Chapter Sixteen.

IT WAS COLD up in the hills. The wind raised goose bumps wherever it touched Pulaski's bare skin.

The day before, shortly after the last of their patients had been taken from them, a horde of silent wagoneers had come and packed up the med enclosure. There had been no warning. But the other meds seemed to accept it, so Pulaski didn't try to stop it either.

She had been educated by experience. One did not stand in the way of things-unless one was ready to get knocked down. And although the fight hadn't quite gone out of her, she had determined that she would pick her spots.

No doubt, it was intended that they should set up their installation somewhere else. But where? And for whom?

She didn't know. Then again, she didn't know a lot of things-still. In some cases, she had answers-those supplied by the other meds, or even by the warriors-but they were unsatisfactory. Or insufficient.

For instance-what was all the fighting about? And if it was something important enough to risk lives for, why did the lordly ones-the marshals-decline to participate? What was their function, after all-other than to wrench her patients from her before they'd had a chance to heal correctly?

As for the theory that they were here because they were criminals-it was certainly possible, if that referred to political crimes. Certainly, she could have been capable of such activity, if the marshals were any indication of what the authorities were like outside.

Pulaski doubted, however, that any of the meds could have been guilty of baser crimes. She had seen them in action. They were dedicated, concerned-if a little too afraid of the marshals. Definitely not the throat-cutting type.

The wind picked up and she pulled her cloak closer about her. The soles of her feet were starting to hurt. Her boots weren't made for this terrain. It seemed she could feel every pebble, every bit of gravel that littered their trail.

And as far as she could tell, it was only going to get worse. For some time, they had been able to see a path amid the high ground to their right. As they progressed, the path had descended-as if it would ultimately meet the one they traveled now. Pulaski had a pretty good idea that they would be on that higher trail before very long.

Great, she told herself. That means it'll get even colder. And in time, my boots will peel off altogether.

She scanned the descending path more closely than before, resolved to check the equipment wrappings again before they started up. The way was narrower up there-there wouldn't be any room to slip around the sides of the vehicles and make adjustments if something began to come loose. And there were too many items in short supply already for them to...

Pulaski stopped in mid-thought, gasped. She couldn't help it. What she had seen had caught her completely off guard.

There was a watcher on that trail up above them. He had concealed himself as best he could, but the place didn't offer much cover. It was amazing, in fact, that he had managed to escape their notice for so long-to blend in with the hillside, despite his size.

In that first shocked instant, Pulaski's eyes had locked with his. And there was an intensity in that gaze that had shaken her to her roots.

Nor, as time resumed its passage, was she able to tear her eyes away from the watcher's. Not until after he conceded her discovery of him and clambered to his feet.

There were cries of surprise from the other meds, sounds of fear from the wagon drivers. For they had no one to defend them-and this watcher posed a threat. It was obvious in the way he held his weapon-some sort of broadax-and in the way he scrutinized the carts full of medical supplies.

Pulaski could see now that he was a warrior. But for reasons she couldn't fathom, he had discarded his helmet and part of his armor. His black hair blew in the swirling winds; his savage eyes narrowed against the flying grit.

Why was he alone? Was he the last survivor of an ambush? Or was there some other reason?

No matter. Regardless of how he'd arrived at this pass, he certainly wasn't a bearer of good tidings. He had been stalking them like a predator for who knew how long, waiting to pounce.

Apparently, there was something he wanted from them.

As frightened as they were, med and driver alike, no one ran. Everyone seemed to prefer the anonymity of the group.

So when the watcher made his way down from his perch-a difficult task, and one that he accomplished with animal ease-they were all at his mercy.

He approached the wagon train warily, his eyes darting here and there. He shifted the ax from one hand to the other, as if waiting for someone to challenge him.

Pulaski thought about how much damage that ax could do to the contents of the wagons. How many lives might be lost if the intruder were allowed to proceed unchecked.

If she had had more time to consider it, she probably wouldn't have intervened. But she didn't have that much time.

As Pulaski slipped between the warrior and the cart nearest to him, she drew his scrutiny again. Up close, his gaze was even more fascinating-more frightening.

"What do you want?" she heard herself ask.

Cruel eyes widened beneath that dark and massive brow. For a second or two, Pulaski thought he would strike her-just as the marshal had, but with killing force.

Then his strangely expressive lips shaped a single word: "Food." His voice was a rumble, but the meaning was clear enough.

Pulaski relaxed a little. Food? Well, that was something they could surely stand to part with. After all, big as he was, the warrior could hardly take it all with him.

"Kopaa'kar," she called to the med nearest the end of the train-never taking her eyes off-the intruder, as if-she could hold him with her gaze as surely as he held her. "Uncover the food. Let him take what he wants."

As Kopaa'kar hurried to comply, the warrior's attention was turned in that direction. Pulaski felt grateful as he moved away, drawn toward the last wagon.

She was shaking, she realized as she watched him go. But that was all right. He'd take some food and soon he'd be gone.

Just as she thought that, she felt another kind of scrutiny-a more familiar kind. By now, she had developed a sixth sense about it.

The flying machine, like the intruder, seemed to come out of nowhere. And as if it were a kindred spirit, it headed right for him.

The warrior noticed it before it had come within half a dozen meters of him. For some reason, he seemed to feel threatened by it. And with alarming quickness, he tried to squash it with his ax.

The flying machine jerked out of harm's way-and the ax struck a covered mound of wagon cargo instead. There was a craak-the sound of equipment breaking beneath the tarpaulin.

Then, with a snarl, the warrior ripped his weapon free and went after the flying device again.

Pulaski couldn't believe it. She had come this close to avoiding any damage at all. And now every one of their precious instruments were in danger.

How could she just stand there and watch? She had to do something.

The flying machine was staying just a step ahead of the warrior-all the time keeping him before its lens.

An idea came to her-a way to end the destruction-and she lunged for the nearest wagon. With any luck, there would be some metal support-pole components among the cargo-hah. Wrestling with the tarp, pushing aside other pieces of equipment, she got a grip on one of the long pieces of metal. Fortunately, it didn't offer much resistance-it just slipped free.

By now, the machine was retreating in her direction-pursued by the flailing warrior. It was facing the other way-still oblivious to her presence.

Just before it came within striking distance, Pulaski realized that she was smiling-in anticipation of what she was about to do. It was like finishing the job she'd started back in the enclosure.

Then the machine retreated a little more, and Pulaski swung with all her might. She felt the impact as the metal strut connected solidly with her target.

And a moment later, her eyes were scraped raw as the damned thing exploded in her face.

She recoiled, staggered, fell against something hard. Tried to squeeze out the pain along with the tears.

My god, she thought, I'm blind. I'm blind...

But she wasn't. When she opened her eyes, they hurt-like the rest of her face. But she could see fine.

That wasn't the problem at all. The problem was that she didn't have the slightest idea of where she was-or how she'd gotten there.

When she looked around, she saw a host of strange faces gathered around a long line of wagons-the entire tableau framed by a severe, mountainous landscape. At her feet, there was a smoking, sparking machine of some sort.

None of it looked familiar. None of it.

Her mind reeled with the immensity of her loss. Something had happened to her memory...

Someone walked past her-someone big, with an ax in his hand. He kicked at the sizzling hunk of debris on the ground-and looked at her over his shoulder.

He was dangerous looking-not the kind she'd want to get too close to. But the sight of him kindled a spark inside her. A spark of recognition. Did she... know him? Yes-she did.

The name escaped her for the moment. But she knew exactly who this one was. A scene flashed in front of her-the inside of a cabin, and a group of people standing around a gaming board...

It was all coming back now. She just needed a few minutes to sort it out.

The one with the ax didn't linger, however. He went to one of the wagons, the one farthest from her, and ripped off the tarpaulin that still half covered it.

One of the strangers came over to her and put his arm about her shoulders. "Pulaski, are you all right?"

Pulaski. That was her name, wasn't it? And she was a doctor-a medical officer on... on a ship of some kind. The... damn, it was on the tip of her tongue...

Someone else came over and applied something cool and wet to her face. It stung for a moment, then it felt good. She leaned back against the wagon behind her, letting the pain of her burned skin leech away.

Abruptly, there was a name in her head. Enterprise. Of course-that was the name of the ship. And that other place she'd recalled, the cabin-that was on another ship, the Gregor Mendel.

Faces and events spilled over one another as the dam inside her broke. Picard, Geordi, Riker... she'd called Riker after Badnajian disappeared. Worf...

Worf!

Tearing away the dressing that covered her face, Pulaski looked around for the Klingon. But he was nowhere to be seen. At the last wagon, there were people working to put the tarpaulin back into place.

"Where did he go?" she asked.

"Who?" asked one of those tending to her. "The warrior?"

"Yes," she insisted, "the warrior. Where did he go?"

The stranger pointed to the path above them. "That way," she said. And then, misinterpreting the reason for Pulaski's question, "You need not worry about him. He spared us."

Pulaski frowned. There was no evidence of Worf on the trail either. Being a Klingon, he could move quickly on treacherous terrain.

What had happened to him, that he didn't know her-that he could leave her here like this, as if she were just another stranger in a crowd of strangers? Indeed, what had happened to her that she hadn't recognized him?

Had all of them who'd been on the Mendel had their memories tampered with this way? But why-for what purpose?

And how was it that she'd gotten hers back?

More to the point, now that she was starting to remember, what was she going to do about it? Stay with the line of wagons and bide her time-or follow Worf, knowing all the time that she might not be able to help him once she found him? If she found him.

Pulaski made her decision, moved past those who had been helping her. They watched her skirt the wagon, then head for the steep slope that separated them from the upper trail.

"Pulaski? What are you doing?"

"I'm going after him," she called back.

"You can't," someone said. "He's a warrior. He'll kill you."

Certainly, there was a chance of that. She didn't discount the seriousness of the warning.

But she didn't turn back either.

"Sorry, sir," said Radzic. "It was just a false alarm."

Riker looked at him and nodded. "Of course. Keep at it, crewman."

On his way past the science stations, he had an urge to strike something. He curbed it.

Damn. For a moment, he thought that they'd actually gotten somewhere. That they'd located one of the crew on the Mendel-a Tetracite named Seedirk. No question-it was a Tetracite all right. Two of them, in fact. Only, upon closer inspection, neither one had turned out to be the right Tetracite.

The first officer was beginning to see why Data had opted to find their people on his own. Even after they had discovered the Tetracites, it had taken hours to check their physical particulars against Seedirk's profile.

At a closer distance, they'd have accomplished it in much less time. But they didn't dare linger at a closer distance-a fact that twisted in him more and more with each passing minute.

It was increasingly clear that their hopes rested with the android. Though Riker still didn't know what Data's plan was-and nearly half of his allotted time had come and gone.

Riker had barely reached the command center when the turbo doors opened and Burtin strode onto the bridge. The first officer saw him out of the corner of his eye, bit his lip and met the doctor halfway.

He should have checked in with sickbay some time ago. He knew that. But with this Tetracite affair and his trying to figure out what Data was up to, it had completely slipped his mind.

Burtin looked a hell of a lot more determined than Riker had ever seen him. His words were clipped, insistent: "We've got to talk, Commander."

"Certainly," said Riker. He indicated the observation lounge and they both stepped inside.

Burtin didn't bother to take a seat, so Riker didn't either. They stood beside the conference table, and even the gentleness of the lighting didn't soften the lines in Burtin's face.

"You know," said the doctor, "for a long time, I was in awe of this assignment. Kate Pulaski, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, the Enterprise-these are names you hear about. Read about. You don't get to see them up close-especially if you're only a bone-splicer out on the frontier.

"Out there, Commander, we take every little sickness seriously-and I mean seriously. I know that's not the case here. You've got the latest technology-the latest equipment, the latest medicines. And you've got the best-trained personnel. So when a little old disease comes along, you don't panic. You just take care of it.

"I figured that that's what I would do. I mean, Doctor Pulaski wasn't all that frantic about Fredi's ailment. Concerned, yes, but far from frantic. So I tried to take it in stride-as I thought she would have. Even when the godforsaken thing mutated. I tried to act as I thought the assistant chief medical officer of this ship should act. I got to work on the problem-and I didn't make an uproar about it.