"Phasers set to stun."

Geordi took his visor off and set it on the small round table. Suddenly the subtle lighting in the Ten-Forward lounge blinked out and the room was plunged into blackness as Geordi ma.s.saged his aching temples.

"This waiting is driving me crazy," he moaned to Guinan, who was delivering his chamomile tea.

"I shouldn't tell you this," she replied, "but the scuttleb.u.t.t has it that you know more than you're letting on."

"I do. But none of it's official, and scuttleb.u.t.t is the exact reason why I have to keep quiet." The engineering officer grimaced in pain as he replaced his visor. "At least, there was some news and some activity going on down there today. A huge volcano blew."

"Was anyone hurt?" Guinan asked.

"Not as far as we know."

"It doesn't sound as if the away teams are bored," she remarked.

Geordi thoughtfully stirred his tea. "Do you know what a taxicab is?"

"No," the humanoid answered.

"It's an ancient Earth conveyance, totally dependent upon a driver. Variations of it existed all over the galaxy. Basically, the driver is at the beck and call of his pa.s.senger, and he spends some of his time sitting in his vehicle waiting for his pa.s.senger to return. That's called 'keeping the meter running.'

"Well," he sighed, "I feel like a taxicab driver who's been keeping the meter running for four days. There is absolutely nothing we can do from here, except to keep the transporter rooms ready. Each new eruption on the planet makes the cloud cover more impenetrable. Each day that pa.s.ses makesme feel more helpless."

Guinan sat down in the chair opposite him and regarded him sympathetically. "Geordi, you are in command of the starshipEnterprise in the middle of an emergency. Nothing you will ever do in your whole life is as important. Waiting is not inactivity-it's waiting, which can be much harder than taking direct action. The time for action will come soon, and when it does, you'll be ready."

"Thank you." The lieutenant smiled. "I know that what I'm doing is important. I needed someone to tell me that it was also hard work."

An excited voice broke through the hum of conver sation in the lounge. "Ensign Crusher to Lieutenant La Forge. Urgent! Bridge to La Forge."

Geordi bolted upright in his seat and slapped his communicator badge. "Lieutenant La Forge here. What is it, Wesley?"

"Sir," gulped the teenager, "we're not the only ones interested in Lorca. A Ferengi ship has just warped into our sector and is establishing orbit around the planet."

Geordi and Guinan exchanged raised eyebrows. "Have you tried to hail her?"

"No, sir, I was waiting for you."

"I'll be right there."

Geordi stood up and took a hurried sip of tea. "You were right," he told Guinan. "Things are about to get interesting."

Chapter Ten.

THE AFT TURBOLIFT DOORwhooshed open, and Lieutenant La Forge charged onto the bridge. "What's happening, Wesley? Do the Ferengi know we're here?"

"They must," answered Ensign Crusher. He punched some keys on his console, and a distinctive Ferengi vessel filled the viewscreen.

"Why would they be here?" wondered Geordi.

Ensign Crusher shrugged. "Shall I go to yellow alert?"

Frowning, the acting captain scratched his chin. "What arethey doing?"

"Just establishing orbit. No alert, no shields, no weapons being armed. This close, we're not going to hide many secrets from each other."

"We're not at war with the Ferengi," said Geordi, "and Lorca is nonaligned. We have no reason not to be friendly."

"Yet," added Ensign Crusher, remembering unpleasant encounters with the profiteering Ferengi in the past.

"Scanners show that the Ferengi vessel has just beamed personnel down to the planet," announced a third officer stationed at the Ops console.

"Open a hailing frequency," said Geordi, shifting nervously in his seat.

"Hailing frequency open."

Geordi finally decided to stand up. "Lieutenant Geordi La Forge, in command of the Federation Starship U.S.S.Enterprise, addressing the Ferengi commander."

"We know who you are," cooed a voice.

"On the screen," Geordi ordered.

At once, the viewscreen filled with the image of a short humanoid with tremendous ears. His longish nose, beady eyes, and snaggleteeth gave him a distinctly feral appearance. He was sitting at a large desk and appeared to have been interrupted during a consultation with another Ferengi, who was leaning over his shoulder. He shut off his computer terminal, and the second Ferengi abruptly left.

"Excuse me," he apologized, "for not contacting you as soon as we arrived, but I had some urgent business to attend to. I am Karue n.o.bnama, first officer of the Ferengi Alliance trading vesselLazara . Our captain is indisposed at the moment, and I am in charge of this mission."

"And what is your mission on Lorca?" asked Geordi, trying to sound nonchalant.

The Ferengi smiled and leaned back in his overstuffed chair. "I could ask you the same question. This is a trading vessel, whereas theEnterprise is a famous warship. I think we can draw our own conclusions."

"Every Ferengi vessel is a trading vessel," Geordi remarked. "And theEnterprise is designed for exploration."

Karue n.o.bnama nodded, as if conceding the point. "'Exploration' is as good a term as any for what we are doing here."

"Perhaps we can pool our efforts," Geordi suggested.

The purser smiled, showing more crooked teeth. "No, I think not. Ultimately, your aims and our aims are different. The Federation wishes to expand its military dominance over the entire galaxy, whereas we wish to conduct mutually agreeable trade, nothing more."

Geordi let the remark slip by in the hope of coaxing at least some information from the Ferengi merchant. "You mean," he suggested, "you wish to develop raw resources on Lorca?"

"I mean," said the purser, his huge ears twitching, "that I am not providing more information to a compet.i.tor. Good afternoon."

The screen went blank.

"Transmission ended," a bridge officer added unnecessarily.

Geordi pounded his fist into his hand and shook his head. "Why are they so obstinate?"

"The Ferengi see nothing but the bottom line," answered Wesley Crusher. "They're concerned only about how much profit they can make. Because the Federation doesn't think like that, they don't trust us. They think we justpretend not to want to be like them."

"Let's look on the bright side," said Geordi, managing a weak smile as he sank back into the captain's chair. "The more eyes and ears on that planet the better. If we don't run across the captain, maybe the Ferengi will."

Commander Riker stared bleakly at the red road snaking among endless kilometers of tall brown trees. He turned his eyes skyward, and his face contorted into a look of frustration no one would ever see, thanks to his formidable Forest Mask.

"Blast the stars, Lewis! Don't you have any idea where this attack took place?"

The studious feathered mask bowed low, and Fenton Lewis kicked a clump of wormy clay off the road. "I'm sorry, Commander. One stretch of forest looks like another."

"That is not entirely true," Data said. "The road has varied in width from one meter to six. The vegetation may appear constant, but I have counted over four hundred different species. After having climbed uphill for three kilometers, we are now traveling downhill at a ten degree angle-"

"All right, Data," interrupted Katherine Pulaski. "To you, maybe it all looks different. But for us humans, this forest is incomprehensible. If it wasn't for the road, we would be lost."

Will Riker was far from satisfied with either explanation. "Lewis, you're an experienced woodsman, are you telling me that you can't even find your way back to a place where three-quarters of your party was ma.s.sacred?"

The long hair shook slightly, and the wiry shoulders rose and fell as Lewis heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry you are so reluctant to believe me, Commander Riker. But you'll have to take my word for what happened."

"Starfleet regulations," said Data, "require a period of five years before a missing crew member is reported dead without positive identification of his remains. We have no choice but to continue looking."

"As I said before," countered Lewis, "Captain Picard isn't missing. He's dead. I saw him get killed. Now, if all of you want to go back to the ship, I'll continue looking."

"Not on your life," growled Riker. "If it takes five years, we'llstay here five years."

His communicator beeped softly from within his breast pocket, and Riker s.n.a.t.c.hed it out, reminded of Ensign Greenblatt. He glanced at her ebony Archer's Mask and gave her a smile she couldn't see. Greenblatt had lent him her communicator badge, and Data had done the code conversion to make it respond as his own. "Riker here!" he answered.

"Lieutenant La Forge," came the response. "For once, Commander, I have news for you. A Ferengi ship has just established an orbit around the planet."

"Ferengi," exclaimed Will. He glanced at Fenton Lewis, who looked away. "What do they want?"

"I hailed them," Geordi replied, "but all they would say is that they're engaged in 'exploration.' They have already beamed at least one team down to the planet surface."

Amba.s.sador Lewis shrugged. "They've come here before. It's probably just a coincidence that they're here now."

"What have you told them about us?" asked Riker.

"Nothing," Geordi answered. "As usual, they think we're compet.i.tors for the same market."

"All right," said Riker. "Keep them under close scrutiny. I'm not thrilled about this complication."

"I don't think they are either," Geordi answered.

"Out," said Riker, putting his new communicator back into his pocket and zipping it tight.

He turned to the feathered Messenger's Mask. "Shall we catch up with Day Timer's wagon?" he asked. "Or head off in some other direction? It's up to you, Lewis. We're not leaving this planet until we find those bodies."

Jean-Luc Picard tried to get comfortable in his treetop roost, but the stump of a broken bough kept prodding him when he leaned back to rest. Also, he kept jarring moss off the branches around him, and the brown powder trickled down his collar and into his clothing.

Worf, on the other hand, looked as if he had been born in a tree. Despite his size, he had settled comfortably into a crux of branches over Picard's head, and there he sat with his arms folded, apparently dozing. His mask hung from his belt, and his breath swirled in the frosty air.

The captain turned his attention back to the forest floor, some twenty meters below them. They had decided to observe the raiders before making contact with them, so they had selected the stoutest tree and had climbed as high up into it as they could without risking life and limb. Now the captain perched uncomfortably and Worf dozed far above the red road meandering peacefully below them.

Picard had expected the Lorcan bandits to come along much sooner, if they were really as hot on their heels as Medicine Maker had said. But something had delayed them. Maybe they wanted no truck with Piercing Blade and her band and were happy to put some distance between them. Maybe not as much time had pa.s.sed as Jean-Luc thought. In the cathedrallike forest, shafts of light sneaked through the boughs like beams from a stained-gla.s.s window, and time seemed suspended.

Picard had spent most of his adult life cooped up in one type of s.p.a.ce vehicle or another. Here, lost in the majesty of a planet still in its formative stages, his previous experiences didn't seem to matter. On Lorca, life was as intense as the cold and as real as the stump sticking into his back. On theEnterprise , the vastness and emptiness of s.p.a.ce was the master. Here on Lorca the primeval force once known as Nature prevailed.

A twig cracked, snapping him out of his reverie, and Jean-Luc stared down at the rutted road snaking between the trees. From the brush, at least five red-masked Lorcans emerged on foot, stalking cautiously onto the road. Their swords were drawn and ready.

He tugged Worf's pant leg, and the Klingon stared down at him, instantly awake. Picard put his finger to his lips and pointed toward the ground. Worf acknowledged the instructions with a silent nod.

The half-dozen raiders moved warily on, followed by another four on ponies. They moved with the precision of a crack military outfit, long accustomed to working and fighting as a team. They were followed by two more riders who looked different, alien. These riders had the bearing of generals and wore imperious silver masks, which were wider than any Lorcan masks Picard had yet seen-wide enough to accommodate tremendous ears.

Picard and Worf looked at each other, and Worf mouthed the word "Ferengi."

Jean-Luc nodded. But he was more puzzled than ever. Why were two Ferengi traveling with Lorcan outlaws? He remembered Amba.s.sador Lewis's account of how he had come by the Amba.s.sador's Mask. Could these Ferengi be looking for Lewis? No, that didn't seem likely, even if they had somehow gotten word that Lewis was coming to Lorca. The planet was too vast a place to conduct a manhunt, and yet the Ferengi appeared so at ease with their Lorcan escorts that they had to be allies, not prisoners.

Picard was tempted to reveal himself to the off-worlders, knowing they might be able to help his party get back to theEnterprise . But something stopped him; some nameless instinct froze him to the tree limb until the procession of raiders and Ferengi had pa.s.sed.

After they had been out of sight for some moments, Picard turned to Worf. "Thosewere Ferengi, weren't they?"

"Yes, Captain," answered the Klingon. "Do you suppose the Ferengi are helping one of the factions on Lorca?"

"They would, if they thought they could get something out of it-like the fireproof moss on these trees, or more masks for their auctions. But the Ferengi have no equivalent to our Prime Directive. They'll subvert the government, do whatever it takes, to achieve their aims."

"There isn't any government on Lorca," Worf observed.

"Except for the Wisdom Mask," Picard reminded him. "That's all the Ferengi need to rule the planet."

The Klingon stretched his long legs. "We have a more immediate concern. Do we approach the Ferengi and ask for their help in getting back to the Enterprise?"

"I think we have to try," Picard said.

The two clambered down from the gigantic tree and walked slowly along the road in the direction the raiders had taken. Without thinking twice about it, they pulled on their masks, and Picard again drew his phaser from his pocket. "Phasers set to stun."

"Yes, sir," answered Worf.

"And keep it out of sight."

"Yes, sir."

"Also, Lieutenant, if something goes wrong and we have to make a quick retreat, try to get past them and head toward Piercing Blade."

The Page's Mask nodded gravely.

Their voices carried in the hushed forest, and they could hear shouts and frantic movement ahead of them. As he strode determinedly forward, Picard's heart pounded as loudly as the horses' hooves. The initial meeting with Piercing Blade's band had resulted in violence, and these raiders were said to have fewer scruples than the average Lorcan. Would they challenge his right to wear the Trainer's Mask?