With a shake Riker brought himself back to the present. The mud was much more like the gummy sediment along the rivers of his native Alaska, icy rock powder as cold as the glacial waters that poured off the serrated white mountains. Testing the footing to be sure he had guessed right, Riker started a series of stretches and lunges. At first he worked slowly, just to get his blood circulating, but gradually he picked up the pace until he felt able to take on almost anything. Beads of sweat dotted his hairline and, for the first time in hours, he felt deliciously warm.

As he paused for breath, he heard a rock bounce down the far side of the mound of dirt where he and Zarn had entered. Was it Zarn returning, or had a hostile Jarada discovered his hiding place? Quickly, Riker clambered up the slope and crouched in the darkness beside the entrance. A strong scent of pine preceded the Jarada through the opening. The deep brown chitin-armored legs that appeared in the opening were the right color to be Zarn, but Riker was taking no chances. His arm swept forward, chopping against the Jarada's strong-legs. The blow upset the insectoid's balance and he fell, skidding to the bottom of the slope. He ended on his back, and with all eight limbs waving in the air, revolving slowly on the small patch of semidry floor.

Riker straightened slowly and took his time to descend, watching the Jarada. His face twitched as he fought to control the amused grin that tugged at his mouth. Zarn did look rather silly in that position and, after the pain and misery and uncertainty of the last few hours, it felt good to see the Jarada at a disadvantage. Riker knew it was a petty thought, but he acknowledged the source-after everything that had happened, he was no longer sure if he could trust Zarn. To see the tables turned on the Jarada rea.s.sured him that he was not entirely helpless, no matter how much he needed the insectoid to lead him out of this maze.

"Why did you do that?" Zarn's voice sounded flat, the triple notes of his speech oddly compressed. "Fighting is only for those of the warrior castes, and you could have been seriously injured if you tried that maneuver on one of them."

Riker stared down at the Jarada, trying to decide if his statement was the truth. If it was hard to read Zarn under normal circ.u.mstances, deciphering his expression was almost impossible while the Jarada drifted in a leisurely circle with his limbs flailing in the air. Flipping a mental coin, Riker decided Zarn had not exactly lied to him, but that he had, in all probability, omitted enough of the truth to make the remainder of questionable usefulness. However, the insectoid was still his best chance for escaping from this slimy mud hole, so he needed to keep their relationship on as cordial a footing as possible. "I didn't know who was coming," he said finally. "Since you didn't tell me where you were going or when you would be back, I thought it might be an enemy. And I was afraid if I waited too long, I wouldn't have a second chance to protect myself."

"I told you they'd quit searching after five standards. No one else knows you're here," Zarn said in a disgusted tone. "Now, quit dithering around and help me up off this floor."

Riker extended his foot, shoving it against Zarn's side to stop his spin. For his size, the Jarada was heavy, and Riker grunted with the effort. All the insectoid's ma.s.s was in his torso, a fact that might be helpful if Riker ever met a Jarada in hand-to-hand combat. Leaning over, Riker braced himself and offered Zarn his hand.

The Jarada locked his claws around Riker's wrist and pulled himself over on his side. From that position he completed his flip and scrambled to his feet. He started up the mound toward the exit, gesturing to Riker to follow him. "Come. Hurry. We must leave here before someone discovers the transportation I found for us."

"What? Transportation to where?" Escaping from the tunnels sounded like a good idea, but Riker wasn't sure how far he wanted to commit himself until he knew what Zarn had in mind. By now he was long overdue to check in, and the Enterprise was surely searching for him. He didn't want to get too far away from where they would be looking, especially since his communicator seemed to be malfunctioning. Although he wasn't sure exactly where he was, he knew he was still within walking distance of the Governance Complex. If the search was being run according to standard procedure, the scans would have started from his last confirmed position and moved outward in concentric circles. Unless the ship was having other difficulties, they should find him, literally, any minute.

"I will take you to a safe place where there are no crazy ones. It isn't too far from here, but if they see you before we get there, the insane ones will try to attack you as they did before." Zarn paused at the top of the mound, swiveling his head to look back at Riker. "Now, will you hurry before someone else requisitions our transportation?"

Riker started to climb, thinking that Zarn seemed a little too eager. Still, he had seen more than enough of these muddy, moldy tunnels to last him a lifetime. Perhaps when they got closer to the surface, it would be easier for the Enterprise to locate him. Normally, the ship's scanners should have found him long before this. The radiation levels in the Beltaxiyan system weren't high enough to disrupt the sensors, although some compensation would be necessary to process the data. Since he hadn't yet been found, something in the tunnels must be interfering as well.

They met no one, although Riker saw streaks and sc.r.a.pes in the dirt and sc.u.m on the floor that told him other Jarada had pa.s.sed that way recently. In a few places the scent of cinnamon or cloves still lingered, striking an almost pleasant contrast to the dominant odors of mud and mold.

After ten minutes they began moving upward a level at a time. In most places they found open ramps that led in the direction Zarn had chosen, but twice they were forced to use the enclosed spiraling ramps. Each time Zarn muttered about the dangers of coding the entry sequence into the locks, but nothing happened either time. Riker wondered if the Jarada expected the computer that controlled the locks to identify them, or if the complaints were to keep him on edge. Given how long it took Zarn to work the locks, Riker didn't need more reasons to be nervous. It was far too easy to imagine someone accidentally stumbling across them in the restricted confines of the shaft.

Finally they reached the surface, ducking out of the building through a narrow door located near the end of a long corridor. It was dark outside, and a dense row of bushes screened them from view. Zarn scuttled along the building, crouching to avoid the branches that arched against the wall. Riker had to bend almost double to keep from being slapped in the face by leaves and th.o.r.n.y twigs.

They turned the corner and crept halfway down the next wall before Zarn found a gap in the bushes. Spreading the branches apart, he gestured for Riker to go through. He stepped out onto a walkway beside a major thoroughfare, lit only by the reddish glow from the gas giant overhead. Fortunately for them, the street was deserted except for a small teardrop-shaped groundcar parked in front of them.

"Hurry!" Zarn whispered, stepping clear of the bushes. He trotted over to the car and tapped its window. The door slid open and the Jarada climbed inside. "Hurry!" he repeated, his voice strident with anxiety.

Riker started forward, still debating whether to get in the car. His instincts told him that he probably wouldn't find a better chance to strike out on his own, but he wasn't sure how far he could get. The empty street offered few possibilities for cover and fewer distractions to keep Zarn from finding him. All he had to do, he told himself, was stay in the clear until the Enterprise's scanners located him. He ran the calculations again and still disliked his chances. Showing Zarn he distrusted him didn't seem like a good bet.

He stepped clear of the overhanging bushes. Above him, Bel-Major hung like a huge rust-striped balloon. Riker stopped, caught by the wonder of the sight. Bands and whirlpools and festoons of white and orange and ochre swirled across the surface of the planet, a glorious reminder of how varied and marvelous the universe was. Riker had flown past Jupiter many times, but he could not remember being on a habitable planet this close to a gas giant.

A distant rhythmic clatter broke into his awareness. Before Riker could identify the sound, Zarn shouted, "Hurry! The guardians are coming!"

At the thought of facing an entire phalanx of large, aggressive Jarada, Riker made up his mind. Now was not the time to separate from Zarn. He dove into the car and the door swished shut behind him. Pulling himself around on the rear bench, he found some loose blankets to stuff into the Jarada-shaped indentation on the seat. While he wrestled with the padding and the safety harness, Zarn programmed their destination into the control panel. Riker had just tightened the last strap, when the car shot into the street, accelerating heavily. At the same time, armor plates slammed down over the windows, completely blocking his view of everything. Blind and helpless, Riker could do nothing as the car raced into the night.

Chapter Fifteen.

"LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT." Crusher glared at the five Jarada facing her around the polished black table. They were, as best she could remember, the four senior researchers at the Complex and Vish, acting in the dual role of researcher and chief administrator. Right now, however, her annoyance at their tactics was making it difficult for her to care which small tan insectoid was which. "You want me to stay in this complex without contacting my ship to let them know where I am or what has happened to me, and while I am here you want me to solve a problem that has defeated your best minds. And you want me to do this without any of the equipment, or databases, or a.s.sistants that I normally have at my disposal to do such work. Am I leaving anything out?"

Vish had the grace to shift uncomfortably in its seat. The rough plaster wall behind the Jarada was a brown ochre, several shades darker than the insectoids facing Crusher. "You must understand, Honored Bev-er-ly, that this problem is so uncomfort able to us that we do not even like to admit to it among ourselves. It would be exceedingly disturbing to us if others of your hive were to know of our problem. Since it is known that your race is not composed of hive creatures, you have no need of the support of your hive-mind to accomplish your work."

Crusher groaned, wondering where the Jarada had conjured that conclusion. And how, she wondered, did their hive-mind function that was so different from the give-and-take of a well-balanced team of human researchers? She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position where the Jaradan contours of the chair did not gouge her all-too-human anatomy. The throbbing cuts on her arm added to her discomfort, jabbing her with sharp pains every time she moved. With the exception of her tricorder, every piece of equipment in her medical kit was as nonfunctional as her communicator, although Vish claimed ignorance of the malfunctions. Crusher had been forced to treat her injuries by primitive methods, daubing the cuts with an odd-smelling herbal ointment and covering them with gauze. The jury was still out on the effectiveness of the treatment, particularly since the medicine was intended for Jaradan physiology.

Glaring at the Jarada, she heaved an exasperated sigh. "Let's get a couple of things straight. I don't know how your group mind works, but my people are not isolated units with each person capable of doing everything entirely by himself or herself. We're specialists, with each member of the team contributing their unique skills and knowledge to the group effort."

"That is not relevant." Vish planted its claws against the surface of the table in a gesture of finality. Around the table, the other Jarada bobbed their heads in agreement. "You do not sense the other workers in your group. Your mind does not lose its rationality when it touches the madness of one of your fellows. You will solve our problem for us."

"Let's get that straight, as well." Crusher took a deep breath to rein in her anger. She needed to keep her thoughts clear to argue with the Jarada, although she would gladly have let loose with a full-scale tantrum, if she thought it would accomplish anything. Among humans, who expected her temper to match her fiery hair, it was a weapon she kept in reserve for use when logic failed.

The Jarada, however, seemed blind to her annoyance. "You still haven't given me a single reason why I should work on your problem. You kidnapped me, you're holding me prisoner and won't let me talk to my ship-and you think I should be willing to help you. Why should I want to do anything at all for you?"

Vish straightened to its full height. "Because you do not know how to get back to your hive-mates without our help. Because, if the madness takes us, you will be trapped here with no escape. Because we five in this room are the oldest and the most stable workers in this complex, and I swear to you we will do nothing to return you to your hive until you have solved our problem."

Crusher started to protest, searched the group around the table for the most susceptible individual at which to aim her arguments, and snapped her mouth shut. She had never seen five beings who looked so uniformly adamant about anything. Their triangular heads with the hooked jaws and the faceted, shimmering eyes which reflected her face over and over could have been stamped out of the same mold, for all the differences she could identify.

If she tried to argue them into releasing her, she would be here until sometime in the next decade, with the Jarada ignoring her reasoning until insanity claimed everyone in the room. A random thought wandered through her head: some races conducted their intraspeeies business by exchanging hostages for information or favorable treaties, similar to the system used by the ancient Romans. Were the Jarada planning to trade the Federation her research for her freedom? she wondered. From the information she had, she could not determine the rules they were using. With a sigh of frustration, Crusher yielded. "I will need all your records, both from before and after you arrived here on BelMinor. I need access to your computer and all your databases. I need the best a.n.a.lytical equipment you have in the complex."

To Crusher's dismay, Vish promptly agreed, as if all her requests had been antic.i.p.ated. "Our main laboratory has been prepared for your use. You will find everything there that you desire."

"Not so fast." She waved her hand to forestall the Jarada's next words, which she knew would be a politely phrased order for her to begin work at once. "I also need a.s.sistants to operate the computers and the equipment."

The large facets in Vish's eyes flickered from green to reddish to amber. "I do not believe that would be advisable."

With a start Crusher recognized the uncertainty in the Jarada's manner. The situation must be far more serious than she had been told, if the thought of lending her a couple of technicians to operate their equipment caused so much concern. But how, without their help, was she to manage? She couldn't speak the Jaradan language, much less read it, so the instruction manuals and the a.n.a.lytical reports would be useless without an interpreter.

"I will require a.s.sistance," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "In the first place, the more help I have, the faster I can solve your problem. And in the second place, I cannot speak or read your language. Since you refuse to allow me any contact with the Enterprise, I will have to use the equipment and databases you provide. However, without someone to translate, everything will be useless. It's your choice-I can work on your problem or I can spend the next six months learning your language well enough to conduct scientific research." Crusher allowed herself a moment's regret that her Jaradan translating device worked only on spoken sounds.

Vish's antennae vibrated uneasily. "We do not have six months to wait, Honored Crusher-Doctor. However, we also do not have workers we can trust to a.s.sist you. What happened with Mren is but a foretaste of the unpleasantness that will occur if you do not find the solution quickly."

Crusher folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair. The glare she turned on Vish was very familiar to her son, but the Jarada was unaffected. "It seems to me, given the urgency of your situation, that you would want me to use the best tools available. However, since you refuse to allow me access to my laboratory aboard the Enterprise, you must provide me with a minimum of help if you want results."

The five Jarada exchanged glances, their eyes flickering through the spectrum as they refocused on different members of the group. Finally, Vish curled its true-arms to its shoulders. "We will comply with your request, although it is against our better judgment. You must understand that we cannot be responsible if the madness should strike all of your a.s.sistants at the same time."

"How likely is that?" Crusher suppressed a shiver, not liking the ominous sound of Vish's words. How long did she have before every Jarada in the complex succ.u.mbed to the insanity that was preying upon them? Would she be able to survive until the Enterprise located her and beamed her back to the ship?

Vish bobbed its head, its antennae drooping mournfully. "The more people who are affected, the more likely it is that the rest of us will also go mad. Each new victim rips a wider hole in our group mind, making it harder for the rest of us to resist. You are our last hope."

How do you say "Gee, thanks," in Jarada? she wondered. Even though she recognized how Vish was manipulating her, it was difficult to refuse. Somewhere on the planet was an outstanding reference on human psychology and Vish had studied it thoroughly. "If I am your last hope," Crusher answered with a trace of acid in her tone, "then the very least you can do is provide me with the necessary tools. And that includes people who can operate the equipment and translate the results into a language I can understand."

Vish pushed itself away from the table and started for the door, dragging its claws against the tiled floor. "It shall be as you wish."

The laboratory was s.p.a.cious and well-equipped, with everything she could have wanted and several things she hadn't thought to ask for. Lab benches filled the center of the room, providing working s.p.a.ce for a dozen researchers. The protein a.n.a.lyzer, the gene sequencer, and the medical examination scanner all shone with the unmistakable gloss of new equipment, their fresh-from-the-factory patina unmarred by time and the brush of countless claw-hands. One entire wall was covered with computer screens and control panels, each component looking slightly misshapen or oddly sized to Crusher. Everything was ready for her, was waiting for her to set in motion the research that would justify this laboratory.

Crusher shivered, wondering what would have happened if she had refused to help. I'd probably be here anyway, she grumbled to herself. The Jarada had been entirely too confident about her acceptance and entirely too casual about obtaining what they wanted by any means. For now she didn't see any options beyond cooperating, but she decided to make the process as unpleasant for them as it was for her. "I want complete bioscans of everyone in this complex," she ordered. "And I want those scans compared with every previous bioscan made of that individual."

"That will take an enormous amount of time, Honored Bev-er-ly." Vish's antennae wiggled in distress. "I do not see why you need new bioscans, when all of us had complete scans taken just before we were a.s.signed here. Unlike your people, our bioscans do not change unless an individual is about to molt."

"Permit me to doubt." Crusher sat on one of the lab benches, letting her legs swing free. She stared at Vish, her arms folded across her chest. "You ordered me to do this job and I-reluctantly-agreed. However, I insist on doing it my way, without any kibitzing from you. If you want my expertise, you will allow me to conduct the research in any way my human intuition suggests to me."

"But I a.s.sure you, our bioscans do not change." Deeply distressed, Vish shifted its weight from one strong-leg to the other. "This has been proven over thousands of generations. The only time a Jarada's bioscan changes is when it is preparing to molt. None of the individuals who have become unbalanced have been approaching their molting time."

Crusher drummed her boot heel against the bench's leg. "In other words, you haven't checked anyone's bioscans to see if the insanity produces any measurable changes in the body chemistry?"

"Of course not." Vish curled its strong-arms to its shoulders. "Why should we waste our time on a useless experiment we all conducted in our first biology cla.s.s?"

Crusher glared at Vish. "In that case, I particularly want to see the current scans for the individual who attacked me. If you don't like the direction my research is going, then send me back to the Enterprise and do the work yourself!"

"Very well." Vish's tone was so reluctant that Crusher almost broke into laughter. Whether she was on the right track or not, her first hunch was leading her down a path the Jarada had not considered. "If you will watch, we will show you how the bioscanners work so that you can operate them on your own."

Vish beckoned to another researcher and that Jarada stepped into the orange-gold cone of the scanner field. In response to Vish's commands, the lights on the control console flashed and winked in time to the scanning procedures, and columns of the oddly shaped Jaradan characters rolled across the screen. Crusher activated her tricorder, using it to record both the operating procedure and her own readings of the Jarada's biochemistry. The tricorder's capabilities as an a.n.a.lytical instrument were severely limited without access to the Enterprise's main computer, but if she lost her Jaradan a.s.sistants, she would need every tool at her disposal.

A soft chime marked the end of the scan. The Jarada stepped out of the field, chittering softly in its own language. One at a time, the other Jarada submitted to the procedure while the first Jarada left to relay Crusher's request to the other workers in the complex. By twos and threes the workers filed in and waited their turn. Crusher thought they seemed oddly sub dued, as if the threat of madness rested on each of them as heavily as the ma.s.s of the building that surrounded them.

After half an hour Crusher was beginning to wonder if her hunch had been wrong. So far, the scans had seemed amazingly uniform, reflecting both the physiological conformity of the Jarada and the genetic uniformity of the individuals within a given caste. Before her doubts could solidify, a small tan-colored insectoid near the head of the line began twitching its head. The smell of sage, overpowering in its intensity, swept over Crusher.

"Quick! Get that one in the scanner!" she ordered.

After a moment's hesitation, the four nearest Jarada converged on their afflicted a.s.sociate. The small Jarada fought with surprising ferocity but no finesse. Eventually it was forced into the bioscan field, biting and clawing the entire time. Vish slapped a hot pink b.u.t.ton, and blue lines of force surrounded the tan Jarada, immobilizing it while the bioscanner did its work.

Crusher watched the readings scroll across her tricorder with mounting excitement. Even without running a comparison, she could see the differences. The activity levels of several key enzymes were skewed far beyond every other reading she had obtained so far. Three of the readings were below five percent of the values for the other Jarada, while one enzyme registered almost eight times the next highest concentration she had found. Although Crusher did not yet understand the function of those enzymes, she knew the insanity was somehow linked to the readings. The question was-which enzyme was responsible? Or were all four linked to the problem?

"This is not possible." Vish's tone was subdued, "All the best medical researchers for millennia have proven that our physiology is stable."

Resisting the urge to say "I told you so," Crusher scrolled through the data on her tricorder before she answered. "There are many races in the galaxy that show a strong correlation between insanity and biochemistry. In most cases, a disruption in an individual's biochemistry causes the abnormal behavior, but in a few races, insanity disrupts the physiology. Once we have determined cause and effect here, we can begin to solve your problem."

"We are the Jarada." There was a tone of finality in Vish's voice. "We are not like other beings."

Closing her eyes, Crusher counted to ten before she answered the insectoid. "There are certain universal rules that govern ninety-nine percent of all life-forms in the galaxy. It would be exceedingly unusual if your physiology were not governed by the same general principles as every other intelligent race. I grant that there are differences in function, that in detail Jarada physiology is uniquely different from every other race. However, unless the same underlying rules apply, unless your bodies are composed of amino acids and proteins and water and minerals and organic molecules which obey the laws I learned in my biochemistry cla.s.ses, there's no point in my being here."

She drew a deep breath to emphasize her final salvo, even though she already knew what Vish would say. "If your physiology is really so unique that my knowledge doesn't apply to you, then let me return to the Enterprise, because there's nothing at all I can do for you."

"You will stay." Vish drew itself up to its full height, but for once, its air of command faltered. "What do you need from us to accomplish your task?"

"First, I will need scans of everyone affected by this madness. And I still need baseline data to compare the new scans with. After that, I require cooperation and a.s.sistance." Crusher ran a hand through her red hair, stalling for time. There had to be a way to handle the stubborn Jarada, but what it was remained a mystery. Their racial intolerance made reasoning with them almost impossible. She was beginning to think an insane Jarada was only marginally less rational than a supposedly sane one. "I can do nothing for you if I am constantly fighting with you about the appropriate direction for my research. If you want my help, you must let me do this in what I judge to be the best possible way. Is that clear?"

Vish curled its true-arms to touch its shoulders with its claws. "If that is what you require, we will obtain it for you. In addition, I sense the approach of someone who will serve as a better a.s.sistant to you than the ones I have at my disposal. He should arrive within the hour."

"What are you talking about?" She shook her head, trying to follow the abrupt shift in topic. "Have you been in contact with someone who is immune to this madness?"

"Those details are not important." Vish's tone said that the matter was closed. "We have much work to do. I will have our guardians bring the people for whom you have requested bioscans."

One at a time the guardians hauled the insane Jarada into the laboratory and forced them into the scanner field. Most of them were under restraint, their bodies twitching and jerking so much that Crusher had no trouble visualizing what would happen should the bindings work loose. A few were comatose, so far gone in their madness that they were no longer aware of their surroundings.

She studied each new set of readings with growing excitement, as the data confirmed her original guess. The biochemistry of the insane Jarada was severely distorted, with a clear correlation between the severity of the madness and the extremity of the imbalance.

Crusher was so busy searching for the underlying explanation for her findings that she forgot about the promised a.s.sistant until someone flung open the door and announced, "He's here." Battered, bruised, and muddy, Will Riker limped into the room.

Chapter Sixteen.

AFTER AN HOUR that seemed more like twenty to Keiko, the Jarada quit throwing themselves at the tree trunk and wandered off. It was fully dark by then, and she was unable to tell what the insectoids were doing on the ground below. Even after fifteen minutes of quiet, she thought she saw several darker shadows stumbling through the forest in an erratic pattern. It was enough to discourage her from descending to the ground, but she didn't want to stay where she was either.

"Reggie?" she whispered, hoping her voice would carry only as far as the branch where he was sitting. "Reggie, are you all right?"

For several heartbeats, only silence answered her. Then, softly, Tanaka's voice floated out of the darkness, hoa.r.s.e with pain. "My leg is pretty badly torn up... . I stopped the bleeding, I think, but I won't be able to run from them."

Keiko groaned as the sight of the maddened Jarada replayed itself before her eyes. She couldn't outrun the Jarada either, and both her legs were uninjured. "We can't stay up here when all our supplies are back at camp."

The tree quivered and the branches below her rustled as Tanaka pulled himself to his feet. Slowly, he levered himself up to her level, guiding himself by touch more than sight. At last he eased himself into the crotch around the tree from Keiko. "I could stay here safely enough if I thought they wouldn't come back. But if you're not used to trees, you'd fall off when you went to sleep."

"And you wouldn't? Are you crazy?" Keiko shivered at the thought of the long drop to the ground. It was bad enough just being here, without having to think about staying.

"I grew up on Dulsinaray. I'm used to living in trees." He shifted position, the dark bulk of his body leaning over to probe his injured leg.

Keiko closed her eyes and hugged the rough trunk tighter. The sight of Tanaka casually ignoring the open air below him made her stomach roil. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to exclude all other thoughts. Instead, the name Dulsinaray teased at the edge of her consciousness. Something in the news, something she had completely disregarded at the time but which had turned up later in one of her cla.s.ses at the Academy.

Suddenly the memory clicked. About fifteen years ago a group of terrorists had seized the capital of Dulsinaray, taken the government hostage, and proceeded to execute the citizens until their demands were met. Most of the details had faded from her memory, but she still remembered the manner of the killings. Dulsinaray's population was arboreal, living in s.p.a.cious tree houses far above the swampy, carnivore-infested surface of the planet. The terrorists had exterminated their hostages by setting fire to their tree-homes and stunning anyone who tried to escape to the adjoining trees. The people had either burned to death or had fallen into the swamps below, where their bodies were devoured by the ravenous predators. If Tanaka had been in Dulsinaray City during that brief reign of terror, it explained his reaction to the thought of being held hostage again.

"Dulsinaray?" Keiko asked finally. "Are you from the capital?"

"Yes." He clipped the word so short, she could barely understand it. Then, as if to compensate for his rudeness, he added, "I lost all my family. Can we change the subject?"

"Sure," she agreed, too quickly. The thought of the blazing trees reminded her too much of their current predicament. All they needed was one crazed Jarada to stumble through the woods with a torch lit from the bonfire to make their precarious situation worse. They couldn't outrun the insectoids on the ground, and an uncontrolled fire would turn the forest into a deadly inferno. "How are we going to get out of here?"

Tanaka shifted uncomfortably on his branch and Keiko realized he had been having similar thoughts. She heard him give a deep sigh. "For myself, I'd go through the canopy. I was studying the limb structure earlier this afternoon, while you were asleep. All the trees go up to about the same height, and the branches on the upper levels are firmly interlaced. Skipping from one limb to another in a forest like this is child's play."

"And you don't think I can do it?" Keiko's stomach knotted at the thought of traversing the forest canopy in the dark. Tanaka might think it was easy to stroll along a tree limb using other branches as handholds and to change from one branch to another while the rounded surface beneath his feet bounced in response to his movements, but Keiko found the idea terrifying. However, she was even more afraid of staying where she was. "I can do anything you can do."

"Then let's go." He pulled himself to his feet, grunting with pain when he put his weight on the injured leg. "I for one want to be a long way from here when those lunatic bugs come back for us."

Keiko swallowed hard, forcing her stomach back under control. She had, after all, volunteered to try Tanaka's chosen method of escape. Perspiration sprung out on her palms at the thought of following him through the treetops. She wiped one hand and then the other against her uniform, trying to remove the dangerous slipperiness. Reluctantly, she pulled herself to her feet, keeping one hand locked around a branch at all times.

Anything he can do, I can do better, she told herself over and over as she started up the tree after Tanaka. It wasn't that she doubted her abilities exactly, but tree-climbing was not high on her list of job skills. She followed him slowly, glad he was setting a careful and deliberate pace.

As they reached the canopy level and started to work their way across the forest, the reflected glow from the gas giant gave them more light. Even so, Keiko found she was relying on touch rather than on sight to settle her feet on the springy, rough-barked limbs. Her hands were slick with perspiration before they had been moving five minutes.

Fighting her nervousness, Keiko made sure she was grasping one branch before she released her previous handhold. After she adjusted to the idea, she realized she was glad they were doing this in semidarkness. That made it easier for her to convince herself that she was barely above the ground, that if she slipped, the worst thing that would happen to her was a skinned knee or a sprained ankle. Somehow, false as it was, she found comfort in the illusion.

Three hours and a dozen near falls later, Keiko was less rea.s.sured by her pretense. She felt dirty and sweaty, her arms were shaking from the constant effort of holding and lifting and balancing her body, and, worst of all, her stomach was seesawing between hunger and nausea with alarming regularity. All she wanted was to crawl into her tent and sleep until the Enterprise found them.

"Look. There's the road." Tanaka pointed to a narrow break in the trees.

Keiko shook herself, wondering how he knew it was the road and why it had taken them so long to cover the distance. She was afraid she knew the answer, that her inexperience-more than Tanaka's injured leg or the darkness-had been the reason for their slow pace.