Yet their plan had thus far gone without a hitch. They had gotten this far-expected or not, they had to forge ahead.

Ma'alor, the closest to the turning, glanced over his shoulder at the rest of them. He still appeared determined. Or was that a glimmer of doubt in his eyes? A sign that he was having second thoughts about their ability to free the prisoners?

No matter, Worf told himself. If the rest of them wish to retreat, let them.

The Klingon would not go back. Not now, when his chance to avenge himself on the honorless ones was just around the corner.

"Worf," whispered Pulaski, wide-eyed. "Where are you going?"

He shrugged her off as gently as he could, approached the turning of the corridor.

Ma'alor whirled, trained his blaster on him. The Klingon wondered what setting it was adjusted to.

For a moment, the two of them eyed one another-Ma'alor insisting on his right to lead, Worf challenging him to do what he had come here to do. And all the while, the voices of the marshals were ringing in the stone passageway beyond them.

Finally, Ma'alor let the nose of his blaster drop. Reaching out with his free hand, he clasped the Klingon's shoulder-a gesture of respect? Of gratitude for reminding him of his mission? Worf suffered it, knowing it brought him a little closer to that which he hungered for.

Crouching, they proceeded to the brink of the turning-all except Pulaski. Worf could see the muscles in Ma'alor's neck tense as he prepared to spring.

Then they were rolling and blasting in a corridor full of marshals, and there were screams of surprise and the wssk of weapons being drawn and the sound of bodies hitting the floor.

It was difficult to anticipate the blaster beams, as invisible as they were but for their eerie rippling effect. Nonetheless, Worf's battle-honed reflexes served him well. He bounced from wall to wall, dropping marshals with unerring accuracy.

Impressive, he told himself, considering he had never handled a blaster before. At least not that he could remember.

But it did not fill his aching need for revenge. It was too simple-too detached. He needed to take one of the slugs in his hands-to crush him, to feel his bones splinter.

For the shame and the suffering they had inflicted. For their leering laughter.

And for what his kind had done to Worf's kind back at the fortress.

Unfortunately, there were just a few of the marshals left standing. And as Worf looked on, Ma'alor and Nurel'lid dropped two of them.

That left but one. Apparently unarmed, he was hiding behind the prisoners.

Worf was oblivious to the half dozen or more figures that sprawled across the corridor. He had forgotten about the trio he had come in with, the comrades they had left outside.

Even the prisoners-one of them Klah'kimmbri-seemed to melt away. He had eyes for but one face, one despised form.

In the back of his mind, he wondered why the marshal did not run away. Or pick up a weapon and fire at him. Or at least threaten him with reprisals.

But he did not wonder so much that it cooled his blood-fury. Never breaking his stride, he reached out and took the marshal by the throat.

Raised him off the floor with the strength of one arm. And with great satisfaction, began to squeeze the breath out of him.

But there was something wrong here. The flesh of the marshal's neck did not yield. Nor did his grasp seem to have any effect on the cursed one's breathing.

In fact, he was able to smile. And speak.

"It is a pleasure," he said evenly, "to see you again, Worf. I had feared I would not find you in time."

The Klingon's eyes narrowed as he squeezed harder. His arm trembled with the effort.

Yet it gained him nothing. The marshal still seemed unaffected.

"I would take this for a show of affection," said the honorless one, "but for the fact that you are incapable of recognizing me. Therefore, I must conclude that it is something else. Perhaps a display of aggression?"

"Worf!" The cry came ringing the length of the corridor. The Klingon looked back over his shoulder and snarled. Who dared?

It was Pulaski. And she was approaching with an obvious sense of urgency.

"Put him down," she insisted. "That's Data. Don't you-oh, that's right. You don't."

The Klingon turned back again, saw the affable expression on his victim's face. He did not quite understand, but one thing was obvious. This seeming marshal was another ally.

And a durable one at that.

In disgust, he thrust his burden from him. The pale one landed almost effortlessly on his feet.

"Gods!" roared Worf. His cry echoed unmercifully. "What must one do to find revenge in this place?"

Chapter Nineteen.

AFTER THEIR INITIAL, attention-getting salvo, Dan'nor and his comrades had not had an easy time of it. Early on, Ka'asot had absorbed a beam, and he hadn't moved since.

Immediately afterward, an attempt had been made to storm their position on the catwalk. He and Rin'noc had been hard-pressed, and more than once a blast had splattered on the stones just behind Dan'nor. But in the end, they had turned their enemies back.

Now, it seemed, the marshals had decided that the price of dragging them down was too steep. They were playing a waiting game-until help could arrive from the field in the form of some flying sleds.

Of course, the plan had been to be out of here long before that time. To be up the mountain again and gone before the sky riders could arrive. Nor were the earthbound marshals likely to pursue-for once the rebels were above them on the slope, they would enjoy too great an advantage.

But Ma'alor was taking longer than expected. What was keeping him? Had the prisoners proved harder to find than they'd anticipated? Or had the marshals found them first and taken them out of the game?

Just when Dan'nor concluded that their gambit was a failure, he saw a figure emerge from the opening by which his comrades had entered the keep. No one in the courtyard seemed to notice as Nurel'lid headed for the wall, followed by Ma'alor and someone in rough-spun garb-someone who had to be Ralak'kai.

But that was it. No one else trailed after them.

Dan'nor swallowed. Worf. Pulaski. And the others who were supposed to have been imprisoned with Ralak'kai...

All gone? All of them-just like Ka'asot?

It was a lot to pay for one man's freedom. An awful lot. But if they could show the Council that they would not tolerate such things... then perhaps they had purchased more than they would leave Dov'rellir with.

To keep the others safe and unseen, Dan'nor opened fire again. A fraction of a second later, Rin'noc followed suit. In the courtyard, marshals scattered, some taking cover behind the gallows.

Dan'nor took some satisfaction in knowing that that ugly thing would never be used. That the aerial monitors would never have a chance to transmit their spectacle.

The marshals returned their fire. But they never saw Ma'alor, Nurel'lid or Ralak'kai climbing the wall-not until it was too late.

Nor did they offer more than token pursuit as the rebels escaped up the mountainside.

When the time came, it was even tougher to give the order than Riker had expected. But then, he wasn't just leaving an away team to face danger and the likelihood of death. He was leaving five of the people he loved best in all the universe.

Nor did he feel inclined to distinguish between real people and artificial ones. He felt as bad about Data as he did about the others. In a way, perhaps, worse-because the android had volunteered for this, had gone in with the hope that he could save his crew mates.

And now, the first officer was forced to choke off that hope. Maybe forever.

Doctor Burtin had chosen to be on the bridge as Data's deadline became imminent. Obviously, he had exercised his prerogative to keep Riker honest-though that was hardly necessary.

Duty came first. It was a viewpoint to which Picard would certainly have subscribed.

"All right," said Riker. "We've waited long enough." He turned to Sharif at the conn station. "Log in coordinates for Starbase Ninety-one."

Sharif did as he was told. "Logged, sir."

"Warp nine, Mister Sharif. En-"

"Commander?"

Riker shot to his feet. He knew that voice!

"Data!"

"That is correct, sir. I have five to beam up."

"Transporter room," cried the first officer, barely able to contain his exuberance. "Mister O'Brien..."

"Aye, sir. I'm locking in on them now. Got them."

"Energize," commanded Riker.

There was a long pause-or maybe it just seemed long. The first officer had time to look around the bridge-at Troi, at Fong. And at Burtin.

"They're here, sir," said O'Brien finally. "All five of them. Captain Picard, Doctor Pulaski, Lieutenants Worf and La Forge. And Lieutenant Commander Data, of course."

Riker nodded, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I'm on my way."

One moment, he had been standing in a dank, stone corridor. The next, he found himself somewhere else entirely-on a strange sort of illuminated platform in a pleasant if austere-looking room.

The others were there with him. The warrior and Geordi and the woman and the marshal who had come to relocate them. Or had they determined that he was not a marshal, but rather one of Ralak'kai's people in disguise?

Picard was very confused.

"You can come down from there now," said the only other person in the room-a fellow half-concealed behind what appeared to be a machine. He was still tinkering with it as he spoke.

"Of course," said the one who resembled Ralak'kai. "As soon as Doctor Pulaski gets her bearings."

The woman appeared a trifle unsteady. She was clutching the pallid one's arm for support.

"Thanks for the help," she told him. "I guess androids are built to withstand the rigors of teleportation better than humans."

Androids? Teleportation?

Picard wondered what he had gotten himself into-though, no matter what it was, it had to be better than awaiting execution.

He turned to Geordi, and the dark man shrugged. "Don't look at me," he said. "I'm new here myself."

Grrr...

"Simmer down, Worf," said the female. What was her name? Pulaski? "This is the place I told you about-the Enterprise."

Picard glanced back at the warrior, saw the wild and wary look in his eyes, and decided to give him as wide a berth as possible. Geordi must have had a similar thought because he followed Picard off the platform without a moment's hesitation.

At the same time, an opening appeared in the wall-in the wall? -mand three people stepped through. One was tall and bearded; another, a female, was darkly beautiful. The third, another man, was unremarkable looking.

"Ah," said Pulaski, "just the people I want to see." Suddenly recovered, she made her way past the others. "Data told me about the spread of the disease. We've got to move quickly."

The bearded man stared at her. "Doctor-you have your memory, don't you?"

"Yes. That's another thing we have to discuss."

"I too have something to discuss," said the pallid one, raising a slender finger for attention. He came down off the platform, leaving the warrior there alone. "I was able to bring together two other groups of Federation personnel. What's more, I have their coordinates, and..."

The bearded man stopped him with a clap on the shoulder. "It's all right, Data. We've got them already. We stumbled onto them while you were gone."

The one called Data seemed to brighten at the news. "Ah," he said. "Well done, sir."

"There aren't any other groups?" asked the bearded man. "Are there?"

The pallid one's expression changed again. "No, sir. There were no other survivors."

A somber silence swept the room. Finally, the bearded man dispelled it with a command-though he appeared to be speaking to no one in particular. It was almost as if he were addressing an invisible helper, hovering somewhere near the ceiling.

"Riker to bridge. Let's get out of here, Mister Sharif-any heading that appeals to you. Before we run out of luck with the Klah'kimmbri."

"I'm afraid we already have, sir. The energy mantle is materializing again."

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Picard looked around, but he couldn't catch anyone speaking.

The bearded man frowned. "All right, then. Maintain present position for the time being."

He turned toward Picard, nodded. "Welcome back, Captain."