Though Crusher looked unhappy about her orders, she began trying to lock the transporter onto a safe destination within the rebel compound. Suddenly, her fingers stopped moving on the instrument panel. Picard saw the frown that darkened her face.

"What's wrong?"

"It's those tetryon emissions again. I'm having trouble establishing a lock. I'm trying to compensate..."

Picard swiftly rolled and yawed the Kepler until the shuttle was headed directly for the nearest of their attackers. He felt the seat harness biting into him as gravity in the cockpit shifted, the force of acceleration threatening to overwhelm the inertial dampers. The distance between the two craft evaporated swiftly.

"There," Crusher said. "Ready for transport."

"Energize," Picard shouted. A moment later, he sat alone in the cockpit.

The ship he was approaching went into an evasive swoop, but Picard had no trouble staying on top of the other pilot. He stole a glance at the transporter's energy indicator; there still wasn't enough power in the unit for a beam-out, though the system's capacitors were slowly building up energy. If he could continue evading his opponents for perhaps another minute or two, he still had a chance to beam out to wherever Crusher had sent herself-but only if he avoided squandering the shuttle's limited energy on the phasers.

Fortunately, there was an alternative to the phasers. As the shuttle came within meters of the nearest Chiarosan fighter, Picard touched a release toggle, then sent his vessel into a dive. The Kepler lurched slightly, and the light of a fiery explosion flooded the viewport.

At close quarters-and with no shields-a shuttlecraft log buoy made quite a projectile.

On the tactical display, only two hostile vessels remained. Both were maintaining the chase. Glancing at his console, Picard saw that the transporter was still steadily recharging. But it wasn't quite ready yet.

Then he checked the transporter lock, only to discover that it wasn't working properly.

Damn. Tetryons again.

Picard knew well that tetryon emissions were a by-product of certain Romulan technologies. If there was a "smoking gun" pointing to Romulan involvement with the Army of Light, then this was it. And the presence of Romulans-and their cloaking devices-would account for the rebel base's complete invisibility from the air.

Suddenly, one of the Chiarosan ships increased speed, approaching the Kepler on an intercept course. And there were no more log buoys left.

A green light winked on in the transporter-power display. Relieved, Picard quickly compensated for the tetryons and locked the transporter onto the same coordinates Crusher had used.

Then, as he attempted to energize the transporter, every system in the Kepler's cockpit went dead and dark.

Lack of time had forced Crusher to lock the Kepler's transporter into the most easily detectable tetryon-free area in the rebel base-which was, ironically, located at the center of a tetryon-rich area. The eye of the storm, she thought as the transporter beam began disassembling her, molecule by molecule.

When the transporter's shimmering light faded, Crusher found herself standing in a narrow, teal-colored chamber. A sign on one of the bulkheads bore several characters of angular, alien script.

In the center of the chamber, two men and a woman, all wearing gray uniforms, busied themselves around what appeared to be a partially disassembled warp core.

A Romulan warp core, Crusher thought, just as the woman turned toward her, a disruptor in her hand.

At least two dozen pairs of iridescent Chiarosan eyes stared balefully from across the wide, branching corridor. Riker seriously doubted that he and his companions could survive a firefight against so many determined opponents.

The troopers were holding their fire, apparently awaiting orders from Grelun, who stood in their front ranks. The Chiarosan leader seemed to be staring intently at Zweller.

Riker heard Zweller hissing at Gomp, the Tellarite. "I thought Tellarites had keen noses! How could so many of them slip right past you?"

Gomp snorted unhappily, wiping his snout with one of the sleeves of his soiled uniform. "I'm a doctor, not a tricorder. Besides," he snuffled, "I think I'm coming down with a cold."

"Disarm, or die," Grelun said.

Riker stepped forward, his weapon lowered in what he hoped the Chiarosans would see as a nonthreatening gesture. He stopped beside Zweller and Gomp.

"Grelun," Riker said calmly. "We have to talk."

Grelun sneered. "Falhain should never have trusted you Federation folk. Particularly that one." He twirled one of his blades, then aimed its point straight at Zweller. "The man who tried to betray us to Ruardh."

Riker heard surprised mutters among the Slayton survivors, which receded slowly after Roget gave a terse order for silence. All eyes were upon Zweller now, and none looked very friendly.

Apparently oblivious to everyone in the chamber except for Grelun, Zweller was still holding his particle weapon, his arms at his sides. In a steely voice, Zweller said, "Not true, Grelun. I could have done a lot more than just tamper with your communications and security systems. I could have sabotaged the cloaking devices that keep this place hidden from your enemies. But I didn't do that."

Cloaking devices. The words echoed in Riker's mind. Looks like the Romulans have been stacking the deck, after all. He saw from Troi's expression that she must have come to the same conclusion. But what, he wondered, did the Romulans have to gain?

Zweller continued: "And do you know why, Grelun? Because I believe in your cause. I want to help you stop the slaughter of your people."

Grelun appeared unmoved. "You outworlders and your schemes. You plot and you plan. You manipulate us as though we were but pieces in a game. And who suffers? Those who dwell in the provinces you conquer."

"We've never 'conquered' anyone, Grelun," Riker said. "And I would like a chance to prove it to you."

"How, human?" Grelun said.

"I offer you a neutral place to meet with us: aboard our starship, the Enterprise. There, you can learn more about our history."

Grelun laughed, then said, "The writing of history is ever the privilege of the conqueror. Life here was far better, far simpler, before outworlders came among us. Then, only Ruardh and her death-dealing minions stood against us."

"What's really bothering you, Grelun?" Zweller said. "Are you regretting Falhain's decision to accept aid from the Romulans? Are you worried about what they'll expect in return after the Federation leaves?"

Zweller had evidently touched a nerve; Grelun was baring the razor-sharp points of his silvery teeth. One didn't need to be a Betazoid to divine his emotional state.

"Get down!" Troi yelled.

Grelun raised his swords high and shouted, "Kill them all!" At least two dozen Chiarosan rebels advanced, amid an ear-splitting, ululating cry that seemed to issue from a single gigantic throat. Gomp turned tail and ran as Riker and Zweller both made rolling dives to the stone floor, bringing their weapons up as they landed. Riker could already hear weapons discharges, even before Zweller began firing his disruptor at the oncoming soldiers.

Then Riker realized that he was hearing weapons fire coming from behind the charging Chiarosans. He noticed the distinctive whooshing sound of a Starfleet compression phaser rifle, a weapon he'd not seen in the hands of Grelun's troops.

The sound of phaser blasts grew louder and the Chiarosans' united charge became a disorganized scatter. Grelun, his bare forearms badly burned by energy fire, fell back into his men. Chiarosans had begun dropping to the floor.

Moments later, none of the rebels was standing. Miraculously, none of the Starfleet contingent appeared seriously hurt. Near the chamber's far wall, behind the stunned Chiarosans, stood Lieutenant Hawk, armed with a phaser rifle. Beside him was Admiral Batanides, who was holding a hand phaser.

Zweller smiled broadly as they approached. "Marta, I was expecting to see Johnny. What the hell are you doing here?"

Her face was set into hard lines. "Saving your ass yet again, apparently."

Riker noticed that something subtle had changed in the way the admiral carried herself. It was as though she had aged a decade since he'd seen her last on the Enterprise.

Zweller apparently sensed something, too. Anxiously, he asked, "How is Aubin?"

"Dead," she replied coldly, gripping her phaser hard. "And now really isn't the best time to discuss it, Corey."

"Admiral," Riker said, happy to interrupt. "Since you managed to get in here, I'm assuming you also have a way of getting everyone out."

"Right, Commander." To Hawk, she said, "Lieutenant, signal Captain Picard. Tell him we've got ten to beam up."

Hawk nodded. Tapping his combadge, he said, "Away team to Kepler."

Riker was relieved to learn that Zweller's gambit had paid off. The captain had indeed brought a shuttlecraft into transporter range for a lightning rescue. Riker smiled at Troi, who grinned back, evidently thinking similar thoughts.

Then Riker looked again toward Hawk and realized that something wasn't right. The lieutenant was repeatedly tapping his combadge, which issued a burst of static before going silent.

Hawk's eyes locked with Riker's. "I can't raise the Kepler."

Riker told himself that the shuttle's transmitter might simply have run afoul of the local weather patterns. But he knew that the combadge's silence might also indicate that something far more serious had happened. He felt a deep chill spreading in his gut.

"Damn!" Batanides said. "Keep trying. And let's find someplace to hide. The last thing we need now is to get captured by the Chiarosans. Or the Romulans."

"Admiral," Riker said. "Maybe the Romulans are exactly what we need."

Batanides seemed to grasp his meaning. "What's your plan, Commander?"

Hawk thought that the Chiarosans looked intimidating even when sprawled unconscious on the floor. He tried to ignore them as he adjusted his tricorder to scan for Romulan biosignatures. While Hawk worked, the admiral quickly brought Riker, Troi, and Commander Roget up-to-date, including some of the details surrounding Ambassador Tabor's death, Captain Picard's rescue mission, and the discovery of a Romulan cloaking field some five AUs south of the Chiaros system's orbital plane.

When Hawk idly mentioned that the energy field the Enterprise had encountered might have been partly responsible for the Slayton's destruction, a collective gasp went up among five of the bedraggled former hostages. Zweller, however, stood apart from his crewmates, stony-faced. Hawk wondered: Had the Section 31 agent known all along about the Slayton's fate?

"Oh, my God," Troi said, her dark eyes moistening as she appraised Zweller's colleagues. "No one's told them." Hawk's tricorder nearly slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers when he realized what a bombshell he had dropped on these already-shaken people.

Admiral Batanides interrupted Hawk's unpleasant train of thought. "Are any more troops coming, Lieutenant?"

Hawk forced himself to concentrate on the business at hand. He raised the tricorder again, watching as its indicators moved slowly across the readout panel. "No, sir," he said. "But there are definitely Romulan lifesigns here. It's hard to tell, scanning through all this rock, but there may be as many as half a dozen of them in various parts of the complex."

"Scan for tetryon particles," Riker said. Without hesitation, Hawk again adjusted the tricorder and resumed scanning.

"What good will that do?" barked Gomp.

"Romulan ships are powered by quantum singularities," Riker explained patiently, "that usually give off tetryon particles as a by-product."

"Got it," Hawk said, smiling triumphantly-the tricorder had indeed picked up the fingerprint of a Romulan quantum singularity drive. "And it's located exactly where Commander Zweller's message said the spacecraft hangars would be."

Hawk noticed then that all eyes were upon Commander Riker, who clutched a Chiarosan pistol in his right hand. Acutely aware that they were looking to him to tell them their next move, Riker turned a questioning look on the admiral. Batanides gave him a quick nod, effectively transferring command of the mission to him.

"Mr. Zweller, you'll lead us to the hangar," Riker began. "Deanna, I want you to keep trying to raise the Kepler. Mr. Roget, I'd like your people to bring Grelun along with us. Lieutenant Hawk will assist you."

As the counselor tried without success to contact the shuttlecraft, Hawk stowed the tricorder and walked toward the Chiarosan leader's supine form. Unconsciousness did little to soften Grelun's fierce visage; it occurred to Hawk that it would be very bad if he were to awaken unexpectedly. He began helping two of Roget's officers half-carry and half-drag the man, whose dead weight was akin to that of a small tree. The intensity of this planet's gravitational field wasn't making matters any easier.

As he strained, Hawk heard Troi raise an objection. "So now it's our turn to start taking hostages?"

"I prefer to think of him as a shield, Deanna," Riker temporized as the group began moving. "The Chiarosans might not fire on us while their leader's in harm's way."

Zweller shrugged and looked over his shoulder at Riker as he led the group along. "Then again, they might not let that stop them. They're desperate people, Commander."

And so are we, Hawk thought, his back and shoulder muscles afire as he continued to help move the insensate Chiarosan.

The three Romulan officers wasted no time confiscating Crusher's phaser and combadge. Crusher understood, too late, that she must have locked the Kepler's transporter onto the engine room of a Romulan ship located somewhere within the Chiarosan rebel base. Romulan warp cores, after all, were known to scatter tetryon particles. In her haste, the "shadow" in the tetryon field, which had probably been created by the shielding of the warp core itself, must have looked like a safe refuge. But that knowledge could do her little good now.

As the seconds slowly ticked by, Crusher's apprehension grew. Where is Jean-Luc?

The female Romulan, who appeared to be in charge, herded the doctor into the corner of the room farthest from the warp core. The woman spoke tersely into a small communication device attached to her uniform.

"Centurion, this is T'Lei from the technical group. We have captured and disarmed a lone Starfleet officer in our engine room. I presume she is here to try to hijack our vessel."

"Detain her," replied a harried-sounding male voice. Crusher heard some sort of commotion going on in the background. The two male Romulan technicians, who had clearly heard the noises as well, looked nervously at one another.

But T'Lei never took her eyes off Crusher, and the weapon in the Romulan woman's hand never wavered.

"Centurion?" T'Lei said, tapping the transmitter on her tunic.

A moment later, the voice replied: "We have just been advised that the Starfleet prisoners have escaped. They have captured Grelun and are taking him in your direction. If they wish to leave the planet, they will have no choice other than to take your ship."

Crusher felt a surge of hope rise within her. But she didn't dare move.

"Surely Grelun's troops will neutralize them before they can attempt it," T'Lei said.

"No. They will stand down, to ensure their leader's safety. You and your men can better handle this situation using stealth. There are only ten escapees, after all. Expect them to arrive momentarily."

Crusher's heart abruptly sank. They're going to walk right into an ambush.

"Understood, Centurion," T'Lei said, signing off. The male technicians raised disruptor pistols of their own.

Wearing a viper's smile, T'Lei spoke directly to Crusher. "The ship's hatch is narrow, Human. Your friends must enter it single-file.

"Rest assured, we will be ready for them."

Jean-Luc, where the hell are you?

A moment after the Kepler's instrument panel went dark, the emergency lighting kicked in, coloring the cockpit a dull red. Picard silently thanked whatever capricious fortune continued to keep the shuttle's structural integrity field functioning, though he knew it soon wouldn't matter. The two remaining Chiarosan fighter craft were still closing in, and he didn't even know for sure how close to the ground the shuttle had plunged.

Picard channeled every joule of emergency power to the transporter, taking care to leave the structural integrity field in place. Obediently, the transporter controls lit up. Fortunately, he still had a lock on Beverly's coordinates, and had stayed within nominal transporter range of them.

But he could also see that the transporter's power level had fallen far below safe operational levels. There was no power to spare anything else now, even life support. It was going to be close.

He checked the transporter's scanner, which again showed evidence of tetryons. Beverly had evidently beamed into a tetryon-free "shadow" located in the very heart of the most abundant tetryon activity in the rebel base.

Which told Picard what he could expect to find at the beam-down site: Romulans.

Picard left his flight seat long enough to grab a hand phaser from the weapons locker. He entered the "energize" command and shut off every other onboard system.

The hull creaked and groaned, and one of the braces let go with a loud snap. As the light from the transporter began cascading around him, something slammed very hard into the Kepler. His ears popped as the cabin's atmosphere vented into the chill Chiarosan night.

A gale-force, ionized wind ripped the shuttle's hull apart as though it were nothing more than an autumn leaf.

Hawk was relieved beyond words when Riker's appraisal of the Chiarosans turned out to be correct; when they'd seen their unconscious leader being spirited away by ten heavily armed Starfleet officers, the Chiarosans had made no move to bar their way to the hangar facility, nor did they pretend ignorance about the location of the Romulan vessel Hawk's tricorder had detected. After Zweller had made a rather emphatic inquiry into the matter-all the while pointing a beam weapon at the slumbering Grelun's skull-a Chiarosan technician sullenly punched an authorization code into a console, decloaking a small Romulan scout ship. The vessel's narrow hatchway now beckoned.