But, biting deep into the inside of his mouth, he resisted it-and pulled. And thrust himself back again. And pulled once more. And before he knew it, he had nearly dragged the other man clear of the tunnel. Nearly.

That's when he heard the hum change again-a.s.suming that awful, warning timbre that had saved his life before. Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels in and hauled for all he was worth.

Both he and Commander La Forge shot backward into the corridor. The hatch, as dark and deadly as ever, met the deck just inches below the commander's feet.

Barclay took a deep, tremulous breath and let it out. Unfortunately, there was no time for self-congratulations. He had to get La Forge to the airlock before the station self-destructed.

Chapter Ten.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in several long minutes, there was silence. In its way, it was even harder to bear than the sounds of destruction that the Gorn had inflicted on them. Made uneasy by the respite, Picard lifted his head and peered out of the ruined sh.e.l.l of the administration building.

The invaders were still out there, of course, their scaly hides glittering in the sun. Not as many as before, thanks to the colonists' marksmanship. But they comprised a formidable a.s.sault force nonetheless.

It appeared to the captain that they were organizing for another push. A final push, by all indications. Then again, he had thought their last push would be the final one, and the humans had somehow managed to stave them off.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Picard counted twelve people, besides himself. Twelve of the fifty or more who had emerged from their bunkers to give the Gorn a fight-and without question, they had accomplished that. But the cost ...

The captain had seen each colonist fall, had marked each death with an acute attention to its details. He had done this not out of any morbid fascination with death, but rather to give each tragedy meaning, at least in his own mind. Perhaps he would not make it back to the future, but for now-until he himself perished in a furnace-blast of green fire-he would memorize the events of this dark and grisly day.

Why bother? Because, like the deaths themselves, it meant something. The gesture was worth making for its own sake, regardless of any connection with history or value systems or civilizations. In the end, Picard thought, perhaps that was all there was to the phenomenon they called "life": a series of gestures, all of them ultimately futile, all of them powerless to make a c.h.i.n.k in the armor of the inevitable.

The captain sighed. If he could stop it all right here, freeze time so that he and his comrades would go on staring at the invaders across a wide, dirt plaza forever and ever, he would make it so. He would spend eternity with these people at his side, their hearts pumping with fear, their eyes blazing with defiance.

He frowned. If only. If he could have prevented this while there was still time. If he could have defied the Prime Directive and found a way to forestall this ma.s.sacre ... to save her ... to save Julia ...

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

Picard smiled as she nudged a bit closer to him. "Nothing," he told her. "I was just thinking. I didn't mean to do it out loud."

She chuckled dryly. "It figures. I find a man who thinks of me even when he's looking down Death's ugly maw-and we're both going to die before I can take advantage of it."

There was only the slightest catch in her voice. She was a brave woman. A very brave woman. And like her, he wished they could have met in a better time and place.

"Hill," growled Travers, from the recesses of what remained of their shelter.

The captain looked back and saw the commodore extending a phaser rifle in his direction. Without questioning, he took it.

Travers felt compelled to explain, however. "It was Schmitter's," he noted. "He won't be needing it anymore."

Following the commodore's glance, Picard saw the spot that Schmitter had occupied until sometime during the last wave of attack. There was nothing left of the man but a charred stain on the floor.

One thing about the invaders' disruptor blasts-they didn't leave any wounded. Once the disruptor effect had taken hold of living tissue, it didn't let go until the entire organism had been disintegrated.

The captain laid down his nearly spent hand phaser and laid the rifle in the crook of his arm. Too bad he couldn't actually use it, he mused-only finish off Gorn who were already caught in someone else's beam. It was bad enough that he had been forced to kill and disable some of the invaders in order to reach this point; to continue in that vein would only put the timestream in undue jeopardy.

After all, the colonists were doomed to die; history required it. But that same history had seen the invaders take precious few casualties. And who was Picard to say which of the Gorn on this field of battle would go on to become a major benefactor to his race? Or a major supporter of relations with the Federation?

Then there was no more time to think. The invaders were coming at them again, plodding ahead in their slow but unyielding fashion. And all around him, the surviving colonists began to fire at the lizard-skinned enemy.

"Jean-Luc?" whispered Julia.

He turned to her, drinking in the sight of her, knowing he would not have much longer to do so. "Yes?"

"Do me a favor," she said. "Don't die before I do, all right? I don't want to have to see you go."

The captain grunted. 'I'll do my best," he responded. Then he raised his rifle and started firing along with the rest of them.

Two Gorn in the forefront of the charge were cut down by a barrage of angry, red beams. A third fell a moment later, causing some confusion in the ranks. However, the rest kept coming, undaunted.

All the while, they were returning the colonists' fire, obliterating what was left of the administration building's superstructure in a wash of green chaos. Like a river that has run into a huge rock in its path, the middle of the invasion force slowed down, while its extremities expanded in an attempt to encircle their objective.

Of course, they couldn't surround the place completely, or they would be hitting each other when they missed. But by forming a semicircle, the Gorn had made it necessary for the humans to defend a larger area than before. It was a tactic they should have used hours ago-and would have, no doubt, if they'd had any way to measure the colonists' tenacity.

Travers was shouting orders as he took aim again. "Hill, Santos, Yamaguchi ... take the left flank. Persoff, Mittleman, Aiello ... on the right. The rest of us will try to split them up the center."

Courageous words, thought Picard, coming from a man who was beaten and knew it. But then, the commodore was not the type to give up easily.

Another Gorn fell, and another. But the administration center was being torn away piece by piece, and soon there would be nothing left to provide cover for them.

The thought had barely occurred to him when a protective fragment of wall sizzled out of existence, exposing him to a well-placed shot. Through the still-smoking gap, he could see the oncoming swarm, each Gorn cruel of visage and relentless in his progress, envisioning the captain's death in his insectlike orbs.

A ball of emerald fire seemed to reach out for him. Hugging the floor as hard as he could, Picard heard a scream behind him. Glancing back, he saw the colonist named Yamaguchi writhe in the grip of the disruptor effect. Then, before the echoes of the scream had quite died, Yamaguchi was a wisp of vapor on the hot, still air.

Another cry, and Aiello was gone. Then a female security officer whose name he didn't know. Ten of them left. Two more wails of horror and pain cut their number to eight.

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" someone barked. "The stinking, murdering b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!"

The captain traced the curse to its source: O'Dell, the red-bearded engineer who'd been part of Hronsky's long-range sensor team. The man's face was contorted, torn by fear and hate, revulsion and sorrow. Unable to bear up under the stress any longer, he had snapped.

"Darby!" cried Julia. "Get down!"

And before Picard could stop her, she had risen to pull down the bearded man. But she was too late. In the next moment, a tongue of disruptor energy lashed itself around O'Dell, infecting him with its virus of annihilation. As the doctor watched, openmouthed, it turned her fellow colonist into a twitching bag of flaming flesh and bones.

The captain reached for Julia's ankle and pulled, toppling her, removing her from harm's way. Dropping his rifle, he reached for her with his other hand as well, to pull her to him, to comfort her in her terror.

Then he saw the green energies swirling around her leg, and he instinctively pulled both his hands back. Julia fell to the floor, breathless in her agony, gripped tight by the knowledge of what was happening to her. As the disruptor field enveloped her, picking her apart like a flock of maniacal birds, she raised her eyes to Picard's.

"Jean-Luc," she blurted, reaching out for him. Defying his instincts, defying the nightmarish forces that devoured her, he reached back.

But where her hand had been, there was nothing left. And when he looked again into her eyes, there was only h.e.l.lfire looking back at him. Then that too diminished, and Julia was gone.

In the wake of that sight, the captain couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't even see for the tears that filled his eyes. The only sense that worked was his hearing, and that was consumed with the thunder of the Gorn horde.

"Hill!" rumbled a voice nearby.

Picard turned. Blinking away his tears, he saw Commodore Travers, a nasty gash in his temple oozing blood. The commodore took him by the shoulders and shook him.

"Come on," he rasped. "d.a.m.n it, man, it's down to you and me!"

The captain nodded and sought out his phaser rifle. Finding it, he raised it and sighted on the nearest grouping of Gorn. And seeing their serpentlike faces, the inhuman savagery dripping from their fangs and lighting their eyes, he almost pressed the trigger.

But in the end, he didn't. Because, first and last, he was Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Enterprise. And no matter what cruelties he had witnessed this day, he could not mar the future.

It proved his undoing. Together, the Gorn trained their weapons on Picard and fired. The last thing he saw was the white-hot fury of their converging disruptor beams.

Picard had braced himself for the hideous sensation of being plucked apart by the Gorn's disruptor fire. But as he knelt there, he was surprised to see that they had missed him somehow. And that wasn't all that surprised him.

He was no longer in the wreckage of the colony's administration building. He was somewhere else, someplace that looked vaguely familiar. And then he guessed where that was-and what had happened to him.

Judging by the look of the chamber he found himself in, he was back on the alien s.p.a.ce station. And the flash he had seen, the white-hot flare that he had mistaken for the blaze of disruptor energies, was nothing more than the aura given off by the aliens' transporter process.

He had no sooner come to that conclusion than the door on the far side of the chamber slid up-and revealed Commander Data standing in the corridor outside. The android beckoned, making no mention of the captain's torn and dirtied garb.

"There is no time to explain, sir," he said, his voice tinged with just the slightest hint of urgency. "We must get to the shuttle."

The shuttle? Picard wondered. Why not the Enterprise itself? Then he realized: the Enterprise would have been needed to search for him.

"I'm coming," the captain promised. And he traversed the chamber in several quick, long strides.

Once out in the corridor, Picard could see why time was of the essence. Taking note of the light patterns that ran helter-skelter along the length of the bulkheads and back again, he realized that the station was caught in the throes of another mounting power surge. And if he'd had any doubt, the thrumming in the deck confirmed it.

"This way," said the android, leading the captain down the corridor. As Picard looked about, it seemed to him that they were in the area between the control room and the airlock-headed in the direction of the latter.

He hoped that Data had corrected the problems that the captain had encountered earlier. Otherwise, shuttle or no shuttle, the same kind of transport might take place-or maybe even something worse.

In the few minutes it took them to reach the airlock, Picard could hear the telltale hum rise and fall several times. The light panels were flashing on and off so quickly, they seemed to blur. Surely, the station couldn't take much more of this.

Finally, as they negotiated the curvature of the corridor, O'Connor came into view. With an equipment kit hanging from her shoulder, she was waiting outside the airlock, her hand on its control plate. No-beside the plate, Picard realized-where she or someone else had installed a set of b.u.t.ton controls. The captain recognized the thin line of circuitry and the generator below it as standard Starfleet equipment.

Excellent, he thought. We're in good shape, then. All we have to do is get into the shuttle and shove off.

Then Data spoke up. Addressing O'Connor, he asked, "Have you heard from Commander La Forge or Lieutenant Barclay?"

The woman didn't seem happy about the news she had to impart. "Commander La Forge received some sort of shock, sir. He's unconscious. Lieutenant Barclay is trying to bring him back here on his own. I would've gone after them, but-"

"But you were told to stay here," Data finished. "And you obeyed orders." Abruptly, he turned to Picard. "Shall I attempt to expedite their arrival, sir?"

The captain nodded. After all, Barclay and La Forge had risked their lives to bring him back here. He wouldn't abandon them unless and until it was absolutely necessary.

"By all means," he told the android. "Get going."

As Data took off down the corridor, Picard turned to O'Connor. "You did what you were supposed to do," he a.s.sured her. "You remained at your station."

She nodded, only half-consoled. "Aye, sir."

Then, to pa.s.s the time as much as anything else, he asked, "Have you allowed for the failure of the outer door as well?"

"We have, sir," she a.s.sured him. "There's another switch like this one, inside. Also, we set up force field projectors-so if the outer door somehow opens before we want it to, the field will keep the atmosphere intact."

Picard expelled a breath. "Good thinking."

O'Connor nearly smiled, despite her fear for her comrades. "Thank you, sir."

Outside, through the window in the airlock door, the captain could see the shuttle. It waited only to be boarded.

Inside the corridor, the humming and the flashing lights suddenly stopped-and then resumed again a second later with almost maniacal intensity. Picard swallowed and craned his neck to see a bit farther around the curve of the hallway.

Come on, he urged silently. We cannot wait much longer.

And then, as if in answer to his mental summons, he heard a distant tapping on the deck, which grew stronger the closer it came-a tapping like footfalls. At last, the three of them-Data, Geordi, and Barclay-rounded the bend. The android had hoisted the chief engineer over his shoulder and was pelting along at a torrid pace. Barclay, red-faced and panting, was doing his best to keep up.

At the same time, the captain heard a bellicose roar come to life in the bulkheads-the same kind of roar that had presaged a stationwide overload and his transport through time and s.p.a.ce. Scowling, he tried to ignore the strobing light trails all around them.

"Open the inner door," he commanded.

Almost before he finished uttering the words, O'Connor had pressed the green b.u.t.ton under her hand. Immediately, the door slid up, allowing them access to the airlock. The outer barrier, and the invisible forcefield just inside it, were all that separated them now from the vacuum.

As Data came to a stop in front of them, Picard got a better look at Geordi. He was relieved to see that the engineer was moving, if only barely. With luck, his injury would be something they could treat on the shuttle.

Removing a remote-control unit from the kit on her hip, O'Connor established a link with the craft's computer and prepared to open the door.

But before she could clear all the security protocols, the station seemed to jerk sideways beneath their feet, sending them sprawling into one of the bulkheads. Energy pulsed through the place with such intensity it made the deck shiver beneath the captain's cheek.

Forcing his every sense to focus on the task at hand, he dragged himself up off the floor-and noticed the remote-control device lying not a meter away. Being closer to it than O'Connor, he scooped the unit up and tapped in the rest of its instructions.

Fortunately, the thing hadn't been damaged when it struck the deck. The shuttle door hissed open.

"Get in!" cried Picard, barely able to hear himself over the dangerously increasing hum. And to underscore the need for urgency, he helped O'Connor up and guided her in the direction of the shuttle.

By then, Data was already slipping inside, with Geordi still slung over his shoulder. But Barclay wouldn't enter until the captain and his fellow engineer had preceded him.

A chivalrous action, Picard noted-though right now, practicality was a lot more important than chivalry. As soon as O'Connor was safely inside the craft, he shoved Barclay in after her.

However, as the captain himself prepared to follow, the airlock and the corridor outside it were bathed in a surge of stark, white brilliance. Blinded by it, Picard lost sight of the shuttle entrance-and then lost his balance to boot.

Just as he imagined he was about to go careening again through s.p.a.ce and time, he felt something grab the front of his tunic and jerk him forward. There was a sound of something heavy locking into place, and the roar of the station was suddenly gone.

As his vision cleared, the captain realized he was on the shuttle, with Reg Barclay kneeling over him. The thin man looked apologetic.

"Sorry, sir," said Barclay. "But there wasn't time to be ... well, a little gentler."

"Quite all right," Picard a.s.sured him. Sitting up, he caught a glimpse of Data in the pilot's seat. The android was manipulating the controls as only he could.