The doctor closely studied Troi's left eyelid under a lighted magnification lens she had swung into place.

"Hmmm. Captain, I don't care what the a.n.a.lyzer says. This shading looks a little off to me."

"Fix it, then," Picard told her. "I trust your eye more than I do that a.n.a.lyzer, Doctor."

Will Riker was sitting up on the next bed over, watching what was going on. He now looked like a Krann male. The bridge of Riker's nose had been built up, but not much, and the filtrum above his upper lip had been filled in. His beard had been removed and its roots inhibited, and his skin color had been changed to a shade the color of rich cream containing just the barest splash of coffee. Riker's hair was its normal color, but the irises of his eyes had been dyed a warm yellow. He, like Troi, was already dressed in dark clothing identical in style and color to the attire the Enterprise party had seen the Krann wearing during their time aboard the flagship.

Dr. Crusher set down the epidermal infiltrator she'd been using on Troi's eyelid. "You can open your eyes now, Deanna," she said after a last, long look. "I'm done."

Troi now looked much like Riker, except that her skin was a touch darker than his, and her newly shortened black hair had been given golden highlights. The irises of her eyes were now a pale green.

Looking over, Troi saw Riker and grinned. "'Light he was, and golden-eyed,'" she misquoted. "Will, it's been years since I've seen you without your beard."

"I'll have it back soon enough, don't worry," Riker said, stroking his chin. "Feels pretty bare, though; it's been a while. Too bad you didn't see any Krann with facial hair, Captain."

"They may not be able to grow any," Picard said, "or the Krann might consider it out of fashion or taboo. We can't take the chance of you being the only person aboard the flagship with a beard, Will."

"Losing my beard is a small price to pay for galactic peace," Riker replied bravely. "What a waste, though. Maybe I should have donated it to Data. He seemed a little uncomfortable when he left."

"Oh, stop," Beverly Crusher told him. "Data seemed pleased enough when I got through with him. Ro, too. Nice job, Bev." She reached around and patted herself on the back.

"Don't dislocate that shoulder, Doctor," Riker said. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Transporter room three to captain."

"Go ahead," said Picard.

"Commander Data and Ensign Ro have beamed down to the surface of Planet Three, sir."

The captain nodded. "Very good. Bridge, take us back to our position off the Krann Fleet. Best speed."

Two sets of Krann clothing had been placed in neat piles on one of the unused beds. "Mr. Worf did an admirably thorough job of recording the physical characteristics of the Krann we saw and met with while we were aboard the flagship," Picard said. "The clothing is a copy of the usual Krann style of dress-a two-piece black suit varying little in ornamentation from individual to individual. Everyone we saw was wearing the same thing, more or less."

"You only see that in totalitarian cultures," Beverly observed. "It's a bad sign, Captain."

"Indeed," Picard said. "However, keep in mind that we saw hardly anything aboard that flagship- rather, we were not permitted by the Krann authorities to see much of anything. That's a lack that you two will correct, I hope. We need to know a great deal more about these people than we do."

The door to sickbay opened, and Geordi La Forge entered the room. "They're ready now, Captain," the chief engineer said. He handed Picard two shiny, silver-colored buckles about six centimeters by four.

Picard took one of them and held it up, studying it closely. "Excellent, Mr. La Forge," the captain said approvingly. "This is very good work."

"Thank you, sir."

"We've been worried about the Krann being able to listen in on our message traffic," Riker said. "I a.s.sume you've dealt with that problem, Geordi."

La Forge nodded. "That we have," he said. "These communicators operate on subs.p.a.ce frequencies we presume the Krann don't know about, can't detect, and won't be able to monitor. These units have a shorter range than standard communicators, and they require more power, but that shouldn't be troublesome." He held a small, dull object between his forefinger and thumb. It looked like a cough lozenge. "The buckles themselves run silent, for security reasons. This is the audio pickup. It fits in the ca.n.a.l of your left ear and is visually undetectable, unless you're being body-searched."

"In which case, the jig is up anyway," Riker said wryly.

"That's what I thought," said Geordi. "With this pickup bug, those around you won't be able to hear message traffic from this end. To transmit, tap the buckle and talk as you normally do."

"How long is the power cell good for?" Riker asked.

"Two days at this range," Geordi replied. "Less if the range increases, but it won't. We'll be maintaining station close by, and in any case, you and Counselor Troi won't be away that long. Since we don't care whether the Krann can monitor our message traffic with Nem Ma'ak Bratuna, Data and Ro have standard-issue communicators disguised as belt buckles compatible with their Lethantan clothing. These subs.p.a.ce models I've rigged for you and the counselor don't have nearly enough range to reach us here from Nem Ma'ak Bratuna. The power pack alone would be about the size of your head."

"How closely do you think the Krann are monitoring our communications, Captain?" Troi asked.

"Several of the things Presider Hek said clearly indicated to me that he knew the content of our s.p.a.ce-to-ground radio communications with the Lethanta," Picard replied. "I think they are probably unable to monitor our normal communicator traffic, Counselor, but 'probably' is not good enough for the sort of operation you and Will are to be conducting. We have to be cautious. The Krann have had centuries to play with signal interception techniques, and I imagine that by now they've become rather good at it. If we use subs.p.a.ce frequencies, I don't expect the Krann will be able to listen in. Up to this point, after all, they've had no experience with subs.p.a.ce-not even any knowledge of it."

"How do we wear these things?" Riker asked, taking them from Picard and handing one to Deanna.

"The buckles attach electrostatically to a treated area of your Krann jacket just below the collar on the left side," La Forge replied, touching an area around his collarbone and just to the left of his throat. "That's where the Krann have an extra fastener, apparently so they can close the top of their jackets if they want to. These buckles work like standard communicators-tap them to open a channel, or just answer if you're called. They'll also let us keep track of both of you with no trouble-and, just in case, an emergency transporter recall routine has been built into the ROMware." Geordi suddenly grinned. "You can even use them as buckles, if you want to."

"Worf to Captain Picard."

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I have completed the latest sensor probe of the flagship."

"Pipe the results down to sickbay, if you will."

"Aye, sir."

Picard walked a few steps over to a convenient display unit and, after a very brief delay, the screen glowed and a three-dimensional matchstick representation of the flagship built up quickly. Cubes and squares and blobs of color then began popping up here and there, denoting the apparent purpose of that particular area of the flagship. Text flowed rapidly up the right side of the display.

Picard looked at a huge red area at the tail of the craft. "Half the aft section of the ship must consist of engine and engine alone," he mused. "Remarkable."

Riker studied the diagram. "I don't see any indication of fuel storage, Captain," he said. "I suspect they don't have much fuel left. They may have drained themselves dry to get here as quickly as they did, figuring they could refuel after they'd dealt with the Lethanta. I expect that the fuel tanks were carried outboard and rebuilt into something else as they were emptied."

"I agree," Picard said. "The Krann waste nothing." He pointed at a large gray area roughly amidships. "What have you been making of this, Will? We've seen it after every sensor sweep. The configuration remains remarkably consistent between our probes."

"The gray color indicates 'no important function,' of course," Riker said, scratching his bare chin. "I don't believe that for a moment, though. That area reads just like empty cargo s.p.a.ce but, as you say, the Krann aren't wasteful. They couldn't afford to be. They'd soon turn an empty cargo bay into additional living s.p.a.ce or something else useful. That whole area looks too innocent."

"Are they somehow shielding whatever's really there from our sensors?" Troi hazarded.

"I believe they are, Counselor," Picard said, "but I couldn't begin to tell you how they're going about it. Makes you think, though."

"That should be where you put us, Captain," Riker said, tapping the screen. "Right on the edge of that gray area-in that small alcove there."

"Agreed," Troi added. "We need to take a look around in there for ourselves."

"I concur," Picard said. "If that area contains some sort of a threat to us, we need to prepare ourselves for it. Further, we still haven't managed to find an explanation concerning the origin of the three warp blips that brought us here in the first place. We need to know if the Krann have cracked the secret of warp drive. The answer to all our questions may lie right there, somewhere in that gray area."

"If it does, Captain, we'll find it," Riker said.

"I know," Picard told him. "I'd like you two to be ready to beam over to the Krann flagship in ten minutes. I've still some arrangements to make with the operator on duty in Transporter Room Three."

They materialized in a confined area filled with neatly marked and labeled storage bins. The area was utterly clean.

They listened carefully. No one else was anywhere around.

Riker sniffed. "This smells like fresh air," he said, surprised. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear I was smelling some weather coming in-rain, I mean." He sniffed again. "That's exactly it. It smells like it's going to rain. I think I can even smell flowers."

"They may do that on purpose, Will," Troi guessed. "The Krann may find it helpful or even necessary to have their environmental conditions mimic planetary ambient factors as closely as possible. It may be a public health measure-physical, mental, or both. There's a great deal we don't know. After all, we don't make multigenerational star trips. I wonder what Beverly might have to say about it?"

"Maybe we can get her over here later to take a look," Riker said. "Look-every wall I can see is painted a bright color, and the lighting is warm and indirect, even in this utility area. I don't see us going to that kind of trouble, not in what amounts to a locker room." He paused, smiling a little. "d.a.m.ned if it doesn't feel like spring in here," he said after a moment. "I feel like going for a walk in the woods."

"They've got nothing but time, Will, hundreds of years between planetfalls," Troi said. "You can do a lot of finicky maintenance when you've got that kind of time, even on a huge ship such as this one."

"I suppose," Riker said. "Well, shall we? The exit should be over this way. Our survey showed this portal leads to a short pa.s.sage-here we are-that opens up onto a large gangway that eventually takes us into the gray zone. There's the hatch." He grinned. "I'm actually looking forward to this."

"Don't expect too much, Will," Troi cautioned him. "Every pa.s.sageway we saw on our way to the conference with the Presider was stark, confining, and utterly functional. Everything was bare metal. We didn't see a lick of ornamentation between the landing bay and the meeting room."

"This may be more of the same," Riker said. "Despite what we saw back there in the storage room, I wouldn't expect the Krann to spend much of their time on cosmetics. From what you and the captain said at the mission briefing, they seem to be an austere people-all business, no time for frills."

They now stood in front of the hatch. There was a small, tapered red handle set into the middle of the door. "See that?" Riker asked. "I think it should open for us if I do this-"

"Will?" Troi suddenly said. "Be careful-"

The door smoothly slid aside, and there was a sudden blast of light and a roar of noise.

"Eh?" Riker grunted, poking his head through the hatchway. He was looking at a high, wide, brightly lighted and colorful corridor filled with hundreds upon hundreds of gaily dressed people of all ages bound on unknown errands or no errands at all. A broad, gra.s.sy strip dotted with benches divided one side of the corridor from the other. There seemed to be a convention that everyone heading in the same direction walked on the left. Open areas of various sizes were set into the walls and ran up and down the sides of the corridor. The people inside the stalls were conducting some sort of business-retail sales, mostly, from the look of things.

"Deanna?" Riker's tone was puzzled. "I was expecting something a little bit different from this. It looks like Mardi Gras out here."

"I don't understand it," Troi said, shaking her head. She looked up and down the corridor. The ceiling was at least twenty meters over their heads, and there was no knowing how long the corridor was, as both ends curved gently up and away into the distance. "We saw nothing even remotely like this on our way in or out. We must have been prevented from seeing it."

"I think this corridor must circle the entire flagship, just under the hull," Riker said. "Notice the curvature? It seems just about right for this section of the ship. You could walk around the whole thing, if you wanted to."

A casually dressed older man strolling by the open hatchway caught sight of Riker and Troi standing there. "Hey, you two!" he called to them happily. "Aren't you just a little overdressed?"

Not knowing what else to do, Riker smiled and waved at him, and Troi followed suit. The man waved back and walked on. "We're going to have to get out of these clothes," Riker told Troi in low tones. "None of these people is wearing an outfit anything like these. Everyone's dressed very casually. We're way too conspicuous. Perhaps we've broken some cultural rule without knowing it-like wearing a tuxedo to the beach, maybe." He sighed. "We could have beamed over wearing our off-duty clothes, and we'd have been all right. They'd have been close enough."

"Do you want to transport back?" Troi asked him.

"No," came Riker's quick reply. "You don't learn anything that way. Let's find out what we can do about our situation first." He pointed. "I think I may see something helpful about sixty, seventy meters down that way."

"What-oh, yes," Troi said with some relief. "I do, too, now that you mention it."

Off in the near distance, two Krann dressed in the same dark outfits as Riker and Troi were heading down the broad arcade in their direction. They were as conspicuous as a pair of burned-out bulbs in the center of one of those garish antique signs that cultural anthropologists kept on exhibit at the Las Vegas Cultural Preserve. Despite their somber dress, the Krann couple was chatting animatedly and, obviously, laughing at something one of them had just said. Suddenly the two drifted off the causeway and into one of the open stalls that lined it.

Riker and Troi began walking in that direction. Despite their initial apprehension, their dark, confining attire attracted hardly more than a glance as they pa.s.sed several score gaudily dressed Krann.

They quickly spotted the two Krann they were seeking.

"One male, one female," Troi said.

"Not so hard to tell them apart, either," Riker said.

The darkly dressed Krann were standing around the largest of several bins inside the stall. The male was holding up a blue and yellow garment dyed in colors that almost seemed to glow in the ambient light. The item of clothing looked to Riker like a pullover shirt. There were other Krann in the stall- men, women, and a few children-but all of them were dressed in comfortable-looking clothes dyed in bright, clashing colors. As they watched, a Krann family-it could only have been that-gathered together a number of items and walked out of the store.

"It's a clothing outlet," Riker said. "Something like that, anyway. These people are shopping."

"Yes," Troi said. "I can see related goods on those shelves lining the walls. It's like a bazaar, but with a lot less commotion." She thought about it. "Maybe this is the kind of thing you do when you have a large population, but you don't have replicators. You put everything in a central location and pick out what you need-and only what you need."

As the two Enterprise officers watched, the Krann male in dark dress suddenly turned away from the bin and, noticing them, gave them a grin and a big wave. Seeing that, the woman with him turned too and, smiling, gestured them over in friendly fashion.

"Well, here goes nothing," Riker muttered.

"Right behind you," said Troi.

Smiling as broadly as he could manage, Riker strode into the stall, Troi close behind him. "h.e.l.lo," he called out.

"Greetings," the Krann woman replied. "Off shift a bit early, I see. Your distributor must be down, too."

"Yes," Riker said, nodding ruefully. "They're working on it but, you know ..."

"Sure," the woman said. "Second time this year for us. We didn't want to wait for them to get ours running again, either. Last time it took them the whole next shift. We have somewhere to go." She looked around. "I think there must be a facilitator around here somewhere ..."

Riker looked around. "There's never one around when you need one," he said knowingly.

The Krann woman laughed. "Isn't that the truth?" She looked through the bin, fussing. "Hull, this thing is a mess. How are you supposed to retrieve the samples you want? I mean, look. The pasterjacks are all mixed in with the opinopps!"

"Told you we should have done this yesterwatch," the man with her said mildly.

There was suddenly a gentle voice behind them. "Does anyone see anything they like?"

Riker turned. The voice belonged to a short, balding Krann male who was dressed in an elaborately casual outfit dyed in colors only slightly less bright than most of the clothing in the bins. He was smiling pleasantly at Riker.

"Maybe that green and yellow item over there," Riker said, pointing.

The man blinked. "For you?"

Riker realized he had made a mistake of some sort. "No, of course not," he said, thinking quickly. "For her." He indicated Troi, who was not standing at his side.

"Oh. Oh, well, certainly! My apologies." The facilitator handed Troi the garment. It was cut much like a jacket, and it seemed to be about her size. "It's a fine choice for your spouse."

"I like it," Troi said. She looked around. "Where?"

"Over there," the man said pointing toward the back of the stall. There were a couple of doors set into the wall. "You two are going to want some other things first, though, aren't you?" He smiled again. "Can't fly on just one jet, you know."

"Certainly not," Riker said, chuckling. "We're far from done, of course. Perhaps you could, er, show us something? If these others don't mind? They were here first, after all."

"Oh, no, go ahead," the Krann woman called over her shoulder. She was already digging through another bin as her mate stood by. "We're doing just fine."

"Very well, then." The facilitator led Riker and Troi over to a set of smaller bins. "Anything here would be appropriate spontaneous wear for you, as I'm sure you'll realize. Those repositories over there contain some more items your spouse might want to take a look at. We have a fine selection immediately available, as you can see, or you might be interested in our programming something for you while you wait ... ?"

"You know what?" Riker said suddenly. "If you've got the time, I'd really like you to outfit my spouse. I'm sure you could do a terrific job. After all, it's a special occasion for us."