Grabbing the mutant's metallic arm, she pulled him toward the intersection ahead of them. "Come on," she said.

"You've found some Draa'kon?" he asked.

"Yes," the counselor told him, "Draa'kon-and Xhaldians as well. And if we don't hurry, the Xhaldians may not survive much longer."

Hearing that, Colossus picked up the pace, too. For someone who seemed to be made of metal he moved rather quickly, eating the ground ahead of them with long, loping strides. In fact, Troi was hard pressed to keep up.

At the end of the street, she turned right and the mutant followed. When they came to the end of that street, they turned left and kept running.

"How much further?" Colossus asked.

"Not much," the counselor told him, panting a little. "It feels like they're around the next corner."

As they approached the building at the end of the block, she slowed down and gestured for her partner to do the same. After all, she thought, she might be able to incapacitate the Draa'kon without exposing Colossus and herself to any danger. That was what phasers were for.

Finally, they reached the corner of the building. By then, Troi could hear voices. Apparently, the Draa'kon were interrogating the Xhaldians.

Lowering herself to one knee, she leaned forward and took a peek. She could see the Draa'kon, all right. And a couple of Xhaldians, too. The aliens had backed the natives up against a wall and were pointing their energy weapons at them with obvious intent.

"... by the vegetable market," one of the Xhaldians was saying. "Just a couple of blocks from here. There are five or six of them."

"You will show us," one of the Draa'kon insisted.

"Be glad to," the Xhaldian told him. "You'll be doing us a favor, taking those monsters away with you."

"That's right," said one of the other Xhaldians. "They're freaks. They don't belong among decent people."

"And we're not the only ones who think so," the third Xhaldian added.

It wasn't just their fear talking, the counselor realized. They really felt that way about the transformed.

Colossus's brow knotted and he swore beneath his breath. "I have heard enough of such talk to last me a lifetime," he whispered.

Troi pulled her head back. "We've still got to help them," she told the mutant. "That's what we came here for."

He grunted, his expression still heavy with indignation. "It is always that way, is it not? They hate us, they revile us, and yet we help them anyway."

The Betazoid felt his pain. She felt his deep, abiding bitterness. But she also felt his resolve to see their mission carried out.

"You will have difficulty getting close to the Draa'kon," she said. "Perhaps I can stun them from here."

Colossus shook his head. "That will not be necessary," he replied.

Then he dug his metallic fingers into the wall in front of them. When he withdrew them, he had wrestled two chunks of it free.

"I, too, can operate at a distance," the mutant told her.

Troi looked at the chunks of building material in his hands and nodded appreciatively. "Yes," she said, "I suppose you can."

"What are we waiting for?" Colossus asked her.

The counselor shook her head. "Nothing at all."

Then they turned the corner and went after the Draa'kon together.

Crouched behind a pile of disruptor-blasted rubble, Data picked his head up for a moment, took aim, and squeezed off a shot. He saw his phaser beam miss a Draa'kon and strike a surviving wall beside him instead, showering the android's intended target with tiny fragments.

A moment later, the enemy returned his fire, destroying half of the debris protecting him. Before they could destroy the rest of it, Data gathered his legs underneath him and dove full-length for a bigger pile nearby.

Again, he drew a barrage of green disruptor bolts, but none of them hit his artificial body. Rolling to a stop, he waited until the barrage was discontinued. Then he raised his head again and reconnoitered.

Perhaps twenty of the Draa'kon had hunkered in the ruins of a couple of buildings they had all but leveled earlier. Beyond them, penned in by the aliens on one side and a sudden, steep hillside on the other, was a structure that sheltered an indeterminate number of Xhaldians-more than likely, some of the transformed.

From what the android had seen since his arrival planetside, the Draa'kons' perferred tactic was to herd the transformed-driving them from street to street or building to building-and then to capture the youths en ma.s.se. Their objective, as Storm had speculated on the Enterprise, seemed to be to take the transformed back with them to the Connharakt.

Why? Data had had a few moments to contemplate the question while his shuttle was descending, and he believed he had come up with some answers. However, there was no time to refine his theories at the moment. He and his comrades, under the leadership of Commander Worf, were too busy attempting to spoil the Draa'kons' kidnapping plans.

On the android's right, Banshee opened his mouth and blasted the remnants of a wall, exposing a pair of surprised Draa'kon soldiers. Without hesitation, Data skewered one with a discharge from his phaser. But several other beams failed to hit the second invader, and he lumbered to safety.

Then, as if the attack had annoyed them, the enemy emerged from cover all together and hammered the Starfleet officers' positions. The resulting volley was nothing short of devastating. What's more, it caught two of the android's comrades by surprise.

Jerking and spinning under the influence of the Draa'kons' disruptor bolts, Saffron and Bertaina fell and lay still. Data didn't have to feel their pulses to know they were dead. And now that he had emotions of his own, he was able to regret their pa.s.sing as deeply as anyone.

"Himmel," came a cry from the pile of debris on his right.

Turning, he saw that it had come from Nightcrawler. "What is it?" the android asked the mutant.

"We're not getting anywhere this way," said Nightcrawler. "And if we run out of ammunition before they do ..."

He didn't have to finish his sentence. Data knew well enough what would transpire at that point. He and his comrades would be forced to withdraw, leaving the transformed at the mercy of the Draa'kon.

To the android, that wasn't a viable option.

"How are you feeling?" he asked the mutant.

Nightcrawler looked at him, his golden eyes locked on Data's. "Not as bad as I thought I would after that jump to the Draa'kon ship." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

The android smiled. "I believe you know why. It might save some lives if we can get into that building and spirit the transformed out of it."

The mutant took a breath and let it out. "You ask a lot of me, my friend. It's a good thing I like you."

"Then you will do it?" Data pressed.

"Have I a choice?" Nightcrawler asked in return.

The android regarded him for a moment. "That is a rhetorical question," he concluded.

Covering the distance in a single bound, the mutant was beside him.

Unfortunately, the debris didn't offer sufficient cover for both of them. "Stay down," Data advised him, putting a firm hand on the mutant's shoulder.

"Don't distract me," came the reply. "When I'm tired, I need to concentrate even harder."

The android studied Nightcrawler's face, watching as his companion composed himself. After all, Data's positronic brain allowed him to catch nuances the human mind could not.

Still, he failed to pin down the precise moment at which the mutant effected the teleport. He simply came to the abrupt realization that he was no longer outside the beleaguered building, looking in. He was inside it. So was Nightcrawler. And they were standing in the midst of the transformed who had hidden themselves there.

"Someone's here!" cried one of the transformed.

"Please do not be alarmed," Data said calmly. "I a.s.sure you, we are not here to hurt you. In fact-"

"Liar!" shouted another of the youths.

"No!" the mutant yelled back. "We're not with the Draa'kon. We're-"

Before he could finish his disclaimer, the air around his head turned into a solid crystal. Unable to breathe, the already weakened Nightcrawler fell to the ground, his eyes staring and filled with horror.

The android knelt and took the crystal in his hands, hoping he could break it without harming his friend. But before he could make the attempt, someone raised her fist and pierced him with a bolt of charged plasma.

Data writhed uncontrollably, flopping around as if he had lost control of his limbs. And of course, he had.

His artificial body had always enabled him to tolerate a considerable degree of physical punishment. But when it came to a high-powered plasma charge, he was as vulnerable as anyone else.

"You do not ... understand," the android told the transformed, trying to make their faces stop swimming in front of him. "We are not ... not your enemies. We came here to ... to offer ..."

Before he could finish, he shut down.

Chapter Twenty-six.

DR. CRUSHER ENTERED the holodeck and saw what she had created. It was a large room with hardwood walls and furnishings, where tall windows framed in heavy, red velvet drapes let in shafts of moonlight.

The place spoke eloquently of comfort and old-fashioned charm, not unlike her grandmother's house in the Caldos Colony. Comfort and charm and a quiet, stolid strength.

Here, a potted plant lent grace to an otherwise bare corner. There, an Oriental vase contributed a delicate beauty. And still elsewhere, a brick fireplace held the glow of burning embers.

Caught in that glow was a heavy, mahogany desk, the darkened computer monitor that sat on it, and what looked at first glance like a golden egg. A second look told the doctor that it was a chair of some kind, positioned with its back to her.

Then her gaze was drawn to the window beyond it, and she saw the reflection there. His reflection.

"Professor?" she ventured.

There was no answer-at least, not at first. But a moment later, the chair pulled back from the desk into the center of the room, where there was more room for it to maneuver. Then it turned around a hundred and eighty degrees, gradually revealing the man inside it.

The mutants were right, she thought. There was something of a resemblance after all, Crusher found herself smiling.

Xavier didn't smile back. In fact, he didn't seem to exhibit any expression at all. He merely made a pyramid of his fingers, as if that were a statement in itself.

"I find myself at a disadvantage," he told her.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said, remembering her manners. She came forward and offered the man her hand. "My name is Beverly Crusher. I'm the chief medical officer here."

The professor grasped her hand politely. "Here?" he echoed skeptically. "You mean in Salem Center? Pardon me for saying so, but I don't know any medical doctors who dress as you do."

She nodded. "I know you'll find this hard to believe, but we're not in Salem Center. We're on a starship. And ..." She took a breath and let it out. "... you're not Charles Xavier."

He almost smiled, his eyes sparkling with firelight. "I'm not?"

"Not really," the doctor told him. "You're a holographic representation of Charles Xavier. I created you with data uploaded from your computer files when this ship was in your reality."

The professor regarded her intently. After a moment, he began to look concerned. "I can't enter your mind to verify your statements. I wonder why that would be."

"Because," she said, "there's no way to simulate your mental powers here in the holodeck."

Xavier's brow creased. "Holodeck? I thought you said we were on a ship of some kind."

"We are," Crusher replied patiently.

After all, she needed the man's help. They all did.

"The holodeck is a facility on our ship," the doctor explained. "In fact, there are several such facilities. They employ electromagnetic fields and omnidirectional image projectors to simulate objects, environments, ... and even living beings."

The professor's eyes narrowed beneath his upswept eyebrows. "How interesting," he said.

"You believe me, then?"

"For the moment," he responded, "I'll accept your explanation as the truth-if only as an excercise in logic. Now, if I may ask ... for what purpose did you create this simulation?"

Crusher found herself grateful for the man's intellect. Not every twentieth-century Earthman would have been able to accept what she had told him, even on a provisional basis.

"It seems," she said, "we have a problem on our hands."

She told him about the situation on Xhaldia. Then she told him about the X-Men's involvement in it.

"I understand you're a geneticist," the doctor went on. "One of the foremost geneticists on Earth, in fact."

"That's correct," Xavier said.

He didn't take any obvious pride in the description. He might as well have been discussing someone else's achievements as his own.

"And you've had extensive experience with mutations," she pointed out. "A great deal more than I have, certainly."

The professor nodded. "I see what you're getting at. You'd like me to a.s.sist you in understanding the Xhaldians' transformations ... perhaps even contribute to an attempt to reverse them."