Picard returned the nod. "Thank you," he said.

Captain?

Then the bearded man was exiting through that same hole in the wall-and taking half the people in the room with him.

The dark-haired female with the lovely black eyes seemed to be the one in charge now. She smiled at each of them in turn-first Picard, then Geordi, then the warrior.

"Relax," she said. "You are all safe here. In a little while, all your questions will be answered."

There was something about her that made Picard want to trust. He could feel some of the tension going out of him.

"But first," she said, "we must see that you are made comfortable. Won't you come with me?"

Picard was the first to comply. And why not? He was curious to see what was out there.

As the sickbay doors opened, and the four of them stepped through, Burtin was still bringing Pulaski up-to-date. Until now, he had restricted his monologue to medical information.

"And so," he said finally, "I advised Commander Riker to take off for Starbase Ninety-one- where we could have enhanced our ability to keep our people alive. We were on the verge of doing that when Mister Data here called up for a teleport."

Pulaski glanced at him. "You mean you were going to sacrifice me and the others so you could get to Starbase Ninety-one a little sooner?"

Burtin inspected her profile, taut with purpose. "Yes," he said. "That seemed to me to be the best course of action."

Pulaski nodded. "And you were absolutely correct, Doctor." Another glance in his direction, this time accompanied by a conspiratorial smile. "Though if my theory stands up, we can take care of this little epidemic without any help from Starbase Ninety-one."

Sickbay's diagnostic area was littered with field generators, most of them in use. There were biobeds everywhere, including more than twice the usual number in critical care. And every blood purifier they owned was hard at work, with a nurse to oversee it.

"How many?" asked the chief medical officer.

"At last count," said Burtin, "thirty. Less than I expected," he admitted.

Pulaski grunted. "It could have been worse." Reaching into her rough-spun garment, she removed a square of the same material that had been gathered into a makeshift pouch.

"Here," she said, handing the package to her colleague.

Burtin took it, looked at it. "What's this?"

"Gruel," said Pulaski. "Or the antidote, depending on your point of view. I snatched it from the captain's cell before we left."

Riker seemed puzzled, but not Data. He voiced the explanation even as Burtin was putting it together in his own head.

"Interesting," said the android. "Since none of the away team has come down with the disease, you have isolated a common denominator: an element in your diets."

"Exactly," said Pulaski. "And since all any of us ate was this foul-smelling stuff" -she indicated the contents of the half-open pouch in Burtin's hand- "it's not unreasonable to assume that it contains a natural antibiotic. Coincidentally, the one we're looking for."

Burtin regarded his superior with redoubled admiration. "Have you got a good feeling about this one too?" he asked.

"Pretty good," she told him. "But there's only one way to find out for sure. I want the gruel fed whole to Fredi and Vanderventer. And at the same time, we'll analyze it-so when it works, we'll have a fair idea why."

"What about the memory-restoration procedure?" asked Riker.

"That will have to wait," said Pulaski. "A few hours, anyway. It'll take time to set things up. And until I dose Fredi and Vanderventer, and get the analysis process under way, memory-restoration is on the back burner anyway-the epidemic is my main concern."

Now it was Data's turn to look puzzled. "Back burner?" he echoed.

"Come on," said Riker, turning him around. 'I'll explain on the way to the bridge."

Chapter Twenty.

PICARD LEANED BACK in his seat at the conference table. "You are to be commended, Data. If I were here, I must admit, I would have expressed the same reservations as Mister Fong. Yet you carried off your masquerade quite well. With-shall we say-a certain amount of flair."

The android smiled, obviously pleased with himself. "It is good of you to say so, Captain. But I was fortunate in that my red-dyed hair and my uniform put me in a position of implied authority. Once I realized that I enjoyed certain advantages, I merely played along."

"You're too modest," remarked Riker. "Using marshals to gather the Mendel survivors into two groups-and to stand guard over them, so they'd each be in a predetermined place when we went to beam them up... that was nothing short of brilliant, Data."

For once, the android was speechless. Picard almost thought he could see Data blush-though it might have been a trick of the light and his officer's hair, which was still bright red.

The captain decided that it would be merciful to change the subject. He turned to Pulaski. "I trust your efforts are continuing to meet with success?"

The doctor nodded. "That gruel really packs a wallop. Less than eight hours after ingestion, Fredi and Vanderventer were not only feeling better-they were completely free of the bacterium. And of course, now that we've isolated the antibiotic, we've been able to cut that time in half by injecting it directly into the bloodstream. It won't be long before the last of our patients is on his or her feet."

"What about the memory restorations?" asked Geordi. Naturally, that was a subject of some immediacy to him.

"No problems there either," said Pulaski. "We're just going slowly so as not to make any mistakes. The optic nerve is a delicate thing-since we're stimulating it directly, we have to exercise caution."

"Also," said Troi, "we cannot merely hook everyone up to machines and tell them to hold still. These are people who have been traumatized over and over again in a short period of time-as much by their sudden appearance on the Enterprise as by anything else. They must be emotionally prepared for the restoration of their memories and the brief period of confusion that precedes it." She glanced at Worf with a little half smile. "Or else they're liable to try to destroy the very apparatus that helped them."

The Klingon scowled and looked around, daring anyone else to comment on the incident. No one did.

"Actually," Pulaski continued, "the more troublesome procedure will be the removal of the language-translation implants that the Klah'kimmbri were thoughtful enough to lend us. But there's no harm in leaving them in until we've taken care of our other problems."

Picard grunted. "Not the least of which is what to do about the numerous representatives of Federation worlds that still toil under the A'klahn mantle."

"Completely unaware of who they are and where they come from," said Geordi.

"We can't just leave them here," maintained Riker. "It's our responsibility to set them free. To give them back what the Klah'kimmbri took from them."

"I agree," said Picard. "But how?"

Worf placed his elbows on the table. Apparently, he had been waiting for someone to pose that question.

"I say we attack," the Klingon advised. "Quickly-before the Klah'kimmbri can formulate a strategy of their own. We have enough sensor information now to determine where their planetary defense installations are. We do not need to see them in order to hit them. And once the Klah'kimmbri are defenseless, they will have no choice but to release the conscripts to us."

Riker shook his head. "We can't just go in there shooting. It would be an act of war. And as much provocation as the Klah'kimmbri have given us, war is to be avoided at all costs."

Provocation indeed, thought Picard. But of course, his first officer was right.

"Violence is not an option here," he confirmed. "Nor, I am afraid, is negotiation. The Klah'kimmbri High Council has demonstrated its reluctance in that regard."

"If only we could restore the conscripts' memories," said Pulaski. "Imagine what kind of chaos it would cause; the marshals would be swamped by a rebellion of that magnitude. The Council would almost have to deal with us-to have us remove our people before they posed a threat to the general peace."

"There is a way to do that," said Worf. His suggestion was simply put: "Fire the phasers."

Picard was about to rebuke him for repeating his earlier suggestion when the Klingon's meaning dawned on him.

"Of course," said Data, straightening. "A barrage calculated to light up the sky over each Conflict zone-without actually effecting any damage. The flashes of illumination would enable the participants to regain their memories."

"In most cases," amended Pulaski. "Not everyone's nervous system is set up like a human's or a Klingon's. But it sounds like a good idea to me."

Picard mulled it over. It was a good idea, he decided-but it had a major shortcoming.

"From our point of view," he said, "this would be a nonviolent effort. No question about it. But from the Klah'kimmbri point of view, it would be no different from an actual attack. And, unfortunately, we cannot ignore their point of view." He noted the disappointment around the table, sighed. "The use of weapons is out of the question. Period."

Suddenly, Geordi snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute. We don't need weapons to create a light display." He spread his hands. "All we have to do is take the debris that's floating in space, orbiting A'klah, and use our tractor beams to give it a nudge. Create a sort of meteor shower-except, instead of meteors, it'll be the Klah'kimmbri's own creations coming home to roost."

"Their own empire-building devices," noted Troi.

"Poetic justice," remarked Riker.

"And the flashes of light as the stuff burns up in the atmosphere... just might do the trick," said Pulaski. She shrugged. "It's worth a try, anyway."

They all looked to the captain. He took their scrutiny in stride, turned the idea around in his mind so as to inspect it from all sides.

"Yes," he said finally. "Perhaps it is worth a try." He addressed Geordi. "Of course, I don't want anyone hurt by falling debris. It has all got to burn up before it reaches the planet's surface."

The engineer nodded. "Absolutely, sir."

"Captain?"

Picard acknowledged the android. "What is it, Data?"

"I do not mean to... what is the expression? Gum up the works?"

"That's it, all right," said Riker.

"I do not mean to do that, but what about the non-Federation conscripts? Do we have the right to restore their memories as well?"

Again, the scrutiny. After a moment, the captain nodded.

"I think we do," he said. "We are not tampering with them. We are undoing the tampering that the Klah'kimmbri have already been guilty of. And the conscripts could hardly have been primitive beings to begin with, if they were snatched off spacegoing vessels."

The android seemed satisfied with that.

Picard was satisfied too-with the entire plan, and on all levels. As captain of the Enterprise, he had taken care of the Federation's concerns-the Prime Directive not the least of them. As someone who had been caught in the Klah'kimmbri web of tyranny and subjugation, he was grateful for the opportunity to turn the tables on his captors. Most important, as an ethical being, he was glad to be able to bring their ghastly Conflict machine to a grinding halt.

He included everyone present in his gaze. "Thank you," he said. "All of you."

"I guess," said Geordi, "I'll get us geared up to start moving all that space-junk around."

The captain couldn't suppress a grin-not entirely. Geordi was a good man to have around-with or without his memory.

"By all means," agreed Picard. "Make it so, Mister La Forge."

Weary. He was so weary.

Harr'h had thought he could put the incident of madness and slaughter behind him-just as he had counseled the others to do.

But it was harder this time. At night, he lay half-awake, wrestling with demons he had thought he'd conquered.

Is life that precious? they asked. Is survival worth the sacrifice of your pride, your very soul?

Maybe the brooding one, Worf, had been wiser than any of them. Maybe desertion was the only real answer-the only escape from one's demons.

More and more, he had come to think so.

Now, however, he needed to put his doubts aside. Half a dozen meters below them, the enemy's raiding party was negotiating a narrow ledge. As soon as he gave the signal, they would pounce-and the battle would begin.

Somewhere, a flyingeye machine was waiting just as they were. Perhaps a marshal as well.

All eyes were on Harr'h. He raised his arm, prepared to drop it.

And then the sky began to rain fire.

"That's the last of it," said Geordi, from his position at the engineering station. "Except for the pieces that are too small to do any good."

"Excellent," said Picard.

"Should I attempt to establish contact?" asked Worf.

"No," said the captain. "This time, we will wait for them to make the first move."

Nor did they have long to wait. Within minutes, the Klingon received a transmission.

"Put it up on the screen, please, Lieutenant."

It was the first time Picard had seen the High Council of A'klah. But they were very much as Riker had described them.

Haughty. Self-confident, self-possessed.

Except that now there were subtle cracks in that confidence. Even signs of agitation.

"Councillors," said Picard. "To what do we owe the honor of this communication?"