Urosk s.n.a.t.c.hed for the phaser and quickly set it to stun. Unconsciousness from lack of air, if what these humans breathed could be called air, might last only a few moments. On the other hand ... He triggered the weapon and a bright orange halo enveloped the human for a moment. The Starfleeter was surely out this time. And would stay that way for quite a while.

After plucking the comm badge from the guards chest he pulled the man into an alcove to hide him from Picard.

TheEnterprise captain would be walking down the corridor any minute ... and Urosk would be waiting.

Picard ... he had failed to see the warning signs. He would regret his choice.

Chapter Ten.

PICARD HERE.

The voice of young Ensign MacKenzie crackled back at the captain from the small comm badge speaker.

Interference again. Picard noted the irritation and promised himself hed be having a talk with Data.

MacKenzie isnt at his post and I cant raise him on the comm, sir.

Understood.

Obviously Ensign Connors voice, not MacKenzies. When had all ensigns started blending together into a blur of youth?

Remain there, Picard ordered.

Im on my way.

He rose and shared a concerned glance with Beverly, as well as a quick look with Barbara.

Captain, Beverly began again, slowly rising out of her seat, this is important. I left something out of my report when the delegates were here.

She cast a quick glance at Barbara.

I thought it might be best to tell you this in confidence.

Picard nodded.

Understood.

He didnt mind Bar baras presence. In fact, since she had voiced her wish to do something about Riker and Troisomething that could make this entire situation worsehe was glad to know where she was.

Proceed, Doctor, but be brief.

Beverly pulled in a deep breath, held it a moment, then released it quickly. Picard had come to recognize this as her attempt to cover a sigh. He didnt have time for sighs.

There were traces of Zhads own skin and blood beneath his nails, she said, then paused, as if that alone should be some revelation.

The captain shrugged his response.

Youd said that earlier. Isnt that expected? Wouldnt he have tried to fix the mask?

She shook her head and a thick strand of orange hair bobbed over her ear.

Gouges in his face and the amount of skin under his nails suggest something else.

Now Picard needed to hide a sigh.

It just gets worse and worse, doesnt it?

Barbara unfolded her arms, gesturing to Beverly.

This is what you wanted, isnt it? This proves that your man didnt kill the Amba.s.sador. Or at least its some fair evidence.

Picard lowered his head, his fingers finding that pressure point on his temple. Behind there, was a thriving headache that threatened to grow before it faded.

Doctor Hollitt, I dont think Captain Urosk would accept the suggestion that his amba.s.sador killed himself. It would look as if we were falsifying evidence for our own benefit. Hardly fair at all.

What if thats exactly what happened?

Beverly offered.

Nodding, Picard pursed his lips.

A possibility.

He took another step toward the door.

Ill have more questions when I return.

Barbara shrugged, hard shoulders turning fluid for a brief moment.

Why? Why would anyone do that?

To make the Klingons look bad, Picard said, wanting to satisfy all her questions even if it delayed him. The last thing he desired was for her to tag along again. She had been an angry puppy at his feet since this all fell apart, and wouldnt stop nipping at his heels.

To give the Hidran a bargaining chip worth something, he continued.

Perhaps he was a shrewd amba.s.sador to the last breath.

Barbara shook her head in disbelief.

To kill yourself is one thing. By the looks of him he suffered.

He did, Beverly confirmed.

Not just the suffocation, but tearing it out wouldve been no painless task.

Its ... its ...

Barbara seemed to be searching for the right term.

Fanatical, Picard offered caustically.

Beverlys lips curled down into a frown.

Dimwitted is what Id call it.

Either way, Picard said, inching for the door again, the fact may not help Mr. Worf one sc.r.a.p.

Barbara looked as if she were on the edge of some comment as she began to rise.

Halfway out the door already, the captain quickly shook his head.

Please, Dr. Hollitt, remain here.

She raised her chin ever so slightly and ever so defiantly.

I can handle myself, Captain.

Of that he was sure. But still, his orders and instinct were to protect a civilian first, and he didnt want the regret of one more death upon his shoulders.

Whether or not you can handle yourself is not at issue, Doctor, Picard said as he closed the door behind him.

Im not sureI can handle you.

Sir, should you be here?

Looking down, trying to shield his eyes from the crewman, Geordi shook his head. There was really no need to hidea well-rounded Starfleet officer had seen things more shocking than eyes without irises.

Despite knowing that, there was a self-conscious twinge that Geordi would feel if he thought someone were staring into his sightless eyes.

Im just working on a little project to keep me busy, Charlie.

Geordi hovered diligently over his work.

Can I help?

Only if you want to share a court-martial with me.

Well, if you really want to do me a favor, you could cheek the particulate filtration sensors on deck seven. The air seemed a little stale up there.

Aye aye, sir, Charlie said, and Geordi heard the ensigns feet pad away toward the turbolift and a busywork job in a far-off Jeffries tube.

There was silence, and Geordi still felt as if he was being watched ... or his work was. In any case, the proximity detector said no one was close enough to get in the way, so he simply tried to ignore the feeling.

He reached over the football-sized capsule that lay open in front of him and he picked up a tool, the location of which hed memorized. He found the place inside the exposed sensor drone where he had to make his adjustments, and set to work.

His fingertips had to be his eyes herethe proximity detector was useless on such a small scale. He fumbled inside the guts of the drone, sweat breaking on his upper lip. Sloppily, exhaustingly, he made his adjustments.

He hoped.

So d.a.m.n frustrating: to go from super-sight to super-darkness was a game hed played every night, yet to stare blankly at the prospect of never playing that game againat staying forever in the dark ...

well, it scared him, annoyed him, filled him with uneasiness, as if he wasnt in his own body but instead in some dark cave at the edge of existence.

He refused to ask for help with the drone, of course. Not only would that be rather embarra.s.sing, but what position would it put the crewman in? Geordi was going against Datas obvious order not to contact the planet without authorization. Perhaps itwas Picards order. There was too much at risk here ...

better this particular mutiny be kept to himself for a while.

He dropped the instrument, closed the door to the drones innards, and flicked the on switch.

Somewhere to his left, perhaps at about fifteen meters down the aft corridor, there was a chute that would launch the sensor drone outside the ship for a maintenance-pa.s.s of the starboard nacelle.

He found the sliding hatch to the chute just a few inches from where his mental picture told him it would be. The proximity detector vesta temporary model hed replicated, and hoped he wouldnt have to eventually have a special one madedid the rest.

With the drone down the chute, he coded in the launch coordinates. Hopefully he hadnt missed a b.u.t.ton on the keypad. There was no way to verify such things without sight. If he was a few too many digits off the mark, hed be sending the small robot craft off into the planets atmosphere, out into the star system, or back into the ship itself where it would crumble againstEnterprises hull plates. And that was if his jury-rigging had worked at all. The drone could blow up when activated and alert Data that something was amiss. He could see that now: Data having him confined to sickbay for psychological a.n.a.lysis.

The walk back to his cabin was painfully long and his mind more on the adjustments hed have to make to his communicator than the layout of the ship. Had it not been for the proximity vest he would have slammed into bulkheads three times.

d.a.m.ned if he didnt feel as if he was being watched all the time. Senselessly self-conscious maybe, but just couldnt be helped. Maybe hewas paranoid ... or was he just intensely aware? That thought made him chuckle. Wasnt there an old saying that if you thought you were crazy you probably werent?

Okay, so Geordi felt embarra.s.sed at his loss. That wasnt abnormal. Data was the one acting abnormally.

It had to be some sort of damage at work there. How else could Data be so against Worf? And the Klingons? Had the Hidran found some way to tap into him? And how could the android forgettwicethat he shouldnt nod to Geordi? Data could remember thenames of a thousand angels dancing on the head of a pin.

For him to forget anything so simple proved there was something wrong with him.

Didnt it?

Geordid let the captain decide.

He skittered into his cabin, threw himself toward a table he often tinkered at, and pulled his communicator from his chest. He clutched the comm badge in one hand, and pulled a small contraption out of a drawer.

It was no easy task to change the frequency of a communicator without notifying the controlling computer of the alteration. This gadget would helpbut it would have to be tricked into it.

These were the moments that Geordi fancied himself a rather dangerous gent if he wanted to be. That idea quickly cooled into a frightening thought ...

Data could be dangerous as well.

Geordi hurried himself through the rest of his work: fingers flying untidily over the small, detailed work. Had he been able to see he would have been done in moments ...

When finished he hastily pushed his tools to one side. Leaving the communicator on the table top, he tapped and it chirped, pa.s.sing normal channels and searching for the drone that had been converted into a makeshift jumper. The signal would find the drone and jump from there to the planet and hopefully reach Picard through the white-noise transmission blanket.

Clenching his fists in antic.i.p.ation, Geordi moved in toward the communicator.