But that was the only casualty. Pulaski was fine.

Of course she is, he told himself. What did you expect? This isn't Vega Antilles, Sam. You're not on the frontier anymore. Even when there is an emergency-like poor Fredi out there-you've got the hardware to keep it under control.

"Damn," said Pulaski, replacing the shards on her desk. "I really liked that little fellow." She smiled. "Oh well. I guess I'll have to make my own luck for a while."

And what a nice smile it was. The stories about Pulaski had been patently untrue. She wasn't nearly the iron-handed ogre she'd been made out to be. In fact, she was more pleasant than most of the medical chiefs under which he'd served-and certainly a damned sight more attractive. He couldn't help but notice that.

Not that he'd ever make any advances toward her. Not even now, when her ice blue eyes were just inches from his. He was too much of a professional for that. And maybe too much of a coward as well.

"When I heard you scream," said Burtin, "I thought there was something wrong."

Pulaski chuckled. "Wrong? Quite the contrary. Everything is remarkably right." She got to her feet, then came around her desk and plunked down into her chair. "Have a seat."

Burtin rose too, then, and took the chair on the other side of the desk. He didn't have to ask for an explanation-she'd already embarked on one before he could say a thing.

"We have been looking," she told him, "for the wrong kind of bacterium. We've been assuming that the thing that's afflicted Fredi-that's releasing the toxins into his system-is something foreign. Something alien."

Burtin shrugged. "What else can it be?"

Pulaski leaned forward across her desk, brushing against one of the luck-charm fragments. Her expression had intensified; the skin between her brows was pinched together.

"Picture this," she said. "Fredi encounters an unfamiliar bacterium on Baldwin-McKean's Planeta bacterium that produces the toxin we've been purging him of. It gets inside his tissues and lives for some finite period of time. But it's only present in trace quantities-and it doesn't replicate very quickly, so it can't produce much of the poison. Therefore, there are no obvious effects. Eventually, the bacterium finds something about its new environment intolerable. Maybe it's already dead by the time Fredi beams up; maybe not. In any case, it has expired long before he displays any symptoms.

"But before it keels over, it has an effect on one of the body's normal bacterial residents. It translocates some of its genetic makeup-don't ask me how-to that resident. One gene, say, for production of a toxin that happens to cause paralysis in humans. Another for a stimulant that tickles the adrenal gland-causing the energy spurt that Fredi described to me. You know, that period of unusual efficiency before his muscles began to lock up on him?"

Burtin nodded.

"In effect," she went on, "a hybrid is created. A bacterium that looks and acts like one that we know-except that it has an alarming propensity to produce an alien toxin."

He grunted. It was theoretically possible. Viruses communicated genetic material to other viruses. Why not bacteria to other bacteria?

And of course, she was Kate Pulaski. It was difficult not to take her seriously.

"You seem a little skeptical," she observed.

He smiled. "A little."

"Well," she said, "there's only one way to prove me wrong. Let's see if we can't isolate the affected resident." She leaned back from her desk now. "But I have to warn you-I've got a good feeling about this one."

Burtin looked at her-purely as a colleague now, doctor to doctor. "Tell me one thing," he said. "How the hell did you come up with this?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I was sitting here, racking my brain for a new angle-and it just hit me. Out of the blue, as it were." She blushed a little-but just a little. "That's when I let out with that victory cry. And knocked over my good-luck charm."

Ruefully, Pulaski considered the shattered souvenir. "A small price to pay," she concluded, "in the scheme of things."

Burtin was about to agree when her monitor beeped. She swiveled it around to face her and answered, suddenly all business.

"Pulaski here."

"I'm convening the command staff in the lounge." It was the captain's voice, though Burtin couldn't see his face. "Five minutes, Doctor."

"I have a rather serious case here in sickbay," said Pulaski. "Crewman Fredi, as I..."

"Nonetheless," said the captain, his voice charged with impatience, "I expect to see you in the lounge. That is all."

And the communication ended.

The chief medical officer appeared a little startled. It wasn't an expression that became her.

"Well," she said, looking up at Burtin, "I can hardly refuse when he asks so nicely. I guess it's up to you to run the isolation patterns."

"No problem," he told her.

Pulaski met his gaze. "Good. I like the sound of that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend."

Outside the observation lounge, stars and planets alike were only points of light. Neither Trilik'kon Mahk'ti nor A'klah's golden presence were visible to Picard as he took his seat.

Just as well, he thought. They would only be distractions.

He waited for the others to file in and find their places. First Troi, then Riker, Worf and Data. A moment later, Geordi. And finally, Doctor Pulaski.

The captain leaned his elbows on the long conference table, placed his palms together to make a wedge of his hands.

"Mister Riker," he said, "would you bring Mister La Forge and the good doctor up to speed?"

His first officer nodded and gave an account of what had transpired on the bridge. It was short and to the point.

"Thank you, Number One." Picard sat back in his chair. "So, though the Klah'kimmbri are not proving very helpful, we must nonetheless find out what happened to those on the Mendel. The only way to do that is to board the vessel." He looked from one face to the next. "However, as I understand it, there are some obstacles to be overcome in such an endeavor." He looked to his chief engineer.

Geordi nodded. "That energy mantle makes beaming over a real can of worms..."

Picard couldn't help but notice how Data's face screwed up at that. Holding up a hand to stop Geordi, he asked: "Is there a problem, Commander?"

The android seemed startled by the sudden attention. "Sorry, sir," he said, "but the reference eludes me. Can... of worms?"

"A set of difficulties," explained Riker.

"Right," said Geordi. "My apologies, Data."

"That is all right," said the android good-naturedly. "I understand now."

"In other words," said the chief engineer, addressing all of them again, "it may not be possible to teleport onto the Mendel-at least, not with positive results. If our sensor capabilities are hampered by the energy field, who knows what obstacles it'll present to our transporter technology?"

"Even at close range?" asked Riker. "What if we were to bring the ships almost hull to hull?"

"I would not recommend it," said Worf. "That would place the Enterprise inside the mantle." He shook his head slowly from side to side, frowning. "What if the energy level is raised suddenly? We could find ourselves trapped. Or worse."

"Noted," said Picard. "But if we were to approach the very limits of the mantle-without actually entering it-what would that do to our chances for a successful teleport?"

Geordi shrugged. "It'd improve them significantly. But the results would still be uncertain."

"What about a tractor beam?"

The question came from an unlikely source: Doctor Pulaski.

"Why can't we just drag the ship out of there? And then beam aboard?"

"We've already tried that," said Worf. "To no avail. The tractor beam is adversely affected by the field as well."

"I see," said Pulaski.

"Good try, Doctor," remarked Picard.

"Of course," said Riker, "we could board the Mendel physically-but that would mean having to cut our way inside."

"Exactly," confirmed Geordi. "And without knowing how volatile those engines might be, or what kinds of gasses might be loose, we'd stand a good chance of blowing the ship up before we got very far. Even if nothing exploded, we'd still have the problem of keeping things from getting sucked out of our entrance hole." He paused. "Just imagine if we're wrong about those people being dead, and we let out all their oxygen. I wouldn't want to be the one to take responsibility for that."

Picard looked around. "Any other ideas?"

No one seemed to have any. Out of habit, he turned to Troi. It wasn't unusual for her to remain silent until the very last, though her insights were often what tipped the scales.

But not this time. Like Pulaski, she was a little out of her element.

Then Worf spoke up. "If we are to beam aboard," he said, "we must do it one at a time. To minimize the chances of something going wrong." His Klingon eyes narrowed. "And I will go first. In case the results are..." He glanced at Geordi. "...not positive."

Picard saw Geordi's Adam's apple move up and down at the image. He sympathized.

"No," said Riker. He met the Klingon's gaze. "If anyone goes first, it'll be me." He managed a smile. "Why do you think they call me the first officer?"

Worf scowled. A couple of the others chuckled.

Picard waited a moment before he went on. He wanted Riker's jibe to be forgotten before he broke the news to him. It would be embarrassing to the younger man in any case-no need to rub it in.

"All right, then. It seems that the transporter route is our only viable option. Nor is there any reason to delay. Mister Data, maneuver us to the boundaries of the mantle. We will beam over in, say, twenty minutes. Full containment suits and life-support gear."

Riker was looking at him, the smile long gone. "We, sir?" He returned the look with equanimity. "Yes, Number One. I'm taking charge of this away team."

His first officer flushed slightly, but he didn't press the issue. It was the wrong time and place.

"Mister Worf," said Picard, "I'd like you to accompany me. Also, two of your people. Mister La Forge, the same."

"Aye, sir," said the Klingon. Geordi nodded.

Finally, Picard addressed Pulaski. "You and I will round out the group, Doctor."

She didn't look too happy about that. Less happy, in fact, than she had been about attending this meeting in the first place.

"Captain," said Pulaski, "I have a sick man to attend to."

"A task," said Picard, "which I'm sure is well within the capabilities of your staff. Whereas our investigation of the research ship calls for the highest level of expertise we can muster. And since you are my chief medical officer..."

Seeing that he would not budge on this matter, the doctor swallowed her pride. For the second time in the last hour, the captain noted.

"As you wish," she said. "Sir."

When she first came to the Enterprise, Pulaski wouldn't have hesitated to make a scene over something like this. He was grateful that they understood each other a little better now.

"Good," said Picard. "Then everyone is dismissed-except for you, Number One. I believe we have something to discuss."

He could have put Riker in the position of having to request a private meeting. But why postpone the inevitable?

Once out on the bridge, with the lounge doors safely closed behind them, Geordi turned to Data. "Boy," he said, "I'll bet there'll be some fireworks in there."

The android stopped and tilted his head to one side. "Fireworks?" Comprehension seemed to dawn a moment later. "Ah. Fireworks. Pyrotechnics. An incendiary display for the purpose of entertainment." He paused, suddenly at a loss again. "But why would the captain and Commander Riker engage in...?"

He cut himself short when he saw Geordi shaking his head.

"I am being too literal again," Data concluded.

"Yes," said the chief engineer. "What I meant is that Commander Riker may have some harsh words for Captain Picard. And I can't say I blame him."

"Harsh words?" echoed the android. "For what reason?"

Geordi began to explain, then thought better of it. He didn't want to be standing out here when one or both of his superiors came storming out.

"Tell you what," he said to Data. "I'll explain when I get back."

"Sir..."

"You need not say it, Will. I know. Of all personnel, the captain is the least dispensable. It is the role of the first officer to act as the captain's surrogate in situations that appear dangerous or unpredictable."

Riker frowned. "That's right." His voice was even, but it had an edge to it. "And from where I stand, this situation is both. An entire crew died on that vessel. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you expose yourself to whatever it is that killed them."

Picard felt the other man's emotion as if it were something tangible. Riker wasn't just doing his duty. He meant it.

The captain grunted. "I didn't expect you to let me go without a fight. But I must remind you-the choice is ultimately mine."

His first officer leaned forward. "Sir, I can see that you've taken this search-and-rescue to heart-whatever your reasons. But in the end, it's like any other mission. And logic demands that I lead the away team."

The captain regarded him. "Yes-perhaps you're right. Logic does demand it. But then, logic must sometimes take a backseat to other considerations."

And he went on to speak of his friendship with Orbutu. Of Dani's berth on the research ship, and his role in getting it for her. Before he was finished, Riker's expression had changed. The air of forcefulness had receded, giving way to understanding.

"So you see," said Picard, "I must do this myself. If I am to face my friend again, I must be able to say I did everything I could-with my own hands, my own eyes. This is not my duty as captain of the Enterprise, I grant you. But it is my duty as a man."

Riker took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Officially," he said, "that doesn't change things. It still makes more sense for me to go."

Picard nodded once. "Duly noted. And unofficially?"