Like the strange-looking planet dead ahead, the one to which the ion trail had finally led them after a wild and woolly chase throughout the system. It seemed that the Mendel had regained a semblance of its impulse power-if only for a little while. It had been long enough, however, for the ship to keep from getting snared in the gravitational fields of the fifth and sixth planets. Some effort had been made to turn the Mendel around, to leave Trilik'kon Mahk'ti the way it had come in. Then the engines had all but conked out again-leaving the ship headed for the world on their viewscreen.

The Enterprise's first officer had seen his share of unusual planets. But he had never seen one like this one. It looked like a perfect golden ball hanging in space-not just golden in color, but also in its ability to reflect the light of the sun.

"Confirmation, Mister Fong?"

Above and behind him, at tactical, the assistant security chief was still seeking the information Riker had asked for entire minutes ago, when the planet had been a lot farther off. He could hear him mutter something under his breath, then drum his fingers on the console.

"Not yet, sir. I... wait a second. I think I've got it." A pause while he called up yet another reference file, scanned it. "Yes-here it is, sir. In an academic treatise partly devoted to the Klah'kimmbri: This people refers to its homeworld as A'klah. Our best guess is that it is the fourth planet from Trilik'kon Mahk'ti."

Riker leaned back in his command chair, eyed the golden sphere with redoubled curiosity-and wariness. "Thank you," he told Fong.

He could almost hear Troi asking him that question again: Are you going to tell him? She was off duty, in accordance with the captain's order, but his response would still have been the same.

Before he contacted Picard, he would make certain that this was where the Mendel finally wound up. Maybe Troi was right. Maybe he was too solicitous of the captain's feelings sometimes. But the man damned well didn't need to be dragged out of a holodeck or Ten Forward or wherever he was-wherever he'd found some peace, some distraction-unless their search was really over, one way or another.

"Sir?"

It was Wesley, now at the conn. He was facing Riker, having swiveled around in his seat.

"What is it, Mister Crusher?"

"We've got some readings now on the planet. But I'm not sure what to make of them."

The first officer eyed him. "What do you mean, Ensign? Be a little more specific."

Wesley frowned. He looked puzzled-rare for him. "Sensors indicate that there's a planet-size mass up ahead all right-but it's not nearly as large as the planet we're looking at. This world has some sort of mantle around it-a low-level energy field that makes it appear to be bigger than it really is."

Riker turned back to the screen and the shiny, golden sphere. "Interesting," he said. "Could this be a natural phenomenon?"

Wesley's eyes narrowed in thought. "It's possible, I suppose. But the field is amazingly uniform. And if it were natural, I don't think that would be the case."

The first officer considered that. "What about the planet beneath it?"

The ensign swung around again to face the conn monitor. "Can't tell much about it, sir. Density and such, but that's about it. The field is playing havoc with the scanners."

"Life signs?" pressed Riker.

"Inconclusive," said Wesley.

"But if you're right, and that mantle's artificial-then there has got to be someone down there. Someone with a rather advanced level of technology. And since at least one source cites this as the homeworld of the Klah'kimmbri... I'd say the Cantiliac weren't as thorough as we figured."

Fong cleared his throat to get the first officer's attention. "Suggest we practice caution, sir. If this world can generate a field like that one, it may also have some pretty fierce weaponry."

"Noted," said Riker. He was glad now that he'd opted to keep the shields up, that he'd been prepared for any eventuality from the start-even if it had seemed like over-preparation just a few hours ago. "Mister Crusher, continue to scan. If the Mendel's in there, we've got to find it somehow. Maybe as we get closer, the mantle will become a little more penetrable."

"Aye, sir," said Wesley.

The first officer stroked his beard with thumb and forefinger. As they approached the golden ball, questions came to him. Some easy to answer, some not so easy.

What was that energy field all about?

That was one of the easy ones. Obviously, the Klah'kimmbri wanted some privacy from prying eyes.

Why? What was it they wanted to keep private?

That was a little harder.

Was it simply a matter of defense? If so, why were there no working outposts? No satellites or ships or other, simpler ways of keeping intruders at arm's length?

A harder one still.

And what would the Klah'kimmbri be defending against? Or more to the point, who? Was there a new aggressor in this sector-one they should be aware of?

He couldn't even guess.

But as they approached A'klah-and very likely, the end of their mission-he wished he had more answers. He had a feeling they might come in handy.

Picard could not begin to count the number of orders he had followed in the course of his career with Starfleet. Apparently, he had followed them well enough, or he would never have been placed in command of a ship like the Enterprise.

It was ironic, then, that be should have so much trouble following his own directives. Perhaps familiarity did breed contempt.

Here he had instructed his command staff to relax during their off-duty hours. But instead of heading for a recreational area, he had come directly to his quarters. And too contrary-minded to even get some sleep, he had paced the length and breadth of them-which is just what he would have done if he'd remained on the bridge.

This is getting you nowhere, he told himself. Nor is it any help to Dani.

Picard had met Abraham Orbutu more than twenty years ago. They were assigned to the same colonization team on Cassiopeia Gamma Four-he as Starfleet liaison, Orbutu as survey zoologist. The two of them hit it off right from the start-and no wonder. Picard had always had an interest in zoology-had in fact considered it as his life's pursuit after his initial failure to get into Starfleet Academy. In a similar vein, Orbutu would gladly have traded his zoologist's credentials for a chance to serve aboard a starship-were it not for a rare brain dysfunction that caused him to black out under duress.

What's more, Orbutu spoke fluent French, having been educated in Tangiers back on Earth. It was rare to find someone with whom Picard could converse in his mother tongue, much less someone as jovial and entertaining as big, broad-shouldered Orbutu.

The stint on Cassiopeia Gamma Four had lasted only a few months, but their friendship went on long after that. Orbutu eventually married and had a family, and finally-after an incident in a Glorgothan jungle during which his dysfunction almost claimed his life-grudgingly returned to Earth to teach at his alma mater.

It was shortly after that that Orbutu's daughter followed in his footsteps. A bright and pretty young woman with her father's sense of humor, Dani began corresponding with Picard on her own after her first assignment in space. Once, they had even managed to cross paths on Starbase 19-she making a transfer en route to a zoology conference, he in for the Enterprise's scheduled maintenance check. They had spent a delightful few hours there, trading stories about the elder Orbutu and discussing Dani's future with the Survey Service.

He remembered how eager she had been to join a research mission out of Starbase 84-one that was headed out beyond the pall of Federation space. Months later, he learned that she had gotten the berth she wanted-zoologist and second medical officer-thanks in some part to his recommendation.

Now that research vessel was lost, and Dani along with it. Probably, she would have earned herself a spot on the Gregor Mendel even without Picard's help. But he couldn't help but wonder.

Was it so surprising, then, that he had campaigned to have the Enterprise designated as the search-and-rescue ship? Or that he had taken this mission so much to heart?

Picard found that his cabin was closing in around him. He yearned to go back to the bridge, where he at least had some illusion of control over Dani Orbutu's fate. Frowning, he quelled the impulse.

Get a grip on yourself, Jean-Luc. You're driving yourself to distraction. Do as you've told the others to do: relax. Go down to the gym. Pick up an epee, work the kinks out. Yes?

Yes, he told himself.

But he did not go. He stayed in his quarters and continued to pace.

It was as Riker had hoped. The energy mantle was less effective at close range. Only a touch less effective-but enough to yield the treasure they'd been seeking for so long.

The Ops monitor held the computer-enhanced silhouette of the Mendel within its electronic grasp. Emerald green shadows against a blacker-than-black field.

Up on the main viewer, there was nothing but gold and glitter from pole to pole. But then, Riker had given up looking at the big screen some time ago.

"No question about it?" he asked.

Still making adjustments, Wesley shook his head. "No question, sir. It's an Icarus-class vessel, model Four. That fits the description of the Gregor Mendel to a tee."

"And there are no life-sign readings? None at all?"

Wesley shook his head again, sighed. "I can't pick anything up, Commander. But... that could be the fault of the field."

True. The energy mantle might have entirely blanked out that aspect of their sensor capability. But what were the odds of that? Not good.

More likely, the sensors were getting through-and there just wasn't anything alive to pick up.

The first officer straightened, still glaring at the monitor. He had hoped to have better news when he finally contacted the captain. But like it or not, it was time to bring him in on this.

"Bridge to Picard," be called out. It took a few moments for the captain to respond.

"Yes, Number One?"

Could it be that he had sensed the substance of what Riker had to tell him? And was that reluctant to hear it?

The observation gave the younger man new insight. Geordi was right all along, he told himself. Someone the captain cares about is on the Mendel. Someone he cares about a lot.

Riker swallowed. "We've located the research ship, sir." He didn't have to say any more at this point, but he didn't want to keep the captain guessing. "Unfortunately, we've failed to pick up any life-signs."

Again, that bottomless pause. "I'll be right there," said Picard, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Chapter Four.

PICARD CHEWED the inside of his cheek, regarded the dazzling energy display on the viewscreen and mulled it all over silently-while Riker and Troi sat on either side of him and waited.

All the evidence supported the thesis that the Mendel's crew was dead. The sensors spoke eloquently of it. So did the communications silence, which persisted despite Worf's repeated efforts to establish contact.

Even Troi had been unable to find a conscious mind on the research vessel with which to link up.

It cast a pall over the captain, forced a part of him to start mourning. But another part had no time for such luxuries. Even if he were to admit that Dani had been killed-along with her crew mates-a bigger question still loomed.

How?

As badly as the Murasaki disturbance had burned the Mendel's hull, it was apparently intact. Had the life-support systems simply failed without warning? Had a radiation leak gone undetected until it was too late?

If they had discovered the research vessel in the lonely depths of space, he might have put more trust in these possibilities. But the Mendel being where it was, he couldn't ignore a more obvious conclusion-that the Klah'kimmbri had played some role in this. After all, they had once been known for their aggressive tendencies. And even if their defenses were somewhat unorthodox, it appeared that their level of technology hadn't slipped any.

On the other hand, he couldn't just assume the Klah'kimmbri were guilty of something. He had to know more before he could make any accusations.

Accusations? He rebuked himself even for his choice of words.

Aren't you letting your personal feelings-your all-too-human need for a scapegoat-cloud your perceptions, Jean-Luc? The Klah'kimmbri may be completely innocent. Who knows? They may even have tried to help.

At the very least, they might have received some communication from the research ship-some information that would shed some light on how Dani and the others had perished.

If they had perished. That had yet to be substantiated.

"Mister Worf," he called, "open hailing frequencies. Try to raise someone on the planet's surface,"

"Opening hailing frequencies," said the Klingon.

It was comforting, Picard had to admit, to have his most capable personnel around him-regardless of what shift they were supposed to be on. He could feel their sharpness, their precision. If the Klah'kimmbri were responsible, and it came to blows, this was the complement he wanted at the controls.

Was he feeling resentful that Riker had waited so long to contact him? To let him know about the ion trail-and about A'klah? Perhaps, yes. But he understood the man's motives well enough. And besides, the first officer was more than a fixture. He had carried out his duties exactly as he should have.

In the final analysis, it had been a judgment call-on both levels, professional and personal. Not worth mentioning again on either level.

"Any response, Mister Worf?"

"Nothing yet, sir."

"Isn't it possible," offered Riker, "that this mantle precludes long-range communications? I mean, if it can prevent our sensors from penetrating all the way to the planet's surface..."

Picard nodded. "Certainly, it's possible. But I'm betting that the Klah'kimmbri have found a way to defy their own invention. After all, this mantle isn't much of a protection if it blinds them as much as it blinds us."

The first officer chewed that one over. "A polarized field then? One which lets radiation in, but not out?"

"That's my guess," said the captain.

"Still no response," reported Worf.

Picard regarded the whiplash dance of yellow golden light on the viewscreen. "Keep trying," he said.

The Klingon worked at his communications board for a good half hour. A Certain tension built up on the deck; the captain felt it like a weight on his brow, growing heavier and more painful by the moment.

Finally, he had had enough.

When Sam Burtin heard the cry that came out of Pulaski's office, his first thought was that his superior had injured herself somehow. Then, as he came marching down the hallway to investigate, he saw that she was doubled over by her desk.

Immediately, his training took over. He swung past the threshold and dropped down beside her. "Doctor? Are you all right?"

Pulaski looked up at him, a wistful expression on her face. "I am, yes. But this thing has seen better days."

She held up two pieces of her Mondrifahlian good-luck charm, the one he had given her as a gift. The ceramic statuette had split into fragments, each fiery red on the outside and a dull beige on the inside. One piece, the largest, sported three snakelike appendages and a slender eyestalk.