It seemed that Data's answer began before Picard's question was finished. "A twenty-degree turn will allow the ship to enter a safe orbit around the star."

The captain whirled toward the engineering station. "Did you hear that, Number One?"

"I did, sir," came the reply. "Twenty degrees..."

There was a silent "if" hanging on the end of that phrase. As in if I can do it. Even a twenty-degree variation would be a prodigious task under these conditions. And if they managed only nineteen degrees? There would be nothing left of them but cinders.

"Port thrusters ahead full, starboard back full."

"Aye, sir," called the first officer, following Picard's orders.

As Riker bent to his task, the captain glanced at the viewscreen. The star was terribly close; he could almost feel its fury on his face. If his plan didn't work, they were goners. It was as simple as that.

"Our flight path is changing," Data announced.

"Right ten point seven degrees ... insufficient to clear the photosphere."

Riker looked up at the intercom grid. "Bridge to engineering. Lieutenant Bartel-divert all power from auxiliary relay systems to the maneuvering thrusters."

"Our angular deflection is increasing," observed the android. "Now at fifteen degrees ... eighteen degrees ... turn now at twenty point one degrees."

Picard looked at the viewscreen. Would it be enough? Could Data have miscalculated? The sun at the center of the sphere was looming larger and larger...

And then, as the captain held his breath, the giant viewscreen image of the star finally shifted to the left... then more ... and still more ... as the ship managed to turn away from it. Finally, they pa.s.sed the outer edges of the photosphere to starboard-if only just.

There was a collective sigh of relief, almost as if the bridge itself were exhaling. Picard realized his hands had become fists; he relaxed them.

In front of him, Rager's shoulders unclenched. "We're in orbit, Captain. Holding at one hundred fifty thousand kilometers above the photosphere."

"I'll see about getting main power back on-line," Riker volunteered.

"Very well," said Picard. As Riker exited the bridge, he took his seat and leaned back into it. That had been, as they say, a close one. "Mr. Data, begin a scan of the interior surface for life-forms. I want to know who brought us here ... and why."

"Aye, sir," said Data, already complying with the captain's command.

The captain wished he could get word to the Jenolen somehow. But Geordi and Scott would be all right-at least for the time being.

Chapter Eleven.

IT HAD BEEN a long time since anyone had attempted to use the sensor controls in the Ops center of the transport vessel Jenolen. All things considered, they were in remarkably good shape.

Working alongside Scott, Geordi pushed the ship's scanners to their limits. But try as he might, he couldn't turn up so much as a blip.

"I can't find them anywhere in orbit," he said out loud.

"No luck here either," replied his companion.

"They wouldn't have just upped and left," Geordi insisted.

"Nae even fer an emergency?" asked Scott.

The younger man shook his head. "They would've beamed us back aboard first. Or at least let us know what they were going."

Scott nodded his head. "Aye. I guess they would've at that." Suddenly, his brow furrowed. "Ye dinnae suppose they crashed into the sphere ... just as the Jenolen did?"

Geordi rejected the idea. "No. We'd be picking up background radiation and debris if they'd gone down like that." He bit his lip. "But then, where are they? They couldn't have just vanished into the void."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Scott's eyes narrowed with thought. "There's another possibility," he ventured. "They could be inside the sphere."

Geordi looked at him. At first blush, it sounded preposterous. Ridiculous. But the more he considered it... "Maybe," he said. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Nae just maybe," his companion countered. "They're in there. It's the only place they could be, lad."

The younger man took a breath and let it out. "Whatever's happened, we've got to find them. If we can get these engines back on-line, we could track the Enterprise by its impulse ion trail."

Suddenly, Scott turned livid. He held out his hands palms-up to show his helplessness. "Are ye daft?" he asked. "The main drive a.s.sembly's completely shot, the inducers are melted and the power couplings are wrecked. We'd need a week just to get started!"

Geordi felt the anger building inside him, crawling up his throat-ready to burst forth from his mouth. First he couldn't get this guy to stand aside-and now he couldn't convince him to help. No matter what he promised the captain, he'd taken about all he could- "Wait a minute," said Scott. He stroked his chin for a second or two ... and then went on like the most reasonable man you'd ever want to meet. "We dinnae have a week, now do we? So there's no sense cryin' about it. Come on. Let's see what we can do with that power converter ye're so fond of." Then, turning away from Geordi, Scott made his way toward the engines-leaving the younger man a little surprised. With a bemused look, he followed his predecessor's lead.

As tenuous as their situation was as they orbited the captive sun, Picard could not help but remember his mission. As he'd told Data not too long before, they had gone out into s.p.a.ce to seek out new life and new civilizations-and the builders of this Dyson Sphere promised to represent the strangest civilization of all.

It was at least part of the reason he had asked his second officer to examine the inside of the solar system-sized construct. The other part was based on a more selfish motivation survival.

Someone had gone to the trouble of drawing them inside this thing. It was inc.u.mbent on them to find this someone if they were to have any serious hope of reopening the hatch and gaining their freedom.

Unfortunately, Lieutenant Worf had already a.n.a.lyzed the sphere's composition and discovered it to be composed of carbon-neutronium-one of the hardest substances known to the Federation. Even at full power, they could not generate a phaser barrage strong enough to punch a hole in the outer sh.e.l.l.

"Captain?"

Picard traced the call to its source one of the aft science stations. "Yes, Data. Have you got something already?"

"I do, sir."

It was difficult to tell from the android's expression, which was as deadpan as ever, just what it was he had. Containing his curiosity for just another moment, the captain joined his second officer.

"I have completed the bio scan of the interior surface of the sphere," Data informed him.

Picard took a look at the monitor, where the evidence was plain to see. His hopes sank. "No life," he concluded.

The android looked almost sympathetic. "That is correct, sir. The sphere appears to be abandoned. Although ..." He switched to another graphic-one that mapped out the surface of the sphere in terms of sensor efficiency. ".. . our instruments seem incapable of probing a small area ... right there."

Picard followed Data's finger as he pointed to the spot in question. The captain grunted. "In other words," he said, "we do not know if there is any life in that location or not."

"We do not," the android confirmed. "Of course, one might conclude that since the rest of the surface has apparently been deserted-"

"That this section has been deserted as well," the captain remarked, completing his second officer's thought. "On the other hand, if this area is shielded from our sensors, it may have been shielded for a reason." He reflected on the possibility. "Say, by a group who elected to stay in the sphere when the others left-and wished to remain hidden from any who might enter here."

"True, sir," said Data. "Nor will we know for certain one way or the other-unless we send an away team down to investigate."

Picard turned to him. "Are you advocating that, Data?"

"I am merely stating a fact," said the android.

The captain mulled over the advisability of sending down an away team. Power reserves were still low. With various systems down, the ship was not as maneuverable as he would have liked.

However, the sensor-shielded area would be below them in less than an hour. This might be their only chance-not only to make contact with an obviously superior race, but to rescue themselves from the sphere. Could he pa.s.s it up just like that?

Finally, he looked up. "Commander Riker, this is the captain."

A moment later, the first officer responded. "We've still got some work ahead of us, sir. Some of the relays were blown and it'll take time to replace them."

"Understood, Number One. But that is not why I contacted you." He paused. "I would like you to gather an away team."

There was silence on the other end. Finally, Riker said "An away team, sir?"

"Yes." Picard turned to Data's monitor. "I need you to do some exploring, Will. And I need you to do it quickly."

Darrin Kane was in Shuttlebay One, a place he was starting to hate as much as the cargo holds, when he heard his name being called over the intercom system -and by his favorite person, Will Riker.

What numbing torture had the first officer devised for him now? Was he to report to the Ten-Forward lounge and wait tables?

"Kane here," he said, resisting a whispered curse. With his luck, the intercom would probably be sensitive enough to pick it up.

"Report to Shuttlebay Three," said Riker. "I'm putting together an away team and you're on it."

The ensign could scarcely believe his ears. "An away team?" he repeated. Was this some kind of joke? Was he going to arrive at the shuttlebay only to find that the mission had been cancelled-or that Riker had left without him?

"Mr. Kane? Don't tell me you're sleeping up there now."

"Uh ... no, sir," replied Kane.

"Five minutes," the first officer told him. "Don't be late."

"No, Commander. I mean yes, Commander. I mean ..." Abruptly, he realized he was talking to the shuttlecraft. Riker had broken the connection.

Kane shook his head and sought out Lieutenant Bridges, who was in charge of the shuttlebay for this shift. Bridges was running a routine check on the bay doors when he finally found her.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Kane told her. "Commander Riker wants me to be on an away team."

She looked at him askance. "An away team? Away where?"

The ensign was about to provide an answer... until he realized he didn't have one. "I don't know," he told her. "But I've got to get going."

And leaving her standing there, he took off for Shuttlebay Three.

Sousa stood in the Shuttlebay between Commander Riker and Counselor Troi. Bartel and Krause from engineering were there as well. Now the only one they were still missing was Darrin Kane.

A moment later, the doors to the corridor whooshed open and Kane came trotting in. He was all business, no doubt glad for such a juicy a.s.signment after all the low-key jobs to which he'd been relegated.

As he joined the group, he took in the rest of the away team with a glance-and then did a double-take when he saw his fellow ensign standing in their midst. Sousa smiled by way of a greeting, trying to let Kane know there were no hard feelings.

But he got no response. Kane just took his spot and faced Riker. It was as if he and Sousa had never been friends at all.

"Ready, sir," said Kane.

The first officer nodded, scanning each face in turn. "Here's the way it's going to work. Normally, we would just beam down. But the ship is in no condition to leave orbit-and since the surface is so far away, the only way for us to get there is by shuttle." He paused. "Unfortunately, our scanners show us that there's no place near our destination that's big enough to accommodate a shuttle. So we're going to hover a couple of hundred meters from the landing site and beam down two at a time using the emergency transporter. Any questions?"

Sousa had one. "How are we going to get back?"

"A remote control link will allow us to return via the transporter," said Riker. "We'll also have the option of bringing the shuttle down if we find something too big to beam up."

Sousa nodded. "Understood, sir."

"All right, then, said the first officer. "Let's board."

In the Ops center of the Jenolen, Geordi was lying on his back with only his legs sticking out from beneath a control console. Less than a meter away, Scott was in the same position under a neighboring console. Various tools and diagnostic devices were scattered around the deck, waiting to be used or reused.

It had been hours since Geordi had agreed to help get the Jenolen's engines started. But in that time, he and Scott had made more progress than he would have imagined possible. Every power conduit and relay circuit was back on line. If the engines themselves hadn't been damaged beyond repair, they actually stood a chance of getting this vessel moving again.

The man may not have a perfect grasp of modern technology, La Forge told himself. But when it comes to engineering principles and the twenty-third century, he really knows his stuff. In fact, I'd be surprised if anyone of his time knew it better.

"Shunt the deuterium from the main cryo pump to the auxiliary tank," Scott recommended.

"The tank won't hold up under that much pressure," Geordi told him, poking his head out for a moment.

The older man poked his head out as well. "Where'd ye get that idea, laddie?"

Geordi shrugged. "It's in the impulse engine specifications."

"Regulation forty-two slash fifteen alpha? 'Pressure Variances in IRC Tank Storage?' "

"Right."

"Forget it," said Scott. "I wrote the b.l.o.o.d.y thing."

Withdrawing his head below t he console again, he continued his commentary as he worked. "A good engineer is always a wee bit conservative, Commander." He chuckled. "At least on paper. Just bypa.s.s the secondary cut-off valve and boost the flow. It'll work -trust me."

Smiling to himself, Geordi hauled himself to his feet and made the necessary adjustments on the console's control panel. "Okay," he said. "I'm shunting the deuterium."

This had better work, he mused, or we'll both be little puffs of free-floating gases.