"Nonetheless, let's try to contact them before we do anything else," said Picard with finality. He rose to his feet, anxious to resolve this problem. "Mr. Barclay, take the lieutenant to the bridge, and try to contact her planet. I'm sure Data will be of help. Lieutenant Pazlar, you'll be getting a call from our ship's counselor, Deanna Troi. I suggest you see her at your earliest convenience."

Pazlar glowered at him. "I don't need counseling, Captain. You can look at my record. I know this request is unusual, but I've never done anything like this before."

"You'll see Counselor Troi, or I'll have you confined to quarters. Is that clear?" Picard said in what he hoped was an understated, but firm, tone.

Melora shivered and clutched the handle of her cane. "Yes, sir. But about the shuttlecraft ..."

"Out of the question until you see the counselor." He gave her a sympathetic smile. "And I wouldn't try to steal one-we've tightened up security since the war."

The Elaysian bowed her head and looked as downcast as anyone Picard had ever seen. She certainly wore her emotions on her tunic, making him wonder how she had garnered such glowing evaluations from her previous commanding officers. Then again, he wasn't seeing Melora Pazlar at her best.

The captain cleared his throat. "At a later date, I'll take you on a tour of the ship, as I intended."

Melora granted him the wisp of a smile, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere. "I would like that, sir. May we be dismissed?"

"Yes." He nodded to Barclay, and the engineer took the Elaysion under his watchful eye.

Tight-lipped, the captain tapped his combadge. "Picard to Commander Troi."

"I don't understand how it can be this difficult to contact a Federation planet," complained Commander William Riker, looming over Reg Barclay's shoulder. Data peered with interest over his other shoulder, and Melora Pazlar was practically in his lap. That was the only part of the arrangement that Reg wouldn't complain about. On the bridge of the Enterprise, the mightiest ship in Starfleet, half of the command staff was gathered around an auxiliary console on the back bulkhead.

"It can be very difficult, if they don't wish to be contacted," answered Pazlar somberly. "The Elaysians keep a subs.p.a.ce hot line open with the Federation, in case of emergencies, but it's not used for day-to-day chitchat. Access isn't automatic."

Barclay took his eyes off the auxiliary panel long enough to glance from Pazlar to Riker, who was slowly stewing. Barclay wanted to jump in and protect his new shipmate, but she was much better at verbal sparring than he was, especially with commanding officers.

Data had been surprisingly quiet until now. Reg attributed that to the fact that he hadn't yet made any mistakes in his laborious attempts to contact Gemworld. Commander Riker had come in late, annoyed that the process was taking so long on his watch, and Barclay felt a need to explain.

"W-We're waiting for the approval of the protocols from the subs.p.a.ce relay in sector six-ninety-one." Reg cleared his throat, glad to have gotten that much out. He was very relieved when Data jumped in.

"There is little need for regular subs.p.a.ce communications," said the android. "Due to gravity concerns, few inhabitants of Gemworld ever leave, and few outsiders ever visit. Although the planet has six sentient species, only the Elaysians have shown interest in regular contact. The other species are unusual, even by Federation standards. For example, our first contact with their planet was telepathic, through the dreamships of the Lipuls."

Melora nodded impatiently. "I've been trying to tell everybody that the dreamships are real."

"The last contact with a dreamship was two hundred and four years ago" added Data. "Humanoids have short memories."

"Time doesn't mean the same to the Lipuls as it does to us," said Melora. "We've shared a planet with them for millions of years, and we don't even know how long they live."

Riker scowled and took a step back. "All right, it sounds like a place where people like their privacy. As for me, I like a minimal amount of distraction on the bridge. So do what you can to wrap this up."

"Yes, sir," answered Barclay quickly, never taking his eyes off his instruments. Finally new data began to appear. "I think I'm getting a response now."

He gaped in disbelief at the message which scrolled across the board. Captain Picard and Melora were not going to be happy about this.

Peering over his shoulder, Data read the message aloud: "Subs.p.a.ce contact with Gemworld suspended at this time, due to subs.p.a.ce warping and interference in sector six-ninety-one. Cause unknown."

"Exactly as I thought," said Melora with a mixture of vindication and worry. "Now the captain is going to have to give me a shuttlecraft. We should go right now and investigate!"

Data c.o.c.ked his head. "Interruption of one subs.p.a.ce channel on a single relay is not normally cause for concern. There are many possible explanations."

Melora scowled and banged the tip of her cane on the deck. "What will it take? Do we all have to die! Can't you just take my word for it?"

"We do not know you very well," answered Data helpfully. "And your actions appear irrational."

While Melora seethed and n.o.body else knew what to say, the combadge on her anti-gravity suit suddenly beeped. She slapped it angrily. "Pazlar here."

"This is Counselor Troi," said a lilting voice. "I hope I haven't interrupted you at a bad time. The captain suggested we meet."

Melora grit her teeth, and Reg thought she was going to explode. Instead she replied very evenly, "Would now be convenient?"

"Cetainly. If you don't know how to get to my office, I'm sure-"

"Lieutenant Barclay will show me. In fact, I'd like him to sit in with us."

There was a pause before Troi answered, "That's highly unusual."

Pazlar took a deep breath and said calmly. "I don't know anybody on this ship, and Lieutenant Barclay has been very kind and understanding. I would just feel more comfortable." She patted Reg on the arm. "That is, if you don't mind."

"No, no! Not at all." Reg tried not to express his happiness at being indispensable, but he wished it could be under different circ.u.mstances. He recalled that Melora had also wanted a witness when she was talking to Captain Picard. She was no dummy. She knew that her actions might lead to an inquiry, or even a court-martial. Melora was convinced there was an emergency, and that she was in the right; so she wanted an impartial observer to back her up. That was probably all she wanted from him.

"We're coming now," said the Elaysian. "Pazlar out."

"We'll put our long-range scanners on it and see what we can find," said Commander Riker, giving Pazlar a sympathetic smile. "And we'll also keep trying to raise them on subs.p.a.ce."

"Thank you, sir," answered Melora, now sounding obedient and contrite. Maybe she realized it would be no simple feat to commandeer this great starship and take it home. She was biding her time while she built her case.

Barclay rose to his feet and motioned to the turbolift door. "After you."

"Thank you." As Melora shuffled off, he followed dutifully behind her. "I hope you don't mind helping me out," said the Elaysian.

"No, no. This beats a regular shift in engineering. I'm sorry we couldn't contact your homeworld."

Pazlar shrugged. "I didn't expect us to be successful."

As the turbolift doors closed on the two of them, Barclay said, "Deck nine." They began to move, and he tapped his combadge. "Barclay to engineering."

"La Forge here," came the familiar voice. "It's okay, Reg, the captain told me you were on special duty. Report when you can."

"Thank you, sir. Barclay out."

Melora snorted a derisive laugh. "So I'm 'special duty.' I have to tell you, I don't usually cause a commotion when I arrive at a new post. Why did they have to contact me? I'm a stupid choice."

The door opened, and they stepped out of the turbolift onto deck nine. This was a public deck, with offices, cla.s.srooms, libraries, theaters, and similar facilities. They strolled slowly down the corridor, eliciting a few curious glances from pa.s.sing crewmembers.

"I'm used to that," whispered Melora. "Either they're trying to place my species, or they're wondering why I need the suit and the cane. Since the war, there have been a lot more people with canes and crutches. Eventually all of them will get prosthetics. But I'll still have the cane."

Barclay cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words. "How ... how do you know the dream wasn't just your mind ... telling you it wants to go home?"

"Do you mean, how do I know I haven't finally flipped out after ten years in Starfleet? Am I pathetically homesick? Maybe. But I wasn't feeling any grouchier than usual before the dream. No, the only reason I want to go home is that they need me. If only there were other Elaysians in Starfleet, I could contact them ... I could see if they had the same dream. But I'm alone here."

Pazlar straightened her shoulders with resolve and pounded her cane. "If I've got to convince everybody on this ship, one by one, I will."

"We're here," said Reg, stopping in front of a door which bore a small plaque reading "Ship's Counselor." He pressed the door chime.

"Come in," answered a voice, and the door slid open.

Counselor Deanna Troi rose from her desk to greet them. As usual, Reg was a bit awed by her sultry beauty. He had once harbored considerable fantasies about Counselor Troi. He had even brought a few to life on the holodeck. Familiarity and the pasage of time had tempered his feelings toward the dark-haired Betazoid, but he was still often tongue-tied in her presence.

"Counselor Troi, this is Lieutenant Melora Pazlar," he managed to blurt out.

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Deanna Troi at her most charming. She motioned to a small sofa. "Won't you sit down, Lieutenant. Make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," answered Melora. She looked anything but comfortable as she made her way across the room and gingerly eased herself onto the sofa. "It's curious how people always want you to sit down to begin a meeting."

"Would you prefer to stand?" asked Troi.

"Actually, standing and sitting are both alien to me. I would prefer to be floating or flying, but that's not possible." Pazlar rested her cane on the arm of the sofa and folded her hands in her lap.

Troi turned to Barclay. "Where would you like to sit, Lieutenant?"

"Anywhere is fine." Barclay backed awkwardly into a corner and b.u.mped into a chair. "I'll sit over here ... out of the way."

"Would anybody like a refreshment?" asked the counselor pleasantly.

That was when Melora's studied patience evaporated. "Counselor Troi, can we please dispense with the niceties and get down to business? There's something wrong on my home planet, Gemworld, and I've got to get back there. Immediately! The captain won't release me or take me there until you give me a clean bill of health. So what do I have to do?"

"First you should remember that you're a Starfleet officer," answered Troi calmly. She sat across from the Elaysian on a small love seat. "Your life stopped being your own when you joined the Academy."

"Please, I don't need a lecture," said Pazlar. "I've served Starfleet to the best of my ability, but now it's time to serve my homeworld. This is a bona fide emergency. Tell her, Lieutenant Barclay, how we couldn't raise Gemworld on subs.p.a.ce."

Reg sat up at attention. "That's true."

Deanna held up her hand. "When I'm in this office, it's not my job to determine what's an emergency. That's for the bridge crew. My only concern is your well-being. I've never met anyone from your race before, but I'm a quick learner. Captain Picard said this all started with a dream?"

Reg could see the color drain from Melora's face as she considered the impossible task of explaining her dream all over again. Nevertheless, she dove right in, describing Gemworld, the giant crystals, and the strange creatures which lived within them. Troi was very interested in her description of the Lipuls and their dreamships, and she made notes on her padd. She didn't interrupt or say anything until she was certain that Melora was finished with her tale.

"I can tell that you fully believe this," said Troi simply.

Pazlar blinked at her. "That's right ... Betazoids are telepathic, aren't they?"

"To a limited degree. I'm only half-Betazoid, and the only person I'm fully telepathic with is my mother. But I can usually sense emotions and intentions, and I can tell that your feelings are genuine."

"Then you'll tell the captain to help me?"

Deanna frowned and looked away from the Elaysian's intent gaze. "You know Starfleet-I think you understand the captain's dilemma. He would have to suspend several ongoing missions and take the Enterprise a considerable distance off course. He needs some sort of independent verification about this problem, whatever it is."

"More than a dream," muttered Melora, sounding defeated. "I've never had a dream like this before. It was real, Counselor, you've got to believe me."

"I can put you in for a medical leave," said Troi, "effective immediately. That will get you off active duty."

"But it won't take me home," said Pazlar bitterly."Maybe in a week or a month we'll find a transport headed in that direction, and I'll get an indefinite leave. That will be fine, if I'm wrong. But if I'm right, I'll be too late." She rose slowly to her feet.

"You don't have to go yet," said Troi. "I'd like the chance just to chat ... to get to know you better."

"I'm sorry," said Melora, "but I don't feel like chatting. And I won't be on this ship long enough for anyone to get to know me."

When she started for the door, Barclay bolted to his feet. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the lab to prepare for the mission on Primus IV. It's obvious that I've failed. The Lipuls have failed. Whatever message they wanted to impart, no one will get it."

Pazlar looked intently at Counselor Troi. "Someone the captain believes ... someone like you. That would have been better." She turned and limped out the door.

"Should I go with you?" asked Barclay helpfully.

The Elaysian shook her mane of silky blond hair. "You've wasted enough time on me. Go back to your duties. But thank you, anyway." She exited, and the door slid shut behind her.

Reg sighed and flapped his arms helplessly. "I wish ... I wish I could do something for her."

"So do I, but this is Starfleet. There are procedures. How far would you get if you had a bad dream about Earth, then wanted Captain Picard to turn the ship around and take you there?"

The engineer smiled, despite his forlorn mood. "Not far."

"Then we'll have to find some other way to help her." The counselor strode to her desk and punched up her screen. "I'm going to read up on everything we have in the computer about Elaysians. There may be a clue in there about what's really bothering her. This could be a recognized neurosis among Elaysians, for all I know. Was it really impossible to contact her planet?"

"Yes, but they're not in regular contact with Starfleet. There's a single relay and special protocols." Barclay glanced wistfully at the door. "She's very unusual ... Lieutenant Pazlar."

Deanna smiled. "Keep in contact with her, Reg. She looks like she could use a friend."

He nodded, realizing that it had been unrealistic for Melora to think that an entire starship would stop what it was doing in order to investigate a dream. Even so, he had a feeling that she wasn't finished making her case.

Melora Pazlar went straight back to her utilitarian quarters, but she didn't open the files on the Primus IV experiment. Instead she lay down in her bunk still wearing her anti-grav suit, thinking it might help attune her mind and body to Gemworld. Since she hadn't slept more than a couple of hours in the last forty, she didn't think she would have any trouble falling asleep.

And she was going to dream. Not of Gemworld but of the woman she had just met ... Deanna Troi.

Chapter Four.

DEANNA TROI LEANED BACK in her chair and yawned. She blinked wearily at her computer screen and finally flicked it off. Even after reading a dozen essays, reports, and abstracts on Elaysians and Gemworld, complete with improbable pictures, she still couldn't imagine what it was like. A weightless planet with breathable atmosphere, giant crystals instead of soil, half a dozen sentient races, most of them not remotely humanoid. One essay had suggested that Gemworld was one of the oldest continuously inhabited planets in the Alpha Quadrant. Another had said it wasn't a planet at all, just an artificial construct; a third called it the curious remains of a planet. Even people who had been there couldn't agree on what it was.

One thing was certain, Melora Pazlar came from there at considerable hardship. Compared to the other races on Gemworld, the Elaysians were extroverts, but by Federation standards they were still secretive and reserved. They were technologically capable of s.p.a.ce travel, but apparently uninterested. Except for the redoubtable Lieutenant Pazlar. Maybe if you lived on such a remarkable planet-and could fly unaided like a bird-you were content to stay at home.

No doubt about it, Melora Pazlar was a true pioneer-the kind of woman who would be written about in history books, if she were human. Troi had known other pioneers in Starfleet-Worf was a good example. But Worf came from a s.p.a.cefaring race-two of them, counting his human upbringing. Data was also unique in Starfleet, but Data had been designed to live among the stars. Both Data and Worf had struggled to fit in without losing their unique ident.i.ties, and they had finally succeeded. Without knowing her better, it was hard to tell if Melora Pazlar had succeeded or not.

Some serious problem was bothering the Elaysian, that much was certain, and it had taken the form of a dream. But what did the dream represent?