increase her body
temperature just the slightest bit. She turned her
head and kissed Peris full on the lips, just as he
removed his mouth from its depredations on her
uniform.

He'd made a ragged tear from shoulder to shoulder,
exposing her throat and a large portion of her
chest before raising his head with the obvious
intention of forcing a kiss on her, and she could
sense his alarm and arousal as she forestalled
this move by doing it herself. "How did you know?"
she murmured thickly, trying to make herself sound
dazed. "Did Worf realize I was coming into Pon
Farr, is that why you're doing this? Because you
know I cannot maintain control over myself much
longer?"

She kissed him again without waiting for an
answer, as passionately as she could, thrusting
her tongue into his mouth and allowing a moan,
ostensibly of pleasure, to escape her lips as he
returned the kiss with brutal fervor. If he
accepted the fiction she had just offered, it
would be much easier for her to put her plans into
action.

Peris pulled out of the kiss before she did,
breathing raggedly as he studied her face,
apparently trying to gauge whether she spoke the
truth or not. "Worf doesn't think Vulcans can
lie," he muttered. Selar saw the conflicting
emotions flickering across his face as he
hesitated. "You're the one who started with him,"
he continued, apparently delving into Worf's
memories for confirmation of her words. "You told
him you wanted to be with him, and he was
surprised; he thought he would have to make the
first move."

Selar sensed his growing excitement, his desire to
believe what she was telling him. After all, even
if she was lying, he still believed himself to be
fully in control of the situation. She remained
unmoving, not fighting his grip on her arms, her
body trembling as if she were holding herself
under rigid control—and losing. "Worf is howling
like anything," Peris said, almost as an
afterthought. "He wants me out even worse than
before! Too bad his first time with you will be
with me!"

Peris laughed again as he dove in for another
kiss. Selar rolled her head from side to side,
murmuring, as if to herself: "I am Vulcan, my
emotions do not control me, I control them... ." She
broke off with a gasp, eyes widened, then shook
her head as if unsuccessfully trying to clear it.
Peris kissed her again, and again, until she
responded, as if surrendering to her body's own
desires. She gave another low moan and finally
moved, pressing her body against his, hiding her
distaste as she felt the physical manifestation of
his desire against her abdomen. She allowed
herself to cry out, biting it off as if in shame
as he moved his lips to the exposed area of her
torso, leaving a trail of moist kisses from neck
to ragged edges of the material barely covering
the tips of her breasts.

Peris tugged her hands down, impatiently reaching
for the cloth that was impeding his progress. Her
telepathic skills, as he'd so gleefully pointed
out, were not very strong, but they still existed,
and she waited, writhing against him as if all
thought had been abandoned, until he reached that
point himself and left himself unguarded for the
only attack he was not prepared for.

Selar moved her hands as she felt his desire
swell, coolly allowing him free reign to her
now-exposed breasts, even arching her back to give
him fuller access. She kept her fingers carefully
away from his neck and what he would perceive,
even under these circumstances, as an attack.
Instead, she put her hands on his head, running
her fingers through Worf's hair and bringing her
hands to his cheeks, rubbing her thumbs beneath
his eyes and gently forcing his face back up to
meet hers.

He met her gaze with eyes shining with a mixture
of lust and triumph. He gave a guttural laugh.
"You can't help yourself, can you? I could be here
in anyone's body and you'd be ready to go; you
can't even keep yourself away from someone you
hate! No wonder Vulcans don't talk about their rut
cycle; you're just like animals when it hits you."
His grin widened. "Lucky me."

Selar didn't speak, merely allowed a slight
grimace to quirk the edges of her lips. If he
chose to take that small movement as an admission,
so be it. Her tongue darted between her lips, and
it was his turn to moan and thrust his head
towards her for another kiss.

Selar allowed it, welcomed it as a distraction
from where her fingers were placing themselves on
his temples and the sides of his face. A face she
had wanted to explore like this, but not with the
mind currently dominating the body. Worf, she
vowed silently, when this over and our enemy
vanquished, we shall do this properly. Forgive me.
And she opened her mind to her enemy.

By the time Peris realized something was
happening, something more than the crude coupling
he desired, it was too late. Contact! "My mind to
your mind," Selar whispered against his lips, the
ancient phrase ringing in the sudden silence. "My
thoughts to your thoughts... "

Worf's eyes widened, and Peris managed to pull his
face away from hers, but not to break that grip,
either physical or mental. Selar framed a fleeting
request for absolution to Surak for what she was
doing, but knew that she would continue even if
the ancient Vulcan sage, the man called the Father
of Logic and her people's greatest hero, appeared
before her and directly forbade it. There was too
much at stake.

A mind meld was her only hope of overpowering
Peris and, perhaps, freeing Worf. She gritted her
teeth and forced her thoughts deeper into those of
the invader.

If she succeeded, it would be the first meld she
had ever performed on her own.

---
Reunited
---
Interlude
---

Crusher whirled at the sound of the door opening,
phaser in one hand, tricorder in the other. She
held the weapon at the ready even when Guinan
walked in with a grim looking Ro Laren in tow.
Only Guinan's continued reassurances that no one
would be able to take over her body had allowed
Crusher, reluctantly, to allow her to scout out
the whereabouts of Troi and Ro. That, and her
further assurances that she sensed something
wrong, that her presence was urgently needed.

The two women came to an immediate stop, only
moving forward once Crusher nodded her permission
and placed the weapon and the tricorder on the
counter next to her. "You're clean. What happened
to Deanna?"

"Counselor Troi managed to free me from Data's
quarters, but we were captured." Ro quickly
repeated her story to Crusher, just as she'd told
it to Guinan only moments before. "So now Narve
knows we're out," she concluded grimly. "That
isn't going to leave us much time."

Crusher nodded her agreement. With Narve and the
others locked out of the ship's computers, his
incentive to find her had been tripled.
Quadrupled, even. Riker and Troi's actions had
helped and hindered at the same time, but she
could hardly fault them for doing the only thing
they could under the circumstances.

"Narve was furious," Ro continued in a subdued
voice. "I don't know what he's going to do to
them"

"We can't worry about it right now," Crusher
replied, her gentle tone softening the harsh
words. "We have to focus on getting all of us out
of this mess."

Ro nodded, but her eyes were haunted as she said:
"Right. So what do we do now?"

---

Troi came slowly to consciousness, unmoving,
unsure of her whereabouts. She felt a cold, hard
surface beneath her, and opened her eyes only
after an intense internal debate. The shimmer of a
force field greeted her, and the sight of a man's
pair of uniformed legs and the butt of a phaser
rifle resting on the floor just past that barrier
told her she was in the brig. Then her vision
blurred and she passed out again.

Some time later she woke back up. After
contemplating the idea of being in another, less
uncomfortable position, she somehow found the
energy to pull herself up to her knees. Her
already frayed party dress tore as she
accidentally knelt on it, and that sound brought
her guard's attention back to her. The legs
turned, then bent as he squatted down to meet her
at eye level. "Your little stunt on the bridge is
going to cost you and the Commander big time," he
said conversationally. It was a Lieutenant from
security, dark skinned, dark haired, dark eyed,
whose name she knew was swimming around in her
subconscious somewhere, lurking just beyond her
reach. "Enjoy your time alone." Then he rose back
to his feet and vanished from her sight
completely.

Troi turned her back on the force field and
crawled over to the corner between the wall and
the padded bench that served as both bunk and
seating in the compact cell. The effort to pull
herself up onto that surface seemed impossible
right now.

She wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped
her head onto her knees, listening to her ragged
breathing. Gradually she became aware of the
noises around her again; the soft hum of the force
field equipment, the guard speaking softly to
someone, the beep of his communicator as he
pressed it and spoke to someone else, his words
too low for her to make them out. She felt herself
shivering, noted it in the back of her mind, tried
half-heartedly to stop, but soon gave up. It was
shock, she was in shock and should do something
about it, but what was there to do, locked in the
brig?

I helped kill a helpless being, destroyed him with
my empathic abilities, she thought as another
shiver convulsed her body. She fought back a surge
of nausea as her mind flashed to that instant on
the Bridge. Never, never had she experienced
anything like it. Even Narve's threats faded to
insignificance compared to what Mast had used her
to do.

At least Will had survived, Mast hadn't lied about
that. She could feel his presence, dimly,
somewhere close. Riker still survived, but of
Larsch there was no sign. Mast had literally
blasted him into non-existence, combining his own
considerable will with her empathic abilities,
twisting them into something they were never meant
to be: a weapon.

A moan escaped her as she continued to struggle
with the consequences of her actions, never mind
that she'd been under someone else's control when
it happened. The first time she'd been possessed
and then discarded, it had been her physical being
that was abused. Now, she found herself
empathizing with Picard in a way she'd never
imagined possible, not in her worst nightmares.
This time, she was the one who had inflicted a
terrible injury on a friend, on the man she loved,
and it was almost too much for her to bear.

/Imzadi./

The voice was inside her mind, had repeated
itself, tentative and weak, before she realized
she was truly hearing it, that it wasn't some
phantom echo or her own mind playing tricks on
her. "Imzadi?" she whispered, raising her head.
She licked dry lips and tried to broadcast a
response. /Imzadi?/

/Can you hear me? Deanna, are you there?/

It was Will, she was hearing his mental voice,
weak and strained just like her own, but
recognizable, and she felt her emotions stirring,
trying to break free of the shock and terror of
the last hour. /I'm here, Imzadi./ She felt tears
seeping around the edges of her tightly closed
eyes, leaking onto her cheeks and down her chin,
tears of relief and release. She'd expected Will
to be damaged, to be too hurt to recover from the
backlash of what Mast had forced her to do to
Larsch; she'd been so afraid that even if he was
alive, he wouldn't be the same. She'd sensed that
he was alive; now, she knew he was well, and that
knowledge did more for her than a dozen visits to
a Federation Counselor ever could. Their link had
been reestablished, smoothly and quickly, and that
helped even more. Even half-dead with shock and
mental outrage, they had found each other, had
joined together, and she knew that bond was
stronger than it ever had been, even when they
first loved each other ten years ago. Never again,
she vowed silently. Never again will I allow
anyone or anything to come between us.

/Neither will I./ Troi smiled at Riker's response;
even though she hadn't intended to send out her
thoughts, he still heard them. And just like that,
the shivering stopped.

Riker sensed her love, her fierce protectiveness,
through the link, and it gave him the strength to
rise from his own bunk. He'd clambered onto it
only moments ago, after hearing the guard speaking
to Deanna, but now he slipped off and sought the
corner adjacent to the one she occupied, some
sense guiding him unerringly to her side.
Separated by the impassible width of a brig wall,
he knew he had never felt closer to her. /So. What
do we do now?/

Troi laughed, a sound that translated through
their link as pure, elemental joy. Because Will
wasn't just asking what she thought would happen
next, he was getting information from her so they
could plan their escape, or find some way to help
the others. And that was the Will Riker she knew
and loved. There were hurts there, hurts caused by
Mast and Larsch, but nothing he couldn't recover
from.

And if he could do it, so could she. She settled
closer to the wall, putting her hand against it.
He mirrored the action and they sat there,
unmoving, while she shared everything she knew
about Beverly Crusher's plans with him.

---
Take A Deep Breath
---
Interlude
---

Narve paced the captain's ready room, an angry
scowl on his face and murder in his heart. He
slammed a fist against the wall, rattling Picard's
lionfish tank. Things were not proceeding as
planned. Again. What the hell was it about these
people and their inability to bow to the
inevitable? "Humans," he muttered under his breath
as he slammed into Picard's chair, turning to face
the view port. The stars continued to stream away
from them, but he no longer had control over their
destination. All because Verek had chosen, for
still unknown reasons, to free some of the
prisoners. Had he been somehow co-opted by them?
It seemed impossible, especially since Mast said
Crusher had deactivated him, but he could rule
nothing out until he understood why Verek had done
what he had done.

"It's all your damn fault, Picard," he grumbled
aloud. "How could you possibly allow your crew to
have access to a code that only your CMO can
cancel out? What kind of stupidity is that? Even
you don't know it!"

Picard was silent, and Narve knew it was because
he was waiting to see what would happen next. He
already knew that battling Narve was pointless,
that there was no way for him to escape, and so
had lapsed into a sort of pool of calmness. Narve
tried to shake his emotional steadiness by
projecting graphic images of what he intended to
do to both Crusher and Troi, but even that wasn't
enough to force a reaction out of his captive. It
was if he were managing the kind of rigid mental
control that Narve routinely practiced, and he
felt a grudging admiration for the man. Picard
might have some skewed values about the sanctity
of life and letting others make their own
decisions no matter how poor their judgment, but
other than that Narve found much in common with
him.

"Rot in there, Picard," Narve suddenly growled.
"When I'm ready to take over a new body, I'll take
great pleasure in letting you have control only
long enough for me to kill you." With a snarl of
rage, he swept his arm across Picard's desk,
sending everything flying, then stormed out of the
room and back onto the Bridge.

---

Worf studied to the door to the Bio Lab. It was
locked, confirming Selar's deduction that this was
where Dr. Crusher had fled after deactivating
Narve. With no means to communicate with her other
than pounding on the door, a method unlikely to
meet with success, there was only one option open
to them. Worf jerked his head, signaling Riker to
join him, then opened the access hatch and removed
the emergency magnetic clamps, handing one to the
First Officer and taking one for himself.

Selar and Troi alternated between watching the two
men get to work and making sure no one came upon
them unexpectedly. All four froze when the door
suddenly opened and Ensign Ro appeared, a phaser
held to Worf's head. "Drop it."

He responded by opening his hand and allowing both
the clamp and his phaser to fall to the deck. She
kicked it back into the Bio Lab with one foot,
never removing her eyes from his. "Hands up." When
he and the others complied, she stepped back. "In
here."

They filed in one at a time and stood just inside
the door as Ro locked it behind them. "Dr.
Crusher!" she called.

Crusher appeared from around the corner, tricorder
in one hand. She reached down and scooped up
Worf's phaser before aiming the tricorder at each
of the four newcomers, scanning them all but
frowning over Worf's readings the longest. "The
others are clean, but he's still under an
Uxmalian's control." She scowled. "At least, I
think he is. There are some anomalies." She looked
up at Troi. "Explain."

Ro only half-listened, keeping her phaser trained
on Worf, the one identified as the most immediate
threat. It was Crusher's job to determine the
truth of the Counselor's words, and it was hers to
make sure nothing went wrong. If Crusher ordered
her to shoot, she would.

When Troi fell silent, Crusher shut the tricorder
with a snap and leveled Worf's phaser at them. "I
can't tell from these readings whether Worf is in
control or not," she said, her voice icy. "For all
I know, he let you think that in order to use you
to find me."

"Peris is not that clever," Selar said. A brief
smile crossed Worf's face. "Besides, if that were
true, he would have contacted Narve and attempted
to recapture us once I determined your most
logical destination."

"I know she's telling the truth," Troi put in
quietly. "Will and I had the same questions, but I
can sense emotions much more clearly now that I've
had time to put some distance between what Mast
did to Larsch and how he used me to do it." Her
voice faltered, and Will risked lowering his hand
to place it on her shoulder for an encouraging
squeeze. She shot him a grateful smile before
returning her attention to Crusher. "My empathy
was in as much a state of shock as I was, but it's
recovering now. I can tell Worf and Peris apart
again, with no emotional blurring, and Worf is
definitely in control. Peris is not." There was a
note of finality in her voice that seemed to
finally convince Crusher, who lowered her phaser
and nodded at Ro to do the same. The others
lowered their arms and relaxed just a little.

Crusher took a deep breath. "OK. Here's where we
stand at the moment."















Power Struggle - Part Nineteen
by MizJoely (vze1iwnd @ verizon.net)

---
Racing to the Finish
---

Ro and Guinan made their stealthy way back to
Sickbay, avoiding more than one of Narve's patrols
through the grace of Guinan's slowly recovering
intuition. They were to bring Verek back to
consciousness at a prearranged time, after
restraining him in a stasis field. It was still a
risk, but he had to be aware and in control, at
least nominally, of Data's body when the attempt
to remove him from it was made. Fortunately they
didn't need to find a way to force him to operate
the transporters, as Riker had been able to help
them with that problem. Larsch, apparently, had
discovered the codes that only Narve, Mylal and
Verek were supposed to know.

Peris had been freed shortly before Ro and Guinan
left for Sickbay, although they were forced to use
more primitive means to restrain the Klingon than
a stasis field, since there were no biobeds in the
Bio Lab. Crusher had retained the binders Verek
had used on Deanna, and apologetically clamped
them around Worf's wrists as they further secured
him to the chair with ropes hastily made from
torn-up strips off Troi's ever-shrinking evening
gown and Crusher's t-shirt. The two women had
changed into red surgical garb and were happy to
donate their now-useless clothing to a worthy
cause.

Riker stood at the ready with a phaser as added
security, just in case. He hoped it was an
unnecessary precaution, but Worf advised it and
Riker agreed. Selar cocked an inquisitive eyebrow
at Worf as he tested his bonds, then nodded as he
grunted his approval. She walked over and placed
tender fingers against the proper nerve clusters,
initiated the meld, then silently withdrew the
bond that allowed Worf to retain control of his
body. /We will do this properly once this
situation is back under our control/ he silently
vowed, and she responded with the slight smile he
now knew covered a deep well of tightly-restrained
emotion.

Although it galled the security chief to allow
himself to once again become a prisoner in his own
body, if Crusher's desperate plan worked it would
be more than worth it. He looked forward to Peris'
removal, anticipated his own freedom with a
ferocity that dwarfed even the Uxmalian's outrage
and fear. Peris also knew what Crusher planned,
not only to remove him from his chosen host but
what would happen if the containment field failed.
Discorporation into the depths of space was not
how he wanted to go, and he screamed that at the
four in the room as soon as he had control of
Worf's vocal chords again.

That had been the last sound Ro and Guinan heard
as they left. Once safely ensconced in Sickbay,
they had removed Data from his hiding place,
hefting him with some difficulty onto the nearest
biobed. Data was much heavier than he looked.

Once he was on the bed, they flipped him on his
side, unspeaking, fully aware of how little time
they had. They'd made it to Sickbay within minutes
of their original estimate, but the clock was
still ticking. Ro frantically worked the controls
for the stasis field while Guinan positioned
herself near Data's inert form. Once she was all
set, she nodded at Ro. "Ready." She pressed Data's
'restart button', jumping back just as the field
snapped into place.

The change was instantaneous. Data's eyes snapped
open, taking in his surroundings and Ro's
presence. Verek smiled, although Ro thought it
seemed strained. "Missed me that much, eh?" he
prodded.

Ro ignored him, keeping her eyes on his
immobilized form, her fingers ready to extend the
field fully if he showed any signs of trying to
free himself. Guinan moved to stand next to her,
studying their captive expressionlessly. She was
rewarded by a startled widening of Data's eyes,
and a flood of curses that flowed from his mouth
for almost a full minute before he stopped. "Mast
said you were dead!"

Guinan shrugged. "He was wrong. Obviously."

"He saw you die," Verek continued to protest.

She shrugged again. "He saw what I wanted him to
see."

"Then it's a good thing I'm looking more closely
now."

Ro and Guinan both whirled at the sound of that
unexpected voice, the Bajoran's fingers racing for
her phaser. Too late; even as her own hand folded
around the weapon, Mast had already fired his own
phaser, aiming for her hand with deadly accuracy.
Ro collapsed to the floor with a grunt of pain,
clutching her burned fingers to her chest. He'd
managed to get her in the leg with the same shot;
there was no way she could pull herself to her
feet but she still tried, until another phaser
blast, a warning this time, sizzled the deck in
front of her. She stopped moving, looking up at
him with the promise of death in her eyes, if she
could just get her hands on him... 

Mast ignored her, concentrating on Guinan, who
hadn't moved except to turn and face him. She'd
spared a glance for Ro, gauging the magnitude of
the other woman's wounds and determining they
wouldn't be immediately fatal before focusing
exclusively on Mast.

"It's about time," Verek snapped from behind her.
"Get me out of this damn thing!"

"Why should I?" Mask asked, still staring at
Guinan. "You got yourself into this mess, Verek.
Get yourself out."

Data's mouth tightened at the indifference in the
other man's voice. "I am still Narve's Second," he
replied through gritted teeth. "Which means you
still have to take orders from me."

"I take orders from Narve," Mast corrected
absently, stepping over Ro's body. He paused, then
with deliberate aim he kicked her in the side of
the head. She collapsed into full unconsciousness
without a sound as he forced Guinan toward the
opposite wall with a wave of his phaser.

"You sure are talking big for someone who screwed
up an assassination that Narve personally
ordered," Verek snarled. "What do you think he's
going to do once he finds out?"

Mast turned cold eyes on his fellow Uxmalian.
"What do you think he's going to do to you, since
he already knows you set Crusher and the others
free without his permission?" He allowed a moment
for that to sink in, then continued. "I'll make
you a deal, Verek. You say nothing about Guinan,
and I help you come up with a way to keep him from
killing you for mutiny. I made a mistake by
underestimating this witch." He waved the phaser
contemptuously at Guinan, who continued to stand,
unmoving, by the far wall. "You did what you did
deliberately. Narve will see that at treason, pure
and simple. I'll be punished, but you'll be as
dead as Larsch."

Verek said nothing for a long moment, then tried
to nod. "All right," he agreed, in unwilling
capitulation. Mast's assessment of the situation
was grimly accurate. "You win. I'll keep my mouth
shut, but how are you gonna be able to help me?"

Mast shrugged. "We'll find some story to tell him.
Right now isn't the time to worry about it." He
returned his attention to Guinan. "Right now," he
added softly, "I have a job to finish." He raised
the phaser with deliberate slowness, and without
increasing the setting. Generally he was satisfied
with the simple destruction of his targets, but
not this time. Guinan had tricked him, not once
but twice, and that was not to be tolerated. For
that, she would suffer, and he would watch to see
how quickly her composure was destroyed. Not as
quickly as her body would be, by his reckoning,
but certainly by the end she would be reduced to
begging for mercy. Just like all his other
victims.

Verek demanded his freedom again, but Mast ignored
him as he cursed in the background. Guinan had to
be punished first, truly killed, and visible body
left for evidence. It would be easier for him to
dispatch Verek afterwards; he had no intention of
allowing anyone to survive that knew of his
errors.

Guinan stiffened, still not speaking, chin raised
defiantly as Mast stepped nearer, pointing the
phaser not at her heart or head, but at her arm.
The message was clear; he intended for her to
suffer. Her many talents wouldn't be able to save
her, not this time. The best she could manage was
to die with as much dignity as she could muster,
which had always been formidable. She would never
give Mast the satisfaction of hearing her beg for
mercy.

As he leveled the phaser at her, finger tightening
on the firing mechanism, Guinan saw him suddenly
stop, frozen in mid-motion even as Verek stopped
speaking in mid-curse. The bioelectrical glow
Crusher had postulated as a possible side-effect
of the extraction process manifested around the
bodies of both men, shrinking down as rapidly as
they blossomed into existence, until only their
heads were engulfed. Guinan felt her lips curve in
a faint smile, and she stepped smoothly out of the
path of the phaser. "It's working," she whispered,
stepping right up to the man who had been about to
kill her. "Good-bye, Mast, here's hoping we never
meet again." She raised a finger and pushed aside
the phaser, which fell to the floor with a quiet
thud, then kicked it away and settled in to wait
for the rest of Crusher's plan to take effect.

---

Narve froze. Something felt... off. Something was
wrong, and he couldn't tell what. There was a
buzzing in his ears, and he howled in outrage as
he recognized a sensation he'd felt only once
before. How the hell had Crusher discovered the
manner in which they'd been separated from their
original bodies? Because there was no doubt in his
mind that was what was happening now. The tingle,
the immobility, the inability to do more than rage
at the absolute unfairness of the situation, his
helplessness... it was all horribly familiar. He
could see the dawning recognition and fear in the
faces of the crewmembers in front of him, the ones
who had been in his line of sight before he was
suddenly paralyzed as a procedure he'd never
thought to endure again made its inevitable way
through his mind and body.

Separating them.

There was no pain, it was nothing like the method
Crusher had used to extract them the last time. He
knew that only seconds had passed, that he had
only seconds left before he temporarily lost
consciousness, and he raged futilely as Picard,
damn him, began to laugh.

It was the last sound he heard before darkness
overtook him.

---
Reclamation Project
---

"It's working."

Crusher's terse words were the only sounds besides
the soft whirring and buzzing of the computers.
She was alone with Worf and Selar, having sent
Troi and Riker ahead to the main transporter after
Riker gave her the codes to open them. The plan
was for her to join them as soon as she verified
that all of Narve's men had been forced out of
their stolen bodies and caught and held in the
pattern buffers. She would have preferred to leave
them there, but her readings of Verek's aura
indicated that they wouldn't survive for more than
a few minutes, not long enough for anyone talented
at transporter technology to try and figure out a
way to keep them from dissipating into
nothingness. Although part of her wanted very much
to allow just that to happen, she knew that would
be cold-blooded murder, a step she
wasn't--quite--ready for.

While Crusher studied the readings, Selar kept her
steady, unblinking gaze on Worf. She missed the
bond they had created, even though logically it
had lasted for only a few hours and would soon be
renewed. At least, that was what she hoped. Yes,
hoped was the correct word, she decided, after
considering its emotional connotations. If Dr.
Crusher's desperate gamble worked and Peris was
truly removed without damage to Worf, they would
become one again.

Unfortunately, that was the main weakness in a
plan full of weaknesses; it was the fate of the
host minds that was most in question at this
juncture. If Dr. Crusher had miscalculated--and
Selar had deliberately refrained from calculating
the odds of any or all of this desperate venture
succeeding--then the host minds could be swept
away along with the invaders. Or utterly
destroyed.

Selar continued to watch, unmoving, her face
revealing nothing, as a field of bioelectrical
fire manifested first around Worf's body and then
only his head. It did not appear to cause him
pain, but his eyes filled with terror even as his
body remained rigid, frozen by the delicate
process of extracting Peris' unwanted essence,
capturing it with the modified transporters, and
shunting it into temporary storage until the rest
of his comrades had been taken and could be sent
with him to what was hoped to be a more secure
holding place.

Crusher turned as the effect faded away, watching
as Worf's rigid form slumped, unconscious, in his
chair. A ball of light exploded from his head,
floating in the air above him just long enough for
the transporter beam to snatch it away. She held
up a tricorder, breaking into a smile and nodding
as the readings indicated that Peris was gone...  and
that Worf remained, unharmed, his readings
indicating exactly what they should: an
unconscious Klingon.

Crusher headed directly for the doors. The EM
containment field had to be activated directly
from the transporter controls; she didn't dare
entrust such a delicate maneuver to remote
handling, even if she were the one doing it. She
paused, sparing a backward glance for the other
two.

"We shall meet you at the Bridge," Selar said
before Crusher could speak. She busied herself
with freeing Worf, looking up just long enough to
add, "Good luck, Beverly." A most un-Vulcanlike
sentiment, but it seemed appropriate to the
situation. Crusher nodded and offered a half-smile
of acknowledgement, then went through the doors at
a dead run. Once again, the clock was ticking.

Selar returned her attention to her bondmate's
unconscious form. She brushed his cheek with two
fingers, and a trace of a smile showed itself as
he stirred beneath her touch. Worf's eyes opened,
locking with hers, and a fierce smile transformed
his face. He tentatively reached up with two
fingers of his own, placing them against hers, and
she felt herself slipping easily into the meld.
Whatever had held her back in the past no longer
did; the bond was reformed quickly, and she
allowed herself to be pulled fully into the link.
She needed to confirm that Worf was fully
recovered, that the removal of Peris had caused no
permanent damage to the fierce warrior she had
claimed for her own.

The same small smile curved both sets of lips
before they joined in a kiss, their first
unwitnessed by any save themselves. Worf reveled
in the freedom of being alone in his own body,
save for the comforting, fulfilling mental bond he
shared with Selar. He felt her own fierce joy at
their finally being joined the way they were meant
to be, not to control an invader but because they
knew they belonged together. Vulcan emotions were
just as volatile as Klingon, as Worf had always
suspected; the difference lay in their outward
control, but Selar wasn't even pretending to be
logical right now.

They kissed again, passionately, holding each
other, then broke apart, Worf jumping lightly to
his feet. He and Selar headed purposefully for the
doors, and from there to the Bridge. It was time
to get this ship back where it belonged.

---

Crusher arrived at the main transporter room
without incident, and slightly out of breath. As
expected, every person she passed was sprawled
unconscious on the deck. The doctor in Crusher
wanted to stop and examine them, but the leader of
this rebellion knew she could better serve them by
ensuring their continued freedom. She dashed into
the room, heading directly for the transporter
controls. Riker was already there, waiting, poised
to do his part.

Troi stood aside as Crusher and Riker worked,
watching alertly for any sign of trouble. If they
needed her, she was there, but for now the best
thing she could do was stay out of the way.
Crusher looked at Riker, who nodded, then stabbed
his fingers down at the controls that would
released the Uxmalians from the transporter beam,
trapping them in the EM containment field Crusher
had erected around the pad.

An eerie blue glow sprang into place even as the
sparkle of the modified transporter beam
manifested itself behind the glow of the barrier.
The beam coalesced into a large, disorganized
group of distinct balls of luminous energy. The
Uxmalians were all there; she scanned the field
carefully to confirm the presence of 150 separate
entities, then allowed herself a moment of relief.
One of the frozen balls had been trapped directly
in front of her, and she had the feeling it had
been heading directly for her before the beam
stopped it. She imagined it was Narve, and
suppressed a superstitious shiver. "We've won,"
she whispered, allowing herself the luxury of a
relieved smile. "We beat you again, you bastard."
She turned back to the transporter control. "Now
we just have to get you back to your prison--"

Troi had moved further into the room, wincing at
the intensity of emotion form the imprisoned
Uxmalians, but thankful that Beverly's plan had
worked. Just as she was about to congratulate the
other woman, her eyes widened in alarm. She gasped
a warning, pointing at the front of the field.

The prisoners had all been glowing at the same
level of intensity once the beam had caught and
held them, but now they brightened, the energy
they radiated intensifying exponentially, making
it difficult to look directly at them even through
the muting blues of the EM field. The emotions,
which had ranged from anger to hatred to terror
now coalesced into a common purpose as they began
burning themselves out deliberately in a desperate
attempt to escape. Troi could sense their fierce
determination to be free, never to return to the
hopeless existence they'd escaped twice now, to
get Crusher, to kill Crusher destroy her destroy
her work and her life and the lives of all who had
betrayed them destroy them kill them all kill them
kill them killthemkillthemkillthem... 

Troi sank to her knees, moaning at the pain, both
emotional and physical, of the Uxmalian's unified
hatred. She couldn't free herself from their grip,
gasping for breath as if they were physically
squeezing the life out of her. Crusher cursed and
worked feverishly to force them to back down from
whatever it was they were doing to Troi and to the
containment field, which had begun to waver,
emitting sparks that grew in intensity along with
the glow from the prisoners.

Riker shouted out a warning: "The containment
field! It's failing!"

Crusher's heart leapt into her throat as Riker
backed away from the console, whipping out his
phaser and taking a defensive stance over Troi's
now-unconscious body. The doctor had dreaded just
this event, hoping against hope that it wouldn't
come to this, certainly not this soon. How could
she have so grossly underestimated the strength of
the field she needed to get them back to their
prison? But no, her calculations had been correct,
it was the abilities of the captives she hadn't
been able to fully comprehend.

Riker was shouting at her, and she raised a hand,
hesitating only briefly before lowering her finger
in a rush and stabbing a single button. Time had
run out; there wasn't any other choice. She would
not allow this ship or anyone else to come under
the Uxmalian's control ever again.

A final howl of defiance and rage echoed through
the room as the transporter beam pulled them away,
snatching them up just as the field collapsed.
Then they were gone, dispersed into the cold
reaches of space.

It was over.



Power Struggle - Part Twenty-one
by MizJoely (vze1iwnd @ verizon.net)

---
Epilogue: Oil on Troubled Waters
---

Crusher told Riker to go, to take care of Troi,
who was slowly recovering from the backlash of the
Uxmalian's mental assault. He'd hesitated only
long enough to get her assurance that she was
fine, that she would be all right. "Deanna needs
you right now," she'd insisted as the other woman
pulled herself groggily to a sitting position.
"Take her to Selar, to check for any signs of
telepathic damage. Physically, she's fine."

Deanna had confirmed that assessment, allowing
Riker to pull her to her feet and from there into
his arms. She'd chuckled and buried her head in
his shoulder as they left the room. Crusher had
gladly relinquished her temporary control of the
ship, setting things as back to normal as possible
under the circumstances, grateful not to be the
one making decisions now. No more decisions, no
more lives lost because of her. "Command sucks,"
she would have been heard to murmur, had anyone
been there to hear her.

Selar reported in once the comm system was free,
announcing no side effects other than grogginess
and headaches for the newly-freed crewmen. Crusher
had not responded. Instead, she walked slowly to
the transporter, staring at it. It was empty, the
EM field was down, there was no sign of the
violence she had been forced to commit. She sat
slowly on the edge and buried her head in her
hands.

Picard found her that way, hours later. He stopped
at the threshold, arrested by the sight of the
woman he loved in such obvious pain. He moved
forward, unsure, but knowing that she could not be
alone for a moment longer with the guilt he knew
she was feeling. He knelt by her side, speaking
gently, patiently, telling her that everything was
going to be fine even though she made no sign that
she recognized his words or even his presence.

"Guinan was on the Bridge almost as soon as we
began to regain consciousness," Picard said
softly. "She told me about your plan, and that she
suspected things had not gone as you had meant
them to. That you needed me, even more than the
ship and crew. She told me anyone could free the
imprisoned crew members from the cargo bay, but
only I could get through to you right now." He
touched her shoulder, lightly, and felt a shiver
go through her body. She raised her head from her
hands, cheeks wet with tears, and reached out to
hold him. He took her into his embrace, allowing
her the time she needed to get herself under
control.

Guinan was right; Beverly needed him more than
anyone right now. She needed someone who
understood exactly what she was going through, her
first command decision that had resulted in a
horrific loss of life.

All Picard could do for now was hold her, and hope
it was something she could learn to live with.

Just as he had.

---
Later
---

The door chimed. "Come in," Crusher called, but
remained standing by the view port, not bothering
to see who it was. There was only one of two
people it could be.

"Beverly."

At the sound of that familiar voice, she smiled,
faintly, to herself. "Jean-Luc," she acknowledged,
still without turning. Not Deanna Troi, then.
Good. She wasn't in the mood for sympathetic
counseling, even by the woman she considered her
best friend.

She heard him moving closer, and leaned her head
back. As expected, it came to rest on his
shoulder. She closed her eyes as his arms
encircled her waist, pulling her closer, offering
her comfort she was still only barely able to
accept.

His lips brushed the top of her head. "Beverly,
there really was no choice," Picard murmured into
her hair. "You acted properly in response to an
established threat." Reminding her of what both
Deanna and a Starfleet Inquiry Board had already
told her--and acquitted her of.

"I still chose to push that button, rather than
trying to confine them again. I could have tried
harder," she said, half to herself. "I was afraid
to wait too long, to let them escape."

It was the same thing she'd said at the Inquiry;
that essentially she had no time to make any
decision other than the one she had, but at the
same time that she should have tried harder.
Commander Riker and Counselor Troi, acting as
witnesses, had both disagreed, although ultimately
Riker's eyewitness account held more weight,
especially considering his own command experience.
The Inquiry Board had come to the conclusion that
she had acted properly, that she had no time to
seek alternate methods of containment, that the
Uxmalians presented and imminent threat to the
lives of all aboard the Enterprise. Unspoken was
the knowledge that the fleet's flag ship could not
be allowed to fall into the hands of proven
enemies, and Crusher had prevented that as well.

There was no point in repeating any of that to
Beverly; she would either come to accept her
actions, move on, and continue with the command
track she had only recently undertaken, or she
would not. "You did what you felt you had to,"
Picard finally said, keeping his voice firm. "You
did what you had to save this crew. What I would
have done," he added, breaking his own rule about
propping up others' decisions with justifications
and reassurances. This was a special case.

"Did I?" Crusher's eyes snapped open, her gaze
returning to the view port and the cold, distant
stars streaking by. She moved forward and away
from him, one hand reached up as if to touch the
window before falling back to her side. She
crossed her arms. "I wonder. The Uxmalians were
motivated by revenge, and I'll always wonder if
that colored my own actions. If I was just being
vengeful." She hadn't had to undergo nearly as
intensive counseling sessions from being raped by
Narve as she had to help her try to come to grips
with her own actions.

"You have to concentrate on the lives you saved,
just as you do in the medical field," Picard
replied, bringing his hands to rest on her
shoulders. "Some patients die, and some live. You
know that."

"Is that how you do it?" Crusher finally turned to
look at him, not just his reflection.
"Compartmentalize?"

Picard nodded. "It's the only way I know how," he
admitted. "I can't afford to second-guess myself,
no matter what the circumstances." They both knew
he was thinking of his time with the Borg, and the
awful consequences of his actions then. Although
"Locutus of Borg" could hardly be considered to
have made any decisions on his own, Picard still
took responsibility for his alter-ego's actions.
"If I questioned all of my decisions, soon I
wouldn't be able to make any. And a commander who
can't make decisions is worthless." He spoke with
finality, and Crusher accepted his acceptance of
her actions with a sigh as she turned for a kiss.

"You're right; I made a choice. A command
decision," she corrected herself as her gaze
returned to space. "I'll have to learn to live
with my uncertainty over my motives."

"Just as every commander does," Picard agreed,
relieved. Cold comfort, he knew, but the best he'd
ever been given or had to offer under these
particular circumstances.

Before he could allow himself to finally relax,
however, she looked back at him with a frown. "I'm
taking leave," she said abruptly.

"When?" he asked, unsettled by her tone. She was
certainly entitled, more than any of them, and
certainly wasn't the first to make the request. Of
course, she wasn't requesting, she was telling
him; under other circumstances he would be
inclined to tease her for ordering him around.
"For how long?"

"As soon as you can arrange it. I put the request
on your desk. I want to go before Selar and Worf
take their extended leave to Vulcan for the
wedding." That date was still months in the
future; before Picard could point that out,
Crusher kissed him again. "I need to be gone for a
couple of weeks at least. I contacted my
grandmother, and she said I was welcome for as
long as I wanted to stay. I need to deal with some
other decisions, some things that are going on in
my life that I'm not ready to tell anyone about,"
she added, knowing it wasn't enough of an
explanation but unable to offer him more. Not now.

Picard gazed into her eyes for a long minute,
gauging what he saw there. Determination, pain,
and above all a weariness he found all too
familiar. "I feel a bit as if you're shutting me
out," he said softly.

Crusher had been expecting words of that sort, but
they still hurt. "I love you," she said, just as
softly. Not dropping her eyes, keeping her gaze
steadily on his. "I promise I'll explain later,
but right now this is something I have to work out
on my own. I'm not leaving forever," she added.
Then, with a small catch, "I'm not leaving you,
Jean-Luc."

He pulled her close, kissing her again, feeling
her respond but feeling the sudden distance
between them as well. "Then I will wait, mon cher,
until you return to me," he whispered against her
lips.

They broke the embrace and turned their attention
back to the endless stream of warp-streaked stars
flashing by, beautiful and familiar, an
ever-changing kaleidoscope that held both wonder
and danger. Picard hoped Beverly wasn't just
seeing the danger, and if a trip to visit family
would help sort out her feelings, then he was
completely behind her.

What the future held after that, well, they would
find out in due course.

---

The End