It didn't change anything. Somehow, Worf had eluded her.

The doctor staved off the panic she felt rising inside her. It doesn't make sense, she told herself. He's got to be down there. She looked about the sheer cliffs that defined the slope, seeming to stand guard over it. He couldn't have scaled those things-nor would he have had any reason to.

There was a thin trickle of ice water down her back. Unless he suspected that he was being followed.

Pulaski scanned the cliffs again, then the slope. Could he have made it all the way down to the river? It didn't seem possible-he hadn't had enough time.

Still, it was the least impossible possibility. And that was the one she'd been taught to pursue back in med school.

Allowing herself to slide forward, she dangled her legs over the edge of the naked-stone slope. Then, with a gentle thrust of her arms, she slid the rest of the way over the brink.

Her landing wasn't dignified, but it was effective. She found herself sitting at the top of the grassy incline, her rear end having taken the brunt of the impact.

That's when she heard the crunch of gravel behind her, and whirled-just in time to see Worf come out of his crouch at the base of the escarpment. His ax was poised at shoulder height, and there was a killing lust in his eyes.

Without thinking, Pulaski launched herself forward. She tumbled end over end down the slope, certain that the Klingon would bury his axhead in her back at any moment.

When she somehow twisted sideways, and started to skid rather than somersault, she had a fraction of a second to see that Worf wasn't on her heels after all. She'd left him well up the incline-though he had started after her.

The doctor's body ached from her tumble, from the nightmarish rigors she'd put it through. As she tried to arrest her descent, to get her feet beneath her again, she began to think: what should I do? Where can I go that he can't follow?

Or was it best to stop and wait for him-to try to confront him now with his past, before the blood fever could rise to a crescendo in his Klingon brain?

She was still deciding when she noticed the other figures on the slope. They were past Worf and off to the side, though her frantic scrambling made it difficult to discern any more about them.

Worf didn't seem to notice the newcomers. He was too intent on catching up with Pulaski.

But that didn't last long, because a couple of seconds after Pulaski sighted them, one of the strangers opened fire on the Klingon.

It was a soft, almost indiscernible beam-more of a rippling effect than any visible sort of light. However, it hit Worf like a ton of bricks.

The Klingon toppled, rolled and finally slid to a halt, sprawled on the verdant slope. His ax ended up a couple of meters from his open hand.

As she gained her balance, and the strangers began to descend, Pulaski felt her heart sink. For she saw now how much they resembled the marshals.

Nor was there any way she could outrun them. Not as long as they had weapons like that one.

Vaguely, she wondered what the penalty might be for desertion.

While the others slid and scuttled down the slope to help the warrior's intended victim, Dan'nor approached the warrior himself.

Curiously, the still form was missing some of its armor. Dan'nor wondered how that could have come about-even as he stopped by its side and knelt, blaster at the ready.

It turned out, however, that there was no need for caution. The warrior was truly unconscious.

Replacing his weapon in his belt, Dan'nor turned the combatant over to get a better look at him-to see if he needed any immediate medical attention. After all, he could have injured himself when he fell.

The Klah'kimmbri was surprised to see a face that he recognized. He almost smiled. Wasn't this the one he'd seen on the screen that time? The one who had seemed so efficient to him?

He couldn't be sure it was the same warrior. After all, he'd had a helm on then, and it had concealed part of his face. But Dan'nor was almost sure.

What was he doing here, so far from the fighting? Dan'nor looked down slope, saw that the other rebels had caught up with the fleeing female. Perhaps she could shed some light on this.

As Ma'alor and the others trudged back up the incline, it seemed that the female was almost eager to reach the warrior. She was climbing faster than any of them. Strange behavior, thought Dan'nor, for one who was so recently striving to get away from him.

At the last, the female knelt on the unconscious one's other side. She pulled his eyelid up-to expose his staring eyeball-harumphed, and let it down again. Then she put a finger to his neck, just below the line of his jaw.

"He's not hurt," Dan'nor offered. "Not really. It was just a small jolt."

"He should be up in half an hour," said Ma'alor, standing over them-not an easy trick on this steep a hill. "Maybe less, judging by the size of him."

The female nodded. "I agree." She looked up at Ma'alor. "And since you didn't lie to me about this, I'm more inclined to believe the rest of it-that you aren't a pack of marshals bent on bringing us back for punishment." She surveyed the other faces around her. "But then, what are you? What are you doing here?"

Ma'alor shook his head. "First, I want some more information from you. How you came to find your memory, for instance. And what your link is to this one here." He indicated the warrior.

The female told them-appearing to hold nothing back. As she spoke, Dan'nor got an entirely new perspective on the error he'd made as Fulfillment Facilitator-the mistake that plunged this Pulaski and her crew mates into the Conflicts.

He also found that he liked something about the female. There was a strength in her, a resolve-not unlike the quality he had come to admire in Trien'nor.

"Remarkable," said Ma'alor, when she had finished. "You're saying that a simple, bright flash was enough to restore all your memories."

"That's right," said Pulaski. "Now it's your turn. If you're not marshals, what's your business here?"

Ma'alor didn't tell her everything, but he told her enough. More, in fact, than Dan'nor had expected he would. He spoke of Ralak'kai's initial imprisonment; of the innovation the Conflict Masters had so recently devised for him-a public execution, justified by his supposed attempts to escape from this Conflict zone. And, of course, of the concurrent executions of all those who'd aided him in his efforts-lending the event the proportions of a spectacle.

"We are here," Ma'alor explained, "to make sure that the spectacle does not take place. To show the Council-and our people as well-that we will no longer stand for the Military's depravities."

Pulaski took a moment to digest it all. "So you're heading for that fortress now? The one where your friend is being held?"

Ma'alor nodded. "Yes."

She half smiled. "Then I wish you all the luck in the world."

Ma'alor eyed her. "You don't seem very optimistic for us."

She shook her head. "Forgive me-it's not that. I was just trying to think of a way you could help me, and I can't. I still have no way of getting out of here. No way of contacting my ship-and that disease could be running wild by now." She paused. "I know that sounds a little selfish, with all you're trying to do here-but I guess I've got my own problems as well."

"I see," said Ma'alor. "But tell me-would you be more interested in our venture if it were one of your crew mates that was to be executed?"

Pulaski's brows met above the bridge of her nose. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Dan'nor interrupted. There was something about the way Ma'alor was conducting this conversation that irked him. "We have sources," he said. "They've determined, as best they can, the identities of those who will die alongside Ralak'kai-and at least one came from the Enterprise. Possibly, more than one."

Ma'alor looked at him, but he did not berate him. Perhaps he would do that later. "It's the truth," he confirmed. "And we have actually seen someone of your race at Ralak'kai's side in the Conflicts. So my guess is that our information is accurate."

Pulaski looked more than just interested. Her eyes had become hard, unyielding.

"Take me to them," see said, "and I'll help in any way I can."

Ma'alor considered it. "All right," he said finally. "We can always use an extra pair of hands." He looked around, eyes narrowed like those of a hunting bird. "But you must keep up with us. Otherwise, we'll be forced to leave you behind."

Pulaski nodded. "I understand." She regarded the unconscious warrior. "But I'll need some help carrying him-at least, until he wakes up from that blast you hit him with."

Ma'alor looked at her. His mouth twisted as if he were about to laugh. "You don't understand after all. I meant that you could come along-not your friend here." Abruptly, his eyes became as hard as hers. "He would slow us down-we can't afford that. Not on open terrain like this, where we run too great a risk of being spotted. And not with Ralak'kai's execution approaching so quickly."

Pulaski didn't give in-not an inch. "Getting there is one thing," she said. "But once you're there, you're going to need help to free your friend." She placed a hand on the warrior's unfeeling shoulder. "No one fights like he can. No one is as skilled at moving quickly and quietly. He could be the difference for you between success and failure."

"Can he handle a blaster?" asked Rin'noc.

Pulaski turned to face him. "Better than anyone I've ever seen."

Dan'nor inspected the still, cruel features in a new light. Certainly, they could use the skills of a trained fighter. None of them were experts at this sort of thing-not even Dan'nor himself, with his Military background.

"That's all well and good," said Ma'alor. "But he doesn't know us. He doesn't even know you-not anymore. Why should he fight for us? Why not just tear our throats out and run at the first opportunity?"

Pulaski shook her head from side to side. "He won't hurt us. Not after I've had a chance to talk with him." She paused. "I must admit, I'm not a hundred percent sure that he'll help us. But I know he won't hurt us."

Ma'alor spat. "How can you say that? Without question, he would have hurt you-if we hadn't arrived in time to stop him."

"I know," she said. "But it'll be different after I've had a chance to reassure him. He'll listen to reason-he always has."

Ma'alor made no attempt to mask his skepticism. "No," he said. "I won't allow it."

"However," said Dan'nor, "you don't necessarily have the final decision in this matter."

For the second time in the last few minutes, Dan'nor was subjected to Ma'alor's stare. But he went on anyway.

"I say we take the warrior with us," he told the others. "And I volunteer to carry him first."

There was a long silence. They could hear the rush of the river, the sighing of the wind on the open slope.

At last, someone spoke. "I'm with Dan'nor," said Rin'noc. "And I'll take my turn at carrying too, if I have to."

"I agree," said Ka'asot. "It won't hurt to have a warrior with us when we reach that fortress."

Nurel'lid had yet to voice his opinion. He seemed torn.

Until Pulaski fixed him with her gaze. "He'll die," she said, "if we leave him here like this. The only question is who'll get to him first-the marshals or the wild animals."

That tipped the scales. "All right," said Nurel'lid, though he couldn't face Ma'alor as he said it. "We'll take him."

Pulaski nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you. All of you."

Ma'alor scowled. "Very well then. We've prided ourselves on observing democratic principles. I bow to the will of the majority-though not without reservations."

He reached inside his pack, drew out his climbing rope-and tossed it to Dan'nor.

"If we're going to bring him along," said Ma'alor, "he should be bound. So that he doesn't wake up and make short work of us."

Dan'nor didn't question the wisdom in that. Uncoiling the rope, he set to binding the warrior's arms and legs.

They were in three separate cells-Geordi nearest the narrow aperture that served as a window, then Ralak'kai, then Picard. And the flying eye device seemed to prefer Ralak'kai's company to that of his friends.

"I wonder why," said Geordi.

"Perhaps," suggested Picard, "it has something to do with your resemblance to the marshals."

Ralak'kai made a sound that was equivalent to a shrug. "Who knows? Like most of what we have encountered here, it is a mystery to me."

A clatter of footfalls came to them from down the dimly lit corridor. The maker of the footfalls had come quite close before they realized it was not their usual jailer-nor was he bringing them another round of that foul-smelling porridge.

This was one of the marshals. If anything, he seemed even haughtier in his bearing than the ones they had met so far. Geordi wasn't sure, but he thought that their visitor also wore more regalia than the average sky rider.

Like the flying eye, he stopped in front of Ralak'kai's cell; in fact, the machine appeared almost to perch on his shoulder. But he addressed all three of them, his golden eyes flitting from one to the other.

"You seem calm," he said.

A strange way to begin a conversation, Geordi thought.

"We would be more calm," noted Ralak'kai, "if we knew what we were doing here."

At that, the marshal's eyes lit up. "Ah," he said. "Now I understand. No one has told you."

Geordi didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Told us what?"

The sky rider turned to face him. "It's very simple," he said. "Just before day's end, someone will come for you. You will be escorted down to the courtyard. Then, with the sunset serving as a most dramatic backdrop, you will be executed-slowly, and painfully."

The words didn't sound real. It took some time before Geordi could come to grips with them.

"Executed?" he repeated. "But why? What for."

The marshal appeared to grow slightly more serious. "For attempting to desert your companies," he said. "For trying to thwart the intent of the Conflicts. For compounding your crimes on the outside with aberrant behavior on the inside." Suddenly, he smiled. "Do you think that's enough? Or should I heap on additional charges?"

"You are mad," said Picard. All Geordi could see of him was his accusing finger, thrust in their visitor's direction. "We aren't criminals and you know it. The only aberrant behavior I've seen has been on the parts of your blaster-happy cohorts." His voice gained in intensity as he went on. "As for thwarting the intent of your bloodbaths-I have no regrets about that. I'd do it again in a minute."

"Well said," offered Ralak'kai.

The marshal nodded. "Good. A little emotion-that's more like it."

"Wait a minute," said Geordi, catching on. "This is part of the show-isn't it? That machine is supposed to record our pre-execution hysteria."

"Of course," said Ralak'kai, as it dawned on him too. "Our tearful good-byes, our pleas for mercy."

Picard muttered a curse. "You can take your machine and go straight to hell-which, from what I've seen, can't be very far from here." He laughed-actually laughed. "We're through providing entertainment for you."

"That's correct," said Ralak'kai. "You can kill us if you want to. But it won't be the spectacle you're obviously looking for. Eh, Geordi?"

Geordi still felt numb at the prospect of being executed-especially at the hands of this pompous ass. However, he played along with the others.