THE CAPTAINS' HONOR

Prologue

Silence.

That is the one overriding characteristic of space

--not the immensity, or the beauty of the

star-flecked blackness, but the silence.

The M'dok battleship Restoration

drifted soundlessly into orbit around Tenara, a

shining speck in the ebony void.

On the command deck, however, there was the sound of

playful chatter.

"Our greatest victory," commented the

helmsman.

The captain nodded. "If this raid

succeeds," he promised, sinking back onto

his command cushion, "the heads of our victims will

adorn your cabins for twelve twelvedays."

"Great honor," the weapons officer

purred. "Just three twelvedays ago, my

year-wife bore a new litter. The little ones

will enjoy the delicacies we bring them, I

think."

Even now, the captain knew, back home

all the M'dok little ones were yowling with hunger.

Time was growing ever shorter for all his people.

A stranger looking at the M'dok captain

would see none of this tension. They would note

only his ramrod-straight posture, the

polished sheen of his uniform and blaster, and, if

they were conversant with M'dok culture, the

orange and green horizontal banding around his

neck that marked him as one of the higher caste.

If they were not conversant with M'dok culture,

they might easily mistake the captain for a

member of any of the other feline races common

to so many class-M planets. Which would be a

mistake--for unlike the other, more typically

gentle feline races, the M'dok had once

ruled this entire quadrant of space. Ruled

with an iron fist--that is, until the coming of the

Federation had robbed them of their colonies, and

confined them to their own stellar system. Now, with this

ship, the captain intended to put right that ancient

wrong.

"Alarm," said the sensor officer suddenly,

his back arched. "A starship is approaching,

falling into orbit from one-eleven."

"They request we identify ourselves," added

the communications officer.

"Radio silence!" the captain snapped.

"Categorize."

"Federation--constitution-class starship,"

replied the sensor officer. "Considerably

smaller than our vessel, sir."

As we expected. The captain nodded

with a smile of satisfaction.

The Restoration was larger, more powerful than

all but the great Galaxy-class starships of the

Federation, and there were only a handful of those.

Too few to waste on such a backwater

planet, certainly.

He studied the readouts in front of him,

scratching the edge of the console absentmindedly.

Power-consumption levels indicated that the

Restoration outgunned the starship by a factor

of at least four to one.

Disappointing. It won't even be a

fight.

His officers crouched over their stations

expectantly, awaiting their captain's

orders.

"Sir!"

It was the communications officer who had spoken

--a disturbing breach of protocol, considering his

youth and inexperience.

The captain turned, ready to admonish the

young officer.

The communications post was at the rear of the great

open command area. The youth was standing there, back

to his captain, his tail straightened, his

posture indicating great agitation. "The starship

has identified itself as the Centurion!"

At once the captain felt the fur on the

back of his neck rise. All thoughts of

censuring the youth were gone, replaced by an

excitement he knew the rest of his crew shared.

The Centurion. To destroy this ship

...

There could be no better way to prove to the

Highest of M'dok the worth of the Restoration

--and its captain.

He sprang off his command cushion and stalked

the length of the deck to the weapons officer's

side.

"Unsheathe our weapons, but wait for my

order to strike."

"Aye."

"Another request for identification, sir,"

the communications officer reported.

"Do we have visual?" the captain asked.

"Yes, Captain."

"Then put it on-screen!" the captain

snapped.

The view of space at the front of the

M'dok command area disappeared--to be replaced

by the image of a human, sharp-featured, of

middle age, in what the captain assumed was

Starfleet uniform.

"... repeating our request that you identify

yourselves. This is Captain Lucius Aelius

Sejanus of the Centurion."

The M'dok captain leaned forward.

Sejanus himself, and the Centurion. Even

within the M'dok Empire, cut off by the

accursed Federation from galactic civilization

these past two hundred years, the victories

of this captain, of this ship, were well-known. The

defeat of the J'ationakan convoy, destruction of the

Romulan war fleet in the Adharan system

...

Yes, the Centurion would be a worthy

opponent and a most worthy test for the

Restoration.

"Very well, Captain Sejanus," the

captain said softly. "We will identify

ourselves." He clamped a hand on the weapons

officer's shoulder. "Full phasers ...

now!"

The weapons officer pulled the phaser lever.

Triple bolts of red-yellow light seared the

darkness ...

... and disappeared harmlessly into the Tenaran

atmosphere.

"What happened?" the captain hissed

angrily.

The weapons officer looked as angry at

himself. "They dodged, sir, and disappeared."

"So quickly? Where?"

The sensor officer scratched his cushion in

frustration.

"Sensor traces indicate that they entered the

atmosphere, sir, but I can no longer track

them."

"The atmosphere ..." the captain said

thoughtfully. "Perhaps we struck them after all?"

"Possible," said the sensor officer, "but

unlikely."

Then he yowled, "Directly below us,

sir!"

"Helm--hard left! Fire phasers

again!"

The Restoration shuddered as the engines and

artificial-gravity units whined--but it

escaped the photon torpedo fired by the

Federation ship.

"They just sent a tight-beam subspace

transmission," the communications officer

reported. "A call for assistance."

"It will do them no good," replied the

captain. "Helmsman, take us out of orbit

--put some hunting distance between us."

The Restoration leapt ahead, leaving the

Federation ship still mired in Tenara's

atmosphere and gravity well.

"Sejanus has earned his reputation," the

captain acknowledged. "But a reputation will do

no good against this ship."

"Picking them up ahead of us," the sensor

officer said.

Now the main viewscreen was filled with the

image of space--and ahead of them, the

Centurion, a silver dot, moving slowly,

erratically around the planet below.

"It appears we struck them after all," the

sensor officer said. "My readings indicate

loss of warp-speed capability, power output

in their engineering section down by fifty percent."

"Close on them," the captain said harshly.

He savored the moment, committing it to memory,

so that for years to come he could tell of his defeat

of the Federation's greatest warrior.

The captain turned his back on the weapons

officer and took up his seat on the command

cushion. "Once we are within range, you have

my leave to destroy them."

"Then Tenara will be ours for the taking."

Chapter One

According to the regulations manual he had so

recently finished reviewing, a starship

bridge officer receiving an emergency call for

assistance should pass the message on to the

senior officer on the bridge in a calm,

detached manner.

But when Lieutenant Worf received the

distress signal from the Centurion, he

responded not in the manner of the trained

Starfleet professional, but as a

Klingon warrior with a thousand generations of

warrior blood running through his veins.

In other words, he yelled.

"Commander Riker!"

The Enterprise's first officer, who had

been sitting conversing amiably with ship's

counselor Deanna Troi, started forward in

his chair.

Worf immediately realized he had spoken rather

louder than he'd intended, and made a

distinctive effort to calm down.

By the book, Lieutenant, he told

himself. By the book.

"Sir, I am receiving a request for

assistance from the USS Centurion. She is

in orbit around Tenara and is coming under heavy

attack from an unknown assailant."

Riker jumped to his feet. "Data, how

soon can we get there?"

At the ops console, the android lieutenant

spoke calmly and precisely. "Two hours

minimum, sir, at top warp speed. At our

present rate, two days."

"Damn," Riker muttered. "Maximum

warp, then. Immediately."

"Warp nine-point-six--aye, sir."

Worf knew the commander's thoughts paralleled

his own. Even at maximum warp, we'll be

there in time to do nothing better than pick up the

pieces. If there are any. Worf felt the

subtle sensation throughout his body as the ship

accelerated.

Riker turned to Worf again. "Send a

message to the Centurion that we're on the

way."

Worf complied as Riker touched the fleet

insignia on his chest and spoke again.

"Captain Picard, to the bridge."

"The Centurion," Worf said after he had

completed the transmission. "Captain

Sejanus' ship."

Riker nodded. "Let's hope we get there

in time."

All ships, all lives, were equally

valuable, but it was difficult to believe that a

ship and a commander so famous for daring exploits,

so apparently invulnerable, could be destroyed.

That can't happen to legends, Worf thought--

but of course he knew better.

There were numerous examples of just such

occurrences quoted in the Starfleet regulations

manual.

When the call came, Jean-Luc Picard

was sleeping in his cabin. Riker's voice

requesting his presence on the bridge brought him

awake instantly. As Picard's eyes

opened, he was sliding off the bed. He pulled

on his boots quickly, but without wasteful haste.

Other than his boots, he was fully

dressed he had learned years ago that it was

wisest to nap fully clothed and lying atop the

covers rather than under them. At first he had found

his naps less than re/l, but he'd adjusted

and realized the truth in the old saying that a

starship captain is always on duty.

Minutes later, the turbolift doors

whooshed open and Picard stepped out onto the

bridge. Riker turned quickly at the sound.

"Captain."

"What is it, Number One?" Picard's

eyes swept over the bridge, noting the

quiet efficiency of his crew.

"We just received a distress signal, sir."

Riker turned. "Lieutenant Worf, play

that message again."

The scene of onrushing stars on the forward

viewer vanished, replaced by a hugely

magnified view of a man. Behind him, Picard

could see busy movement, figures passing from

one side to the other, and crew positions much like

those on the bridge of the Enterprise. The man

himself was stiff, erect, proud, his gray hair

cropped close to his head.

"This is Captain Lucius Aelius

Sejanus of the USS Centurion," he

said, his voice beautifully modulated and

resonant, each word carefully formed. "We

are in orbit about the planet Tenara and have just

come under attack by a powerfully armed unknown

assailant. I request immediate assistance from

any Federation or allied vessel within range

of Tenara. If you are unable to come to our aid,

I request that you pass this message along to the

nearest Federation starbase or outpost." The

image faded, replaced by the starfield.

"Lucius Sejanus," Picard said

softly. He stared at the screen for a long

moment, as if fascinated by the afterimage in his

mind. Finally he tore his eyes

away. "Status, Number One?"

"We received that message about fifteen

minutes ago, sir. We increased to top warp

speed immediately, but even so we won't reach

Tenara for almost two more hours. I'm afraid

we might get there too late to help."

Picard nodded. "Still, Number One, your

swift action maximizes the chance that we'll be

able to do some good. Does Captain Sejanus

know we're coming?"

"We sent out a response immediately, sir,

but there's been no reply."

The implications of that hung in the air. After

a moment, Picard managed a half-smile.

"If anyone in Starfleet has a chance of

surviving such an attack, Number One,

it's Captain Sejanus and the Centurion."

He wheeled about, heading for the captain's ready

room off the main bridge. "I'll want

to see all staff officers in the meeting room

in half an hour. And let me know the instant

you hear anything from the Centurion."

"Tenara," Jean-Luc Picard said,

"lies on the frontier between the Federation and the

M'dok Empire. The Tenarans requested

membership in the Federation seven years ago, but

it's only within the last year that they were able to join

us. The delay was caused by M'dok objections

to what they saw as the Federation's expansion

into their sphere of influence. The situation was

resolved only by years of delicate

negotiations." Picard stood, and began pacing

back and forth in front of the spectacular view

of the onrushing starfield that dominated the meeting

room. His senior officers--Riker, Data,

Worf, Chief Engineer Geordi La

Forge, and ship's counselor Deanna Troi

--were seated around the conference table in front of

him.

"One very important item of the treaty between

us regarding Tenara," the captain went on,

"is that, while Tenara is a full member of the

Federation, we will continue to regard the surrounding

space as unclaimed territory. Recently,

however, the Tenarans have come under attack--

by hostile ships we believe to be M'dok."

"So nothing has changed, has it,

Captain?" Geordi said bitterly.

"They're still up to their old tricks.

We negotiate with them, but it does no good.

A peace treaty doesn't mean anything

to them."

"The present situation is still quite different from

open warfare," Picard cautioned. "And you must

remember that the treaty their empire signed with the

Federation almost two hundred years ago was

imposed on them by us. It has never sat well

with them. By that treaty, we allow them only

police ships, to keep peace within the small

space they still control."

He looked at the assembled officers one

by one. "I know that the feeling is widespread and

growing in the Federation that violence is the proper

response to this violence. That's a normal

reaction, I suppose. Certainly it's an

emotionally satisfying one. I hope that everyone

in this room is capable of stepping back from that

initial reaction, though, and thinking of the

consequences. That's exactly the sort of

difficult task the Federation Council has

had to undertake. The Centurion has been

assigned to help the Tenarans protect their

world. We will assist them in that effort when we

reach Tenara--and that is all."

"Seen from a certain perspective, the

M'dok attacks do make sense, sir,"

Data said. "Their attacks on Tenaran

industry should discourage the inhabitants there from

venturing out into space and carving even larger

chunks out of M'dok territory."

"Fear of losing more of what little they have left

--to the Tenarans or to the Federation,"

Counselor Troi added. "Perhaps this is their

way of posting a "Keep Out" sign."

"Why are the attacks coming now, though?"

Geordi asked. "Just as Tenara has joined the

Federation. Why not before, when we wouldn't have been

obligated to protect Tenara?"

Picard nodded. "A question I've asked

myself, Lieutenant. Unfortunately, our knowledge

of the M'dok's motives is very limited.

Mr. Data?"

"I have been researching, sir, but the task

is most difficult. The M'dok have not

permitted Federation envoys to their worlds in almost

fifty years."

"Understood. Keep on it."

The intercom sounded.

"Bridge to Captain Picard.

We're now within sensor range of Tenara."

"Thank you, Mr. Crusher. We're on

our way."

Led by their captain, the Enterprise

officers returned to the bridge.

On the viewscreen, Tenara was a

blue-green-and-white sphere sliding away beneath

the Enterprise, city lights glittering on the

nightside and winking out as daylight raced across

the planetary surface.

Captain Picard took his command chair.

"Any sign of the Centurion, Mr.

Crusher?"

"No, sir." The young ensign studied the

instrument panel in front of him. "But I am

picking up traces of debris in a low

orbit around Tenara."

"Thermal radiation indicates that it came from

the explosion of a starship by photon torpedo

approximately two hours ago," Data

added, pointing at the screen, where a

brilliant light had flared and then disappeared

in Tenara's upper atmosphere. "That was one

of the fragments."

"Then the Centurion ... is gone?"

Commander William Riker's question was more an

assertion than a request for information.

Data responded anyway, "That is a

distinct possibility, sir. I must point out,

however, that the quantity of the debris is

significantly larger than would be expected

from a ship the size of the Centurion. A ship

three or four times that size would, in fact,

seem to be indicated."

A cautious hope grew in Picard.

"Data, announce our arrival ... and,

Lieutenant Worf, raise the shields, if

you please."

"Already done, sir," the Klingon said.

Picard glanced at him with quiet

amusement.

"Starfleet regulations," Worf began,

"specifically state that when entering a

potential combat zone--"

"Yes, Lieutenant." Picard waved off

his security chief. Worf had recently

developed the annoying habit of quoting from the

manual quite regularly. Picard made a

note to speak to him about it later.

Data spoke quietly into the ship's

communication system. "This is the USS

Enterprise, code Open Flag. Does

anyone read? I repeat, this is the USS

Enterprise, code Open Flag, does

anyone read?"

There was a long silence.

Then the speakers crackled into life. "This

is Captain Sejanus of the USS

Centurion. Come in, Enterprise."

There were general sounds of relief on the

Enterprise bridge.

Picard pressed a button on his command

chair and said, "This is Captain Picard.

We're relieved to find you alive and

unharmed, Captain. When we received your

call, and found nothing but floating debris

..."

The starfield disappeared, to be replaced by the

proud and commanding man they had seen earlier. His

face carried a restrained smile. "Yes,

Captain. That was the ship that attacked us. Their

captain was a brave opponent, but a bit

... overconfident. Gaius Aldus"--he

gestured toward one of the bridge officers, a

stocky, competent-looking man currently

helping a subordinate at another console--

"informs me that the ship's outlines most

closely matched those of the M'dok

battleships in use before the treaty--although this

ship was substantially larger."

"Battleships!" exclaimed Picard.

"Indeed, Captain. As you know, whenever the

Federation raises the matter with them, the M'dok

insist that all they have are the police ships

allowed them under the treaty. Clearly they've

now built at least one battleship, a

vessel of military destruction, and have used it

to fire on a Federation vessel."

"Captain Sejanus." Worf spoke from

his station behind Picard. "You have achieved a great

victory. If it was a M'dok battleship,

you have defeated a ship which outgunned you by a

factor of at least three."

Sejanus' gaze shifted over Picard's

shoulder to the Klingon. He smiled again.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. The victory,

however, is not mine. It belongs to the Federation and

to my crew." He nodded in satisfaction at

the crew members busily working behind

him.

Picard spoke again. "I would like to meet with

you, Captain, to discuss how we can aid you here

--and how we can prevent another confrontation between

the Federation and the M'dok."

Sejanus' face darkened momentarily. "I

don't think a meeting between the two of us will

solve the M'dok problem, Captain

Picard. However"--the Centurion's

captain smiled again--"I would be honored if

you and your officers would join me and my crew for

d inner this evening."

"That is a most generous offer, Captain--

one I gladly accept." Picard shared a

smile with Riker and Troi.

"Excellent! Shall we say eighteen

hundred hours, then?"

"Eighteen hundred hours, Captain,"

Picard agreed. "We look forward to meeting

you."

"The anticipation is mutual, Captain.

And please--come to us by shuttlecraft. We

would like to receive you in the appropriate style."

Picard nodded and Sejanus' image

flickered out, replaced by a starfield.

"A most impressive man," Riker said.

"And a most impressive victory."

"Agreed, Number One," Picard said,

pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"If this banquet is to be a formal

occasion, sir, dress uniforms would be in

order."

"Hmmm?" Picard sat forward suddenly, his

train of thought broken by his first officer's

query.

Riker smiled. "I was suggesting dress

uniforms for this banquet, sir."

"Of course, Number One. Quite right."

Picard leaned back in his chair and fell

silent once again.

Deanna Troi exchanged a concerned glance

with Riker and turned to her captain.

"Sir," she said quietly, "you seem

troubled."

"Hmmm?" Picard turned to look at his

ship's counselor. "Oh, no, Counselor,

it's just ..." He hesitated, trying to put his

feelings into words. "I don't feel a

victory celebration is in order at the

moment."

"I don't think that's what Sejanus

meant by suggesting a banquet," Riker said.

Troi shook her head. "On the contrary,

Will, I think there was a definite element of that

in his suggestion."

"That's natural enough, Deanna," Will

Riker said, his voice rising slightly.

"They've just defeated a ship which heavily

outgunned them. They're undoubtedly relieved

to be alive--"

"It's not relief I sense from them, W.

It's satisfaction."

"Of course they're satisfied,

Deanna," Riker said. "That's the whole

point."

"Counselor, Number One." The captain

stood suddenly, and looked down at the two

officers. "We'll be able to assess the mood

of the Centurion's crew, as well as find out

more about what happened with the M'dok ship, at

dinner."

"Yes, sir," Riker said.

"Of course, Captain." Troi nodded.

"Good," Picard said. "I'll want both

of you, as well as Lieutenant Worf,

Chief Engineer La Forge, and Mr. Data

to accompany me."

"Sir," Worf interrupted, "I believe

I should remain on board the Enterprise."

Picard cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes, sir." The Klingon folded his hands

behind his back and stood at attention, then

spoke, as if reciting from memory ""In

a potential combat zone, the ranking security

officer--"'"

""--is advised to remain on duty whenever

possible,"" Data said, completing the sentence.

"Starfleet Regulation Zed Alpha-Nine.

I was going to bring it up myself, sir."

"Were you?" Picard glared at the android.

"Yes, sir." Data nodded.

Picard opened his mouth to speak, but thought

better of it and turned back to Worf. "Very

well, Lieutenant. I would, however, like

someone from security available to talk with

Centurion personnel."

"Of course, sir," Worf replied.

"Good. The rest of you, meet me in

shuttlebay six in one hour--in full

dress uniform." He nodded to Riker.

"The bridge is yours, Number One."

Captain Picard entered the shuttlebay

exactly fifty-eight minutes later, in

full dress uniform. Troi and Riker were

already there, as were Data and Geordi La

Forge, chatting amiably next to the

shuttlecraft.

Geordi looked distinctly uncomfortable in

his dress uniform. "I know the real reason

Worf didn't want to go to this dinner," he

said, fingering his collar. "He didn't want

to have to get into this monkey suit."

"Speaking of Worf," Riker said, scanning

the airlock, "I wonder where that security

officer is."

As if in answer, a young woman strode through

the airlock almost at a run and stopped

suddenly, directly in front of Picard and

Riker. "Ensign Jenny de Luz

reporting, sir." She stood at stiff

attention and fixed her gaze somewhere over

Picard's shoulder.

The captain and Riker exchanged an amused

look.

"At ease, Ensign," Picard said.

Jenny de Luz looked to the captain to be

no more than twenty-five years old. She was

tall and lean, with pale skin and bright red

hair, cut short in a shaggy style. Very

much like Tasha's, Picard realized.

Probably no coincidence.

Picard was about to object to Worf's

choice. There were plenty of other, more seasoned

security personnel the Klingon could have chosen

to attend the dinner in his place--and the inclusion of

so junior an officer might be taken as an

insult to Sejanus. Then he remembered that

Jenny was from Meramar, a Federation colony with

martial values similar to those of the Magna

Romans.

Not a by-the-book choice, Picard

realized, but a good one nonetheless.

He turned to Riker. "All right, Number

One. Let's get under way."

The six officers took seats in the

shuttlecraft, Geordi and Data in the

forward section. The chief engineer guided the

shuttlecraft forward through the yawning

shuttlebay door and into the brilliant

starfield beyond. Just visible at one corner was

an even more brilliant segment of the dayside of

Tenara. And precisely in the center of the scene

was a gleaming point of light, brighter than any

of the stars the Centurion, shining in the light of

Tenara's sun.

The shuttle lifted and moved forward and out

into space.

The Centurion grew slowly larger on the

shuttlecraft's viewscreen, until it

filled the entire scene. The Centurion's

shuttlebay doors silently scrolled open,

and the Enterprise shuttle drifted inside.

Behind it, the doors closed, their resounding bang

audible as the bay filled with air. When the bay

was fully pressurized, human figures

marched in.

Ensign Jenny de Luz looked

curiously at the scene outside the shuttle.

The officers of the Centurion were standing at

attention, lined up to provide a ceremonial

pathway for the visiting officers. No wonder

Sejanus had wanted them to come over

by shuttlecraft this kind of ceremony wouldn't

have been possible in any other part of the ship.

When visitors arrived on the Enterprise,

she knew, Captain Picard and his senior

staff waited to greet them in an informal

group, not lined up at attention.

And then Jenny became even more intrigued by the

fact that the Centurion officers were dressed

in armor that looked as though it had come from

ancient Rome, with short straight swords

at their sides. At the end of each of the two

lines, there were crewmembers wearing outfits

similar to those of the officers, though these men held

two-meter spears and large rectangular

shields. She could tell from the set of their

faces and shoulders that they were enlisted security

personnel.

In the briefing she'd received from Lieutenant

Worf, she'd learned that most of the officers and

crew aboard the Centurion were from the planet

Magna Roma. She'd thought this unusual,

until Worf had pointed up examples of the

Intrepid and the Slisha, starships that had

been manned entirely by Vulcans and

Tellarites, respectively, races that

preferred their own company to that of others. She

had also discovered that upon re-commissioning

this starship, the Federation had permitted the

Magna Romans to rename this ship, once the

Constitution-class cruiser the Farragut, in

keeping with their own native traditions.

After the briefing, she'd made a quick study

of the library files on Magna Roma, and was

amazed at the astounding similarity between Magna

Roma's history and that of Earth. Except

on Magna Roma, the Roman Empire

never fell. There were scientific theories,

she knew, that said such incredible parallels were

to be expected, but to actually see evidence of

this ...

It made her wonder if she was looking at

a reception detail or a troupe of

historical actors.

Deanna Troi gave her an amused

glance, and Jenny realized that the counselor must

have sensed the emotion, if not the thought.

Though perhaps she can read my mind. I've

always been so open, no emotional control at

all. Like when Tasha died ... Jenny forced

the thought and the memory away, and rose from her

seat.

Standing at the front of the small ship,

Captain Picard gave his officers a

resigned smile of puzzled amusement and

nodded to Geordi.

At the captain's command, the door rose

slowly, revealing the full glory of the scene

before them. What looked like a time-warped Roman

legion was there in full array, with two

especially impressive soldiers standing next

to the shuttle.

Both wore ceremonial gold armor,

apparently made to fit the contours of their

bodies. One stood firm and held a long

staff, on top of which was a golden eagle

resting on a crossbar reading SPQR. The

other stepped forward, his hand on his sword

hilt; all the other assembled personnel

remained stock-still.

His helmet covered only the top, back,

and sides of his head, revealing him to be an

eagle-faced man with a powerful presence, his

eyes as steely as a Romulan's as he

scanned the Enterprise officers. Captain

Sejanus, Jenny realized.

To the young security officer he looked

remarkably like Captain Jean-Luc

Picard.

"Captain Picard," Sejanus said in a

resonant and powerful voice. "And your staff

officers Lieutenant La Forge,

Lieutenant Commander Data, Commander Riker,

and Lieutenant Commander Troi." He looked

at Troi appreciatively, then turned

to Jenny de Luz. "Ensign, I'm afraid

I don't know you."

Jenny's lips felt frozen, her mouth

dry. The man's natural power of command

stunned her.

"De Luz, sir. Ensign Jenny de

Luz."

Sejanus smiled broadly at her, the

commander giving way to the charming aristocrat. "And

you wear the uniform of Starfleet Security,

Jenny."

Picard interrupted. "One of my more

promising young officers, Captain."

Sejanus' glance lingered on Jenny for jus t a

second longer, and then he turned to Picard.

"And now allow me to introduce my officers."

His pride in them struck Jenny as almost

paternal.

As Sejanus named them, the officers stepped

forward, moving past the ranks of

legionnaires. One by one, they marched toward

Picard, their armor jangling, and halted facing

the captain of the Enterprise. As he stamped

to a halt, each Magna Roman officer

saluted Picard by slapping his right fist to his

chest and then shooting his hand outward, hand open,

palm down, fingers stiff.

They were all male, and they were all

physically impressive specimens. Each

one's face betrayed a powerful, distinct

personality. The ancient Roman statuary

Jenny had seen in museums on her homeworld

of Meramar had that characteristic. Until now, she

had thought it simply the artistic style of those

times. Now she thought My ancestors must have

had that same sort of strength and presence.

She glanced over at Picard and saw a

pleased smile on his face. He admires

them too.

Their names, however, were not so distinctive. There

was a plethora of Gaiuses and Juliuses and

Luciuses. And now I understand, Jenny

thought, why the Romans so often used

the first and middle names or the first and last names

when addressing each other. There's no other way

to avoid confusing one Roman with another! And

then she looked again at Sejanus. But not

him. You'd never address him as "Lucius"

anyway, but even if you did, there'd be no question

whom you meant. Even among these strong-willed

men accustomed to command, he stands out. He'd stand

out anywhere.

She noticed Picard responding with a

grave nod to each salute, and a slight frown

of concentration, as if intent on remembering each

name and the face that went with it.

When the introductions were finished at last,

Sejanus said, "And now, if you'll follow

me, Captain?"

Sejanus led the way down a long

corridor, with Picard at his side, the two

captains conversing in low tones as they went.

Behind them, the officers from the Enterprise and the

Centurion mingled, following their captains.

Jenny walked by herself, close behind Picard,

on the alert without being consciously aware of it.

The corridor decorations were quite unusual

for a starship various sculptures of carved

stone along the walls. Some looked old enough

to be from ancient Rome itself, while others were of

various centuries, up to modern times.

Geordi La Forge, who had been walking

just behind Jenny, stepped forward to her side.

"Nice statues," he commented.

She nodded. "V. Some of the newer ones,

especially, look to be--"

"Bugged," Geordi said, leaning closer.

Jenny raised her eyebrows.

"Sensors right inside of them," Geordi

said, lightly touching the VISOR that covered his

eyes. Jenny didn't know exactly how the

instrument worked, but she did know that it enabled the

chief engineer to see across the

electromagnetic spectrum far beyond the

range of visible light.

Jenny nodded her approval. "Very clever."

"And there's a lot of activity going on

behind--"

"The bulkheads. I know. I can hear them.

Efficient, organized--real Romans! I

like that."

The parade of officers came to a large set

of double doors, which opened to let them

pass.

Jenny had to suppress a gasp as they

entered. The room was as large as any aboard the

Enterprise, surprising considering the

Centurion's much smaller size. It was

filled with nine tables, at eight of which were seated

nine Magna Romans in full military

regalia.

Captain Picard was also surprised.

Nine times nine, he thought, remembering from

the dim days of his schooling in France that the

ancient Romans had considered nine to be the

perfect number of dinner guests. How the young

Jean-Luc had detested the dictatorial

Monsieur du Plessis and his Latin and

history classes! But now it was all coming in

handy for the adult Jean-Luc.

At the center of the room was a

horseshoe-shaped table of hard dark wood

inlaid with abstract designs in gold and

silver and precious stones. The floor was a

mosaic depicting a Roman legion of old

slaughtering an army of poorly armed

dark-skinned warriors. The walls of the large

banqueting hall contained niches for

reproductions of ancient art--Greek

statues alternating with Roman portrait

busts.

The open end of the center table faced wide

floor-to-ceiling windows showing the starfield

and the curving horizon of Tenara as the

planet's surface rolled constantly away

beneath them. It was more beautiful than any of the

manmade art inside the room, but Picard's

attention was drawn more to the heavy curtains on

either side of the window. They were a deep

purple, and their significance, in this

neo-Magna Roman setting struck him

forcefully, for Monsieur du Plessis had also

impressed upon him strongly that purple was a

color reserved solely for the emperors of

Rome.

The two captains took seats side

by side at the head of the table, Picard on the

right, the place of honor. Riker sat to his

captain's right, on Riker's right was

Counselor Deanna Troi, and to her right,

at the end of one arm of the horseshoe, was

Marcus Julius Volcinius--a dark,

slender, young officer who had been

introduced as a cousin of Sejanus.

Opposite Marcus Volcinius, at the

end of the other arm, was Data, and then Geordi

La Forge and Jenny de Luz. Finally, between

Jenny and Captain Sejanus, was Gaius

Aldus, whom they had seen earlier on the

viewscreen on the Enterprise bridge.

Almost immediately, the first course was set before them

--an appetizer of minuscule bits of meat

sitting in a clear golden broth.

Jenny stared at the small bowls, puzzled

as much by the tiny pieces of meat as by the odd

smell of the broth.

Sejanus smiled. "Pickled hummingbird

tongues. And the broth," he explained, "is

what we call liquamen, one of our most

ancient sauces, and still very popular."

"Suppose I could exchange it for a

salad?" Geordi whispered to Jenny.

"This is quite ... astonishing, Captain,"

Picard said, exchanging a quick glance with

Riker. "None of us has ever encountered anything

quite like it. I'm most eager to begin."

Sejanus smiled. "We don't stand on

ceremony, Captain, unlike our

ancestors. Please."

Picard smiled in return, picked up the

silver spoon beside the bowl, and filled his mouth

with pickled hummingbird tongues and liquamen.

He could scarcely taste the meat. It was

overwhelmed by the sauce, which tasted salty,

fishy, and cheesy all at once.

He forced a still-wider smile. "Superb!"

Sejanus grinned. "For non-Romans,

it's something of an acquired taste! Here's how

we do it." Eschewing his own spoon, he

picked the bowl up with both hands and drained it in

one long swallow. The other Magna Romans

followed suit.

Picard took a deep breath and copied

Sejanus.

Encouraged and relieved, his crew members

did the same. Jenny swallowed the appetizer

--and was surprised to find the dish remarkably

similar to one of her homeworld's own

delicacies.

She turned and spoke to Gaius Aldus,

on her right, "This is wonderful!"

Gaius' serious face relaxed. "Thank

you, Ensign. Non-Romans don't

always react that way." He indicated

Geordi, on Jenny's left, whose face had

taken on a distinctly greenish pallor.

Jenny smothered a laugh as servitors

appeared to take away the empty bowls and bring

the next course. To her considerable surprise,

they were all scantily clad young women.

"Not quite ... standard Starfleet uniform, is

it?" she asked Gaius.

The Magna Roman flushed slightly.

"These aren't members of Starfleet. They're

civilian employees, hired directly by the

government of Magna Roma to work aboard our

ships. Most of them are descendants of the

slave class from imperial days." He shook

his head. "I'm afraid the old social

divisions still exist, even though they are no

longer official. Seventy years is not

sufficient to completely change a society that

was based on slavery for thousands of years."

Jenny grimaced in distaste, and Gaius

added quickly, "But we are trying."

"Yes. And I can see that it must be

difficult. But you're still holding on to some

things. Your uniform, for example."

"Strictly ceremonial, Ensign. And this"

--Gaius slapped his metal breastplate

proudly--"has nothing to do with slavery. This

uniform is the part of our heritage we have a right

to be proud of."

Jenny chewed that over thoughtfully. Clearly

there was something to be said for the Roman attitude

--the ship had fought brilliantly against great

odds, and its captain seemed to her the epitome

of strong leadership. Much of their attitude was

surely the nature of the individuals

involved. But she wondered if some of it--perhaps

a great part of it--was in fact an element of

Magna Roma's remarkable heritage.

Gaius said, "Ensign ... or may I

call you Jenny?"

"Oh, yes. Please do."

Gaius nodded, smiling. "In ancient

times, we learned from the Graeci--the

Greeks, you would say--to admire heroes and

personal honor and all the other warrior

virtues. We also learned from them to value

learning itself, for its own sake, even though we

lack their gift for theory. And we absorbed

their admiration of health and physical

beauty." He nodded toward the archway where the

young women had exited.

Through it came four muscular young men wearing

simple tunics and carrying at shoulder height

a huge metal platter upon which lay a roasted

pig swimming in gravy. Steam rose from the

carcass.

"We, however, taught the Graeci about

food," Gaius Aldus added with a chuckle.

The young men placed the platter on the tiled

floor, where it covered up much of the battle

scene. One of them produced a long knife from

somewhere and bent down.

Sejanus jumped to his feet. "Look

at this, Captain Picard!" He was grinning in

anticipated delig ht.

Jenny watched as the young man inserted the

knife between the pig's shoulders, at the base of

its neck, pushed it a short distance into the

body, and then began to draw the knife downward

toward the rump. She realized that the ribs must

already have been severed to make it possible for him

to do this with such ease. When he had completed his

cut, he drew out the knife, and then he and his

three companions gripped the edges of the cut with

both hands and, at a nod from the one who had used

the knife, pulled quickly and powerfully,

spreading the pig's body open.

Exposed within were innumerable small, motionless

birds floating in the gravy.

Sejanus had been watching Picard for his

reaction.

"Thrushes!" the Roman said happily.

"Live thrushes! See?" He realized

something was wrong and turned back to the dead pig.

"What ...?"

"I'm afraid the birds have drowned in the

sauce, sir," one of the young servitors said

nervously.

Sejanus' jaw tightened. "Who's

responsible for this?" He hissed the words between

clenched teeth. The four young men turned pale

and began to back away.

Gaius Aldus, also standing, reached out quickly

and placed his hand on his captain's arm.

"Didn't the ancients say, Lucius

Aelius, that a fowl killed by drowning in wine

has a particularly fine flavor?"

The guests from the Enterprise reacted with

horror to this, but it seemed to soothe

Sejanus. He smiled at his aide. "Right

as always, Gaius." The four young servitors

took the opportunity to scuttle out of the

room. Sejanus ignored them and turned

to Picard. "This man, Captain," he said,

indicating Gaius Aldus, "is a

treasure. He is my friend as well as my

aide and first officer. He has served my

family well and faithfully all of his life.

He has been by my side since we were both

children, guarding my honor as competently as he

guards my life. He is Magister

Navis--master of my ship, navigator,

guide. This is very much a Magna Roman

tradition."

"But the term is yet another parallel between

your world and Earth, Captain Sejanus,"

Picard said as the company relaxed and sat down

once again. The young women advanced and began

carving the roast pig. "I believe the

Romans of ancient Earth used it as well."

"Quite correct, Captain Picard,"

Sejanus said. "Your reputation does not do you

justice, I see. You're a scholar and an

officer."

"The similarities between Magna Roman and

Earth history are uncanny--beyond even what

Hodgkins' Theory of parallel planetary

development would predict," Commander Riker

added.

"Only up to a certain point," Sejanus

said. "From there, our planets followed

radically different paths."

Data nodded. "On Earth the empire

fell--and its dissolution led first to cultural

fragmentation and the Dark Ages--"

"While on our world, the empire flourished

and was able to lead Magna Roma to new levels

of prosperity." This interruption came from

Marcus Julius Volcinius--who had

remained silent and almost antisocial up

until now. He spoke in a patronizing

voice, as if what he was saying was so obvious

as to be barely worth mentioning.

"I do not believe all Magna Romans

would agree with your statement, Lieutenant,"

Data said. "The brutal dictatorship that

existed on your planet until recently was

certainly not prosperous for the great majority of

your citizens--"

"Prosperity is not measured strictly in

terms of money," Marcus Julius

Volcinius said, cutting off Data.

"Culture, stability, peace--those are the

things the great Magna Roman Empire brought

to our world," the officer said, coming as close

to sneering as he could without visibly looking down

his nose at Data. "I would not expect a

machine to understand such things."

To her left, Jenny saw Geordi

visibly tense in his chair.

"Data," the engineer said in a clipped,

tense voice, "is not a machine,

Lieutenant."

"Yes I am, Geordi," Data said.

Sejanus laughed. "Gentlemen, please!

I like to think we Magna Romans took the

best traditions from both worlds--those of our

native culture and those of Starfleet, shown

to us when the Federation visited Magna Roma

decades ago."

"One of the ships that first came to your world,"

Jenny said, "was also named the Enterprise--

the name our ship carries as well."

Sejanus nodded. "Preserving the names of

noble men and noble ships of the past is a fine

tradition. I myself am named after a great man

in our history--our greatest leader, in my

opinion."

Data said, "On Earth, Lucius

Aelius Sejanus was a monster who tried

to overthrow the Emperor Tiberius but was

exposed. He was imprisoned and then strangled

in his cell, presumably upon Tiberius'

orders, after which his body was given to the Roman

mob, which tore it to pieces."

Gaius shuddered in his seat, as if what

Data was describing was happening to Captain

Sejanus.

"You see, Lieutenant, that is the

precise point where the history of our two

worlds parted company," the Centurion's

captain said. "On our world, Sejanus

succeeded. He had the mad old Emperor

Tiberius murdered and made himself emperor in

his place. A cruel act, but one necessary

to save Rome. Sejanus continued the cleansing

by killing off all of the old emperor's

family. He drove out the Christians and the

other foreign religions and strengthened

the old gods once again, thus strengthening

Rome."

"And the dictatorship," Data said.

"And the dictatorship," Sejanus conceded.

"But surely that's enough of politics for now."

He snapped his fingers, and the servitors

sprang forward. "Especially when there is

food such as this to be enjoyed."

The young women began carving energetically,

placing huge portions of meat on each

guest's plate. As they served, other young

women hurried into the room, bearing pitchers from

which they poured generous helpings of dark red wine.

When all had been served, Marcus

Julius Volcinius stood and raised his

glass. All of the Magna Romans stood as

well. Picard gestured to his officers, and

they followed suit. "To Lucius Aelius

Sejanus," Marcus said loudly. "To the

Senate and the people of Magna Roma. And

to victory." He and the other Romans drank

deeply.

After a moment of hesitation, Picard sipped

his wine. His officers immediately did the same.

Then Picard spoke quickly, before the Romans

could sit. "To the United Federation of

Planets and democracy. And to peace."

There was an awkward moment of silence. Then

Sejanus chuckled and drained his glass.

With that, the ice seemed to be broken. The

conversation became general and convivial, and the

Magna Romans and their guests ate and

drank with enthusiasm.

But Gaius Aldus had noted Jenny's

distaste of Marcus Volcinius. "You don't

like him, do you?"

Turning in surprise, she replied, "I

must learn to hide my feelings better."

Gaius smiled, "No need. He's a

blustering fool and no one of significance. As

a diplomatic attache, he has no real

qualifications, but he is Captain

Sejanus' cousin--a distasteful example of

nepotism."

"Another archaic tradition that you still cling

to?" Jenny countered.

Gaius flashed a smile. "As I said,

we are trying."

Jenny returned his smile. "Tell me

about your defeat of the M'dok. You were

severely outgunned."

"We let their own arrogance defeat them.

Using temporary power sinks to simulate

battle damage, we drew them in close enough

to destroy them."

"Your idea?" she asked.

"A technique I developed," he

answered with pride in his voice.

"But was a death blow necessary? Could you take no

survivors? They would have been a valuable--"

"Survivors?" Gaius' disbelief was

plain on his face. "Lieutenant, we were at

war. Would you take the time to judge whether or not

your blow was a crippling one? And risk the

lives of your own crew?"

Taken aback, Jenny replied, "I

only suggested the possibility--"

"We were attacked!" Color rushed

into Gaius' face as he brought his hand down on

the table.

Jenny stared at him in open-mouthed

surprise.

Gaius took a sip of wine and composed

himself for a moment. "I must apologize for my

outburst. I have served with Captain Sejanus

my whole life. He and the crew of the

Centurion have become my family, I have

no other." He managed a slight smile.

"I'm afraid that I can promise no

leniency to anyone who raises a hand to them."

Jenny returned his steady gaze. "Then I

admire your loyalty."

"I suspect it's a quality that you share,"

Gaius said.

Before Jenny could respond, her attention was

drawn by the rather loud voice of Marcus

Julius Volcinius across the table. He was

gesturing with a greasy, unidentifiable bone and

saying to the table at large, or perhaps to the entire

room, "Now, take these Tenarans. They're

just too decentralized. There's no authority,

no one person in charge we can talk to. So

they're easy prey for such fierce creatures

as the M'dok. The Centurion can't stay here

forever, can it, now, Captain Picard? No, of

course not," he rushed on, answering his own

question. Like many of the other Magna Romans,

Marcus was growing flushed, his eyes overbright.

Picard, who had sipped his wine all

evening, looked disapproving.

Sejanus' cousin's words had been clear and

unslurred, Jenny observed, almost as if they

had been thought out carefully beforehand. She

wondered ...

"Nor can the Federation afford to keep ships

here indefinitely, defending a people who are unable

to defend themselves," Marcus went on. "Their very

organization--or lack of organization, I

should say--makes it impossible for them

to organize in their own defense. The gods

help those who help themselves. So do Magni

Romani."

True enough, Jenny thought, that part about

defending themselves. She was about to say so aloud, but

then Commander Riker said part of it for her. "We

can all agree about the problem, Lie utenant,

but I don't see a simple solution.

Tenara is now a member of the Federation and thus

has every right to expect the Federation to protect

it. Moreover, the Federation never dictates the

governmental policy of its member worlds,

only that each government respect and protect

its citizens' rights. We have to deal with Tenara

as it is, not as we wish it to be."

Marcus waved his hand in dismissal. "Yes,

yes, of course, Commander. We're here

to defend them and to rebuild their world. This is

supposed to strengthen them against future

attack, but I say that we have to do more for them.

For their own sake, the Tenarans have to change.

We should teach them, help them to change themselves so

that they can provide for their own defense.

Romans have always been good at organization, and

at teaching it."

"Usually," Data said calmly, "through

conquest. Hardly an acceptable option in

Tenara's case, sir."

Sejanus now broke into the conversation.

"Agreed, Lieutenant. But we do have another

choice."

"Which is?" Picard asked.

"Change the M'dok," Jenny blurted out.

All heads at the table turned to look at

her.

"Hear, hear," Gaius said, smiling at

her. "If the M'dok will not keep to the treaty

voluntarily, we must force them to."

Geordi shook his head. "You're talking

about war, Lieutenant."

"And what do we have now on Tenara?"

Sejanus asked.

"We have a situation we must try

to resolve," Picard said sharply. "We do not

have war."

All at once the room fell silent as the

two captains continued staring at each other.

The communicator on Picard's chest

beeped once, shattering the quiet. "Excuse

me, Captain," Picard said to Sejanus.

He touched his chest. "Picard here."

The voice that came from the communicator was

unmistakable.

"Lieutenant Worf, sir. We've just

received an urgent message from Starfleet

Command."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Picard

turned to Sejanus. "Forgive me,

Captain, but it seems we must return to our

ship immediately."

"Of course, of course," Sejanus said

quickly. "Duty must come first. We can complete

our discussions at some other time."

Picard nodded. He touched his chest again.

"Enterprise. Transporter room. This is

the captain. Six to beam back from the

Centurion, immediately."

Chapter Two

"Let's hear that message, Mr.

Worf," Picard said. The captain and his

staff officers were all back on the bridge.

Jenny de Luz had taken up a position behind

Worf on the upper deck, at the mission

operations station.

"Aye, sir. Audio only, on speakers

now."

The voice was strong and self-assured, the

voice of a man used to getting his way.

"Captain Picard, this is Admiral

Howard Delapore. Starfleet Command has

determined that the situation at Tenara is

critical. The Enterprise is hereby

ordered to stay within the system and to help the

Centurion defend Tenara. Don't let

anyone in. This applies to the entire

Tenaran planetary system. From now on,

only the space beyond the orbit of the outermost

planet of the system is to be considered

unclaimed territory. You are

authorized to do whatever the situation requires

in order to defend the system itself."

Delapore's voice lowered. "I want you

to understand how important that is, Picard.

Command is placing a very high priority on this

mission. You and Sejanus are two of the best

we have, as are your ships and your crews. Good

luck. Delapore out."

"That's all, sir," Worf said. "A

second, coded message is attached, for your

eyes only."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Picard

replied.

"Delapore?" At the engineering station next

to Jenny, Geordi groaned, so softly only

she could hear him.

"Closing off the system--aren't we risking

war, sir?" Riker asked. "Given what you

told us during your briefing."

Picard sighed. "We're certainly a step

closer to it than we were before."

"I remember Delapore from the

Academy." Riker smiled slightly. "A

no-nonsense type."

"We had another name for him," Geordi

said. "Old Iron--"

"I think we've all heard that name before,

Lieutenant," Picard said sharply. "There's

no need to repeat it."

"Yes, sir," Geordi said. "Sorry."

Jenny remembered Admiral Delapore

(and his nickname) from the Academy. He was one

of the senior instructors, a stocky

gray-haired man who made it clear that he

considered himself a man of action, one who

preferred military missions to exploratory

or diplomatic ones. Now, Jenny thought,

he has a military situation to deal with, and

he's thriving on it.

"Sir," Worf said. "Captain

Sejanus is calling from the Centurion.

He wants to know if we'll be rejoining him

for the rest of the banquet."

He wants to know what was in the message

from Starfleet Command, Jenny thought.

Sejanus' face filled the viewscreen.

He was calling from the banquet hall; behind him,

the dinner was still in full swing.

"Captain Picard," he said, his voice

deep and grave, "I hope there's no

trouble."

Picard responded instinctively. "No

immediate trouble, Captain. It seems we've

been ordered to remain here on Tenara and assist

you in your defense of the planet."

Sejanus froze for a second. Then the

Magna Roman relaxed and smiled.

"I don't see that there's a military

necessity for that, Captain Picard, but

Starfleet is, of course, subject

to Federation Council control. Politics must

be taken into account." He nodded in understanding.

"Of course, we're glad to have you aboard. I

have a briefing set up tomorrow with my crew, and then

a meeting with the planetary council. Perhaps you

could join us."

"Of course, Captain."

"Good. Then will you rejoin us now, Captain

Picard? The evening is still young, and the feast far from

over."

"I think not, Captain." Picard affected

a smile of resignation. "I need some time

to review the situation."

"As you wish. I'll have one of my men

return your shuttlecraft." Sejanus bowed

slightly. "Until tomorrow, then, Captain

Picard."

"Until tomorrow, Captain Sejanus."

As the transmission ended, the viewscreen

resumed its display of the stars and the

Centurion.

Picard stood. "I suggest we all turn

in. I suspect tomorrow is going to be a long,

difficult day."

"Aye, sir," Riker said. "Data, you have

the conn."

Jenny began following the two officers to the

turbolift.

"One moment, Ensign," Worf said.

She turned.

"As my presence will be required aboard

ship for the duration of the mission," Worf said,

"I would like you to supervise all planetside

security arrangements."

"Yes, sir," Jenny said. "Thank you,

sir."

"I suggest you prepare yourself by reviewing the

appropriate sections of the Starfleet

manual," Worf added. He turned to the

mission operations console and called up

a portion of the text. "For instance, you will see

here ..."

Jenny sighed, and began reading over the

Klingon's shoulder.

The libraries of a Federation starship are,

without exception, extremely well-stocked.

A device somewhat smaller than a human

thumbnail can hold a quantity of information

several times greater than all that which was contained in

the Library of Alexandria. A much tinier

device can process this information and quickly

provide it for absorption by a human

operator.

Marcus Julius Volcinius served as

cultural attache on special assignment

to the Centurion. An intelligent,

determined, and (by virtue of being the scion of

one of the most patrician families of

Magna Roma) very well-educated young man,

he liked to think that he could absorb quite a bit

of information.

He had left the banquet scarcely an

hour ago, bored with the endless drinking and pointless

banter. Besides, all the talk about changing the

Tenarans, and Magna Roman tradition, had

given him an idea.

"Computer."

"Working."

Machines, he thought with satisfaction, could

always be relied upon to keep their place, never

to overstep their bounds.

Except that walking computer, Data.

"Computer, tell me about the spread of the

English language on Earth."

If there was a pause, Marcus couldn't

detect it.

"English is the descendant of multiple

languages principally Anglo-Saxon,

Latin, and various Celtic tongues. It was

the primary language of England, one of three

nations on a small island in the North

Atlantic Ocean. In an ongoing process

of colonial expansion beginning late in the

sixteenth century and continuing until the early

twentieth century, England established herself as

the supreme political, military, and

economic power in the world.

"With the expansion of English power, the

language spread as well, eventually

becoming the universal language of trade,

science, and international politics. By nature

a dynamic and flexible language, it

provides the basis of current Federation

Standard, continuing to adapt to new words, new

concepts, and new cultures."

It was obviously a capsule lecture,

probably quoted verbatim from a statement

made by some university professor, and it did

not tell Marcus everything he wanted to know.

He thought for a bit, and then asked, "Did the

English make any deliberate efforts

to hasten the spread of their language?"

"It is generally accepted," the computer said,

"that the spread of the language was a natural and

inevitable result of English economic

dominance."

"And their culture spread similarly with the

language?"

"Modes of dress, mores, methods of

education and socialization, and most other

cultural characteristics were based on an English

standard all over Earth by the end of the twentieth

century. It is generally accepted that popular

entertainment had an enormous impact,

particularly after the invention of television."

"But it took centuries," Marcus said,

thinking aloud.

"Correct," the computer said.

Marcus gave the terminal an annoyed

glance. His mind returned to the pr oblem, but this

time he kept his thoughts to himself. It took the

English centuries on Earth, but I only have

weeks.

"During the early days, when the spread of

English was due to economic and military

power, not popular education, didn't the various

native peoples resent this invasion of an

alien culture and try to indoctrinate their young

against it?"

"On the contrary," the computer replied. "The

English people were able to convince others of the

superiority and prestige of an education

obtained in an English-speaking country, and so

the native populations eagerly sent their young

to school in English institutions, where they

absorbed both language and culture. The

students then returned home to spread what they

had learned."

Marcus sat back, drumming his

fingers on the desktop. Conquest was not an

option, in the words of his cousin.

But there was conquest as the warrior Sejanus

understood it ... and then again, there was conquest of

an altogether different kind.

A kind of conquest that Marcus himself might be

better qualified to undertake than Lucius

Sejanus--or Jean-Luc Picard.

The Centurion briefing room the following

morning was crowded. Unlike the banquet

hall where Sejanus had first greeted the

officers from the Enterprise, this room was

organized with function rather than form in mind.

Instead of purple curtains, the viewscreen

was set into the naked wall; instead of Roman

artwork, holographic charts and maps lined the

walls.

Sejanus and Picard were seated at

opposite ends of the long table in the center of the

room, the senior officers from both ships between

them. As everyone found a seat, Sejanus

gestured sharply, and the view of Tenara that had

filled the viewscreen was replaced with a lengthy

organizational chart. All the officers had before

them small personal viewers, which showed the

same chart.

"I assume you have all been briefed?"

Sejanus asked the Enterprise personnel.

Jenny de Luz joined in the general sounds

of assent. Thanks to the extensive preparation

she'd received from Lieutenant Worf, she

felt she now knew more about Tenara than about her

homeworld of Meramar.

"Then let us proceed to the business at

hand," Sejanus said. "On your viewers is

a governmental organization chart given to me

by Melkinat, their planetary chairman. Now,

as I'm sure you're all aware, the Tenaran

government is notably decentralized. Their

system of saavtas is quite primitive, and

is actually a descendant of the council of

tribal elders found in almost all

precivilized societies. Unfortunately,

their attempt to apply this system on a

planetary scale has led not only to the lack

of any strong central government but also to a very

complex system of interlocking obligations and

levels of authority."

But not more complex than Meramar,

Jenny thought, studying the chart. On her

feudal homeworld, her father had owed varying

degrees of allegiance to three separate men,

all of whom had had their own obligations to many

others--one of whom had been one of her father's

vassals! The hierarchy of Tenaran saavtas

was relatively simple by contrast, with each

saavta electing some of its members to the

next most important saavta--all the

way from the village saavta up to the

planetary Great Saavta.

"But I stress," Sejanus continued, "that

this is the framework within which we must operate. As

I understand it, Starfleet has chosen us for a

twofold mission in the short term, to defend

the Tenarans against future attack, and in the

long term, to strengthen them so that they will be able

to defend themselves in the future. Am I

correct, Captain Picard?"

Picard nodded. "Absolutely.

Starfleet Command has ordered both the

Centurion and the Enterprise to assist the

Tenarans--in whatever way possible. We must

begin work immediately, to help them strengthen their

economic and agricultural base, to bring

them advanced medical care. We'll

contribute all forms of training and resources

at our disposal."

"What about their more immediate need, sir?"

Gaius Aldus asked. "That of military

assistance?"

Jenny nodded in agreement. It seemed

clear to her that unless they could provide the

Tenarans with some basic degree of security,

all the other assistance would be meaningless.

Sejanus smiled. "We will begin training the

Tenarans at once in basic combat

techniques--"

"Excuse me, Captain Sejanus, but

haven't the Tenarans been opposed to such

training in the past?" Riker asked.

Jenny frowned. That piece of information

hadn't been in the records she'd been

studying.

"They have, Commander, but their leaders have

requested it nevertheless," Sejanus said. "And

it is something we must be prepared to provide,

given the brutal nature of the M'dok

attacks."

Captain Picard shifted

uncomfortably in his chair. "I must admit that

I am troubled by this whole situation, Captain

Sejanus," he said. "If we only knew

why the M'dok were attacking now--"

Marcus Julius Volcinius, who was

leaning against the entranceway to the briefing room,

snorted in disgust.

"They are animals, Captain Picard.

Why bother trying to understand their motivations?"

"They are sentient beings," Picard said

firmly, glaring at the Centurion's

cultural attache. "And there are reasons

behind their actions, I'm sure. Mr. Data,

have you been able to obtain any other information about

what's happening within the M'dok Empire?"

The android shook his head. "Nothing

definitive, sir. One rather obscure trade

journal indicates that over the last few

months there has been a marked increase in the

importation of several drugs within the

empire--"

"Drugs?" Picard asked. "What kind of

drugs?"

"Mainly certain growth hormones, and their

chemical analogues, sir."

"What possible significance could that have?"

Marcus asked contemptuously, drawing out every

syllable.

"I do not have sufficient information to conjecture

at this point, Lieutenant," Data said.

"However, I am expecting further information from

Starfleet Command."

"We await that information," Sejanus said.

"In the meantime, we must begin organizing the

defense of Tenara."

Picard sighed heavily and exchanged a

look of concern with his first officer. "I would

prefer not to take such action without speaking to the

planet's chairman first, Captain."

"His wishes seem quite clear to me,

Captain, but ..." Sejanus shrugged. "As

you wish. We are scheduled to meet with

Chairman Melkinat in two hours." The

Centurion's captain pressed his hands

flat on the conference table and rose from his chair.

"I will see you on the planet's surface,

Captain."

Chapter Three

Melkinat, Chairman of the Central

Council of the Great Saavta, Most

Honorable and Democratic Among the People of

Tenara, and the nominal leader of that planet, was

in no way prepared to meet with Captain

Picard and Captain Sejanus, or to do much

of anything else.

He was scared. Nothing in his comparatively

uneventful life had prepared him to deal with such

fear as he felt now.

The story Quillen had just told him ...

Melkinat shook his head, trying to brush those

horrible memories away. He had devoted

his life to the people of Tenara, to the saavtas. As

chairman of the Central Council, he stood

for something honorable and decent, for individual

freedom and dignity, for the principle that no

man should rule over other men, and the idea that

all people should make their own decisions so long as

they did not interfere with the rights of others.

But against these things that are attacking us, these

cat-monsters that call themselves M'dok, such

noble principles mean nothing.

Tenarans had fought, he knew that.

Centuries before, his people had been lifted from a

world which, it was fairly certain now, had been

Earth, but well before anyone on that planet had

achieved the crudest aircraft, much less

space travel.

From there they had been placed on Tenara, which

was largely fertile prairie and glittering

sea from pole to pole. With no enemies, no

one to fight, they had exploded across the

planetary surface. Plentiful territory

and resources had made fighting practically

unnecessary.

From their common cultural heritage and spirit of

peaceful coexistence, the Tenarans had

developed the basis of their present

governmental system. When would-be conquerors

had arisen, they had found the task of tearing apart

the social fabric of the planet too great for

even the most power-mad among them.

All this Melkinat knew, as a man knows

his own name. He looked to the opposite wall

of his small office, where a great ax hung on

sturdy pegs. Perhaps it had been intended for

chopping down trees, but notches along

the edge and a few dark stains in those notches

showed that it had once been used for a grimmer

purpose.

It's an effort to find weapons like that on

Tenara, Melkinat thought angrily, not like

on other worlds. We've had few wars, but never

on a large scale. We want only peace

and freedom. Why can't others respect that?

He didn't know the answer to that, nor did

he know the reason for the horrible attacks by the

M'dok.

Which was why Tenara had requested help from the

Federation.

Part of him wished the starships and their

captains would go away. He saw their

technology, their wonders, and felt that if he

even allowed them to beam down to the planet with their

weapons, it would somehow change his world

irrevocably from the paradise it had been for so

long.

Yet what choice did he have?

To be honest, a part of him was excited at the

prospect of receiving help from the Federation, at

tapping the shared knowledge of a thousand worlds.

What must it be like, he wondered, to have

done what both of these starship captains have

done, to have seen so much, t o have done so much? And

what do they think of me, a man who has spent

his whole life on one small world, who has

accomplished so little?

"Father?"

He looked up to see his daughter

Gretna, who stood waiting in the doorway,

hands on hips. She was dressed in sandals,

shorts, and a colorful blouse, and he was

struck again by how quickly she had grown--and how

beautiful she had become.

"One of the starship captains has arrived

already," she said.

"Thank you, daughter," he said, rising.

At least he had one substantial

accomplishment to his credit Gretna, who

showed every sign of succeeding him once his days as

chairman were done. Surely neither starship

captain could boast of offspring such as his.

"We don't want to keep the Federation

waiting, do we?"

"That's ground we've been over before, Father,"

Gretna said. "At this point, the answer is

no."

Melkinat sighed. His daughter, though she

understood why they needed the Federation's help, was

even more reluctant than he to allow their

weapons on Tenara.

He took her arm and strode out to meet the

starship captain.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard tugged at his

dress uniform to smooth out a minuscule

wrinkle. Appearances were important in his

work, and this would be his and Sejanus' first

face-to-face meeting with the Tenaran

leadership, but even so there was a limit to how far

Picard was willing to go with all of this. He

looked at himself in his mirror and decided that enough

was enough.

He slapped his communicator.

"Bridge."

"Lieutenant Commander Data here."

"Mr. Data, please inform Captain

Sejanus that I'm ready to beam down, and then

contact the Central Council of the Great

Saavta and confirm that I'm on my way to the

meeting."

Data replied, "Sir, we've just had a

communication from Captain Sejanus. He's

already on the planet surface. He sounded

... troubled."

Picard felt the hair prickle along the

back of his neck. "An emergency?"

The android hesitated. "He did not so

specify, sir. Certainly we have detected

no sign of any further attacks against

Tenara."

"Hmm. All right, Data. Contact

Captain Sejanus and tell him I'm on

my way to the transporter room."

Picard closed that channel and opened

another.

"Number One."

"Here, sir."

"Captain Sejanus has already beamed

down, and it sounds like there are added complications.

Can you join me in the transporter room?"

"I'm on my way, sir."

Picard's first officer was true to his word,

arriving just as the captain was stepping up onto the

transporter platform. Riker followed

suit, and the captain nodded his readiness to Chief

O'Brien. Picard was frowning, and the

frown was still there when they reformed on the surface

of Tenara.

They materialized in an airy,

many-columned chamber. Two people, a

middle-aged man and a much younger woman, were there

waiting for them.

"Captain Picard," the man said, stepping

forward and extending his hand. "I'm Melkinat,

Chairman of the Central Council. And this"--

he indicated the young woman, who moved to his

side--"is my daughter Gretna."

"It's an honor, sir," Captain

Picard said. "May I present my first

officer, Commander William Riker."

Riker shook hands, his eyes lingering for a

moment on the young woman.

"I understand there is a further problem,

Chairman," Picard said.

Melkinat nodded. "A young man from one of

our more remote villages has just come to us with a

terrible story. Captain Sejanus is with him

now."

"Lead on, Chairman," Picard said.

"A moment, Commander," Melkinat said,

holding up his hand. "The young man seems

uncomfortable with more than two or three people at

once at this time. If you could--"

"I understand, sir," Riker said. "I'll

wait out here."

"Perhaps you'll let me show you some of our

planet, Commander," Gretna said.

Riker looked questioningly at his captain.

"It's all right, Number One," Picard

said. "I'll brief you later."

"Aye, sir." Riker turned to Gretna

and smiled. "Then I'll be happy to take a

tour."

The two disappeared down one passageway,

while Picard followed Melkinat down

another. The chairman led him into a smaller

room just off the Central Council chamber,

where Sejanus and a young man Picard did not

recognize were waiting. The Magna Roman

was clearly upset, striding back and forth

impatiently, muttering to himself.

By contrast, the young Tenaran was silent, and

looked to Picard to be almost in a state of

shock. He was sitting in the room's single

chair, a typically light and graceful piece

of Tenaran furniture that looked too

fragile to bear the weight of a grown human.

But the young man who sat in it was big-boned and

heavily muscled, and the chair held up under him

quite well.

"This is Quillen," Melkinat said.

Picard turned his attention to the young man.

Normally Quillen would have been an

impressive physical specimen, but not now.

He was pale and sweating as he chewed on his

lower lip and pressed himself back into the chair.

Melkinat spoke to him soothingly. "This is

Captain Picard, Quillen. From the

Enterprise. You know you can trust him. He's

also from the Federation, just like Captain Sejanus

--from Starfleet."

"We're here to help you," Picard added.

Quillen squirmed in his chair. "But

I've already told you what happened!" He was

whining and almost in tears. "Why can't you just tell

him, and let me go home?"

Melkinat opened his mouth to say something, but

Sejanus stepped forward abruptly and motioned

him to silence. He leaned over Quillen, who

shrank away from him. Sejanus stared at him

until he met the Roman's eyes, and then

Quillen seemed unable to look away.

Sejanus said in a soft voice, "I want

him to hear it from your mouth, Quillen, in your own

words. I want Captain Picard to know what

you experienced."

Quillen began to tremble.

Now Picard stepped forward, and Quillen

turned toward him. Picard could see the terror

in the young man's face, and he, too, spoke

softly to him. "You may leave if you wish,

Quillen. I'd like to hear your story from you.

Captain Sejanus thinks I should, and I

trust his judgment, but I've no wish to cause

you pain."

Quillen relaxed slightly. "This-thank

you, Captain. I'll try, for the sake of my

world." He took a deep breath, managed

to stop himself from shaking, and began to tell his

tale.

Quillen was a wood collector. In the

communal economy of Tenaran village

life, a few of the strongest young men were

assigned the task of gathering the wood that the

village needed for cooking and, in the

colder weather, for heating. Much of what

Quillen collected in the nearby forest was

deadfall, which he carried back to the village

on his shoulders. When the deadfall wasn't

sufficient, he would search out old or dying or

diseased trees and chop or saw them down. These,

too, he would carry--or sometimes drag--back

home.

He was an orphan, and was by nature a

solitary person with no real friends, so this

life-style suited him. Fond as he was of his

village and most of his fellow villagers,

Quillen loved roaming alone through the dappled

sunlight of the forest most of all. He loved the

sound of his ax and his saws as they cut through the

trunks of trees, and he loved the smell of

fresh-cut wood. He derived great

pleasure from working his own powerful muscles as

he carried great loads of wood home on his

shoulders.

He liked the animals of the forest, large and

small, and with the years they had grown

to recognize him and no longer fled.

"Sometimes," he said proudly to Picard, "they

even stand around and watch me work. They're really

interested, you see?"

Picard nodded. "I spent much time in the

woods myself when I was young, Quillen. I

understand your love for them." He thought of the

holodeck program he had established

to recreate an evergreen forest on the slopes

of the Alps. "I find it can be a refuge from the

complexities of dealing with other people."

The young Tenaran nodded vigorously. "Oh,

yes, Captain!" A bit shamefacedly he

added, "In fact, sometimes I put off going

home for as long as I can, so that maybe it'll

be late in the day and everyone in the village will

be too tired to want to talk a lot to me.

That's what happened that day. It was late when

I got back. Too late ..." He began

to shake again.

It took some gentle prodding by Picard before

Quillen was able to continue.

On his way home, Quillen often chose a

pathway that took him up a small hill in the

forest. The hilltop was bare because of a recent

lightning-caused fire. If his load was a

heavy one, he would circle the hill instead, but

he liked standing atop it and looking out

over the sea of treetops, undulating over

hills and ridges like the waves of a real sea

and stretching away to the horizon in all

directions. Here and there, he could see clearings

containing villages like his own. Last winter, the

hilltop had been covered by a thin layer of

frost that had crackled beneath his feet, and a few

bushes that had survived the forest fire had been

covered by ice, which glowed red in the setting sun.

He had been able to see smoke rising from

chimneys to the south, marking his village.

But this spring evening, he had seen something

different, something at first puzzling and then

terrifying.

"Things flying around in the air over my

village," he whispered. "At first I thought

they were some strange kind of bird, but then I

realized they looked a little bit like the flying

machines that sometimes come to pick up the saavta

members to take them to meetings at the

regional capital. But there's usually only

two or three of those, and this time there were a

half-dozen. And they weren't landing. They were

flying around in circles over the village. And

then ..." Tears began running down his

cheeks.

And then white-hot beams la nced down from beneath

the circling vehicles, and wherever the beams

touched the ground, flames erupted. The

vehicles were silent, the beams were silent, but

even from that distance Quillen could hear the whoosh

of the sudden fires, and the crackling of burning

wood, and he thought he could hear human

voices shouting and screaming.

Too shocked to think of the danger to himself,

Quillen dropped his load of wood and his ax

and saws and ran down the hill toward his

village. His only thought was to save his fellow

villagers.

Quillen ran along the forest track in the

dimming light. He was blinded by tears, but his

feet knew the way. Suddenly he felt the

heat of a fire ahead and saw its glow shimmering

through his tears. He stopped running and knuckled

his eyes clear. The forest ahead of him was

burning, blocking the path.

But he knew the woods here intimately,

knew virtually every tree and bush, every gully,

every creek, every mound of dirt. He left the

trail and slipped through the forest, making

his way around the fire and toward the village

clearing by another route. It was that that saved his

life.

Had he been able to stick to the trail,

Quillen would have emerged into the clearing in plain

sight, and then he would have faced the same fate

as his fellow villagers.

Instead, he was still hidden in the trees at the

edge of the clearing, disguised by rapidly falling

night and the dancing shadows cast by the huge fire

raging in the center of the clearing.

The small, neat wooden houses were gone.

In their place was an enormous bonfire.

Around the fringes of the fire were the remnants of

those few houses that had not been grouped with the

others. They had been burned separately,

reduced to collapsed piles of smoking

embers, nothing still standing but their stone chimneys.

"But worst of all," Quillen whispered,

"worst of all ..."

His eyes stared into the remembered vision of

horror.

Worst of all were the grotesque figures

dancing around the fire in celebration. Big

creatures, bigger than most men, with animal

faces--pointed ears and terrible fangs

glistening red in the firelight. They were covered

with fur, and their arms and legs ended in heavily

clawed paws.

"And they had tails," Quillen said. "Their

tails kept twitching, sweeping back and forth

over the ground. They reminded me of cats.

Man-size cats. But they were wearing clothing--

uniforms, it looked like to me."

Picard and Sejanus exchanged a glance.

If they had needed more confirmation that the beings

attacking Tenara were M'dok, then here it was.

But Quillen had more to tell them.

Now that he had managed to get himself to this

point in his narrative, he had little trouble

continuing. He seemed compelled to press on with

it, to purge himself of his awful memories and

shift them over to these two strong, capable

offworlders instead.

"I could see a lot of the villagers lying still

on the ground, all over the clearing. They

weren't moving at all. I don't think they were

breathing. A lot more of them were still alive, but

tied up. Some of them were unconscious, and some

were awake, but they looked dazed. They

weren't doing anything--not even struggling to get

free. They had bruises, and some were bleeding from

deep cuts on their backs."

The M'dok were yowling and screeching at each

other. Quillen realized it was their speech. It

sounded like a cat fight, he said, but the M'dok

weren't fighting, and he realized that they were

happy, that they were celebrating their victory.

They were swaggering around the clearing, and every now and

then one of them would stalk over to the bound

Tenarans, inspect them, and then walk away

again looking satisfied.

Some of the M'dok had large chunks of meat

impaled on long metal poles that they were

roasting in the bonfire. Fat dripped from the

meat and sizzled in the hot coals. When the

meat was adequately charred, the M'dok drew

it out, grabbed it with their paws, ignoring its

heat, and tore mouthfuls off with their great sharp

teeth.

The village had had a few cows and

goats, used almost exclusively as dairy

animals. It saddened Quillen to see them come

to this pointless end. But then he saw how wrong his

assumption was.

Two of the M'dok, wiping their greasy paws

on their uniforms, walked over to the bound

Tenarans, selected one, and grabbed him by the

arms, one M'dok on each side, and dragged

him away toward the fire. Quillen watched,

more puzzled than alarmed.

One M'dok grabbed the Tenaran's head with a

paw, digging his claws into the man's scalp.

The Tenaran screamed and struggled, but the other

M'dok joined in to help, and the two powerful

M'dok bent the Tenaran's head back further

and further. Quillen closed his eyes, but he

could hear the loud snap as the villager's neck

broke.

When he was able to make himself look again, the

M'dok had both drawn knives and were

butchering the Tenaran as though he were an

animal. Only then did Quillen realize

where the chunks of roasted meat had come from.

Quillen leaned against a tree, dazed and

sickened. Afraid to move at all for fear of

drawing the M'dok's attention, he stayed where

he was until full night had fallen. Then

he backed slowly into the forest and made his way

in the dark, hands outstretched before him.

He stumbled deeper and deeper into the forest,

hoping that the M'dok were making so much noise that

they wouldn't hear the breaking twigs and whipping

branches as he passed through the forest.

Finally he collapsed, emotionally and

physically exhausted, and lay in a daze

until morning.

With first light, Quillen roused himself and

made his way slowly, cautiously back

toward his village.

The M'dok had left, taking the surviving

Tenarans with them. Nothing remained of the

village in which Quillen had grown up but

smoking ruins. Nothing was left of the people he had

known but a few scattered corpses and

half-eaten pieces of roasted meat.

Quillen couldn't bear the sight of his

village. He headed back into the sheltering,

welcoming forest and lost himself there. He couldn't

say how long he had wandered, trying to forget

what he had seen.

The time came when, entirely by accident, he

found himself in another village in a forest

clearing. Later he learned that he had

traveled almost three hundred kilometers from

his starting point.

His first reaction was amazement that this village

was thriving and whole--that it, too, had not been

destroyed and its inhabitants eaten

by catlike monsters. His second reaction was

resentment that this place had survived while his

own home had not. But his third reaction was a

belated recognition of his duty to warn the

Tenaran government about the attack.

Quillen entered the village and asked the first

person he encountered to take him to the village

saavta.

Quillen's voice trailed away.

Picard could tell that the young man's strength was

utterly used up.

"Word finally reached us here in Zhelnogra,"

Melkinat finished the story for Quillen, "and

we had Quillen brought here."

He turned to Picard, and the anguish in his

eyes was almost more than the Enterprise's

captain could bear.

"Now you see why we are in such desperate

need of your assistance."

Before Picard could comment, Sejanus stepped

forward and placed a hand on Melkinat's

shoulder.

"You will have our assistance, Chairman--

everything we can give you. No M'dok will reach

the surface of Tenara again. I pledge my

word."

"Thank you, Captain," Melkinat said.

Picard bit his lip. "Excuse me,

Captain Sejanus, Chairman

Melkinat."

Both men turned to look at him.

"I believe we need some time to consider this

latest development, Captain," Picard

said. "I suggest we pass along Quillen's

story to Starfleet Command, and see if--"

"Am I to understand you do not favor giving us the

weapons we need to defend ourselves?" Melkinat

interrupted.

"I favor finding a peaceful solution to this

problem, Chairman. Quillen's story has

given us another piece to this puzzle. I

suggest we may find its solution somewhat

easier now."

Sejanus frowned. "I see your point,

Picard. But we must prepare the Tenarans for the

worst."

Melkinat shook his head sadly. "For the

worst? What "worst" could there possibly

be?"

Picard said nothing, but somehow he doubted that

the Tenarans understood the ultimate horrors

of war.

William Riker tore his attention away

from the pointing arm itself and looked where the girl was

pointing. She had caught the motion of his eyes,

and she smiled slightly in

self-satisfaction.

"I see," Riker said. "Quite a complex,

by any world's standards."

Gretna Melkinata laughed. "You're

trying to flatter us, Commander. I realize how

small and silly all of this must look, compared

to what you've seen on the more advanced planets

in the Federation."

"Will, please. That's what my friends call

me." He smiled at Gretna, who blushed

slightly and turned her attention back to the

valley below them.

The valley was filling with water. Slowly but

steadily, day after day, centimeter

by centimeter, the level rose, creeping up the

valley sides, covering trees and rocks and

bushes forever. To their right, the river that was the

water's source rushed into the valley through a

narrow gorge. White water roared down a

fall into a deep hole beneath it, and then flowed more

peacefully down the valley. To the left, the

far end of the valley, the river's outlet was

blocked by the high white wall of a newly

built dam.

At this point the surface of the new lake

had not yet reached the spillway atop the dam.

When it did, the water would drop down another

fall--this one manmade. Eventually the dam

would generate more electricity than all of the

existing power stations on Tenara combined.

Even high up on the hillsi de, Riker

could smell the spray from the waterfall. He

breathed in deeply. "What a delightful

place! It's beautiful here."

Gretna nodded. "I've been coming here

since I was a child. But now we're changing it

forever," she said sadly. She shook the mood

away. "Come on, W. Let's get

closer." She ran down the hillside.

Riker watched Gretna appreciatively

for a moment before following her. It was summer now

in Tenara's northern temperate zone, and he

felt suddenly conspicuous and clumsy in his

Starfleet uniform. He liked the way the

Tenarans seemed to blend into their environment, and

he admired their love of their world. Short as his

visit on the surface had been so far, he

had already absorbed enough of the Tenaran mindset

to see how jarring the new dam was, how

conspicuous and clumsy it looked. His

appreciation of Gretna Melkinata went beyond

such considerations, though; he was powerfully

attracted to her.

Which is something that a career Starfleet

officer should know better than to let happen,

he told himself. You'll probably be gone

in a few days. He shook his head in

annoyance at himself and walked down the

hillside in the mild sunlight.

When he reached her, Gretna was sitting on

a low rock looking pensively downward at the

lake. She pointed downward again.

"Right under there, there used to be an old stone

bridge over the river. When I was a child, my

secret hiding place was under that bridge."

She dropped her arm and smiled. "Where I

used to go when I didn't want anyone to find

me. Actually, I suspect my parents

knew where I was, but they used to go along with the

game and pretend not to know."

Such a gentle world, Riker thought. "Tenara

will be stronger with this new power supply," he said

carefully. "Better able to protect itself, if

that becomes necessary."

Gretna sighed. "Oh, I know that." She

put her hands up and pulled her fingers through her

shoulder-length blond hair--a nervous

habit, but one Riker found charming. "But, Will,

what will we be protecting? What's going

to happen to Tenara in the process? And will it still

be worth protecting?"

Riker winced. "Must we destroy all that's

good in a society in order to save it from its

enemies? That's a question the great philosophers

of various worlds have struggled withfor centuries,

Gretna, and I don't feel qualified

to deal with it."

Gretna turned and looked at him

thoughtfully. "So you just put it out of your mind and

follow orders."

"Of course not!" Riker made no

attempt to hide how offended he was. "I

swore an oath to uphold the principles of the

Federation. I'm not expected to follow orders

that violate those principles."

"The problem," Gretna pointed out, "is that

principles tend to be vague and general, but

orders are specific and deal with the immediate

present."

"Yes," Riker said uncomfortably.

"Dammit, Gretna, you're supposed to be

a naive girl from a provincial planet."

She laughed, suddenly lighthearted. "And

why should Tenara's lack of advanced

technology make me naive, Commander

Riker? People are born and die here too, just like

anywhere else. They fall in love; they

encounter happiness and sadness--in short,

we're like sentients everywhere. Do you really find

your assignment to Tenara so dull and unbearable,

Commander?" She smiled and changed that to,

"Will?"

Riker smiled back. "This is one of the most

enticing worlds I've ever been on."

"And there's more to it than you've seen so far,"

Gretna said, looking directly at him.

Now it was Riker's turn to blush.

His communicator beeped.

"Riker here." He rose to his feet and

unconsciously snapped to attention.

"This is Lieutenant Worf, Commander.

Captain Picard and Captain Sejanus have

beamed back from Tenara and called an emergency

staff officers' meeting on the Centurion."

"Understood," Riker said. He shrugged

apologetically and said to Gretna, "I have

to go."

She nodded. "I hope you'll find time

to return."

"We've got to finish that tour, remember?"

"We do at that," she said, standing herself.

"Beam me directly to the Centurion,

Lieutenant Worf," Riker said.

He allowed himself another brief smile at

Gretna before the transporter beam took him.

When Picard finished telling the assembled

officers Quillen's story, there was a moment of

stunned silence.

Data was the first to break it.

"With this new information, sir, I believe I

can now offer a reasonable conjecture for the

M'dok's behavior," the android said. "It

is highly likely that the drugs the M'dok have

been importing--the growth hormones--were

intended to increase the amount of sustenance

available from the creatures the M'dok use as

their food animals--"

Across the table from Data, Jenny grimaced.

"I can further postulate," the android

continued, "that these attempts have failed, and thus

the M'dok have turned elsewhere for sustenance."

"And Tenara just happens to be the closest world

to the empire that qualifies," Riker said.

The android said, "There are of course many

instances of such behavior in the history of all

the civilized worlds. The ancestors of many of the

crew members on this ship once ate their

fellows. In the case of Tenara, the feeding is

inter- rather than intraspecies, so our emotional

reaction is not really justified.

By definition, we are not talking about

cannibalism."

"Commander," Picard said angrily, "the

Tenarans are sentient humanoids, and so are

the attackers. We've all advanced far enough

to feel that all sentient humanoids are

members of the same species."

Data had opened his mouth to protest, but thought

better of it and said nothing.

"Why would their food herds suddenly fail

to supply them?" Sejanus asked.

"A population explosion, a planetary

catastrophe--there are any number of

possibilities. Disease, however, remains the

most likely one."

"Well," Picard said, "at least we know

what we're up against now. Mr. Data,

I'd like you to prepare a message to Starfleet

Command advising them of the situation and suggesting that

they initiate contact with the M'dok Empire

to offer our assistance."

"And if they won't take that assistance,

sir?" This question came from Gaius Aldus, who

was again seated next to Jenny. "Isn't our first

obligation to protect the Tenarans--no matter

the cost in M'dok lives?"

Picard frowned in disapproval. "I would

hope there's a way other than war to protect

our citizens' lives, Lieutenant. Two

hundred years ago, our own society was a more

martial one. Our first war with the M'dok was

particularly vicious and bloody, and a second

war with them might be even worse. The loss of

life on both sides would be unimaginable.

Now that we know what they are doing here, we must

try to help the M'dok--"

"Help them?" Marcus Volcinius asked,

incredulous. "I cannot believe my ears,

Captain. They have slaughtered innocent beings,

eaten them as if they were cattle--and you want

to help them?"

"I want to help them," Picard said

angrily, "because I do not want this to happen

again! What would you have me do, slaughter the

M'dok in retaliation?"

Sejanus raised a hand to calm his cousin,

and then spoke for the first time during the conference.

"I'm sorry, Captain. None of us

wants this to happen again."

"Of course not," Picard said,

managing a tight-lipped smile, "but we must

not rush inffconfrontation with the M'dok. That would

start us down a road we would find hard to turn

back from."

"However, we must still begin the transport of

security personnel and defensive equipment

to the surface immediately," Sejanus said. "So

that when the M'dok strike next, they are not

allowed to plunder the planet freely."

Picard shook his head in frustration. "I

agree. I can see no other option at this time.

Ensign de Luz will act as the

Enterprise's coordinator for all ground

security matters."

"I will be performing that job for the

Centurion," Gaius Aldus said, smiling

at Jenny.

"There is one more thing I would like to say--to all

of you," Picard began. He paused a moment

for effect, and when he began speaking again,

Jenny sensed his words were meant more for the crew of the

Centurion than for his own officers. "I

ask each one of you to remember what it is we

are here to do. Tenara has asked for our help

against the M'dok, but we must be sure that is

all we give them. Neither Starfleet nor the

Tenarans themselves desire a permanent

Starfleet presence here; our goal must be

to aid the Tenarans.

"We're not here for a war, after all. We're

here to prevent one."

Chapter Four

The following morning, security personnel

from both starships began setting up defenses

on Tenara.

Jenny de Luz supervised the team from the

Enterprise, which went quietly and

efficiently to work, establishing their camp and

setting up perimeter security. They brought

down no weapons heavier than phasers,

intending to familiarize the Tenarans with these before

bringing down the ground-based defenses.

In contrast, when the crew members from the

Centurion landed a few hundred meters

away, they spilled out and hit the ground in

defensive positions in an elaborate show of

force, maintaining their positions for several

minutes, glaring out at the unoffending

scenery. Then, at some unheard signal, they

spread out their perimeter and started unloading

weapons shocking in both quantity and type

phaser rifles, tripod-mounted phaser

cannon, and other implements of mass

destruction Jenny had thought long ago

mothballed at Starfleet headquarters against the

worst of eventualities.

She cheered up when she saw Gaius

Aldus.

She saluted him casually as he

approached; he returned her greeting with a

technically perfect stiff-armed Roman

salute.

"I'm a bit ... surprised at the

magnitude of your efforts, Command er," she said

curiously, watching the Magni Romani work

busily in squads of ten. That, too, she

felt, should mean something to her.

"All is as our captains have ordered," he

told her.

"Indeed ..." She continued to look around.

The Centurion crew worked with the

well-drilled efficiency which she knew had

marked the ancient Roman soldiers on Earth

as well as soldiers from Gaius Aldus'

planet. How natural it seems to think of the

Magni Romani as soldiers instead of

simply Starfleet personnel, she thought

suddenly. They were setting up their heavy

weapons in a well-planned, deadly order,

capable of turning the surrounding area into several

square kilometers of shattered rock and

scorched dirt.

"But surely, Magister, it would have been

better to bring down the equipment slowly, to let

the Tenarans grow accustomed to it?" she asked.

"And if the worst happens? If the M'dok

attack in force and manage to break past the

starships to this planet?" Gaius shook his

head. "We Romans can't abide

defenselessness, Jenny. And by the way, when are

you going to start calling me by my name? Even

Romans aren't formal all the time."

She managed a small smile, but did not

reply. She went on watching the activities

of both the Enterprise and the Centurion

personnel--and watching Gaius Aldus out of the

corner of her eye.

She was less disturbed by the

attraction she felt to him as woman to man--that

would have been no more than she expected, for he was

pleasant and handsome--than by the kinship she sensed

between them, soldier to soldier.

Meramar is a martial world, she

reflected, and I am a true child of that world.

A knife was put into my hand as soon as my

fingers were large enough to close around the handle. But

I've turned my back on that for the Federation's

sake, and replaced death with life. ...

Haven't I?

She forced the discomfiting thought away and said,

"I notice that your people don't observe standard

Starfleet work patterns."

Gaius' smile transformed his normally

serious face, giving it an appealing warmth and

charm.

"Ah, the tens, you mean," Gaius said.

"Our ways worked so well for us, didn't

they?" Gave us dominion over our world.

"We're traditionalists in many areas.

Warfare is one of them."

"But Starfleet requires that all of its people

train in certain ways," Jenny began in

protest.

"And we abide by those regulations," Gaius

said promptly. He smiled again. "We

Romans have also always been very good at following

rules to the letter. However, we do train our people in

the Roman way as well."

"If it works," Jenny said doubtfully,

"then I suppose no one can object."

"Oh, yes, it works! Would you like to see how

well it works?"

"How do you mean?"

"I often lead our men in training sessions

on our holodeck. I'd be happy to have you

observe--or even participate, if you like."

The prospect seemed an echo of Jenny's

own upbringing, and for that very reason it both

attracted and repelled her. The invitation

seemed almost to be an offer of friendship, of

closeness, that she wasn't yet ready for. She

temporized by saying, "If I were to accept,

I think I'd be more interested in participating

than observing."

Gaius frowned uncertainly. "Too much

for a non-Roman," he muttered. He looked

her up and down carefully--an analytical

look, weighing and balancing, nothing

sexual in it. "Well, perhaps. Yes, I can

see ..." He broke off, blushing suddenly.

"Forgive me. I wasn't thinking. You'd be

welcome. In fact, we'd be honored to have you

there."

So now the onus was on Jenny. Too

soon! she thought, touched by panic. She had

always reacted to strong overtures of friendship or

affection by drawing back, and, unable to stop

herself, she did so now. She said abruptly,

"I'll let you know."

She turned away and walked rapidly

back to the Enterprise personnel, leaving

Gaius Aldus staring after her in surprise.

Far away from the Tenaran capital city,

invasion of an entirely different kind was taking

place.

On a hillside overlooking a bowl-shaped

valley, Marcus Julius Volcinius

paused to catch his breath. A creek meandered

through the valley, whose floor and sides were

covered with cultivated fields. To Marcus'

eye, untutored in agrarian matters, the

crop in those fields looked like what Magna

Romans called frumentum, grown high and

ready for harvesting. However, he realized that the

plant might be something else entirely, something

native to Tenara, and perhaps it was still at an

early stage of its growth cycle. Such concerns

were the province of farmers, not something an urban

patrician concerned himself with.

It would help to know, though, he told

himself, in order to open the conversation with these

peasants on a friendly level.

Boots would have been impractical on such

uneven ground, and armor out of the question in the warm

sunlight. Marcus congratulated himself on

having chosen sandals and a simple tunic.

Dressed this way, he was very comfortable. As always,

he was very pleased with himself.

Across the valley, a small village sat

near the top of one of the hills. It was well

above the limit of the cultivated fields, its

houses set close together so that they didn't

use up any of the arable land. Marcus nodded his

approval of such efficiency. The village was

his destination. He had beamed down just out of sight

of it but within easy walking distance.

Marcus turned and set out across the

brow of the hills that formed the sides of the

valley. He could have saved quite a bit of time and

distance by cutting across the valley, but that would have

taken him through some of the cultivated land. Such

peasants as these, Marcus knew, would be

angered by any damage to their crops.

At least that was the way it was on Magna

Roma these days. Spurred on by their initial

contact with the Federation, the old Imperial

Government had begun its sudden, yet

surprisingly peaceful transformation into the

Republic of today almost eighty years ago.

Around the time of his birth, the new Magna

Roman government had begun its serious push

for land reform. The latifundia, the great

estates of imperial days, had been broken

up and parceled out to people whose ancestors had been

serfs on those very latifundia. The

descendants of the serfs now farmed their own land,

and would not tolerate the presence of someone like

Marcus on that land. Membership in the

Volcinii gens, or any of the other great,

ancient clans, had once ensured the

terrified obedience of the serfs. Now it

guaranteed only the hatred of their

descendants.

In the valley, a swarm of people moved among

the rows of plants, bent over, searching for

weeds and pest damage. One of them noticed

Marcus and called out to him. The others

straightened and looked where their comrade was

pointing. Still immersed in his gloomy thoughts of the

current situation on his homeworld, Marcus

stiffened in momentary fear of the farmers.

Then he realized that they were waving at him in

normal Tenaran friendliness. He smiled

broadly at them, waved back, and continued

toward the village.

The village was empty, but the schoolhouse

was easy to find.

Once he was in the village, Marcus could

see that it consisted of houses arranged in a rough

circle around a larger building, which he knew

would be the combination meeting hall, saavta

assembly hall, and school.

All of the houses were one-story square

structures made of wood, with rounded roofs of

roughly woven dried grass. It was a

primitive design in Marcus' eyes, but

he had to admit that it probably

served well in the mild climate of these parts.

The central building, though, was two

stories high, fronted by a ground-level

porch. Marcus squinted upward and made out

individual wooden planks, each carefully

bent into a curve, so that together they formed the dome

of the roof. A lot of trouble to go to, he

thought. It graphically demonstrated how

important this building was to the Tenarans. That

pleased Marcus. It was a kinship. The

Senate of Magna Roma still met in the very

same stone building in the city of Rome that the

ancient Romans had used, long before their

empire had conquered their entire world. That

building had an almost religious significance

for Magna Romans, and here, in the care taken

with the saavta building in this obscure

village on Tenara, he saw the foundation of the

same mystical respect. Marcus nodded

approvingly and stepped onto the porch.

The ground floor consisted of one large

room, quite empty. Just like the village,

Marcus thought. All of the inhabitants must be

down in the valley tending to their crops. Then

he heard voices. To his right, he saw a

flight of stairs. He climbed it to the

second floor, moving a bit hesitantly,

still unsure of his reception.

The second floor was divided into four

rooms, only one of which was in use. A dozen

children sat on the floor or on chairs, or

leaned against the walls, listening with varying

degrees of interest to an older woman in the

center of the room.

Marcus stopped in the doorway,

unobserved, and listened for a while. The woman

was reciting a list of names in an almost singsong

voice.

Names to learn by rote, Marcus thought

scornfully. Peasant lore, passed down

orally to the next generation.

He stepped forward and cleared his throat.

The teacher stopped in mid-word and looked at

Marcus in confusion. "Yes? Who--"

But the children knew. Somehow, their grapevine

had carried to them word of the exciting visitors from

space. "He's from Starfleet!" one of them

shouted, and then they all rushed at Marcus,

grinning eagerly.

He was alarmed again for a moment, but

held his ground and smiled at the children.

They surrounded him, fingering the machine-made

cloth of his tunic with awe, and showering him with

questions. He could hardly make out a word they were

saying.

"One at a time," he laughed. "Please!"

The teacher's voice cut through the babble.

"Children! Show some manners!" When their voices

quieted, she said to Marcus, "Are you lost,

sir? Can we help you find your way somewhere?"

Marcus grinned happily. This is so

easy! "No, actually I'm right where I

wanted to be. I'm here to help you teach."

"Help me teach?" she repeated in

bewilderment.

"Oh, yes." He held up the small hand

computer he had brought with him from the

Centurion. "With your permission, I thought

I'd give your students a short course in

Roman history."

The happy shouts of the children drowned out the

teacher's confused protests and were all the

encouragement Marcus needed. Tenara had a

long way to go, and Marcus Julius

Volcinius was here to guide it in the right

direction.

The day's work had been long and physically

exhausting. Jenny was glad when the last of the

equipment was beamed down, and the temporary

shelters for the Enterprise personnel set

up.

Again, by way of contrast, the Centurion's

personnel had beamed down prefabricated

building blocks, which they quickly assembled into a

barracks that resembled nothing so much as an armed

fortress to Jenny, and (from the shocked

expressions on their faces) to the group of

Tenarans accompanying her.

This last part of Jenny's day was the most

exhausting; not physically, but mentally. She was

taking Chairman Melkinat and the other members

of the Great Saavta on a brief tour of the

ground-based defense installations the Magna

Romans were setting up. There were about thirty of

them altogether, walking behind her. Even as she

spoke, pointing out each weapon and detailing

its capabilities, she could sense the

Tenarans' distaste and see the way they cringed from

the machines she was showing them.

Commander Riker was right, she thought. I

don't think these people are ready for this.

Jenny turned to them. "Look, I know you

don't really approve of all of this, but

we're doing it to protect you from further

M'dok attacks. If you really don't

want any of these devices"--she swept her

arm out to indicate the entire collection of

weapons and the crews manning them--"you can just

tell us to take them away and leave, and we will.

This is your world, and we're only here

by invitation."

She'd spoken perhaps more plainly than she'd

intended--the Tenarans seemed to sense the

annoyance in her voice and backed away from

her.

Melkinat stepped forward from the pack and said

gently, "Don't distress yourself on our

account, Ensign de Luz. We all understand the

need for these weapons, and we appreciate the

efforts of your two ships to help us." He

turned to the other Tenarans, who added their loud

assurances to his.

The chairman continued, "Please don't

misinterpret our distaste for disapproval,

Ensign. It's just ... well, difficult for

us."

He drew a deep breath and pointed at the

phaser-mounted cannon the Centurion's

crew had transported down. "These are very

powerful devices. You say they can detect a

ship in space as soon as it approaches

Tenara, and if necessary, even destroy it while

it's still in space. If that's so, then why do

you--I mean, we--need any other installations

than this one? I know you plan to place similar

devices elsewhere on Tenara."

"Because of blind spots, sir," Jenny said.

The Tenarans looked puzzled. "You see,"

she explained, "none of these weapons we have here

can fire through a planet, so that means that an

enemy--a raider, I should say--can approach

in Tenara's shadow, in other words, from such a

direction that the planet itself shields the ship from

the weapons. This means that even though the

satellite system we plan to set up can

detect a raider approaching from any

direction, the weapons may not be able to fire

on it. So we plan--with your permission, of

course--to establish similar

collections of weapons across Tenara's land

surfaces and on rafts out at sea, so that no

matter which direction the M'dok try

to approach from, they can still be kept away."

"All over the world?" one of the Tenarans

repeated. This was an older woman, her hair

pure white and thinning, who had earlier been

introduced to Jenny as Anka. "I had

hoped," Anka went on, "that we could limit

the exposure of our people to these devices, but if

they're everywhere, then that becomes impossible,

doesn't it?"

"I suppose it's the price we have to pay

to protect our world, Anka," Melkinat said

sadly, his distress evident.

"The price is not worth paying,

Chairman."

The loud grumblings that followed her words

indicated that a great many of her fellow

Tenarans agreed with her.

"We have been over this before," Melkinat said.

"The vote was to defend our world--not to die like

cattle."

Anka glared at him. "I call for another

vote, then."

Jenny saw that the Tenarans had split

into two factions--factions rapidly moving

apart from each other. The smaller group consisted

of Melkinat and the other members of the Central

Council. The larger group, about two dozen

people, included Anka and those Great Saavta

members who were not part of the Central Council.

Jenny tried to defuse the situation. "Our

presence here is a deterrent, one we hope will

shortly become unnecessary. If we can convince the

M'dok to stop these raids--"

"And if you can't?" A member of Anka's

faction, a slender, bearded man with a

surprisingly deep voice, moved to the front

of the pack. "What then?"

"We have every hope that we will be able to."

Jenny knew as soon as she spoke how weak

her answer sounded.

"I have another question for you, Melkinat,"

Anka demanded. "What happens when the

Federation leaves? Who will man these weapons

then?"

The grumbling from the people behind her grew even

louder.

Melkinat stepped in front of

Jenny and stood face-to-face with Anka.

To his credit, he did not try to dodge the

issue. "If the Federation leaves, we will have

to man the weapons."

"Never!" she said.

"It is that or perish," Melkinat said

simply.

"Better to die with our principles intact

than to become killers ourselves," Anka said.

"Anka's right!" Yet another member of the

older woman's faction spoke up now. "These

weapons must not stay here!"

Jenny shouted for quiet, but few of the

Tenarans could hear her over their own noise.

Several did turn their attention her way,

though, their faces red and their fists raised.

Suddenly Jenny realized these peaceful people were

just as capable of violence as anyone else. It

was just a matter of finding the right trigger--and she

seemed to have found it.

With outward calm she raised her hand slowly

to the communicator contained in the insignia on

her chest. But then she stopped. The Tenarans were

looking at each other, trying to draw the

courage to make the first irretrievable move.

The air was electric with tension, with the

potential of violence. Jenny feared that her

call to the Enterprise to beam her up would

trigger it. She might get hurt--or lose

control and hurt some of the Tenarans.

And then came the familiar sound of a

transporter. The open space around Jenny

began to fill with gold-shirted security

troops. The Tenarans scuttled backward.

Jenny sighed in relief and dropped her

hand. How did the Enterprise know I

needed help?

And then something odd struck her about this

security force in addition to the normal

equipment, each one wore a short sword at

his waist. Why, they're Magna Romana!

They aren't from the Enterprise at all.

They're from the Centurion.

A stocky figure pushed his way through the

security cordon to her side. "Are you all

right, Jenny?"

She laughed. "Just fine, Gaius. The

Roman cavalry arrived in the nick of time."

Gaius Aldus smiled in return.

"Romans have always believed in

punctuality."

The Tenarans had retreated still further while

Jenny and Gaius Aldus spoke. Now they

were gathered in a group at a distance, acting like

small children aware of their guilt. Melkinat

approached the watchful Magna Roman force

hesitantly.

"It's all right," Jenny called out.

"Let them through."

The security forces parted, forming a

corridor through which the two Tenarans walked

nervously, their eyes flicking from side

to side. Jenny waited for them without

expression.

Melkinat licked his lips and said,

"Ensign, I can't tell you how sorry I

am that this happened."

"I know you are," Jenny said. "Melkinat,

take your people back to Zhelnogra. I'm

sure Captain Picard will be in contact with

you."

Gaius Aldus gestured, and the security

troops parted again for Melkinat to pass through.

Jenny and Gaius could see Melkinat

talking to the other Tenarans earnestly. The

group gestured frequently toward the Magna

Roman security force, then broke up and

headed back toward the handful of old ground

vehicles into which they had crowded for the long trip

from Zhelnogra. They jammed themselves back

into the vehicles and began the trip home.

Jenny hesitated, then gestured for Gaius

to walk a short distance away with her. When she

was sure they were out of earshot of the others, she said

to him, "Do you know what one of the Tenarans told

me today?"

Gaius shook his head.

"There hasn't been a crime recorded on

Tenara in three hundred years. Nothing--

murder, robbery, and certainly not riot. And

yet look what almost happened here."

Gaius shrugged. "Tenara was lucky. It was

isolated from the rest of the Galaxy and hence from

reality. The ancestors of these people came from

Earth, just like yours did. They're no different

from you genetically. They're not some superior

life form. So now reality has appeared, and

they're reacting to it in a normal human

way."

Jenny shook her head

impatiently. "That's not what I meant.

You're right their isolation is over, and they're

going to have to pay a price for that. But that's not the

inevitable result of contact with the rest of the

Galaxy. There're plenty of worlds where it

doesn't happen at all!"

Gaius smiled grimly. "Perhaps, not having

tasted of it earlier, the Tenarans are unusually

susceptible to violence."

Jenny shook her head again. "No! It's as

if it's some sort of virus that we brought with us

from the outside."

"You're wrong, Jenny," Gaius insisted.

He looked at her face, noted the lines of

weariness. "You're tired," he said gently.

"You've been working nonstop all day. You need

a rest."

Jenny managed a smile. "I think you're

right about that."

The two were silent a moment.

Jenny was suddenly aware of her proximity

to Gaius and turned to look at the sun setting

over the valley. The sunsets she remembered

from Meramar were unexceptional. Darkness came

swiftly to the perpetually overcast sky, as if

the sun were simply switched off.

Not so on Tenara, where the sun was dimming

reluctantly and going out in a blaze of rich

blues and purples. As Jenny watched, the

purples turned to reds and golds, and she

felt the cares of the last few hours leave her.

For now, she was content to stand and watch the sun's

last rays play out over the trees of the

valley.

It almost looks like Paradise--except

for the weapons we've brought down here.

As if he'd been reading her thoughts,

Gaius spoke. "This is such a beautiful

world. Why don't you go out and enjoy it?"

"I'd like to," Jenny said.

And then, before she could stop herself, she thought

Before we change it forever.

Chapter Five

Captain Jean-Luc Picard studied the

satellite pattern depicted on the screen

before him. The web of satellites the

Enterprise and Centurion had set up

around Tenara over the last week was in

strict compliance with Starfleet regulations, and a

computer analysis of the resulting defense net

had given the satellites another mark of

approval.

Then why do I feel as if that is not

enough?

He glanced again at the pattern of the

satellites' orbits, examined the encryption

of the carrier waves of their sensors, and pored

over the mechanical stress readouts of their

casings. But they told him nothing new.

Not for the first time in the last week, he wished

someone other than Commander Riker had led the

away team to Tenara. He valued all his

staff officers, but missed his

second-in-command's input at moments like these

--when his instincts were at war with his training.

A soft beep sounded behind Picard.

"Incoming communication from the Centurion,

sir," Worf said.

"On-screen."

The picture of the Centurion, about one

hundred kilometers ahead of the Enterprise,

vanished from the main viewscreen and was replaced

by the stern features of Captain Sejanus.

"I have logged my approval of the

satellite-detection net," Sejanus said.

"If you will now add yours, Captain, our

engineers can begin powering up the system."

"I would like to run one further safety check

with my chief engineer, Captain," Picard

said. "If it meets with his approval, we'll

put the net on-line."

Sejanus frowned.

"I thought all safety checks had been

completed, Picard," the Centurion's

captain said, a trace of impatience in his

voice. "We need to have the system operating as

soon as possible."

"We need to have the system operating

safely, Captain," Picard said. "One more

check."

"Your caution is commendable," Sejanus

said, but he was clearly not pleased. "I leave

it to you to bring the system on-line. Centurion

out."

Picard opened a channel to engineering.

"Mr. La Forge, how are we doing?"

"All set on this end, sir. Just give the

word."

"Lieutenant Worf?" Picard asked,

swiveling in his command chair.

Worf studied his console. "According to my

readouts, the monitor system for the net is

functioning perfectly."

"Naturally," Geordi said, his voice

carrying a touch of amusement. "Did you

expect any less?"

"Excellent work, Mr. La Forge,"

Picard said.

"I didn't do it all myself, Commander. The

Centurion personnel had most of the basic

system already designed."

"Of course." Picard nodded. Over the

past few days, a team of engineers from the

Centurion had been working with the Enterprise

engineering personnel in the design and

implementation of the satellite-detection net.

And maybe that was the problem, he told himself.

Maybe he just didn't trust the work the

Centurion people were doing.

Ridiculous. He was letting the fact that

he was personally uncomfortable with Captain

Sejanus get in the way of his job.

"Congratulate them for me as well,

Lieutenant," Picard said. "Begin powering

up the satellite network."

"Right away, sir." Geordi hesitated

a moment, then spoke again. "Captain, what

about the exchange of technical personnel?"

Picard frowned. A few days ago,

Geordi had reported he'd been contacted

by Brutus Nothus, the chief engineer of the

Centurion, who had suggested that the two

ships exchange technical personnel

to facilitate the work on the satellite

network.

"Do you still think such an exchange would be

useful?" Picard asked.

"After the work they did here?" Geordi sounded

somewhat surprised by the question. "Captain,

they've put some security features on this

net that are light-years ahead of what we've

got. Plus, the phasers on the satellites

are all linked together in such a way that the

power-utilization curve is the most efficient

I've seen on a system this size. I'd

love the chance to find out more about how they pulled that

one off."

Of course, Picard thought.

Security interlocks, highly efficient

weapons systems--they would be expert at such

things.

"Such exchange of personnel is a

fairly common procedure, sir," Worf

said, "Regulations stipulate--"

"I know the regulations, Lieutenant,"

Picard said impatiently. He shook his

head. You're acting unreasonably. This

won't do, Jean-Luc! A bit of personal

animosity, and you behave in this silly way.

Come now! He could almost hear the voice of

Monsieur du Plessis quoting one of those

hoary old maxims he so favored Envy

is more irreconcilable than hatred.

Picard nodded. "Very well. Mr. La

Forge, contact Brutus Nothus and begin

bringing some of their people over here to work with your

subordinates."

"And what about sending some of our people over there,

Captain?"

Picard paused in thought, then said, "Not

yet." He closed the channel before Geordi

could question his reasons.

Sorry, monsieur, he thought. That's

as far as I feel able to go for now.

"That's as far as I'm going," Riker said.

He flopped down on a large boulder and

dropped the pack he was carrying beside him.

Gretna shook her head and studied the

valley floor below them.

"We'll be there in a half an hour, Will,"

she said.

"You said that half an hour ago." Riker

wiped the sweat from his brow and took a sip from the

canteen hanging on his belt. It was hot, and

he was glad to be wearing native clothing--

shorts, loose cotton shirt, and moccasins

--rather than the standard Starfleet uniform.

Otherwise, I'd have drained my canteen

about ten miles back.

Gretna sat down by his side and pulled

a roughly sketched map out of her knapsack.

"According to this, the village should be just past that

stream." She pointed down the valley at a

riverbed perhaps a mile distant. "A lot has

changed here over the last few years--that's how

I lost my bearings."

Riker knew what she meant. They

had passed evidence of the M'dok attacks

everywhere on their journey across the countryside--

patches of razed forest, the burned-out

remnants of a village--yet the land was

indescribably beautiful. They were journeying

across what was once Tenara's breadbasket, a

valley about four hundred miles outside

Zhelnogra. Their survey was intended to help

the Federation evaluate what the Tenarans needed

to rebuild their world and what aid they would

require, though from what Riker could see,

nature was capable of taking care of most of the

M'dok-inflicted scars herself.

"This is a beautiful country--better than

any holodeck illusion," Riker said

quietly.

"Better than any what?" Gretna

asked.

"Never mind," he said, shaking his head. It

would take a long time to explain the workings of the

holodeck. "All right," he said, climbing

to his feet. "A half-hour--but that steak you

promised me had better be as good as

advertised. Because I'm--"

"--starving," she said, smiling. "When we

reach Carda, you'll have the best food and drink

the inn can provide--I promise you."

Gretna, he had discovered, had lived in this

part of Tenara for a few years, before moving back

to the capital where she'd been born. He had

discovered many things about her over the last few

days--none of which were lessening the powerful

attraction he had felt at their first meeting.

"Look." Riker pointed. A thin plume

of smoke was visible just past the river below.

"That's Carda," Gretna said. "Come

on."

About twenty minutes later they came to a

small clearing and a group of five or ten

buildings.

The M'dok had obviously been here as

well. Carda was a ruin.

"Oh, no," Gretna said.

There were ten people gathered on the front steps

of the largest building, talking among themselves.

One by one, they fell silent as Gretna and

Riker approached.

One man, short and balding, detached himself

from the crowd and stepped forward to meet them.

"It's Larten," she said

quietly. "He was the leader of the saavta

here."

As the man drew closer, Riker could see

he walked with a slight limp. There was also a

scar (fairly recent, from the look of it),

running down one side of his neck, and his eyes

were hollow and sunken, as if he hadn't slept

for days.

"Gretna," he asked calmly, "what do

you want here?"

She stopped in her tracks, dumbfounded.

"What do I want here?" she asked. "I

came to see you, to help you."

The man stepped back and eyed Riker--and in

particular the tricorder he held--with a

mixture of suspicion and resentment.

"What's he doing here?" Larten said.

"Larten, what's the matter with you?"

Gretna asked, bewilderment showing on her

face. "Is this how you treat guests now? Is

this how you treat me?"

"We don't want him or his weapons

here," he said coldly. "And if you're with him,

we don't want you here either!"

"I don't understand. What--"

"Sari is dead because of people like him!" Larten

shouted, his face red. "Our homes are gone--

and you ask for welcome?"

"He is nothing like the ones who destroyed your

village, Larten," Gretna said.

"He has weapons like theirs!" Larten said.

"Now, go!"

Behind him, the other men stepped forward, forming a

line behind Larten.

"I think we'd better do as he says,"

Riker said quietly. "Come on."

Speechless, Gretna let him lead her

away from the village.

"What's the matter with them?" she asked.

"They're angry and upset, Gretna. I

can't really blame them, after what's happened."

"They're acting like children!" she said.

"To blame the Federation for what's happened here

..."

Riker shook his head. "As I recall from

my briefings, a certain Gretna

Melkinata was also once strongly against a

Federation presence on this world."

"But not now."

"I'm glad about that," Riker said.

"Otherwise, you might have deliberately lost

me in the forest."

"Please don't joke about it, Will!" she

said. "These are all my friends, and I did

side with them--before the attacks, before I saw

everything the Federation had to offer us." She was

silent a moment. When she looked up, her

eyes were full of tears. "Before I met you."

Will Riker didn't know what to say to that. But

he did know what to do.

Setting down his pack, he took her in his

arms and kissed her.

It had been inevitable that Jenny would

accept.

Counting herself, there were ten of them lined up in

front of the holodeck entrance, with Gaius

Aldus leading the line. Decurion, she

thought suddenly, wondering if it was a reference from

some Roman history course she'd had or

simply a rank her mind had created.

She was also, she realized suddenly, the only

woman. She wondered briefly if the others

resented that, if they perceived her as an intrusion

into their fraternal structure. Any such

resentment, however, was being kept well hidden in

Gaius' presence.

Over the last few days Jenny had finally

gotten around to using his first name. And now she was

accepting his offer to train with the Magna

Romans.

Gaius faced them all briefly. "We will

be practicing scenario alpha

seven-point-three." From their faces Jenny

could see that the Magna Romans were all

intimately familiar with that scenario, whatever

it might be.

He continued. "Your weapons will be waiting for

you inside, as usual. We will move in two

finger-fives. Felicitas." He turned

back to the door and said, "Holodeck entrance,

open."

The doors slid aside smoothly,

revealing a dense forest. As always, Jenny was

amazed at the accuracy and detail of the

simulation. She could smell the leaves, and at

the edge of her vision, something that might have been a

deer flashed by. She stared around her as they

moved inside.

"Holodeck entrance, close,"

Gaius said, and the incongruity disappeared,

leaving them apparently in a huge, nearly

trackless forest.

The Magna Romans bent down and picked

up objects from the ground, nodding their

approval. Jenny looked down and realized that

by her feet were a gladius, the Roman short

sword, and a sheaf of javelins. There were also a

small shield and a suit of armor made of

tough leather covered with riveted metal scales

--this would be quieter than the segmented plate

armor she had seen the Centurion personnel

wearing during the reception.

After a few seconds' study of the gear, she

began putting it on; there had been a time when

she had worn very similar equipment as a

second skin. The sword was shorter and

broader than those she was used to, the shape of the

shield slightly different. But these were minor

differences indeed, and she felt suddenly much more

confident as she looked around her, her hand

hovering over her sword hilt in a manner which

for years had been as natural to her as breathing.

The Magna Romans were moving into orderly

but not too rigid formations. Gaius ended up

next to her. "You're in my five," he said

quietly. "You know the finger-five?"

"As a starship tactic, not on the ground,"

she answered, equally low. "But I'm sure

I can adapt."

He smiled at her, then moved on to check

the rest of his troops. After two more minutes

he took his place at the head of the formation,

giving a subtle signal, and they began

moving.

As her eyes adapted to the dim light of the

forest, Jenny could see that it was not at all

trackless; faint trails, some animal, some

human, were apparent everywhere on the forest

floor. She had not the faintest idea where they

were going, but Gaius Aldus led the way with

surefooted confidence, and she kept formation as

best she could, summoning all her old

skills, stepping carefully to avoid noise.

What are we doing? she wondered as they

moved. Obviously this is some historical

military scenario, but when and where is it set?

What's our mission?

At a point where two trails diverged,

Gaius gave a curious signal which

Jenny was quite sure was not Starfleet regulation,

and the group halted. At another signal, the

second finger-five darted off into the woods

along one of the trails, while Gaius' group

knelt down, moving slowly and carefully

into positions of concealment.

"Now what?" Jenny asked him, whispering.

"Wait."

Soon she heard a group coming along the

trail, laughing and talking in a language she

did not understand. It sounded like Earth's modern

German, but she could make out no words.

Before the group came in sight, there was the sound

of a quick movement from the direction in which the other

group of Magna Romans had gone. The

laughter from up the trail changed to shouts and

screams.

Then there was the sound of metal striking

metal, and finally the unknown group came in

sight, falling back in ragged array as the

Magna Romans threw javelins at them and,

in some cases, closed in for hand-to-hand combat,

thrusting with their swords to deadly effect.

There were about twenty of them, tall, strongly

built men wearing animal skins and carrying

spears or long swords of a material that

looked like bronze. Two had apparently been

carrying a slain deer; as Jenny watched, they

dropped the animal and drew their swords.

Though the Magna Romans were severely

outnumbered, they fought in a disciplined group,

holding a line and covering each other, while their

opponents apparently lacked any such

organization. The enemy tried to turn the fight

into a series of single combats, but the tactic was

failing miserably.

Jenny started to rise, but Gaius grabbed

her arm in an almost painful grip. "Wait!"

Then he scuttled away on his belly to a

different vantage point, watching the fray

intently.

The other Magna Romans were herding their

opponents, Jenny realized then, driving them

toward the positions held by Gaius' five.

Gaius waited until they were about five

meters from the concealed positions, and then rose and

shouted, "Cast!"

Almost as one, the Magna Romans hurled

their javelins, taking the tall barbarians

completely by surprise. Even as she

straightened her powerful arm, casting her last

javelin, Jenny flinched a bit from the sight;

their opponents might be only holodeck

simulations, but the blood was very red and had a

startlingly accurate odor, while the screams

of the wounded sounded painfully real.

But adrenaline rushed into her system and then

there was no time to think at all. The barbarians

were undisciplined but brave, and Jenny found

herself face-to-face with one, a mightily

built man with a shaggy blond beard, who

slashed at her wildly with his bronze sword.

She knocked the blow aside easily with her

buckler and thrust for his face. He jumped

back, and she saw a new respect come

into his eyes.

His next attack was cannier, a feint at

her belly and a slash for her throat, but that,

too, she blocked, feeling the old excitement

and exhilaration of hand-to-hand combat, and thrust

straight in for his stomach, low and vicious.

His sword was too high to block, and they were

too close for him to jump back; she thrust the

sword in and up, driving the sharp blade deep

into his vitals, and he dropped his sword,

sucking in a last breath in a strangled

half-gasp as blood gouted from his mouth.

She pulled her sword out of the crumpling

body, staring around wildly, but the battle was

over. The barbarians lay "dead" on the

ground, already shimmering around the edges as the

holodeck dissolved their "bodies."

One of the Magna Romans was lying on the

ground, very still, and another one was doubled over in

agony, his face white as he held on to a

realistic-looking spear that had apparently been

driven through his abdomen. He was making odd

noises, as though he was trying to scream but

couldn't make the proper muscles work.

Before Jenny had a chance to react, Gaius

said sharply, "Holodeck, open exit.

Simulation, end."

The door opened before them, and the forest scene

disappeared, along with Jenny's weapons and

equipment. Only she and the Magna Romans

were left, standing on a bare holodeck--but the

injured personnel were still not moving, and the

rapidly spreading pools of blood under them were

undeniably real.

Gaius rushed to the other side of the

corridor, slapping his hand against a computer

panel. "Medical to holodeck," he said

urgently. "Two critical."

"On our way," said an answering voice,

and then all was silent except for the horribly

labored breathing of the man with the abdominal wound.

The medics were there in seconds, quickly but

gently lifting the two men onto flotation

stretchers and moving them into the turbolift.

Jenny collapsed against the wall, breathing

hard. "Gaius, those men ..."

Gaius put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Marius should be all right. Julius ..."

He shrugged.

She looked at him, swallowing hard against the

sourness in the back of her throat, trying

to understand. "The safety interlocks aren't

supposed to let things like that happen!"

He shook his head. "My captain had the

interlocks taken out of the programming. It's

entirely possible to die when using our

holodeck."

"Now you tell me," she whispered, breaking

away from him. Then she was running, sprinting

down the corridor toward the transporter.

Confused feelings coursed through her. She was

appalled by what she had witnessed. Yet, she

still felt a tingle of excitement at the memory

of fighting side by side with Gaius.

The only thing she was sure of was her desire

to get back to the Enterprise, where she could

sort through her confusion in peace.

Chapter Six

But Jenny found no serenity aboard the

Enterprise.

There was only one thing to do. She made an

appointment to see Counselor Deanna

Troi.

Deanna listened to Jenny's story, keeping

a straight face with some difficulty. When

Jenny finished, Deanna said, "Jenny, have you

ever been in love before?"

"No, not really. I ... Before? What do you

mean, before?"

"I mean that you're in love this time."

"But, Counselor, how can that be? That

doesn't make any sense!"

"Often it doesn't, although in this

case I think it does. You and Gaius

Aldus have so much in common--background,

training, interests. You're a very attractive

woman."

"I am?" Jenny said in surprise.

Deanna laughed. "Yes, you are. And

Gaius is a very attractive man."

"Oh, he is!" Jenny said

enthusiastically. "And he's both an

excellent soldier and a serious student of the

theater, and he's so ... so--"

"I'm sure he is," Deanna said

dryly. "So you have a great deal in common, as

I said. When you and I were part of the group on the

Centurion for that banquet, I could sense the

physical attraction between the two of you."

Jenny blushed. "Yes," she muttered.

"I'd never experienced anything quite like it."

"And," Deanna continued, "since then,

you've been thrown together often because of the work you're

doing. I would be more surprised if nothing had

come of it."

Jenny looked at her eagerly. "So you

think it's all right, then?"

Deanna laughed. "Perfectly all right,

Jenny. I don't know why you think you need my

permission, but you have it."

Jenny left with a happy glow, but Deanna

sat back to think about more practical matters,

which Jenny had not raised. What if this romance

did progress, and the two decided to marry?

Starfleet had a policy of posting married

couples to the same ship, but in this case, which

ship would it be? Would Gaius Aldus be

willing to leave the service of his captain and

lifelong friend? On the other hand, would Jenny be

happy if she accepted service under Captain

Sejanus on a ship full of Magna

Romans?

When the communicator in his cabin whistled,

Picard was trying once again to take a nap.

Why do I bother? He forced himself to his

feet. "Picard here."

"Lieutenant Worf, Captain. I'd like

to speak to you."

"Fine. I'm on my way."

"No, sir," the Klingon said quickly.

"I'm not on the bridge. I'd like to come to your

quarters if I may."

Klingon personal problems? Life just

refuses to get simpler. "Certainly,

Mr. Worf. I'll be waiting for you."

But it wasn't exactly a personal

problem that Worf wanted to discuss.

When he showed up a few minutes later,

he stood in the doorway looking self-effacing

and nervous.

"Come in, Mr. Worf," Picard said with a

touch of impatience, "and let the poor door

close."

"Sir." Worf stepped in quickly. He

waited for the door to slide shut behind him, then

said abruptly, "I'd like to be assigned to the

surface, sir."

Picard was not entirely surprised, but he

pretended to be. He gestured to one of the two

well-padded armchairs, and when Worf had sat

down, Picard said, "Your role aboard the

ship is essential, Lieutenant."

The Klingon shook his head. "I don't

believe so, sir. I have subordinates who

are quite capable of handling my shipboard tasks for

extended periods. In this case, I feel

I'm needed on Tenara."

"Are you saying, Mr. Worf, that Ensign

de Luz is not capable of handling the job

we've assigned to her down there? Remember that

it was on your recommendation that she was given that

job."

"I did not overestimate her ability,

Captain," Worf said, his pride in his

subordinate quite apparent. "But I think we

did underestimate the task itself."

"According to de Luz's reports, the

defensive installations are all in place and

properly manned. Commander Riker is

supervising other teams from the Enterprise and the

Centurion, helping the Tenarans improve

their agriculture, transportation, education,

and communication. In short, Lieutenant, I

can't see what precisely you feel you can

contribute. I must also tell you that I'm

uncertain about how the Tenarans will react to you.

They're not exactly a cosmopolitan people with a

wide experience of alien cultures and beings."

Worf almost smiled. "You're afraid

I'll terrify them, sir?"

Picard did smile. "In fact, yes."

"That's exactly why I want to go

down there, Captain. What I can do--what

Jenny de Luz and the others don't have the time

to do--is teach the Tenarans how to defend themselves

against personal attack by M'dok. In other

words, the sort of attack that Quillen told

you about. Most of the Tenarans are too peaceful

to defend themselves under any circumstances, but some

of them react differently. Remember the crowd

of Tenarans who almost attacked Jenny,

Captain. They have the capacity to fight and

defend themselves.

"They'll find me frightening, menacing. But if

I can train some of them to defend themselves against

me, to fight back if I pretend to attack

them. Then they can do it against M'dok too. And

those Tenarans I train can be dispersed across the

planet to teach the methods, in case of another

M'dok ground attack."

Picard sighed deeply. An army of

Tenarans trained in personal combat by a

Klingon and dispersed across the planet, he

thought. What are we doing to the nature of

Tenaran society?

Centuries ago on Earth, a soldier had

reported to his superior, in all seriousness,

"We had to destroy the village in order

to save it, sir." That episode had stood

since then as symbolic of the folly of which

military organizations were capable. Would

future generations read about Captain

Jean-Luc Picard's destruction of a

society's pacifist nature in order

to save it? And if so, would Picard be

remembered not only for that folly, but also as the

man who had corrupted the nature of

Starfleet itself by betraying its own peaceful

ideals?

Picard looked up at Worf. "Your

arguments have force," he said. "But at this time,

I cannot advocate--"

"Captain Picard, to the bridge,"

Data's voice came over the communicator.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"We have picked up two M'dok ships

approaching Tenara."

"Computer verifies that they are both M'dok

attack craft, on a direct atmospheric

entry trajectory," Worf said.

"Full energy to screens,"

Picard snapped. "Red-alert status.

Contact Centurion and warn them, just in

case--"

"They've just contacted us with the same warning,

sir," Worf interrupted. "And put up their

own shields," he added.

Picard smiled slightly. "Worf, be

ready to fire on the M'dok ships as soon as

they come into phaser range--but only at low

power. I want to warn them away, not damage

them."

Worf's face remained impassive as his

fingers played over the tactical console.

"Yes, sir."

The M'dok ships drew rapidly closer.

Picard stood up and stepped forward, as if the

few steps he took toward the main

viewscreen were bringing him closer to the M'dok.

"Open a hailing channel," he ordered.

"Channel open, sir." It was Data, at

the ops console, rather than Worf at

tactical, who replied. The android had

switched control over subspace communications

to his own console, freeing Worf for any coming

action.

"This is Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the

USS Enterprise. You are about to enter an

area we have classified as a red zone. I must

ask what your intentions are."

Seconds passed with no reply. On the

main viewscreen the spidery shapes of the two

M'dok ships became clearly visible.

"At the limits of phaser range, sir,"

Worf said. "And they've raised their

shields."

"No change in course?"

"No, sir." This time it was an Andorian

named Hjalmar Foch at the conn. "Still headed

directly for atmospheric entry. Suggest

we fire soon, sir."

"M'dok ships, this is Captain Picard.

Your actions are clearly hostile. You must

withdraw from the red zone. I am empowered

by Starfleet Command to enforce this order with whatever

action I deem necessary."

Still there was no reply. Picard said,

"M'dok ships, if you do not withdraw immediately,

we will be forced to open fire." He turned

to Foch and said, "Mr. Foch, at my order,

one-second burst at each ship, with

all phasers at lowest power."

"Aye, sir," the young Andorian said with an

eagerness that disturbed Picard.

Worf said, "M'dok ships continuing their

approach, Captain."

"Fire phasers," Picard growled.

"Why?" he muttered to himself. "They must know

by now that we can destroy them if we have to."

He was oblivious of the whoosh of the

turbolift doors, which opened to admit

Counselor Deanna Troi to the bridge.

She made her way to her usual seat.

On the viewscreen, two brilliant

beams of light speared across the blackness of

space, obscuring the starfield as the computer

controlling the visual display instantly lowered

the illumination level to compensate for the bright

flash. The beams diverged slightly, vanishing

into what was, to the human eye, empty

space.

"Two direct hits," Worf said

calmly. "No damage to either ship."

Foch said, "Both changing course now,

sir." There was a strained silence on the

bridge, during which the computer collected

sensor readings on the two M'dok ships.

Finally Foch said, "Projection is that they're

transferring to geosynchronous orbit, sir."

Picard pursed his lips. "Interesting.

Raise our own orbit to geosynchronous,

Ensign. We'll keep them in line of sight.

And, Mr. Data, keep trying to contact

them."

"Yes, sir. Captain Sejanus has

requested that you speak with him, sir. As soon

as you're free, he said."

"I'm ready now, Data."

"Yes, sir."

Sejanus filled the main viewscreen,

replacing the two M'dok ships. "Well

done, Captain. But why fire your phasers with

no intent to damage or destroy the target?"

Picard rose and stood before the main

viewscreen, dwarfed by Sejanus' face, the

image of which filled the screen. But even though

the image made Sejanus seem like a giant

towering over the merely human Jean-Luc

Picard, the Earthman met those giant eyes

and held them in a contest of equals.

Watching, Troi was struck by the

way any meeting between the two men, whether

face-to-face or by means of electronic

imaging, always contained an element of

confrontation. They're too much the same,

she thought. The same, but different. There's

always mutual respect, but also a contest of

wills--brothers and rivals.

"I choose to appeal to their intelligence and

good sense," Picard said. "If they make

any move to attack Tenara, the Enterprise

will be within phaser range. That will force them

to keep up their shields, which will prevent them from

either launching a shuttle toward the surface of

Tenara or beaming anyone down to the planet."

"Stalemate," Sejanus said.

Picard nodded. "That's all that's really

needed, Captain. The M'dok will realize that

it's pointless to stay here in hopes of eluding us

and they'll leave, carrying that message back with

them."

"Well-thought-out," Sejanus said. "Te

saluto." I salute you. "Not how a

Roman would approach the problem, but I

believe it is a worthwhile strategy."

The giant face faded away, and the

Enterprise bridge crew saw the seemingly

empty starfield once again.

Picard relaxed. Only now did he

realize how tense he had been during his

conversation with Sejanus. "Magnification," he

called out. "Let's keep an eye on those

ships."

The viewscreen display rippled, and then

both M'dok ships appeared. The blurring of

deflector shields surrounded both.

Picard nodded in satisfaction. "They're

not taking any chances. Well, that's what we

want. Conn, what's our trajectory

relative to theirs?"

"Transfer to geosynchronous orbit under

way, sir," Foch replied.

"Mr. Worf, constant surveillance of

both M'dok ships. I want no

surprises."

"Yes, Captain." Worf was hesitant

to speak out on the subject troubling him, but he

forced himself to do so. "Captain, may I ask a

question?"

"Of course, Lieutenant."

"Sir, Captain Sejanus

seemed to be advocating a direct attack

on the M'dok ships. It would be possible

to follow that advice without causing death or

injury to the M'dok, but rather just enough damage

to frighten them away from Tenara. As it stands,

we're tying down the manpower and scientific

resources of the Enterprise just to keep these

two ships under surveillance."

Picard was impatient. "Your question,

Lieutenant?"

"Why don't we attack them, sir?"

"Because of who we are, Lieutenant."

Unsatisfactory as that answer might be,

for the moment it would have to do. Before Worf could say

anything else, Picard turned to Deanna

Troi. "Counselor, can I see you in the

ready room?"

"Of course, Captain." The Betazoid

followed Picard off the bridge. When the

door had shut behind them, cutting them off from the

sight and hearing of the crew, she said,

"Captain, you seem as worried about Captain

Sejanus as you are about the M'dok."

Picard bristled. "I asked you in here

to obtain your opinion, Counselor," he

snapped, "not to have you analyze me!"

Almost immediately, he apologized. "Sorry.

You're right, of course."

He went behind his desk and fell into his

chair. He gestured toward a chair facing the

desk, and Troi sat down. Though she moved

far more gracefully than the captain had, her

tension and fatigue almost matched his, because at

such close quarters, she felt almost

overwhelmed by the powerful negative emotions

Picard was transmitting.

He said, "I need to be sure that I'm

following the best tactics."

Deanna gestured helplessly. "I can't

advise you on that, Captain."

"No, no, of course not," he said quickly.

"Nor would I want you to try. Someone said a

long time ago that if a starship captain has

to order his ship to fire on another ship, then

he's already failed in his mission. I suppose

that's only a generalization, but you know what they

say about generalizations."

"No, Captain. What do they say?"

Picard smiled suddenly. "That no

generalization is worth a damn,

including this one." His expression grew grim

once more. "The choice not to fire on an enemy

can be as momentous as the choice to fire. Either can

lead to war, either can result in the destruction of a

civilization. It's not a morally simple

question."

"Few moral questions are simple,"

Deanna observed.

Picard grunted. Then he said, "I grew

up surrounded by cats."

The remark might have seemed irrelevant

to anyone else, but Deanna sensed its

significance, and she waited patiently.

"My parents were unusual in that way." He

smiled at the memory. "Some of our

neighbors thought they were eccentric. Anyway,

they loved both cats and dogs, but cats

especially. I grew to love the beasts too,

despite the way the creatures destroyed my

belongings." He looked at Troi sharply.

"I don't mean that I'm confusing the M'dok

with the pets I remember from childhood."

"I understand that, Captain. Go on,

please."

"What always struck me," Picard said,

"was the way our cats watched me to see

whether or not I was watching them. As long as they

knew I was observing them, they behaved themselves.

However, as soon as they thought my attention was

directed elsewhere, they would head straight for

my room and tear things up. That trait, the

M'dok share with them not exactly deviousness,

but rather an aptitude for finding the moment when our

attention is diverted. So I want the

M'dok to know that we're watching them constantly

--that our eyes are not directed elsewhere."

"But you worry about leaving Captain

Sejanus behind by himself," Troi concluded.

Picard nodded, mildly surprised at his

counselor's intuition. "It's absurd I

should feel this way! The man's a Starfleet

captain with a brilliant record, commanding a

Starfleet ship. And yet I find myself

reacting as though he were something else

entirely."

"As you know, Captain, I cannot read

minds," Deanna said carefully. "I can't

tell you what Captain Sejanus actually

thinks, sir. All I can do is sense

feelings, emotions, attitudes--

none of which, I'm afraid, can tell you any more

than you already know."

Picard nodded wordlessly.

"The line-of-sight view between ships is

psychologically important in sensitive

security situations," Picard said

obliquely. "Every starship captain knows that.

With Enterprise in geosynchronous orbit and

Centurion in standard parking orbit,

Sejanus will be out of our direct view

roughly two-thirds of the time." He said no more,

but he radiated unhappiness and worry.

"Sir, something puzzles me," Deanna

said. "After their previous attack ended in the

destruction of their ship, why have the M'dok

tried to attack Tenara again? Surely they can

see it's pointless."

"It would be pointless for us," Picard

replied. He sat on the corner of his desk

and stared in thought at the wall opposite. On

it was a small framed photograph of Mont

St. Michel at high tide, bathed in

brilliant sunlight. The ancient monastery

had been a favorite of the Picard family

during Jean-Luc's childhood, a place

they had visited frequently, and usually he

found the photograph re/lly nostalgic.

This time, he didn't even see it. Instead,

he saw bloody images of M'dok raids

on peaceful farming villages.

Picard shook his head as if that could ward off

those terrible images. "The M'dok are a

different species. Completely different.

They do not reason as human beings do. All we

can do is observe their behavior and react to it

when necessary. To predict their behavior, we can

rely only on experience of their past

behavior, not upon logic or our familiarity

with our own ways of thinking."

All of this was of course elementary to

Deanna Troi, but she knew that Picard

wasn't really lecturing her. He was thinking out

loud, working his way toward some conclusion.

"Certain things are basic to all

creatures," he continued. "Hunger is one.

This famine in their empire is terribly

severe. It may be that the M'dok are mad with

hunger. Or they may feel humiliated by their

earlier defeat." He paused, then added with

trepidation in his voice, "Their

defeat at the hands of Captain Sejanus.

"The final possibility is that they may be

quite unaware of what happened to that other ship. It

may not have sent any kind of message back

home before Sejanus destroyed it. In which

ca se," Picard added, "Sejanus should not have

destroyed that ship. I'd much prefer that the

M'dok be warned and undertake no further

attacks."

"Captain Sejanus' own cultural

background may make it impossible for him

to see that," Deanna warned.

"Yes. That's what I'm afraid of."

Picard grimaced. "If only we knew more

about him ..." He snapped his fingers and pushed

a button on his desk.

"Mr. Data," Picard said.

The android's voice came over the

intercom. "Yes, sir?"

"I'd like you to research something for me in our

historical data base."

"Of course, Captain."

Picard paced slowly about in the wide

space between his seat and the operations console.

"I'm interested in knowing more about a clan on

Magna Roma called the Volcinii gens.

At least, I assume it's a clan; that's

what "gens" meant in ancient Latin.

I want to know about their past, their present, and

their cultural significance."

"I will do my best, sir," Data

replied.

"I know you will, Lieutenant." Picard

closed the channel and looked up at

Deanna. "Is there anything else,

Counselor?"

"Well ... yes, sir. It seems to me

that normally, with two ships like ours stationed together

this way, there'd be a great deal of fraternization

between the two crews. But with the Enterprise and the

Centurion, that has never happened. I was just

wondering if that was your decision or Captain

Sejanus'. If you don't mind my asking."

Picard grunted. "I do mind, but I've

found that you tend to ask anyway."

"Yes, sir. It's my duty."

"And your inclination?"

"Perhaps my nature, sir."

Picard smiled, then laughed. "Fair

enough, Counselor. The truth of the

matter is that I've not initiated any kind of

joint social activities between the crews, and

I've managed to avoid approving any

requests for such activities that have come my

way. I admit readily that my reasons

aren't based entirely on reason. I

respect Sejanus professionally, but I

dislike him personally. Admittedly, this is

an irrational basis for command decisions. I

must tell you that the Centurion hasn't made

any overtures to us for social events, either.

Perhaps Sejanus feels the same way toward

me. Is that the explanation you expected,

Counselor?"

"Pretty much," she admitted.

"Captain, I would like your permission

to initiate such activities with the Centurion

--on a limited basis."

"What do you suggest?"

"Well, first I'd like to visit the

Centurion, talk to their ship's counselor,

maybe Captain Sejanus as well."

"I can read your mind," Picard suggested with

some irony. "You want to visit the

Centurion and see what Sejanus is

really made of."

Deanna smiled. "I wish I could see

that much. But, yes, I would like to speak to him in

person to get more of a sense of his true self.

For a number of reasons, sir." She told

Picard about her meeting with Jenny.

"I would hate to lose an officer like de

Luz," Picard said.

"So do I have your permission to visit the

Centurion?"

"Very well, Deanna."

As she turned to go, Picard was suddenly

seized with the urge to tell her to be careful.

Ridiculous.

During the hours that followed, the

Enterprise kept a geosynchronous

orbit, with the two M'dok ships always within

direct line-of-sight sensor view. Under

Picard's standing orders, whenever either M'dok

ship dropped its shields, the Enterprise

increased the power to its own shields and

approached closer to the M'dok ship in question.

Each time, the M'dok responded by quickly

raising their shields again. As Picard

had intended, the M'dok could not use their

phasers or transporters, and their power

levels were slowly but steadily decreasing.

Sooner or later, Picard hoped, they would

give up and leave Tenaran space, headed for

home.

Or something else would happen.

"Civis Tenarus sum," the little boy

said carefully, frowning at the floor. Then he

looked up quickly at Marcus, seated in the

teacher's chair at the front of the classroom.

They were using the large room that occupied the

entire ground floor of the building. The

smaller rooms upstairs, intended as

classrooms, made Marcus feel somewhat

claustrophobic--and struck him as traps if

the locals turned hostile. Down here, with

lots of space around him, he felt closer

to escape at all times. Moreover, he had

commandeered two of the upstairs rooms and, after

having locks installed on the doors, had

filled them with personal items and textbooks

beamed down from the Centurion.

When the boy saw that the Roman was smiling

at him approvingly, he laughed in relief,

and his classmates joined in his slightly

nervous laughter.

"Excellent, Claudius!" Marcus said,

beaming at the class. "Children, you're really working

hard at your lessons. Why, if this were

Magna Roma, you'd all be candidates for

senatorial scholarships." The boys and

girls--all under ten years old--occupying the

rows of desks before him had no idea what a

senatorial scholarship was, but they could tell

that he was complimenting them, and beamed with pride.

They were all intrigued by the idea of being

Magna Roman students. It was a change of

pace from boring, dull, everyday life on

Tenara. One of the girls raised her hand.

Marcus nodded at her. "Yes, Julia?"

Her name was actually Yoolka, but in the

classroom each child used a Roman name

assigned by Marcus. The boy he had called

Claudius was really named Klamnin.

Yoolka said, "Magister, you promised that

today you'd tell us all about the conquest of

Africa."

"So I did, Julia. Yes

... an exciting part of Magna Roman

history, full of the heroic deeds of great men.

It's also a period of our history that greatly

influenced the centralized form of our government.

It took less than a hundred years to add

that entire continent to the empire, but the roots

of the conquest were sown far back in Roman

history, so let's begin with the fall of

Carthage. Remember what I told you about the

Punic Wars? ... Good." Before he could

continue, Marcus became aware that the children's

attention had been diverted by something behind him.

He jumped to his feet and turned.

A woman in native costume stood in the

doorway of the classroom. She was tall, with a

strong, intelligent face.

She was also quite beautiful.

Marcus raised his eyebrows questioningly at

her.

"Please pardon my intrusion," she said

without a trace of apology in her voice.

"You're from Starfleet, aren't you?"

"Quite correct. I'm Marcus Julius

Volcinius."

"Gretna Melkinata," she said, bowing.

She locked eyes with Marcus. "I'm here with

some of the Enterprise crew."

"Oh?" Marcus said.

"Yes, we're surveying the needs of the

local populace throughout this valley." She

stared directly at him. "Forgive my

bluntness, but what exactly are you doing here?"

"He's teaching us about Rome!" one of the children

shouted out.

Marcus gestured expansively. "I was

sharing some of Magna Roma's rich history with

my new pupils."

"I see. Your pupils. And where are their

regular teachers?" she asked evenly.

"In the valley, joining their comrades in

farming while I broaden these children's

horizons. It's part of our

cultural-exchange program."

Gretna nodded. "And who has authorized

this program?"

Marcus closed the distance between them and spoke

quietly. "I understand your concern, but I

assure you that I am operating on the highest

authority."

"Really?"

Marcus nodded. "Perhaps you would like to return

this evening and discuss our plans for the exchange

program and the additions to the curriculum.

I'd be happy to show you my authorization

papers as well, but now I'm afraid that I

must return to my students."

"Of course," Gretna answered with a tight

smile as she turned to go. "Tonight, then."

She left, and Marcus quickly finished the

lessons for the day. After the last of the children was

gone, he headed for the building's stairway.

On the upper floor, Marcus stopped in

front of one of the heavy wooden doors. A

flat male computer voice said, "Nomen."

"Marcus Julius Volcinius."

"Confirmatus."

The lock clicked, and Marcus pushed the

door open. His ancestors would have thought the

whole process wondrous. To Marcus, used

to doors that slid aside for him, the need

to actually push on the door so that it swung on

its primitive hinges was a chore that seemed a

worse burden every time he did it.

Once inside, he pushed the door shut,

listened for the click of the lock engaging, and then

turned to the small communications viewscreen

on a wooden table in the center of the room.

Gretna Melkinata's inquiries

presented him with no small problem, one that could

possibly affect all his plans here ... and

elsewhere.

Chapter Seven

It was barely an hour after sunset, and already

the entire village was dark, its streets

deserted. The only flash of color in the sky

came from the stars above--and the flicker of the

schoolhouse lights ahead of her.

People went to sleep early on Tenara. Not

surprising, since most of them spent the day

hard at work and had to be up at the crack of

dawn for another day of backbreaking physical

labor.

Except for father and me, Gretna

Melkinata thought. Two bureaucrats on

a planet full of farmers.

As a little girl, she remembered staying up

to the wee hours watching her father work, reading,

writing, preparing legislation and speeches. As

she grew older, he had let her help, even

occasionally talked through his ideas with her,

especially after her mother had died. It was a kind

of talk that few people on Tenara were interested in,

except for other old men.

So she had been greatly pleased to discover

politics was a topic Will Riker knew and

enjoyed.

"Part of the job," he'd told Gretna

last night, over dinner around a campfire,

their unsettling experience at Carda several

hours b ehind them. "After all, we're the first

Federation representatives that many worlds meet.

And the leaders of those worlds, if they want to join

the Federation, want to know how their own governments

will be affected by membership."

"You're the only person my age I've

met who likes to talk about these things,"

Gretna said.

"Oh, I can't believe that."

"It's true!" Gretna said. She pulled

the vegetables she'd been cooking out of the fire

and set them aside to cool. "I can remember

going to school, back when the Federation first came

here, and trying to talk about these things with the others.

They avoided me like I was crazy," she said.

"The boys avoided you?" Will asked, a

glint in his eye.

She couldn't help but smile. "Well ...

they didn't necessarily want to talk."

"That, I can believe."

Gretna shrugged. "Maybe it was that I just

knew so much more about it than any of them, since

my father was in charge of the committee

to restructure the government."

Will took a hunk of bread out of his

carrysack, broke off a piece, and began

to chew on it thoughtfully. "I didn't know that."

Gretna nodded. "The whole idea of the

saavtas was his. He wanted to preserve the

independence of the smaller communities and still have a

governmental body powerful enough to make decisions

for the whole planet."

"That's always the problem," Will said. "How

powerful can you let the central government become

before it loses touch with the people and becomes a

dictatorship?"

Gretna reached into her knapsack and pulled

out a canteen. "Some jhafre?"

Will nodded. "Sure."

"How did you settle that on your home

planet?" she asked, handing him the canteen.

"Well ... I can't say that we did

settle it," Will said. "The whole question became

obsolete, in a way, because technology

helped us outgrow the need for that kind of

government. I, for one, have always agreed with

Rousseau--one of our philosophers--who said

true democracy and a large central

government were irreconcilable goals." He

took a swig out of the canteen and made a

face. "What is this stuff?"

"Jhafre--ale."

"Ale? You mean it's got alcohol in it?

Real alcohol?"

Gretna nodded, slightly confused. "Of

course. What else?"

Will shook his head. "Never mind. I'm going

to regret this in the morning, but"--he took a

long swallow--"at least it's better than that

Magna Roman appetizer."

Gretna looked at him questioningly, so he

told her about the banquet aboard the

Centurion.

She thought for a moment before speaking again. "What

about the Magna Romans?" she asked. "How

did they solve the problem--reconciling a

democracy with a large central government?"

Will stared at her. "Did I ever tell you

how perceptive you are for a naive Tenaran

girl?"

"Yes." She took the canteen back from

him. "Now answer the question."

"I'm not sure the Magna Romans," Will

said, speaking carefully, "ever solved that problem

either--until the Federation solved it for them."

The next day, thinking about his answer,

Gretna shuddered. What, exactly, was

Marcus Julius teaching the schoolchildren here? And

how high up did his authorization go?

Suddenly she wished Will was with her now--he'd

get some straight answers out of the Magna

Roman. But he'd taken the other

agronomists from the Enterprise on a

survey expedition this morning, and wasn't due

to rendezvous with her until early tomorrow.

And besides, what if Will already knew what

Marcus was up to? She didn't want

to believe that, but for her planet's sake, she

couldn't let her personal feelings for him get

in the way of facts. He is part of the

Federation, as are the Magna Romans.

"Gretna."

The voice, coming from beside her, was so

unexpected that she almost jumped out of her skin.

She turned, and Marcus Julius

Volcinius was standing there, smiling.

"Sorry if I frightened you." He moved

around in front of her. "I was just on my way

back from the village and thought I saw you standing

out here."

Marcus was now dressed in a maroon

Starfleet uniform, identical to the one Will had

been wearing when she first met him. He was a good

half-foot shorter than she, and somehow that

made her initial shock easier to overcome.

"I'm not frightened," Gretna said, "I'm

angry. I want to know what you're doing with the

children in there." She jerked a thumb back toward

the schoolhouse.

"Of course," Marcus said smoothly.

"I'd be happy to explain--or more

precisely, someone else will."

"I warn you, I'm in no mood for games,

Marcus Julius."

Marcus shook his head. "This is no game.

I need to take you to where the decision to undertake

the program was made--and to the people who decided

to make it."

Gretna eyed the Magna Roman

dubiously. Was he trying to trap

her? To get her somewhere out of the way and kill

her? No, she decided. He's crafty enough for

it, but too many people know where I am.

"All right," she said. "I'll be interested

to see who among you thinks he has the power

to make this decision."

Marcus smiled. "You are familiar with the

transporter?"

She nodded. "I've never actually used

one, but--"

"We need it to get where we're going."

Marcus touched the insignia on his chest.

"Centurion, this is Marcus Julius.

Ready to transport."

He lowered his hand and smiled at her.

"Relax. This won't hurt a bit."

Gretna stood stock-still for a moment, then

felt a strange tingling in her body. She

felt faintly sick, and then ...

They were standing in the Central Council

Chamber, back in the Tenaran capital city

of Zhelnogra.

She looked around in surprise. "What are

we doing here?"

"You've come to see us."

She spun at the sound of the new voice.

Another man in Starfleet uniform was standing

there smiling at her.

"You remember Captain Sejanus."

Marcus nodded. "And of course ..."

Another figure stepped out of the shadows.

"... Captain Picard of the

Enterprise."

Gretna nodded, too surprised to speak.

If Picard knew what was going on, then Will

knew. She felt like a fool.

"All right," she said angrily. "Tell

me why you three think you have the right to interfere in

our affairs--in the education of our children. And

make it good," she said, crossing her arms, "so

I can tell my father."

"Your father already knows."

Gretna spun, unable to believe her ears.

Melkinat stood there smiling at her.

"Daughter," he said, "I am glad to see

you."

"Father!" Gretna rushed to him, and threw

herself into his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Captain Sejanus asked me to come, child."

She took a step back, holding

him at arm's length. "Then you know what this man

is doing, what he's teaching?"

Melkinat nodded. "Marcus' program is

the only way to save our planet from the

M'dok, daughter. Once the Federation leaves

..."

Gretna's head was spinning; how could this be

real?

"No," she said weakly.

"Once the Federation leaves," Melkinat

continued, "we will have to be strong, to be able

to defend ourselves."

Over Melkinat's shoulder she could see

Marcus smiling at her.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I'm sorry--I should have. But I feared you

would tell the others--Anka and her group--and

we would lose this chance to educate our people. And,"

he said, bowing his head, "I feared you would think

less of me for not consulting with you. But I know

I'm right."

She shook her head, barely aware that

Picard was now speaking.

"It's a program designed to make your people

self-sufficient, Gretna. Marcus is an

excellent teacher."

Melkinat took his daughter's arms.

"Forgive me ... please."

She twisted free. "I cannot believe this."

She turned to Marcus. "I want to get out of

here. Now."

"As you wish," the Magna Roman said.

He tapped his communicator insignia.

"Centurion."

"Centurion here, sir."

"Beam the chairman's daughter back to our

original coordinates."

"Aye, sir."

Gretna bit her lip and turned back

to her father. "I need some time to think."

"Promise me you won't do anything rash,

child." He looked at her again. "I love you."

She nodded weakly--and then she was gone.

Marcus laughed. ""I love you,"" he

said, mimicking the chairman's voice. "Now,

that was a nice touch."

"Thank you," Melkinat said stiffly.

"And you," Marcus said, turning to Picard.

"I thank you for the recommendation. "Marcus

is an excellent teacher"--indeed."

Picard stood motionless. "I was happy

to be of help."

"You were exceedingly helpful." Marcus

nodded. "Simulation end."

The forms of Melkinat and Captain Picard

faded and disappeared. The outlines of the council

chamber wavered, and suddenly Marcus was standing in

the Centurion's holodeck chamber.

Sejanus laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Well-played, cousin. Well-played. That

should keep the girl quiet until tomorrow, which will be

quite long enough."

"Thank you, my lord." Marcus turned and

knelt before his captain. Sejanus was dressed

in a purple robe and wore a toga of

Magna Roman design beneath. "I am, as

always, at your service."

When Deanna materialized on the

Centurion's transporter platform the

next morning, she was met, as she had

expected to be, by Julia Sicania, the

Centurion's counselor. What she had not

expected was that Captain Sejanus would be there

too.

It was Julia whom Deanna had contacted

to request a tour of the ship. The Magna

Roman counselor was a woman of about forty,

but with the signs of premature aging on her

face. She had responded to Deanna's

request bluntly "Why? What business do

you have here?"

Outwardly calm, though inwardly furious

at this treatment, Deanna had smiled and said,

"I wish to compare the social structures

aboard our two ships. The societies the

crews come from are very different, and I think it

would be educational for me, professionally speaking,

to see how you've resolved your problems."

Julia had grunted something and said she would have

to see if such a visit could be arranged.

However, only minutes later she had called

back and extended a very polite invitation to

Deanna to beam over at her convenience. There

had been something cowed in Julia's manner

during that second conversation.

Now, as soon as Deanna materialized,

she felt herself swimming in the powerful emotions

filling the room, and the explanation for the difference

between her two conversations with Julia

Sicania became clear.

The hatred and resentment the Centurion's

counselor felt toward her captain blazed from

her; Julia made no attempt to suppress

it. From Sejanus, Deanna caught first his

contempt forand then his annoyance with his counselor.

Deanna realized immediately that Julia had not

wanted to be bothered with her but had been

overruled by Sejanus. Then came a

secondary impression from the two Magna

Romans a powerful current of something in their

past, some close and passionate relationship that

was now over.

The Magna Romans were both unfamiliar

with Betazoids, or perhaps did not know that

Deanna was half Betazoid. She could

detect no wariness in either of them concerning her and

no suspicion that she could sense their feelings.

They put on appropriate social faces,

assuming that they could fool her as easily as they

would a human. Julia stepped forward and said

brightly, "My dear Commander Troi! We're

simply delighted to have you aboard."

Deanna, seeing the true feelings behind that

facade smiled ironically and said,

"Counselor. I've been looking forward

to meeting you too." She turned to Sejanus.

"Captain. How nice to see you again."

She was immediately embarrassed by the wash of

primitive emotions coming from him.

Sejanus thought it more than merely nice

to see Troi again. "Welcome aboard,

Counselor. The first time you were here, we had no

chance to talk. I hope we can remedy that."

Deanna raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps after

Counselor Sicania shows me the ship,

Captain."

Sejanus smiled charmingly. "As it

happens, I find myself with a bit of free time

on my hands, and thought that I would personally

conduct your tour. If you have no objections?"

"On the contrary," Deanna said. "That would

be lovely."

"Excellent. We'll begin right away."

He let Deanna precede him through the door.

In the hallway outside, Sejanus said,

"I thought we'd begin with our engineering deck."

Deanna laughed. "Captain Sejanus,

I've seen all I ever want to of

matter-antimatter chambers."

"Of course," he replied. "I forget that

you come from a Galaxy-class vessel beside which

even the splendors of this ship must pale."

"Perhaps your schools," Deanna suggested.

"I'm very interested in finding out more about what

makes your society such an energetic,

vital one."

"This way, then." Sejanus led her down a

long corridor and past one turbolift.

She stopped at one door behind which she heard

crying.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Sick bay," Sejanus replied.

"May I?" Deanna stepped through the door

before he could reply.

Sick bay on the Centurion consisted of a

single room with half a dozen narrow

diagnostic beds crammed into it. Against one

wall stood a small desk. One crew

member was on duty when they arrived, a short,

slender, dark-skinned, curly haired young

man, extremely nervous in the presence of his

captain, who leapt to his feet when

Sejanus appeared and snapped the

chest-slapping, extended-hand Roman salute.

Sejanus responded with a nod. "At

ease, Doctor. Counselor, this is Dr.

Marius Tertius Secondus,

second-in-command of our medical section.

Marius, this is Lieutenant Commander

Deanna Troi, from the Enterprise."

Deanna greeted the doctor, then looked

around in surprise. "Is this all of your sick

bay, Doctor?"

"Why, yes, Commander. It's usually

adequate."

"Usually!" She didn't try to hide her

shock. "This ship has almost half the complement

of the Enterprise, and yet we have three or

four times as much room and equipment in our

sick bay!"

Marius was obviously floundering for a reply.

Sejanus took over. "We emphasize

other kinds of care instead. All of our

personnel are quite competent at first aid for

minor injuries, and our injured convalesce in

their own quarters."

Deanna managed to keep her voice even

this time. "What about an illness of some kind

affecting large numbers of people? Some

sort of plague, for example."

Sejanus smiled. "On my ship, crew

members are encouraged not to get ill." He

meant the remark to be flippant, but behind the

words she sensed his utter boredom with the

subject.

Deanna wondered what Starfleet

regulations were concerning the minimum size and

complement for a starship's sick bay, and if

Sejanus was violating those regulations.

"Now, let me show you that school,"

Sejanus said, taking her by the arm.

As they walked toward a turbolift

entrance, Sejanus said, "You'll find some

differences between our vessels here, as well.

Captain Picard has more specialists of

different types among his civilian complement

--linguists, agronomists, sociologists,

historians, and so on--than I have, and I

understand that most of them serve double duty as

part-time teachers. Since we have few such

experts on this ship, our curriculum is

narrower."

When he said the name Picard, Troi sensed

a flash of anger from him, though not a trace of

it showed in his voice or on his face.

Jean-Luc will be happy to know his affections

are returned, she thought wryly.

When they reached the area set aside for a

school, Deanna found out just how different the

curriculum was from that aboard the Enterprise.

She saw children of all ages being drilled in

Latin and English--and demonstrating, from an

early age, impressive proficiency in

both. She saw history classes, which

concentrated on the history of Magna Roma,

with special emphasis on the

prerepublican empire. She noted that they

covered Federation history quickly and in little

depth. Engineering--technology of all sorts

--was drilled into the students, but basic

science seemed to be given short shrift.

Then they moved on to observe

physical-education classes. The training here

was rigorous and unforgiving. Troi winced as she

saw even small children suffer painful falls or

blows from classmates--and then continue as if

nothing had happened, stoically enduring their pain.

On Sejanus' face she caught a look of

pride.

From puberty up, physical education became

indistinguishable from military training. And

Starfleet regulations would have nothing to say about

any of this, she realized presumably the

government of Magna Roma told Sejanus

how to run the civilian community aboard his

ship. How many of the details did that government

know, though?

As they left the school area, Sejanus

remarked, "Now you can see why we don't

really have human engineering problems on this ship.

Magna Roman tradition--discipline. Those

are the answers. To my mind, the school is the

most important place on the ship. Children are

the future of the Roman nation, of course. I

take great pride in their achievements--almost as

much as I do in the achievements of my crew."

Of course, Deanna thought. And do

all your crew have to undergo the kind of training these

children do?

Would Jenny de Luz have to?

She and Sejanus made small talk at

one another all the way back to the

transporter room.

"I've enjoyed your company tremendously,

Counselor," he said. "I hope to see more of

you soon." He took her hand and kissed it.

There was no doubt at all in Deanna's

mind about what Sejanus meant by that. She

nodded, and stepped up onto the transporter

platform. "And I hope to find out more about you,

Captain--soon."

Sejanus looked slightly disturbed as she

dematerialized.

Deanna went directly to the ready room,

where Captain Picard was waiting for her, hands

clasped behind his back as he paced in front

of the great window that dominated the room.

"Your impressions, Counselor."

"As we knew, Captain, the Centurion

is a very different ship, run quite differently from

this one. It is much more ... military, and there

is a great deal of emphasis on maintaining

Magna Roman values."

Picard chose his words carefully. "An

... unacceptable emphasis?"

Deanna sighed heavily. "No, sir.

Everything was in order ... and yet I must tell

you that I now feel your suspicions of

Sejanus are justified. He is not

what he seems, sir."

Picard leaned against the glass, resting his

head on a clenched fist. "Then what is he?"

Deanna shifted uncomfortably, sensing her

captain's frustration. "That, I cannot be sure

of, sir--not without another visit."

The door chime sounded.

Picard turned. "Come."

Data was standing in the doorway.

"I have the information you requested on the Vol-

cinii gens, Captain," the android said.

Picard fell into his desk chair,

suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue.

"Go ahead, please, Mr. Data.

Counselor, stay," he told Deanna.

"You'll be interested in this too."

The android cleared his throat--purely a

theatrical gesture, a deliberate imitation

of human speech patterns, Picard was

convinced--and said, "You were quite correct,

Captain, about the word "gens." As in

ancient times, it still refers to a clan, a

group of families, the heads of each of which

claim descent from a common ancestor--in this

case, presumably someone named Volcinius,

who may or may not have been a real

historical figure. The parallels with the

clan structures in ancient times on other

Federation worlds are intriguing," he continued,

warming to his subject. Then he caught sight

of Picard's expression and said, "However, this

is not the proper time or place to pursue them.

"The Volcinii gens wa s a patrician

family during imperial times, and quite powerful.

Moreover, they were steadily building their wealth

and political influence. Had the old empire

continued, they might well have managed to put one

of their own members on the throne in time."

"They must have been unhappy to see the

empire fall, then," Deanna remarked.

"Actually, they had prepared themselves quite well

for that possibility. Although they could hardly have

foreseen the events which precipitated the fall

of the empire and the establishment of the present

republic, they had long maintained good

contacts with all parties, including the

democratic forces which took over when

Proconsul Claudius Marcus and his

puppet, the last emperor, were overthrown.

Early in the revolution, the

Volcinians threw in their lot with the

revolutionary army."

As Picard already knew, the fall of the

empire was the direct result of the visit

to Magna Roma--or planet 892-IV

--of an earlier USS Enterprise. The

proof that there were other worlds where sanity ruled rather

than brutality, emboldened the democratic

revolutionaries and, five years later, led

to the collapse of the imperial government.

Soon afterward, the newly established

Republic of Magna Roma joined the

Federation.

"How long has it been since the revolution

on Magna Roma, Data?" Picard

asked.

"About seventy years, sir."

"And during that time, surely the Volcinians

haven't been able to retain the power and influence

they had in the old times--even with their supposed

sympathy for democracy."

"I believe the new republican

government shared your skepticism about the

Volcinians' sincerity, sir. The gens was

steadily excluded from governmental positions,

and the electorate did not treat Volcinians

kindly when they ran for office. However, time

is a great healer of painful memories, and the people

of Magna Roma inevitably forgot the

important role the Volcinians had played

in the oppressive government of imperial

times."

Picard nodded. "How closely is

Captain Sejanus connected to the gens at

this point in time?"

"I do not know, sir."

"Speculate, then."

"Very well," Data said. "The presence of

Marcus Julius Volcinius aboard the

Centurion, even in an advisory role,

suggests that the gens is very much aware of every

move Sejanus makes."

"And possibly guiding his actions?"

"No, sir," Data said. "We are too

far away from Magna Roma for such communication

to be efficient."

Deanna nodded. "But certainly, as

Sejanus' reputation grows--"

"So does that of his family." Picard

stood and began pacing. "What if he

plans to put the Volcinii gens back in

power?"

"They will all have to be elected by the Magna

Romans, Captain," Deanna pointed out.

"Just being related to Sejanus won't get them

into office."

"Perhaps Sejanus' goal is not

political office for the gens, sir,"

Data said, "but for himself."

Picard stopped pacing. Even in

democratic nations, successful generals had

come home from war to public acclaim and

electoral success. Was that the path Captain

Lucius Aelius Sejanus intended

to follow?

He turned to the window again. Somewhere out there were

the two M'dok ships--and Captain

Sejanus and the Centurion.

What, indeed, were any of them planning?

"What do you want me to do, Jenny?"

Gaius asked, a slight annoyance creeping

into his voice. "I have neither the authority nor

the desire to countermand the captain's override

of the safety interlock."

"But, Gaius, it's not right for people to die!

It's only an exercise!"

Gaius shook his head. "It's not that

simple, Jenny. Soldiers don't take the

simulated exercises seriously enough if they know

they're not in any real danger. They're too

casual about the whole thing. Then, when they find

themselves in a real situation--"

"I know that argument," Jenny interrupted.

"I've heard it from you before. I don't buy

it."

Gaius sighed. "Well, we'd better

agree to disagree, then. Since you feel so

strongly about it, why don't you stay out here this

time?"

Jenny folded her arms and glared at him

angrily. "Maybe I will."

"Good." Gaius turned toward the

holodeck entrance, but took only two steps

before he spun back to face her. "In fact,

perhaps you shouldn't come over here for these exercises

anymore, given your opinion of how we do

things."

"I should just wait out here while you go in and

get yourself killed by a computer-generated

barbarian, is that it?"

"I haven't been killed yet!" Gaius

said, practically yelling. "Look--"

Jenny suddenly put a hand over his mouth.

"We're being watched."

Gaius stopped talking and turned to his

left.

Half a dozen Magna Roman soldiers

waiting to enter the holodeck were watching with great

interest.

"What are you looking at?" Gaius

snapped. "Get in there"--he indicated the

holodeck--"and get that camp set up!"

The soldiers scrambled to obey.

Gaius took Jenny's arm and led her a

short distance down the corridor. "I worry

about you during the exercises as well," he said

in a low voice.

"Do you?" Jenny's anger evaporated at

his words.

"Of course I do ... but I still won't

change the way things are. These are exercises

to prepare for life-and-death situations. A

single mistake, and--"

"All right." Jenny admitted defeat for the

moment. "Let's go in there together and watch each

other's backs."

What followed in the holodeck was similar

to Jenny's first experience of the Centurion's

training simulations. The enemy was the same--

German tribesmen--and the ambush tactic was

also the same. But there were also differences, the most

important of which was that no real humans died.

Only simulations were killed, and none of those

deaths happened close enough to Jenny to seem

real. The other major differences were the sizes

of the opposing forces and the setting.

This time, the fighting was the Battle of

Britannia, which historically marked the turning

point in the long Roman war against the

Germans. The German tribes united for

long enough to send a combined army by sea. They had

purchased transport from their northern

neighbors, the Norse, to attack the great

Roman city of Londinium, which they thought was

undefended. It was to be the battle to destroy

Roman power and prestige in the West.

Instead, it was a trap, carefully laid

by Roman army strategists.

The German army landed in southern

Britannia and advanced rapidly toward

Londinium. It wasted little time on pillaging

as it went, for the greater prize awaited.

However, the seemingly empty meadows were

virtually saturated with carefully hidden

Roman legions. When the trap was sprung,

the surprise was complete, and it was German

power that was broken, not Roman.

The purpose of this holodeck exercise was

to train officers for battlefield command, rather

than to expose them to hand-to-hand combat.

Gaius was in supreme command of the legions

waiting in hiding, and those who had entered the

holodeck with him were in various subsidiary

command positions with those legions or on his

staff. Gaius had to use runners and youths

on fast horses to keep track of the advancing

Germans and to transmit his orders to his

legions; none of the communication technologies

taken for granted by Starfleet personnel were

available to him. Thus it was quite possible for the

officer being subjected to this exercise

to mishandle his command badly enough so that the Germans

won this replay of the Battle of

Britannia.

"What would happen then?" Jenny asked.

They were in the command post in the outskirts of

Londinium. Behind them lay the silent city.

Before them were the rolling plains, silver in the

moonlight, across which the Germans were advancing

toward them. The Germans were still out of sight of

their naked eyes--which was all they had in this

simulation--as were the hiding legions. At least

they could talk in normal voices instead of

whispering.

"I suppose the Germans would overrun us

and kill us all," Gaius replied.

Jenny could hear the tension in his voice. She

put her hand gently on his forearm. The

muscles were knotted, quivering slightly.

"Not if you told the computer to end the simulation

quickly enough."

Gaius smiled tightly. "With the score the

machine would give me for losing the Battle of

Britannia, I'm not sure I'd want

to survive."

"Couldn't you just follow exactly the same

tactics the historical general did?"

Gaius shook his head. "These Germans

don't follow the same tactics the

historical ones did. Wouldn't be much of an

exercise that way, would it?"

Jenny took her hand away. She was sure

he hadn't felt it anyway.

"There!" cried one of the officers.

Far away, invisible but for the flashes of

light reflecting from their spears and axes, the

Germans came. As they moved, Jenny's

keen eyes picked out more of them; they were spread

in a long line, and the dust of their movement was

clear long before individuals came into view.

The Germans had been canny enough to send

scouts north to the mouth of the Tamesis River,

which divided Londinium in two, and then toward

the city; but the Romans had anticipated that,

and the scouts had found nothing. Now this scouting

party was moving to rejoin the principal group,

and the main battle party was moving toward the city.

Concealed behind the rudimentary wall surrounding

Londinium, Gaius flicked his eyes over

the approaching Germans. To move too soon

would be a disaster, he knew; waiting too long

would have less dangerous repercussions. This

truth ran contrary to every axiom of Roman

military thinking he had been trained in, but it

was accurate nonetheless.

Jenny de Luz gasped as the Germans

came close enough to make out individual forms.

There were thousands of them--surely the only time the

barbarians had put aside their tribal

differences long enough to form such a huge army--each

one a tall, proud warrior with blond or red

hair and beard. Each held his spear,

sword, or ax confidently in a muscular

hand.

Then Jenny saw that they moved in a ragged,

disorganized mob, with no structure or

order; each warrior moved faster than necessary,

each wanting to be the first into the city. Here and there

some men rode on horses--tribal

chieftains, she assumed--but they made no

attempt to bring the formations into order. Instead,

they whipped their mounts past their men when they could,

so that as the Germans drew closer, the

chieftains were at the forefront.

Jenny saw, too, that the Germans were

plunging in blindly, paying no attention to the

surrounding terrain. As they approached, the line

squeezed together, bunching in between the river on one

side and a long, low hill on the

other. It was a trap that anyone with even the most

elementary training in the techniques of land

warfare should have been able to spot.

From near-motionlessness Gaius changed to a

blur of blinding speed. In his left hand he

held a riding whip, which he cracked twice;

this was the signal for three young, slender men,

nearly unarmored and

mounted on the fastest horses, to ride to his

subsidiary commanders. They were off instantly,

clinging tightly to the horses to keep their

saddles as they raced to their destinations.

"Marius!" he snapped to one of the officers

standing nearby. "Tell your men to form up near the

river. Hurry!"

The man he had spoken to ran to do his bidding.

The German chieftains, mounted on great

shaggy horses, waving swords and crying out with

wild war whoops, were almost on them.

Antonius Appius, a taciturn officer

with the quiet deadliness of a snake, made a

brief motion with his hand, and ten men stepped

forward, each holding a pilum, and cast the

heavy spears. The throws all found their marks,

and no more than ten meters away, ten men

screamed and died. The spear experts picked

up another ten pila from the ground and waited.

The remaining chieftains reined in their

panicky mounts, realizing that something was going

desperately wrong. Then a great shout arose

as the Romans marched from the far side of the hill

to push the Germans into the river.

The Germans were fierce fighters, as

evidenced by the shouts and screams and the noise of

metal on metal, which was, even from this distance,

nearly deafening. But on level ground, the

Romans were and always had been unmatched. The

three unwavering lines of Roman infantry

pushed steadily onward; when they reached the

river, the Germans' advantage of size and

weight disappeared, and they were cut down without

mercy as they slipped and floundered in the mud.

Those few who managed to turn back the way

they had come, trying to escape to the east, were

suddenly charged by several hundred Roman

cavalrymen, who ran them through with long lances

or simply trampled them. Beyond the battle

site Jenny saw the water of the river glint

red.

A greater problem was the

significant number of Germans who had

managed to break free of the main Roman line

on the west side, facing Londinium. Here,

Jenny realized, could be the city's greatest

threat, and certainly the greatest danger to their

personal safety.

The surviving chieftains, who had been

retreating from Antonius Appius' grim

spearmen, were heartened by the appearance of their men

behind them, and swept forward. Then Marcus

Claudius' cohort, three hundred heavy

infantry supported on the wings by javelineers

and by mounted lancers, executed a perfect

left-wheel movement from the river.

The javelin-throwers moved out along the

banks, hurling into the thick of the approaching

German mob, while the cavalrymen ranged

along their flank, herding them toward the

infantry.

With a roar, the Germans closed on the

infantry. The first line wavered and fell

back, but the second line moved quickly to fill

the gaps, while the third threw their heavy

pila to deadly effect. Within minutes the

Germans were all dead or routed, running

back toward the east, only to be met by the main

body of the Roman troops, who cut them down

quickly.

The three mounted messengers came galloping

toward Gaius Aldus; they slowed, then

dismounted and saluted him.

"All commanders are well," one reported.

"Good," Gaius replied. "Simulation

end."

The simulation vanished instantly.

Londinium, the spreading plains, the vast

numbers of legionaries and German

tribesmen all disappeared, leaving a small

group of Magna Romans and Jenny de

Luz standing scattered about on the naked

holodeck.

The lines of worry and tension slowly left

Jenny's face. She took a deep lungful

of air and blew it out again. There, she thought.

The empire is safe again.

She caught Gaius' eye and smiled.

And so am I.

Chapter Eight

The whistle of the communicator awoke

Picard. Data's voice filled the room.

"One of the M'dok ships is breaking orbit,

sir. You asked to be called if any--"

"On my way," Picard snapped, rolling

from the bed.

When he reached the bridge, Wesley

Crusher was at conn, and Data in the

captain's chair. As Picard headed down the

ramp, Data moved quickly to the ops console,

taking over from the crewman manning it.

"Status?" Picard asked, seating himself.

"One of the M'dok ships has left,

sir," Wesley said. "Looks like it's headed

for home."

"And the other ship, Ensign?" Picard

prompted. He watched the fuzzy image of the

single M'dok ship on the main viewscreen.

"Still in orbit, sir."

"The Centurion?"

"Out of our line-of-sight now, sir.

She'll be visible again in about half an hour."

Over the next few hours the M'dok would

lower their shields at irregular intervals

to test the intentions and resolve of the

Enterprise crew. Instantly Picard would

raise shields and move in closer. His meaning

was unmistakable no shuttles, no

transporters. The M'dok would raise their

shields again just as quickly, and Picard would once

again order the Enterprise back to its station and

its shields lowered to minimum.

The M'dok could have turned on the

Enterprise and attacked it. Given the

nature of M'dok society, Picard was

surprised that they did not do so. But such an

attack would have been suicide, and perhaps even the

M'dok were not given to throwing away their lives

to no purpose.

Throughout those boring, potentially deadly

hours, Picard sat in the captain's chair,

elbow on knee, chin on fist, eyes fixed

on the main viewscreen, where the M'dok ship

floated. What was the M'dok's purpose?

What were they doing? And where was Sejanus? The

Centurion had failed to appear at the

expected time, giving Picard cause for

concern.

The captain straightened from his brooding

position, stood and stretched, his spine cracking

audibly in the hush that pervaded the bridge.

"Let's give it another try," he

announced. "Mr. Worf, hailing

frequencies--"

"Captain!" Wesley interrupted. "The

Centurion!"

"Where are they, Mr. Crusher? Exact

position and trajectory."

"Extreme sensor range, coming in from a

highly elliptical transfer orbit

intersecting ours and the M'dok's."

"Damn him!" Picard said, slamming his

fist down on his own knee and rising from his

chair. "The M'dok will see that as an

attack. Worf, hailing frequencies open.

Centurion, this is Picard. Captain

Sejanus, break off your approach, do you

hear me? Break off your approach!"

Worf cut in. "The M'dok have increased

their shields to full power."

Picard shook his head. Damn Sejanus!

"Full power to ours, Mr. Worf."

"Centurion shields are up, sir,"

Data said.

"M'dok firing, sir! On

Centurion!"

Picard rapped out, "Hold your fire,

Mr. Worf."

Wesley said, "Centurion on

intersection trajectory, sir. Attack

mode!"

And then the Enterprise crew could do nothing

but watch as the Centurion approached the

M'dok ship at high speed.

The Magna Roman ship fired its

phasers at full power. The M'dok ship

took the full brunt of the shot, its

defensive shields radiating energy in a

brilliant rainbow display. Then the

Centurion hit it with photon torpedoes,

and the M'dok shields began to fluoresce

dangerously.

"They can't take that much longer," Wesley

muttered--a mutter that everyone on the bridge

could hear. "Why don't they respond?"

Picard knew why not the Enterprise.

He could sense the M'dok captain's

indecision. If he fired on the

Centurion, would the other Starfleet ship

join the battle? Then his ship would be doomed for

sure. The only sensible move was to retreat.

Which he did.

The M'dok ship's shields faded

momentarily, and the ship began to move away from the

two Starfleet vessels, picking up speed

rapidly.

The Centurion followed.

"Should we break orbit and follow, sir?

In case Captain Sejanus needs our

help?" Wesley asked.

"No," Picard said firmly.

"Absolutely not. Our assignment and our

responsibility is to protect Tenara. Just

keep both ships on the main viewscreen."

If Sejanus does get himself into trouble,

I'll have no choice but to go to his aid.

The main viewscreen showed the running

battle. The Centurion was right behind the

M'dok ship, pouring huge amounts of energy

into it in the form of phaser bolts and photon

torpedoes.

"The M'dok are only moving at about

one-tenth warp, sir," Worf said. "That first

barrage from the Centurion must have crippled

them."

There was something unspoken in what Worf said

approval of Sejanus' tactics. Picard

understood the Klingon to be saying that if one were

forced to fight, then that was the way to do it. Picard

hoped that Worf had not failed to see how

unnecessary it had been for Sejanus to fight at

all--that it had been the appearance of the

Centurion on the scene, coming in

unexpect edly from deep space, that had

precipitated the battle.

"Turning and fighting, at last," Worf said

with undisguised satisfaction. "The only

choice left to them at this point."

"A channel to the Centurion, Mr.

Worf," Picard said.

"Channel open, sir."

"Captain Sejanus," Picard said, "I

urge you to break off this engagement now, before there

are casualties."

Sejanus' face filled the screen.

"We--"

A loud burst from the M'dok ship indicated

that the fight was truly joined--and

suddenly the uneven battle no longer seemed

so uneven.

The M'dok counterattack was vicious and

unrestrained. The percentage of energy they were

diverting from their deflector shields to their

phasers was almost total--and the Magna

Romans found themselves under such heavy bombardment

that they were in no position to take advantage of

that lowering of the M'dok shield energy.

"Centurion taking some damage," Worf

said. "Their shields will be in danger soon, at

this rate."

At some level, Picard had known it would

come to this--to his being drawn into a battle

by Sejanus, inffbeing forced to take lives and

to endanger his ship. "All right! We'll go

to help them. Mr. Crusher, lay in course and

initiate. Mr. Worf, full power

to shields. And then full phaser power as soon

as range permits."

But even as the Enterprise was on its way,

the Centurion suddenly accelerated

directly toward the M'dok ship, full in the

face of its continuous phaser barrage.

Still sluggish, and no doubt astonished, the

M'dok were unable to maneuver out of the way. The

two ships collided at an immensely high

closing velocity.

More precisely, their shields collided.

Both sets of shields flared as they radiated

the kinetic energy that had just been dumped into them.

The ships bounced away from each other like rubber

balls.

But it had been a glancing blow, and it had

been under Sejanus' control. So while the

Centurion wobbled drunkenly for a moment and

then came back under control, its shields low

but still intact, the M'dok ship spun away,

rotating wildly, and in one area its shields

went far too low for safety. As soon as that

area rotated back into view, photon

torpedoes flashed out from beneath the Centurion's

saucer and into the area of weakened M'dok

deflector shields.

The M'dok ship exploded soundlessly. The

marvelous construction of metal and energy and

design, of science and technology, of

hardware and software, erupted in a minuscule

fragment of a second into a boiling, expanding

cloud, glowing in every color, a mad

orgy of self-consuming energies.

The terrible image faded, and space was

empty once again.

"Captain Sejanus hailing you again."

"On-screen."

Sejanus' face was a mask of confusion.

"Picard, why didn't you come to our defense?"

For a moment Picard was too stunned

to respond. Then he gathered his wits. "You

deliberately forced this encounter, Captain. I

do not condone the needless slaughter of an

opponent!"

"Needless slaughter!" Sejanus looked

surprised. "We are talking about the animals

who butchered an entire village--or perhaps

you've forgotten that story, Captain!"

"Perhaps you've forgotten what we're doing

here," Picard said. "It was the appearance of your

ship, and the way you chose to come on the scene, that

made the M'dok fight. You forced it."

"If you recall," Sejanus said icily,

"we were fired upon first."

"Semantics, Captain," Picard

replied. "And what about your own ship and crew?

How dare you risk their lives

unnecessarily? That engagement should never have

happened! The M'dok were fleeing!" His voice

had risen in volume. Picard realized he was

close to losing control, to shouting out his anger.

"They came to this planet to attack,"

Sejanus said firmly.

Picard shook his head. "I've been trying

to avoid putting you in this position, but you've

made it necessary. In addition to the orders

Admiral Delapore sent both of us, he

also included coded orders specifically to me,

giving me the authority to place myself in

supreme command of both our ships and the entire

Tenaran operation. I didn't want to invoke

that order, but your behavior makes it

unavoidable, and I am now doing so."

"Why, that's nonsense!" Sejanus

blustered. "Why should I believe that?"

Picard straightened again and lowered his voice

to its normal level. "I'll have a copy of

my orders transmitted to your ship immediately,

and of course you can contact Starfleet Command for

verification, if you like."

"I'll do that," Sejanus said. "Rest

assured, I will most certainly do

that."

Sejanus' image disappeared.

"That fool," Picard muttered softly,

taking his seat again. Is he deliberately

trying to start a war?

"Picking up an interesting anomaly on the

planet's surface, sir," Data said,

breaking in on Picard's train of thought.

"What kind of anomaly?"

"We just caught it on our last pass,

sir. An unnatural concentration of

metallic elements. Coming over the area again

now."

"On viewscreen, please."

At first, it seemed to be merely an

elongated clearing in the Tenaran forest, with something

glittering at one end of it. "Magnification,"

Picard called out.

The picture ballooned outward, and

Picard could see that the clearing was not a

natural one--that trees had been shattered and

thrown violently aside, that the ground had been

plowed up--and that the glittering object was

actually many objects, the remnants of a

ship.

"M'dok," he said. "But how did they get

past us?" He opened a channel to engineering.

"Mr. La Forge, what happened to the

satellite net?"

Geordi's voice came back clear and

strong. "Nothing, sir. It's working just fine."

"An inept landing," Worf said, nodding

toward the picture on the viewscreen. "Perhaps

it killed them."

Picard shook his head. "Didn't you know that

cats have nine lives, Mr. Worf?"

"Sir?"

"Never mind. We'll make no

assumptions. Mr. Data, scan the

wreckage, please."

"Aye, sir." After a brief pause the

android said, "No organic traces in the

wreckage, sir."

Picard grunted. "Then they're somewhere in the

forest."

He had no need to say any more than that. The

forest stretched for thousands of square kilometers

below them, impenetrable from above even with their

sophisticated instruments. The M'dok could be

hiding anywhere in it, and the Enterprise

would have no way of finding them. Everyone near that

crash site was in extreme jeopardy.

Picard rose to his feet. "Mr.

Worf, please find Commander Riker for me on

the planet's surface. And contact the

Centurion and have them warn their personnel

to be on the lookout for the M'dok. I'll be in

the ready room."

"Aye, Captain."

"And, Mr. Data?"

"Yes, sir." The android turned in his

chair to look at Picard.

"Find out how they got past us, and make

sure it doesn't happen again!"

It took close to half an hour for Worf

to locate the Enterprise's first officer.

Finally Picard was speaking to Commander Riker's

image on the small screen on the ready

room's desk.

Picard filled him in on the arrival of the

M'dok ships, and the destruction of one of them

by the Centurion. "Now we've just detected

signs of a crash landing on Tenara by another

M'dok ship. We can detect no signs of

bodies inside the wreckage, so we must

assume that the M'dok survived the crash and

are now at large on the surface--probably

within the forest somewhere outside Zhelnogra, where

they are hidden from our sensors. I'm

transmitting the coordinates of the crash to you

now."

Riker's expression grew tense. "That's

very bad news, Captain. Has there been no

response from the M'dok Empire to our offers

to help them fight the plague?"

"None yet, I'm afraid." He shook

his head. "Number One, this may mean war

yet."

"I sincerely hope not, sir--especially

if Tenara ends up being the battleground."

Riker paused. "How did this ship sneak by the

satellite net?"

"Commander Data thinks that the two ships we

saw were sent to record as many hours as possible

of the satellites' sensor broadcasts, so that

they could later analyze them and learn

to duplicate them. The ship that crashed used that

knowledge to dupe the satellites."

"Could they have staged the battle to allow that

second ship to sneak by?"

"Absolutely not," Picard said firmly.

"Captain Sejanus deliberately

provoked that incident."

Riker shook his head. "I still have trouble

believing that of a man like Sejanus, sir."

"I have the feeling none of us knows him as

well as we thought, Number One." Picard

changed the subject. "How's your survey

coming?"

"Fine, sir. I'll be sending back

preliminary reports tomorrow, but it seems that

all the Tenarans will need from us are basic

supplies and perhaps a few pieces of heavy

machinery to rebuild." He hesitated a

moment. "Are we having problems with the

government, sir? With Melkinat?"

Picard shook his head. "I'm afraid I

don't understand."

"Well ..." Riker looked uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid his daughter seems to have turned

against us--me--over the last day or so. Very

strange."

"Nothing you've done, I trust?"

"No sir," Riker said emphatically.

"She was supposed to complete the survey with us

and then return to Zhelnogra, but now she's

gone off on her own. I'm at a loss

to explain it."

"Well, contact me again when you rendezvous

with her in Zhelnogra. Perhaps one of us will know

the reason for her change of attitude then."

He exchanged a brief smile with his first

officer. "Picard out."

The small screen went dark.

"Mr. Worf?"

"Aye, sir."

"About those personal-defense training

classes you wanted to conduct down on the

planet's surface?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I think now would be a good time to start

arranging those."

The M'dok commander stretched lazily,

purred with satisfaction, and curled up into a

ball. He was comfortably fed (for the first time in

how long?), pleasantly warm, and intended

to sleep for the next few hours. He was on his

way to doing just that when a hissing voice he

knew all too well interrupted

him.

"Commander! Darkness! Now would be the perfect

time."

The squad leader seemed determined to sink his

teeth into that afternoon's argument again, to nibble at it,

worry at it, growl over it--in short,

to drive the commander mad with it.

He opened one eye and bared his teeth.

"Squad Leader! Orders! Now would be the

perfect time for punishment for insubordination."

"But if we fail to move now, and the Federation

finds us, then who will be in the wrong?"

The commander could sense the growing feeling in the

others that the squad leader was right. The most

elementary of battle tactics seemed to be

escaping them; this plague was making them

into animals. It was time to reassert himself. He

rose halfway and shook himself, throwing off

sleepiness, then stood erect. The commander was the

tallest and broadest of the party--which was in large

part why he had risen to a higher rank than

any of the others. Now he glared down at them,

growling as the fur along his shoulders and on his

head rose, making him look even bigger. The

other M'dok stepped back nervously and

avoided his eyes.

He sneered, and his foot lashed out, into the

pile of bones on the ground before him. Tenaran

bones flew into the air and showered down on the

squad leader. To have the bones of prey thrown

upon him was one of the worst insults a M'dok

warrior could suffer, but suffer it he did, and in

silence. He had to.

The sun had set two hours earlier. On

the horizon, the moon was a thin sliver. Even

for humans who lived in rural surroundings, like

the Tenarans, the landscape was only dimly

lighted. But to the M'dok, the light was more than

adequate for killing. It had been daylight

when this party had descended upon a tiny

village, inhabited by only two families,

and killed everyone there. Now the commander wanted

to sleep until the meal was properly digested,

but the squad leader wanted to keep moving,

to head toward the much larger town ahead of them.

We need our minds and bodies clear before

then, the commander knew.

"Enough!" he snapped. "It was I who

devised the method of deceiving the satellites and

thus found a way of landing on this world

once again, despite the Federation defenses.

I decide when we move--and where."

The squad leader, his eyes still averted,

grumbled to himself, bent to pick up a human

leg that still had some meat on it, and retreated behind

a tree.

Satisfied, the commander dropped to the ground

again, curled into a ball once more, and began

to drop off to sleep. The stray thought crossed

his mind that perhaps he would be wise to have the squad

leader tied up until morning. But he was too

sleepy and full of food to bother.

It was the first serious error the commander had ever

made. It was also the last.

Chapter Nine

"Attack me," Worf ordered.

Ingerment, the young Tenaran man standing in

front of him, giggled. The other young Tenarans

seated in a circle around the two giggled in

response. Ingerment stared at the ground.

"I said, attack me!" The deep,

rumbling voice was louder this time.

Ingerment giggled again, but this time with more

nervousness than amusement. The others did not

giggle at all. They were beginning to look

uncomfortable--and some of them, scared. Still, nothing

happened.

"Attack me!" Worf roared. The

Tenaran turned pale, his eyes widening in

fear. He raised his right hand, hesitated, and

then shoved Worf lightly in the chest.

Worf raised his face to the ceiling of the

gymnasium and howled the ancient cry of a

Klingon warrior. The Tenarans all

scrambled backward, widening the circle

considerably.

Well, that didn't work. What does it

take? In as mild a tone as he could

produce, Worf asked all of them, "Why

can't I get any of you to truly attack

me?"

A young woman spoke up angrily from the

circle. "That's not the way we do things."

The others nodded in agreement.

"You said you were going to teach us how to defend

ourselves against the M'dok if they attack us on

the surface again, but now you want us to do the

attacking!" the woman accused him.

Worf could sense their frustration and anger.

Anger, he thought. We already know they're as

capable of that as anyone else. Jenny de

Luz found that out. So why can't they learn

to control and focus that anger when needed?

"It's not that I want you to do the attacking,

as you put it. I had intended to start with a

demonstration of defense--my defense against your

attack. That's the way I was taught

self-defense, and that is the way I'm trying

to teach you. When you see how easy it is for me

to defend myself against you, you'll be encouraged.

You'll want to learn the techniques I know."

The woman spoke again, thoughtfully this time.

"It's true that a student who admires his

teacher's knowledge is motivated to acquire that knowledge for

himself," she pointed out to the others. "Perhaps we

should try."

"Excellent," Worf said loudly. "All

right, then. Y." He pointed to the young woman this

time, ignoring Ingerment, for he could tell that the

young man was trying to avoid his eye now.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

"Nadeleen."

"Nadeleen, do you have any younger brothers or

sisters?"

"Three."

"Good. Do you find me frightening,

Nadeleen?"

"No, not really."

"You don't?" Worf asked with some

surprise.

He drew in a breath, expanding his huge

chest, spread his arms out, his fingers curved

into claws, and bared his teeth.

"Now?" he roared.

Nadeleen stepped back, and the circle of

seated Tenarans widened again.

"Yes!"

"I'm a M'dok!" Worf yelled.

"I'm attacking your family! I'm about

to murder and eat your baby broth--"

That was as far as he got. Nadeleen's fist

shot toward his eye. Worf was so surprised that

he almost waited too long to move. Just in time,

he knocked her arm aside. Still moving, he

pivoted on one foot, hooked the other behind

Nadeleen's legs, grabbed a handful of her

blouse, and kicked her feet from under her. He

used his hold on her clothes to lower

her gently to the floor of the gymnasium. Even

so, she was pale and shaking as she climbed to her

feet. Worf smiled as unthreateningly as he

could and said, "Thank you."

Ingerment said belligerently, "So what did

all that mean? You were a M'dok, and she

attacked you, and you knocked her down. Then you

would have killed her and eaten her!"

"You weren't listening, Ingerment," Worf

said. "My whole point is that I'll teach you

to do what I did. That way, if I had been

the Tenaran and Nadeleen had been the M'dok,

I would still have been the victor. I would have had the

M'dok helpless on the ground." The Tenarans

looked at each other in surprised agreement.

Pursuing the momentary advantage, Worf

said, "Now, why don't you all get to your

feet, pair off, and I'll teach you how to do

what I just did to Nadeleen. There are a lot

of other techniques you also need to learn, but

we'll start with that one."

The rest of the afternoon went well. After some

initial clumsiness and hesitation, the Tenarans

began to treat the exercise as a game and took

to it with increasing enthusiasm. For a while, this

meant an excess of horseplay, but Worf,

who was at first annoyed by it, was able to channel it

in the end.

He was bone-tired when the day ended. His

Tenaran students seemed, if anything,

invigorated. They laughed and chatted happily

and said goodbye to him cheerfully. Worf managed

to maintain a friendly smile and to respond to their

farewells appropriately, but behind the

facade he was trembling with fatigue. He

could not understand it. The physical work had been

slight compared with what he was used to in his

regular holodeck workouts, those martial

simulations he used to keep himself in physical

condition and fighting shape.

Nadeleen was the last to leave. She waited

until all of the others were gone, and then she

approached Worf. "I still have one big question,"

she announced.

Worf sighed. Naturally. Moral

philosophy. Nonviolence as a way of

life. "And that is?"

"Your demonstration at the beginning of the

class, when you threw me to the ground. You said that

showed how you could defend yourself against a

M'dok. However, you know that had I been a

M'dok and not a human, even if you had thrown

me down hard, I'd have been back on my

feet in an instant, attacking you again.

They're much stronger than we are, very

resilient, very aggressive. They go crazy

with a kind of blood lust."

Worf mentally apologized to her. "I was

going to raise that very matter tomorrow afternoon. Thank you

for asking me this in private, instead of in

front of the class, but I'd actually like for you

to ask me the very same question tomorrow, first thing, in

front of everyone else."

Nadeleen looked surprised, then agreed

and walked away toward the exit. When she

reached it, she paused to let two other people enter

the gym first Jenny de Luz and Gaius

Aldus.

Worf greeted them with a pleased smile.

"I was about to beam up. You caught me just in

time."

Gaius said, "We thought you might like to come with

us to see a Tenaran play, Lieutenant.

Jenny and I just heard that there's one being performed

here in the city this evening."

"I've been watching Tenarans play all

afternoon," Worf rumbled.

Jenny laughed at the disgust in his tone.

"Believe it or not, sir, this play tells

about some great battle in their distant past. Or

so I've been told."

Worf grunted. "Very surprising. I will

attend." After a moment, he added, "Since

we're both off duty and not on board ship,

I'd prefer it if you'd call me Worf."

J enny was delighted. Suddenly the forbidding

Klingon warrior seemed almost human to her.

She thought it wise not to tell him that, however.

The theater was much like a theater on any

developed world, Worf thought. Tiers of seats

for the audience faced a stage with proscenium and

orchestra pit. Overhead, Worf assumed,

but hidden from the audience, would be the machinery for

lighting and for raising and lowering sets and equipment

used for special effects.

Members of the theater crew roamed around the

stage completing the setting for the opening scene.

Apparently the Tenaran theater tradition did

not include the use of a curtain

to hide this from the audience.

As the seats filled with eager Tenarans,

chatting happily with each other and waving to friends

in the audience and stage crew, Worf turned

to Jenny, sitting to his right, and said, "Form

follows function. We could be on Earth, and it

would look almost identical."

"Or Meramar," Jenny said, nodding.

Sitting on Jenny's other side, Gaius

Aldus added, "Or my world. Except in

Graecia, where our theater originated. The

Graeci have deliberately retained the archaic

format, and even give many performances in

renovated theaters from ancient times. A few

years ago, the old annual competition was

revived in Athenae. All plays are given

in the ancient language with the proper forms and

costumes. Even the subject matter is

drawn from their ancient mythology." He

laughed. "It's almost as if the Roman conquest

of Graecia had never happened. Which, I

suppose," he added, "is exactly the

point."

Jenny said, "Sounds a bit silly to me."

Gaius turned to her. His face was alight

suddenly with a fascination Jenny had never seen

there before. "Oh, no! Sometime, you must come

to Athenae with me and see it for yourself. It's

magnificent! No true Roman should miss

it. They were our true forefathers, you know, not the

primitive tribes of Latium--our

cultural forebears, I mean. We fight

wars our own way, and that gave us control of our

world. But everything that's best in us, we got from the

Graeci."

Worf knew from his reading that Gaius was

expressing an opinion that the ancient

Romans had held. Or tried to convince

themselves was true, he corrected himself. It

enabled them to think of themselves as something other than

mere barbarian conquerors, which was how the

Greeks really saw them.

Still, he found himself fascinated by an empire

of warriors and conquerors that could give such

praise to the civilization they had displaced.

While Jenny and Gaius talked to each other,

Worf thought The Klingons of the old days

could never have been so generous to those they conquered.

Nor could most human cultures.

In spite of the orchestra pit, there

was no music--at least, not with this play. The

stage crew simply finished setting the stage

and strolled off as the actors strolled on.

Worf glanced sideways and saw Jenny

watching in fascination, fully prepared to enjoy

the presentation. Beyond her, Gaius watched with the

analytical frown of the connoisseur.

The action began. More actors came on the

scene, and the stage was full of villagers

discussing with concern the arrival of a band called the

Lawless Ones. They shared stories about the

crimes and atrocities Lawless Ones had

committed in other saavtas, and what they might

do when they arrived in theirs.

The crowd became more and more agitated and began

calling for the saavta leader. Finally a

distinguished older man arrived on the scene and

settled the crowd. The leader began his speech,

talking about the danger they all faced and the

difficulty he had in making his decision.

Finally he announced that they would fight for their

saavta, and a stunned silence descended on the

crowd, who then began murmuring their fear and

disapproval.

Gaius was startled by their reaction.

Certainly there was no alternative to fighting,

even for the Tenarans. He watched as the leader's

men devised a lottery and chose eight men,

who stood before the saavta. The leader praised

them in turn for their achievements and past

contributions to their people.

The older man handed the chosen warriors

weapons--either sharpened "fighting sticks" or

heavy axes. He commended them again and

expressed his sympathy at the loss of their

honor.

Gaius started again. Surely there was no

greater honor than the defense of one's people.

As the eight men were ushered out, a young girl

broke from the crowd and rushed to the youngest of the

warriors, a barely adolescent boy. She

cried and clung tightly to him until she was

finally pried away, shrieking as the warriors

exited.

Then the scenery was changed quickly to indicate

a forest. The eight warriors entered the stage

disheveled, their clothing spotted with blood.

The battle had obviously been waged and won

offstage. Worf grunted his disappointment.

As the men began speaking, it became

clear to Gaius that they were not making plans

to return to the village. They called themselves

"men without honor" and denounced themselves as

murderers. Now that they had killed, they could

never return to their people and would have to live alone in

the forest.

Gaius watched the play's final scene with

mixed emotions. He understood the importance of

personal honor, as all Magna Romans

did--suicide was still a common practice

to restore lost honor. But for Romans,

honor was inextricably bound with battle, with

fighting and killing when necessary. For Tenarans,

apparently, killing in self-defense meant

loss of honor.

As if reading his thoughts, Worf commented, "A

most curious system of honor."

Gaius nodded. Curious indeed. How could

they change a people who lost their honor when they

lifted a sword? And would they want to?

To Worf, food was something one consumed

to keep one's body functioning optimally, not a

source of pleasure. Solitary by nature,

he had also found it difficult to adjust to the

human habit of treating the eating of food as

a central part of a larger social ritual.

However, over the years he had learned

to tolerate that ritual and even, occasionally,

to enjoy it. Since he enjoyed the time he spent

with Jenny and Gaius, when Gaius asked their

opinion of the restaurant, Worf said quite

honestly that it was as good as any he could

remember.

Gaius was openly pleased. "Well, it's

not what would be considered a feast by a patrician

Roman, of course, like Captain Sejanus,

but by my standards it's just fine."

"I'm surprised that the old distinction between

patrician and plebeian survives in the

republic," Worf said.

Gaius looked a bit embarrassed. "Not

officially, no. That is, people with patrician

blood don't get special favors. But

unofficially, a lot of the old thinking is still

around. I was brought up to consider the

Volcinians, and especially Sejanus'

family, as my natural masters." He

laughed. "That's not in line with proper

republican thinking, I know, but it's

pretty deeply ingrained in some of us."

"I understand," Worf said. "Old

traditions die slowly. The class

structure, the warrior ethos, respect for

imperial rights and privileges--it's the

nature of men to adopt those ways easily and

give them up with difficulty. It requires

a conscious, deliberate effort." After a

pause he added, "It's the nature of

Klingons, as well." He noticed Jenny's

surprised stare and said, "Did you believe I

wasn't capable of such abstract thought, de

Luz?"

Jenny looked away quickly, then back, and

said, "Well, uh, some of us have wondered about

you. Specifically, if you're really as

different from the rest of us as you ... Sorry."

"As I look," Worf completed for her.

He felt a moment of sadness, a sense of his

alienness. "Yes and no," he answered

obliquely. "Nature and nurture, and the

interaction of the two. I am Klingon

by nature, but only part Klingon by nurture."

"My own world has a warrior heritage,"

Jenny said thoughtfully. "How odd that we've

all ended up in Starfleet."

Gaius shrugged. "Civilizations pass beyond

the need of the warrior ethos for anything but

self-defense. Even Worf's people eventually

reached that point."

"Now, if only the M'dok would get there,"

Jenny said. "And the Romulans, and all the

rest of them."

"The Romulans," Gaius said thoughtfully.

"They fascinated us when we first heard of them.

You can understand that, I'm sure. But the more we

learned about them, the less they seemed like us."

Worf nodded and added, "From what I've

observed of you and the other Magna Romans,

Gaius, the true similarity is between Magna

Romans and Klingons."

Gaius was clearly pleased at the

comparison.

Jenny said suddenly, "Then that's another thing

the three of us have in common--Roman or

similar origins. My ancestors were brought

to Meramar by the Preservers, just like the ancestors

of the Tenarans. Except that the Tenarans

apparently came from somewhere in Asia, and we

came from western Hispania."

Gaius' ears pricked up at the familiar

name. "During Roman times?"

"Toward the end, when the barbarians were

overrunning the area. My ancestors survived

for quite a while, because they were even more warlike than

the barbarians who were attacking. Thanks

to Servado"--she made a curious gesture

over her heart with her right hand--"who took

human form and organized us so that we could hold

out. However, in the end there were too many of them for

us, so Servado called the Preservers to take

us away. Well," she added apologetically,

"that's what my ancestors all believed,

anyway. And then he sacrificed his mortal

self in a one-man stand against the barbarians

while the Preservers took away my

ancestors."

"A beautiful myth," Gaius said.

Jenny stared at him angrily for a moment,

until she realized that he had meant it as a

compliment. "If you look at it th at way," she

said, feeling a bit foolish.

"The Preservers," Gaius said thoughtfully.

"I wonder if we'll find them someday."

"If they still exist," Worf said. "The last

trace of them is more than a thousand years

old."

Gaius laughed. "To a Roman, a thousand

years is the blink of an eye."

"The long view," Jenny said.

Gaius nodded. "We Romans always take

the long view."

By noon, there was little left of the commander's

body. The squad leader stood up, stretched,

andwitha smug little purr of satisfaction kicked

the thick, heavy bones of his late commander,

scattering them among the trees. "Now I'm in

command," he announced, and no one was willing

to argue with him. But they were all thinking that this new

commander, like the previous one, would have to sleep

eventually.

Chapter Ten

What I need, Will Riker thought,

looking out over the plains surrounding the Tenaran

capital city of Zhelnogra and yawning,

is a good night's sleep.

The last few days of traveling, and

surveying settlements in the surrounding

countryside, had provided him with little chance for

that. And now, with the M'dok somewhere out there ...

Well, he didn't expect things to change

soon.

He and the rest of the Enterprise's survey

team had arrived in the capital only a few

short hours ago; Riker had sent the

agronomists to sleep immediately, and joined the

security force patrolling the city.

It was ironic that the massive ground-based

security installations and the entire satellite

system they'd installed could do them absolutely

no good now; the crashed M'dok ship confirmed

that the satellite network, with its immensely

powerful network of long- and short-range

sensors, could be misled. And the ground-based part

of the system, the great sensor dishes constantly

sweeping the sky, had been set up to detect

metal ships in space, not bodies of warm

flesh on the ground.

So they had to depend on foot patrols for

their security. Characteristically, the Tenaran

capital city was unwalled and unguarded.

Riker and his men were using hand-held

tricorders, but they would be effective only

once the M'dok got within range--which might be

far too late.

He yawned and turned back toward the city

--just as his tricorder began beeping madly.

Riker glanced at the tricorder's display

screen, then quickly slapped his communicator

insignia.

"Lieutenant Worf ... I'm picking

up a concentration of bodies just outside the city

and heading this way."

"Understood, Commander. Sending reinforcements

your way. Worf out."

Riker drew his phaser and stepped into the long

prairie grass that surrounded the city.

"Who's out there?"

No answer.

"Who's out there?" Riker repeated. Now he

could hear shuffling in the grass. He adjusted the

settings on his phaser to heavy stun, wondering

if even that would be enough to slow down a charging

M'dok.

"Don't shoot!" A young man stepped

into view, followed immediately by several others,

including one person Riker

recognized immediately.

"Gretna!" He put away his phaser and

stepped forward. "Where have you been?"

She paid him no attention, striding by him as

if he wasn't there.

"Wait a minute," Riker said, grabbing

her arm and spinning her around to face him.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Let go of me," Gretna said, jerking her

arm free.

"Keep away from her, Commander." Larten, the

man from Carda who had been so rude to Riker

and Gretna before, moved between the two of them and

faced him threateningly.

Not wanting to provoke a confrontation,

Riker took a step back. "What's he

doing here?" he asked Gretna sharply. "And

who are all these people?"

"I am Anka," an older woman said,

stepping forward. "We are here to demand new

elections to the Great Saavta."

"New elections?" Riker shook his head,

dumbfounded. "Gretna, what's going on?"

"Don't play innocent with me," she said,

"after what Marcus told me the other night."

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.

"Marcus who?"

"Marcus Julius Volcinius. The teacher

from the Centurion."

"Teacher? He's no teacher." Riker shook

his head. "He's Captain Sejanus' cousin

--a special diplomatic envoy."

"Well, he's teaching Magna Roman

history to Tenaran children," Gretna said

angrily. "And don't pretend you don't know

about it! Your captain--"

That was as far as she got before the screams

started.

No stranger to Federation technology or to the

advantage of surprise, the new M'dok

commander had kept his troops close behind

Gretna's party until they were well into the

tall prairie grass that surrounded the city,

within sight of the largest building to be seen, the

Hall of the Great Saavta.

A few growled commands, and the horde of

M'dok burst from their well-chosen concealment,

moving faster than any human could possibly

have run, sprinting for the building.

They ignored the Tenarans who screamed and

scattered out of their way as they ran; despite

their hunger, this was an elite, perfectly

disciplined company. The new commander had told his

troops not to deviate from the previously

agreed-on plan they were to be allowed a very

brief indulgence, a bit of rest and

recreation, and then they must gather their cattle,

who would also serve as hostages. Finally, they

would commandeer native ground transport and

make for the spaceport.

One Tenaran was foolish enough to stand his ground.

Tall and strong, Yavam Poroviki had

been deeply impressed by the visitors from

Starfleet, and had dreamed of joining it one day.

If I can do something like this, no one can deny

me the chance.

He stepped into the street, both nervous and

exhilarated--but feeling more nervous by the second

--as he watched the ordered formation of M'dok

sprinting toward him.

"Stop!" he shouted, holding up his hand in

what he hoped was an authoritative

gesture. "You have no right--"

The commander understood no human language,

and he wouldn't have cared if he did. The young

Tenaran's body was hurled aside with incredible

force, blood gouting from his mouth as he landed.

He lay quite still.

Then they were at the Hall of the Great

Saavta, breaking formation as they jumped in through

windows and doors; a few leapt onto the

walls, scaling them with literally inhuman

agility, to enter through openings on the second and

third stories. They were all inside within

seconds.

Then began a one-sided battle such as the

Tenarans had never imagined in their worst

nightmares.

Most of the administrative personnel within the

building, generally old and completely

nonviolent for all their lives, were killed

without resistance as they begged for their lives. The

few who tried to resist were slaughtered just as

easily. Soon the walls, the furniture,

and the M'doks themselves were covered with drying

blood.

The famine had lasted too long, too many

young and females had died, and the warriors'

fury had risen too high, along with

their hunger.

This slaughter was far from over.

Melkinat's office was in a relatively

isolated wing on the third floor, so it took

some time for the noise of the battle to reach him.

When it did, he looked up from his paperwork,

shook his head, and tried to dismiss it, until the

sound became too loud to ignore.

He set down his pen and listened, with

irritation, and then, growing fear. At first it had

sounded like workmen; now, as he listened more

closely, it seemed that he could hear screams

and growls, and other noises he didn't even

want to begin identifying.

Suddenly very afraid, he rose from his

desk, the candles casting a flickering shadow of

him upon the wall. His shadow looked larger than

he was. Is this what I've become? A

shadow?

No!

For the first time in years, he looked at himself.

He had never been especially tall; it was his

powerful orator's voice, not his physical

presence, which had made him such a successful

politician. Though he was growing old, he was

still strong--the years of hard work on his

family's farm having left their mark on his

muscles. His appearance of frailty was just an

appearance, not reality. Now, after decades,

he realized that he was not a weak old man, but

a powerful one--and, therefore, potentially

dangerous.

His peers on the Central Council would have

been surprised to see the grin that appeared on

his lips then--a hard, dangerous smile, the

tips of his teeth showing from beneath thin lips. With a

single stride--and how good it felt to walk again,

instead of shuffling!--he was at the opposite

wall, lifting the great ax from the brackets that

held it. Then he opened his door and ran out

into the corridor.

There was blood splattered on the wall.

A M'dok warrior stood there, and clenched

in each paw was a Tenaran. Melkinat could no

longer recognize the faces, but he was quite

sure that he had known both those men.

With a shout that drowned the warrior's growl,

he rushed at the great cat, swinging the ax

two-handed. The M'dok was more than a

bit surprised to find a Tenaran who actually

fought, and he hesitated for a fraction of a

second. That brief hesitation cost him his

life.

Just as the M'dok was beginning to move, the keen

steel sliced deep into his side, crushing

both the inner and outer set of ribs. Melkinat

tightened his grip on the haft as he felt the

force of the impact run up his forearms.

He pulled the ax free, and the M'dok

commander crumpled, blood spilling out across the

floor.

Melkinat stared down into its eyes, and what

he saw there suddenly sickened him.

The creature was in agony.

The M'dok shuddered once and lay still.

Merciful God, Melkinat thought in

silent shock, standing there over the body, fighting

the urge to vomit. A living being--and I

killed it.

Yes, and I will kill many more, and I will go

on killing until my w orld is safe. He

knew something fundamental had changed inside

him, and it would never change back again.

He turned to go down the stairs, toward the

sounds of battle below, ax in hand.

Gretna watched Will Riker's face

closely as he listened to the disembodied voice

coming over his communicator.

"They're inside the Great Hall, Commander.

Ensign de Luz reports heavy fighting.

I'm on my way there now."

"I'll be there quick as I can, Worf.

Riker out." He turned back to the Tenarans.

"The M'dok are attacking the city. Stay

here, and stay together. You should be safe."

With those words he was off and running. He was

fifty feet from the entrance to the Great Hall

before he realized Gretna was following him.

"What are you doing?" he yelled, coming to a

stop.

"My father could be in there!" Gretna said.

"And if he is, his life's in danger!"

Horrendous sounds of battle, of screaming

and yowling, and phasers firing, could be heard from

within.

"In danger?" Will bent over to catch his

breath. "Did I ever tell you how

perceptive you are for a naive

Tenaran girl?"

Gretna tried hard not to smile, but

failed.

"Will," she began. "I--"

The front door to the Great Hall flew

open, and a M'dok warrior sprang out at

them.

Will had no time to draw his phaser. He

simply threw himself in front of Gretna, and

met the charging M'dok head-on. The two of

them fell to the ground, the M'dok's yowling

mixing with Riker's shouts.

Gretna screamed. "Will!"

Riker fell silent. The M'dok gained

its feet, and stood poised over him, its

claws unsheathed to strike.

Simultaneously, a beam of light shot out

of the doorway and struck the M'dok. It

crumpled to the ground and lay still.

A tall alien in a Starfleet uniform,

almost as fearsome-looking as the M'dok, stepped

out of the doorway.

"Are you all right?" he asked Gretna.

"I'm fine, but Will ..."

The alien knelt by Riker's side and

turned him over.

He took one look and slapped his

communicator.

"Worf to sick bay ... Emergency!

Beam Commander Riker aboard immediately!"

When he lifted his hand off the communicator,

blood stained his uniform.

"Will he be all right?" Gretna asked.

Worf nodded hesitantly. "Yes. His

injuries do not seem severe."

She turned back toward the Great Hall.

The fighting within seemed to have stopped. "I've

got to find my father."

"Wait," Worf said.

Gretna turned.

"You are Gretna Melkinata?"

"I am."

"Your father is not in there." Worf

hesitated. "I regret to tell you he is

already aboard the Enterprise. He is very

seriously injured."

Just outside Zhelnogra, where the city

disappeared into prairie that had remained

unchanged for a length of time beyond

understanding, the burial party was hard at work.

Jenny de Luz, Lieutenant Worf,

and a few Tenaran survivors were digging

graves for those who had fallen in the attack

on the city. In places, the giant sensor

dishes of the defense system rose above the

prairie, metal gleaming in the midst of the

tall grass. The system was perfectly

set up, Jenny thought. And yet it failed

miserably. And I'm the one who certified that

the satellite web was complete and sufficient.

I am responsible for much of what happened.

She straightened briefly, breathing in the

cold, clean air, stretching her weary back.

A few hundred yards distant, Worf

continued digging, working at a relentless pace.

Gaius had beamed back scant minutes

ago to the Centurion, to tend to one of his own

men injured in the attack.

Luckily, none of the Enterprise

personnel (save Commander Riker, of course)

on the surface had been caught in the attack

--only the Tenarans. And many more of them would have

lived, had they bothered to pay attention

to Worf's self-defense lessons.

She started to bend back to her work, then

stopped; her trained ears had caught the sound

of a transporter beam. Then she discerned the

approaching figure more clearly, and stiffened in

surprise; the man walking toward her, his

cloak of dark purple swirling about him as he

strode across the dusty field as though he

walked the polished floor of the Roman

imperial court, was Captain Lucius

Aelius Sejanus.

Reflexively Jenny stiffened to attention.

With a little half-smile the captain said,

"Be at ease, Ensign." He laid a hand

on her shoulder. "Gaius told me how

upset you were over this attack. I came down

to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine, sir. Just a little ...

frustrated."

Sejanus eyed her questioningly.

"Frustrated?"

"Yes." Jenny's normally timid voice

filled with anger. "Had the security teams

been there earlier--indeed, had the Tenarans

themselves accepted our offers to arm them--we could

easily have prevented this."

Sejanus nodded. "Go on."

"The Tenarans are weak, Captain

Sejanus," Jenny said angrily, all the

frustration of the last few weeks eating at her.

"They will not arm themselves, they cannot fight, they

..." Words failed her, and she finished the

declaration with a weak gesture.

"I share your concern, Ensign," Sejanus

replied. "But perhaps they can be protected, so

long as you and your personnel perform as

valiantly as you did today."

"Thank you, sir."

He eyed her carefully a moment before speaking

again. "And perhaps there are other measures we can

take as well."

"Sir?" Jenny asked, slightly confused.

Sejanus' communicator chirped.

"Excuse me a moment." He touched his

insignia. "Sejanus here. Go ahead."

"Captain, we have just received word from the

Enterprise. Chairman Melkinat is

dead."

"Oh, no," Jenny said, the shovel

slipping out of her hands.

Sejanus' face turned grave. "Thank

you, Lieutenant. Hold one moment." He

turned back to Jenny. "I must go ... but I

would like to continue our conversation. The next time you

are aboard the Centurion ...?"

Jenny almost blushed. She was planning to beam

up there later this evening to see Gaius, after her

work on the surface was completed. But there was no

need to tell Captain Sejanus that. "I will

be aboard tomorrow morning, sir."

"Excellent," Sejanus said. "Come

talk to me then." He bowed, then reached up

to tap his communicator. "Sejanus

to Centurion. One to beam up."

It was a long time before Jenny could concentrate

her thoughts enough to go back to work.

Chapter Eleven

Captain's Log, Stardate 41800.9

I have just returned from a very disturbing session

with the remaining officials of Tenara's Great

Saavta.

The death of Chairman Melkinat has

shaken the whole government to its core. They are

now calling for the removal of all

Federation forces, and that call is being led

by Gretna Melkinata--the late chairman's

daughter. Up until a week ago, I would

have counted on her support for a continued Federation

presence here to help the Tenarans defend their

world. I am at a loss to explain her actions

--while Commander Riker, who knew her best of

all, remains unconscious in sick bay,

recovering from wounds received during the latest

attack by the M'dok.

There is one encouraging piece of news in

all this, however. The M'dok we have captured

bear out Commander Data's hypothesis of famine

in the empire. We have dispatched this information

to Starfleet, who are bringing increased

diplomatic pressure to bear. In the

meantime, the situation here remains explosive.

I feel that Captain Sejanus and

Centurion are merely waiting for the M'dok

to reappear to start a full-scale war.

Picard sighed and leaned back in his chair,

shutting off the log recorder.

"Quite a day, sir," Deanna Troi said.

"Indeed, Counselor. And it's only

morning." He put a finger to his lips and

rubbed them thoughtfully. "I wish I could talk

to Commander Riker about all this." He flipped a

toggle on his chair, opening a channel to sick

bay. "Dr. Crusher, how's our patient?"

"He's lost a lot of blood,

Captain." Beverly Crusher's voice came

back. "But he's coming along nicely."

"I need to talk to him."

"And he needs to sleep. At least another

twenty-four hours."

The determination in her voice was clear.

Picard gritted his teeth. "Very well,

Doctor. Keep me informed."

He turned his attention to the main

viewscreen, dominated by Tenara and the

Centurion.

Much more than I need to talk to Commander

Riker, I need to talk to the captain of that

ship. To find out what he's thinking, what he

plans to do next.

And he might as well be a million

miles away.

The door to Sejanus' quarters slid

open, and Ensign Jenny de Luz stepped

inside. Sejanus was waiting for her, standing beside

a desk. He was wearing a simple Starfleet

uniform just like that worn by Jean-Luc Picard;

it made his similarity to the Enterprise

captain all the more striking, even uncanny.

He smiled with pleasure and came forward

to take her hand in greeting. "Ensign de

Luz. Welcome to my ship. May I call

you Jenny?"

"Yes, Captain. Of course."

Sejanus released her hand and walked over

to the windows and stood looking at Tenara spinning

lazily below them. "I've been monitoring your

holodeck exercises." He turned back

to her and smiled. "Your scores are most

impressive."

"It's thanks to Gaius, sir."

"You're too modest, Jenny. He tells

me everything--and he tells me you're one of the

most promising young officers he's come across in

years. Even including the Magna Romans.

But then, there's a little bit of Rome in your

background, isn't there?"

Jenny smiled. "Actually, sir, only

partly. Most of my ancestors were the native

peoples conquered by the Romans."

"The same may well be true of me,"

Sejanus said with a laugh. "I've never been

convinced that the Volcinians, or any of the other

gentis who claim to trace their ancestry

back to the original Roman patrician

families, have kept their bl oodlines as pure

through the centuries as we like to tell ourselves."

He seated himself on the edge of the desk. "I was

brought up believing that all of that--ancestry,

purity of blood--was more important than

anything else. I believed every detail of it.

But for years I've struggled to overcome that

upbringing. First I tried to make myself see that

I had to think in terms of my whole world, of

all Magna Romans, and not just of Romans.

Then I tried to expand my view still further,

to embrace all the member peoples of the

Federation."

"Yes, sir." Jenny nodded. "That's just

what I had to learn when I left Meramar.

That's what Captain Picard says quite often."

"Does he?" Sejanus cleared

his throat. "Your captain is a great man.

He's famous throughout Starfleet and the Federation,

and justly so. A scholar, a soldier when

necessary, a diplomat, a leader--yes, he

deserves his fame. I can certainly understand why

his crew admire him."

"We do, sir."

Sejanus nodded. "And I'm sure that

Captain Picard's real concern is for the good

of the peoples and worlds that make up the

Federation."

"I'm sure of that too, sir."

Sejanus raised his eyes to meet hers.

"But, Jenny, it's important not to be

blinded by hero worship. Even Jean-Luc

Picard is capable of making mistakes."

"Of ... of course, sir. I'm sure

he'd be the first to agree."

Sejanus nodded. "I'm sure you're

right," he said seriously. "That's partly a

measure of the man's greatness--that he's willing

to admit that he's as fallible as anyone else.

Unfortunately, that doesn't mean that he's

always able to see where he's going wrong, even if

it's pointed out to him. He may wish for the best

for the Federation, but he may not be taking the best

approach to ensuring the Federation's health."

Suddenly Jenny began to feel confused.

"I don't know what you mean, Captain."

Sejanus stood slowly. "Let me give

you some background to the Battle of

Britannia. No, I'm not changing the

subject. You'll see; it's relevant. Do

you know why the German tribes put aside their

differences and undertook an expedition

to Britannia to attack Londinium?"

"Gaius told me they thought it was

undefended, that the legions had been

withdrawn."

"Yes, but why did they think that?"

Jenny shook her head. "I didn't

ask."

His voice turned crisp and

authoritative. "Like the Romans of Earth,

my ancestors tried unsuccessfully to conquer

the Germans. We lost untold numbers of

men in those forests, and we scarcely gained any

ground.

"But we noticed that the Germans were becoming

more like us! They resisted us as

conquerors, but between fights, they traded with the

Roman settlements along their borders, they

learned Latin, they learned to emulate our

forms of government and military organization.

If anything, we realized that this made them an

even greater threat to us. But it also pointed the

way to a different method of conquest.

"So we started sending in teachers and traders

instead of soldiers. The first few were

slaughtered, of course, but eventually the

Germans let them survive and stay. Bit

by bit, our culture, our civilization, was

bringing about the conquest that our armies had failed

to achieve.

"And then a revivalist movement started in

Germania--cultural revival,

nationalism, rejecting everything foreign, which is

to say, Roman. Within two years they had

dismantled everything we had built, killed or

imprisoned all of our people, and terrified all

the Romanized Germans into returning

to primitive ways. Food, language,

housing, the arts--everything became primitive

again. And we were back where we had started

centuries before.

"Then we realized that we were even worse off

than we had been. The new leaders of

Germania were cooperating with each other, and they

were more aware than before of our empire as a

threat. Our spies discovered that they were trying

to organize an invasion of the empire, with

Rome itself as their goal.

"Our first impulse was to organize as large

an army as we could and send it north

into Germania to crush them once and for all. But

the Emperor Belisarius feared that his

legions would simply be slaughtered in the

forest, as had happened centuries earlier. He

and his generals hit upon a brilliant

strategy. They sent couriers through Germania,

on one of the shorter routes toward

Britannia, carrying secret messages to the

legions in Britannia."

"But that seems very foolish," Jenny

protested. "They might have been captured."

Sejanus grinned. "They were. And they were

tortured and killed, and their messages were

translated. The messages were orders that the

legions withdraw to Italia to help repel the

expected German invasion. The true

orders, that the legions were to stay where they were,

were sent to Britannia by sea, along with many

reinforcements. The Germans fell for the ruse and

sent the cream of their forces to attack what they

thought was unguarded Britannia. They thought

to eat away at the empire from the edges, but

instead they fell into a perfect trap, as you

saw on the holodeck. The aftermath was that

Germania was denuded of its defensive

forces, and Emperor Belisarius then sent his

legions in and conquered all of Germania in a

brilliant campaign taking only three

months."

"That was a very risky trick," Jenny

pointed out.

"Yes, but it worked, and that's what really

counts, isn't it?"

"Would those couriers think so, Captain? I

mean, the ones who were sent across Germania with

fake messages? You said they were caught and

tortured and killed."

"They were Romans, Jenny. They knew the

risk, and they accepted it as part of their duty."

He paused. "Perhaps you're beginning to see my

point, why I told you this whole story about the

background to the Battle of Britannia.

What saved Britannia and the rest of the

empire was the willing self-sacrifice of

brave Romans. A direct approach--a

brute-force invasion of Germania--would have

failed. It might even have led to the downfall

of the empire. There might be no Magna

Roma today. And that's really my point. That's

what I want you to think about."

Jenny shook her head, confused. "I'm

afraid I still don't understand what you're

getting at."

Sejanus now turned his back on her and

began pacing across the ready room. "What

I'm getting at, Jenny, is that what your

captain is doing now--here, on Tenara--is a

mistake." He turned to face her. "It's

cost the lives of dozens of Tenarans, and it will

cost the lives of many more people--from this ship and yours,

I would say--before Picard will admit his

mistake."

"With all due respect, sir, that's something

you should take up with him, not me."

Sejanus laughed. He walked over

to Jenny and put his hands on her

shoulders. "I can understand Gaius' interest in

you. He has chosen exceptionally well."

His voice vibrated through her. Jenny

stepped away, breaking the contact. "Thank you,

sir."

Sejanus turned toward the window and studied

the stars outside. He waited a moment before

speaking again. "I remember your words on the

surface of Tenara, Jenny--how you felt the

deaths there were unnecessary. Do you remember mine?"

Jenny nodded. "You said there were other

measures we could take to ensure the Tenarans'

safety."

"Exactly," Sejanus said. He turned

back to her, his eyes alight with excitement.

"The time has come to take those other

measures, Jenny. To strike back at the

enemies of the Federation, to do something bold, something

daring, something that will do more to ensure the long-term

safety of our worlds and peoples than any

number of defensive outposts we could ever set

up!" He gripped her shoulders again, and stared

into her eyes. "Something that will require brave

followers of the old Roman mold, followers

unafraid to sacrifice their lives for what

they believe is right.

"Jenny," Sejanus drew her closer.

"I think you are of that mold--I know Gaius

Aldus does. We want you here, aboard the

Centurion, to help in that undertaking."

"I ..." Jenny chose her words

carefully. "Captain, it may happen that

I'll be requesting a transfer to the

Centurion in the future anyway. I've

been thinking that I ought to speak to you about it,

to make sure you'd approve the request."

"Approve!" Sejanus fairly shouted.

"Jenny, I'd be delighted. I want

officers who can think on their feet, react

quickly--above all, officers unafraid to do

what has to be done. People like you, Jenny."

She drew a shaky breath. "Thank you,

sir. Then I would be honored to serve under your

command."

"Excellent, Jenny." He clapped his

hands. "Why don't you speak to your captain?

And I'll make all the necessary arrangements

here."

"Yes, sir."

Sejanus nodded, and watched her

go. The two members of his personal guard who

had been standing outside his door would escort

her safely back to the transporter room--

or to Gaius' quarters, wherever she wanted

to go.

Of course, had Jenny balked at his offer,

or behaved even the slightest bit

suspiciously, he would have had them escort her

someplace else entirely.

It was much easier this way.

Deanna Troi was not surprised when

Jenny asked for a counseling session so soon

after the M'dok attack; she was, however,

surprised by what Jenny wanted to tell her.

"A transfer, Jenny? Why?"

"Maybe I'm just tired of not fitting in

here, Deanna. On the Centurion, I

feel I belong. They're all warriors there,

like I am!"

"Jenny ..." Deanna shook her head.

"I know how fond you are of Gaius, how much

you feel a part of the Centurion. That's all

wonderful. But you need to get one thing very clear

in your own mind. Starfleet is not an

organization of warriors. We fight when we

have to, yes, but--"

"But we have to fight now! After what happened

yesterday, isn't our obligation to pursue the

M' dok to their homeworld and destroy their ability

to wage war?" Jenny asked. "Rid the

Galaxy of the threat they pose! The same

applies to any other enemy that threatens any of

our worlds. Why shouldn't we really train the

Tenarans to defend themselves, force them to change

their society so that they'll be safe even when

our two ships leave? After all, no enemy in

his right mind would attack Magna Roma or

Meramar. We should insist that the Tenarans be able

to fight for themselves--shouldn't we?"

"Isn't that a choice for the Tenarans

to make?" Deanna asked carefully.

Jenny's hand cut the air like a weapon. It

was more than an aggressive gesture; it

betrayed suppressed nervous tension and energy.

"Not if they're going to keep on asking the rest

of us to protect them from attack! They're using

us as their shield so that they can have the luxury of

living the way they want to."

As Jenny spoke, Deanna

listened to her words, and at the same time she

listened to her feelings. The empathic sense

Deanna derived from the Betazoid half of

her told her that Jenny was being torn in two.

This was more than an intellectual argument she was

having with herself, an internal debate about two

conflicting value systems; this was a

fundamental split, a tear in her being.

"Jenny, I can't decide questions of

political philosophy for you. You have to do that

for yourself. Every adult, every citizen of the Federation,

has the duty to do just that. I'm here to help you with

your problems of emotional adjustment. I

don't--"

"That is my problem!" Jenny cried.

"Everything I believed in is coming apart! Can't

you tell?"

Yes, Deanna thought, of course I can

tell. But I still can't prescribe an answer

for you. "Jenny, I think you could use a bit

of a break from your work before you decide to transfer

to the Centurion. One way or another."

"All right," Jenny said dully. "With

Lieutenant Worf down there, they really

don't need me at all."

"Good. I'll get permission from the captain

for you to get some time off, and then I'll want

to see you again after that. In the meantime, here's what

I want you to do. I know you had sections in your

Academy history courses on fascism and

English common law."

Jenny nodded. She seemed suddenly spent,

as if her furious outburst had used up all

her strength.

"I don't feel that they cover either

subject in enough detail," Deanna said. "I

want you to spend your days off reading as much of

what the computer has on those two topics as you

can manage. All right?"

"All right."

Deanna patted her on the shoulder.

"I'll speak to you later."

"Thank you, Counselor."

When Deanna Troi left, Jenny threw

herself onto her bed and stared up at the painting

on her cabin wall. She had brought it with her

from Meramar--the only keepsake she'd allowed

herself from her native world. It was a rendition of

Servado's Agony the semidivine hero

crucified by the barbarian horsemen

he had held off single-handedly for so long.

Below the rough cross, Servado's sword lay

broken in two. Despite the nails through his

palms, the crown of thorns on his head, and the

lance wound in his side, Servado gazed out of the

painting with inhuman calm. His eyes held a

message that Jenny had treasured all her

life "Be courageous, my daughter. Be a

warrior in my image, and we will meet in

heaven."

The message that tradition said was the last he

had spoken in this world was written across the

bottom of the painting "Resorgo." In the

language of Meramar this meant, "I shall rise

again." It was Servado's promise to his people.

Beneath the painting was a small altar covered

with a white cloth. A plain sword lay on

it, much like those produced for generations in

Hispania by Jenny's ancestors for the

legions of Rome. Straight, two-edged,

unadorned, it was a slender, lightweight

version of the legionary's sword. Jenny,

dressed in white, knelt before the altar.

"Holy Servado," she whispered, "bless

my weapon and my undertaking. Be with me as you were

with my father. Show me the right way."

She looked up at the painting hanging above

her. Servado's gaze looked as stern and

loving and approving as it always did, but now she

thought she saw something else there as well.

Something she had seen in Sejanus' eyes

too.

"Holy Servado," she whispered. "Did

you reappear after all on another world?"

But there was no reply. She bent her head

again and continued to pray, sometimes in English,

sometimes in her native language--that

corrupted, convoluted tongue that had once

been Latin.

Chapter Twelve

It was truly beyond belief.

Three days had passed since the M'dok

attack. Worf had even more people in the

self-defense classes he was organizing

than before--so many, in fact, that he had

requested Gaius Aldus' help in teaching the

class. The Magna Roman, who had yet

to arrive this afternoon, was an expert in

unarmed combat as well--and much easier for the

Tenarans to relate to, Worf had to admit.

And still the Tenarans found reasons not to defend

themselves.

As Worf had asked her to, Nadeleen

repeated the objection she had made to him in

private three days ago. "I am glad you

asked that question," Worf said. He had the full

attention of the class.

"Because you are quite right, Nadeleen. A

M'dok warrior would have sprung back to his

feet and attacked again. Your counterattack must

be swift enough, powerful enough, that the M'dok

is no longer able to get up. That is what I

will teach you today."

He picked a young girl at random from the

crowd.

"You--what is your name?"

"Arkanka, sir."

"Very well, Arkanka, please come here."

She stood up and approached him warily.

Arkanka was a couple of years younger than

Nadeleen, but she was as tall as Worf and

looked strong enough. Against the M'dok, she

would have a fighting chance--if she learns what I

teach.

"Now," Worf told the group, "there are

various parts of the body where humanoids, even

M'dok, are particularly vulnerable to serious

injury. Blows struck there, hard enough, done

properly, can even cause death."

The Tenarans all shivered

simultaneously. Engrossed in his lecture,

Worf didn't notice the movement. "We will

pass over most of them for two reasons. First,

I'm trying to keep what I teach you pared down

to the essentials and avoid more advanced

details. And second, you would be foolish

to try for most of those places on a M'dok.

The exception, however, is the throat.

"When the M'dok attack, they do so with their

arms out, so that they can strike with their talons, and

their heads up so that they can bite downward. They

expect their prey to be terrified, frozen with

fear, so they don't worry about the fact that their

own throats are exposed. They are therefore

vulnerable to the few simple strikes I will now

teach you. Arkanka, put your arms out and your

head up. Like this." Worf posed for her.

"Just a minute!" Arkanka

objected. "Are you saying that you're going to teach

us how to deliberately injure someone?"

"Not "someone." An attacker.

Presumably, a M'dok warrior."

The whispers changed to angry mutters.

"We can't do that," Arkanka said firmly.

"Can't ..." Worf took a deep breath

and tried again. "I do not think any of you will use

what I teach you to attack an innocent

person. We're discussing self-defense,

remember."

"Even so," Ingerment said, "we thought it would

be all right, because you showed us how to defend ourselves

without hurting the other person. But now you're

talking about something unacceptable."

"Unacceptable?" Worf repeated. "Is it

unacceptable to do what you have to do to save yourself?

It will take more than simple judo throws

to stop the M'dok."

"Then we won't stop them." Some of them

stood and began to walk toward the exit.

Before a general movement could develop,

Worf said, "Explain that to me, please."

Ingerment looked at the others, and seeing that

they accepted him as their spokesman, went on.

"We'd rather let them hurt us than be forced

to hurt them in order to stop them."

""Hurt"? M'dok do not "hurt,""

Worf pointed out. "They kill."

"All right, then," Ingerment said stubbornly.

"We'd rather let them kill us than be forced

to kill them."

"Better to die than be forced to take on the

moral stain of murder," Arkanka added.

Worf said, "But if one of you is going

to die anyway--you or the M'dok--isn't it

better if it's the M'dok?"

"Why is a M'dok less worthy of living

than we are?" Nadeleen asked. "We're

all sentients, so what's the difference?"

Worf thought a moment. "I like Tenarans a

lot more than I like M'dok." That earned him a

few smiles, but he could see that the issue had

not gone away. "What about Nadeleen's

reaction the other day? What if it is not your

own life at stake, but the life of a child or

someone else unable to defend himself?"

Ingerment had an answer for that. "They'd also

prefer to die rather than force any of us to commit

murder to protect them. Every Tenaran

feels that way."

"Every Tenaran?" Worf asked. "Even

Melkinat, who took down an ancient

weapon from the wall and split a M'dok

skull when the M'dok attacked

Zhelnogra?"

"We're as capable of an irrational

reaction as any other sentient being,"

Nadeleen answered him quietly. "But that

doesn't mean that it's proper to react that

way. Our laws and customs are based on

reason, not irrational rage."

Worf shook his head. "I respect your

beliefs--if every sentient in the Galaxy

behaved the way you do, there'd be peace everywhere.

But you've seen that the Galaxy doesn't work that

way. You have to deal with reality, not theory."

"We are dealing with reality," Nadeleen

said. "You're the one who's fooling himself, finding

excuses to give free rein to his

bloodthirsty instincts. We won't let you

pollute our world with any of that." She stood

up and walked rapidly toward the exit.

The others followed her. Worf called after

them, but they ignored him. Their unwillingness

to fight infuriated him.

Behind him, he heard laughter.

He spun around. Walking toward him across the

gymnasium floor was a young man dressed in

a Roman toga edged with purple and wearing

sandals worked with silver and gold thread. Worf

was annoyed with himself that he had not noticed this

man--presumably a Magna Roman--before,

and even more annoyed at the laughter, which he

took to be directed at him. He stiffened and

waited silently for the other man to come up to him.

The young man raised a hand in greeting.

"I'm Marcus Julius Volcinius, and of

course I know who you are." He became aware

at last of Worf's lack of response

to his greetings. "Oh, forgive me,"

Marcus said quickly. "I wasn't laughing at

you! I was laughing at ... at the irony of your

undertaking."

"Irony?" Worf rumbled.

"Oh, yes. You're trying to undo a

lifetime of training with a few hours'

instruction." He shook his head. "Doomed before

you start."

Worf gestured toward the door through

which the last of the Tenarans had exited. "They're

all young still. I chose them for that."

"Ah, but not young enough! How soon does a

Roman become a Roman, or a Klingon a

Klingon?"

"Klingons have a rite of passage,"

Worf said cautiously, "after which one is

deemed an adult."

Marcus nodded. "Of course, of course.

All societies invent such rituals. That's

not what I'm talking about. I asked you at

what age a child becomes imbued with the values of

its society."

"That depends on the child--and the society."

Marcus grinned widely. "Spoken more like a

diplomat than a warrior. However, it's

clear to me that the younger one gets the children, the

better the chance of changing their development."

Worf frowned. "You mean more than you're

saying. Please explain."

"Hmm. Yes. A Roman habit--to mean

much more than we say."

"A habit this snake is excellent at."

Gaius Aldus had approached silently, and

now stood behind Marcus. "I was delayed

aboard ship, Lieutenant, but I see our

class has left us already."

"More problems over what constitutes

self-defense, Gaius," Worf said.

"Marcus Julius, I think, was going

to suggest a solution to our problem."

"Were you, now, Marcus?"

"Gaius," Marcus said, bowing slightly.

"A pleasure to see you again."

"And for me as well, Marcus Julius,

though I am surprised to see you down here. You

should be aboard the Centurion, where you can't

get in anyone's way." His arm shot out, and

he grabbed Marcus by the wrist. "What are you

doing here?"

Marcus twisted free, bruising his arm in the

process. "You don't know everything that goes

on, Gaius."

Gaius drew himself up. "I'm supposed

to know everything important. I'm the

magister navis."

Marcus laughed at him. "You shouldn't take

archaic titles too seriously."

"All right, Marcus. Don't take my

title seriously." He grabbed

Marcus' arm again, and dragged him closer.

"Take me seriously. Now, what are you

doing here?"

Marcus looked down at the powerful hand

gripping his arm. This time, he could tell,

Gaius would not let his hold be thrown off

easily, and Marcus had no wish to make a

fool of himself by struggling ineffectually against

Gaius in the street.

Besides, it would give him pleasure to show the

"magister navis" how out of touch with

reality he truly was. "I'll show you," he

said. "Come with me."

"Excuse us, Lieutenant," Gaius

said. "I will speak to you later."

"Of course," Worf said.

Marcus led the way to a small one-story

building divided into two rooms. Both were being

used as classrooms, and both were filled with

Tenaran children, sitting attentively at desks

arranged in rows, being taught by Magna

Romans dressed as Marcus was--although without

the purple edging to their togas or the silver and

gold stitching on their sandals.

Marcus smiled at the look of shock on

Gaius' face as he passed by the open doors

of both classrooms.

"By the gods, Marcus, you've gone too

far," he said through clenched teeth. "You have no

authority to assign these personnel here."

Marcus said nothing, merely nodded through an

open door at one of the classes. In answer

to a question from the teacher, a boy of about six slid

from his desk, jumped to his feet, stood at

military attention, and recited, "Nomen

Romanum refers to the Roman power, which is

supreme all over the world of Magna

Roma."

"Very good, Tullius," the teacher said. The

teacher was a middle-aged woman, very erect, very

patrician. "You may sit down."

Tullius smiled happily and sat in his

desk again, like all the other children sat, erect,

stiff-backed.

The teacher called on another child.

"Antonia, finish this sentence for me, and then

translate it into Tenaran "Roma

locutaest ...""

A little girl, no older than five,

jumped to her feet and stood just as

stiffly as her classmate Tullius had and

said in a singsong, "Roma locuta est;

causa finita est. It means, "Rome

has spoken; the case is ended.""

"Excellent, Antonia. Anyone, what

does that really mean?"

Gaius turned away.

"Come," Marcus said. "There's more."

Now he led the way behind the building. There a

high wall blocked their way. It also

protected whatever it enclosed from observation.

The wall was made of the same metal used

aboard starships for interior walls.

"The Tenarans build with stone and wood,"

Gaius said.

"Correct. We added the wall ourselves, for

privacy."

As if to emphasize the off-planet origin

of the wall, the door set into it stayed closed

until Marcus said to it, his Aperi to was At

his command, the door slid to one side, admitted

the two men, and then slid shut behind them. Beyond the

door was a flat space entirely surrounded

by the wall. On that dusty field, Roman

troops were drilling.

"From the ship?"

Marcus grinned. "Look again."

Gaius did. The trainees were boys and

girls, of whom the oldest was fifteen or

sixteen. Then it struck him. "Tenarans!"

Marcus laughed in delight. "Exactly!

Young Tenarans! And they take to it, Gaius,

they take to it! Watch them."

Before them, the ranks dressed in archaic

Roman armor and armed with ancient Roman

weapons marched and wheeled and turned in

response to shouted orders--always in Latin--from

a Magna Roman officer. At his order they

stopped with a simultaneous ground-shaking tramp

of booted feet. Another yell in Latin, and

they all turned to face Gaius and Marcus,

struck their fists to their chests, and then shot out

their arms in a Roman salute. In one

voice they cried out, "Salvete!"

Gaius turned and stalked back to the door.

When it didn't open for him, he said,

"Open!" There was no response. He tried

the same command in Latin, imitating Marcus

his aperi to was Still there was no response.

Behind him, Marcus chuckled.

"It's not set to recognize your voice,

Lieutenant."

Without turning, Gaius said quietly, but in

a deep rumble that carried across the parade

ground, "Then open it for me, or I'll break

my way through it."

"I'm planting seeds. We're doing this

all over the planet. In time, these children will reach

the age when they begin to play a role in shaping

the destiny of Tenara. Some of them will enter the

saavtas. Others will create a native armed

force."

"An armed force?"

Marcus nodded. His eyes shone with pride.

"Modeled after the Roman legions. They

won't need our help to repel attack the

next time. More important, however, they and their

comrades in the saavtas will ..." He

paused, searching for the right phrase. "They will

alter the nature of this world and perhaps the Federation

as well."

"Marcus, you fool." Gaius shook his

head sadly. "I don't know where you got the

idea for this, but it stops now. You'll dismantle

your schools immediately, and you will return to the ship

and bring all of your teachers with you."

Marcus shook his head. "You still don't

understand, do you? I'm not under your command. I'm

Sejanus' cousin, I'm here at his invitation,

and I take my orders from him. What I'm

doing now, in fact, is by his orders.

Furthermore, if I were a plebe like you,

I'd be more careful. Life can be most

uncomfortable for those who insult members of

certain families--even in these democratic,

republican days."

"The captain would never approve of what

you've done."

"Do you really think so, Gaius?"

"We'll see what Lucius Aelius

Sejanus has to say about this!" Gaius

slapped his communicator. "Centurion!

One to beam up, and be quick about it!"

When Gaius Aldus materialized on the

platform of the Centurion's transporter

room, the technician standing behind the console

instantly straightened to attention and slapped his

fist to his chest, then snapped his arm out, hand

straight, palm down, in the ancient

Roman salute.

Gaius did not even notice. He leapt

from the platform and rushed from the room, down the

corridor to the nearest turbolift. He

ignored greetings and salutes from those he

passed. He was unaware of the people along the way.

He was preoccupied with what he'd seen on the

surface of Tenara, and what it implied.

Marcus, of course, was right Gaius was a

plebe. In the old days, that would have meant that

he was nothing, that his family name meant nothing,

that he was not considered to have such a thing as honor.

In these times, he was still unimportant and his

family name still meant nothing. But now he had

honor, and he would protect it. It was all

he had--except for Jenny.

In his quarters, Gaius used the

communicator screen on his desk to contact his

captain. The computer found Sejanus in his

ready room, busy with some of the mundane

details that running a starship required. He

lo oked annoyed at being interrupted, but brightened

somewhat when he saw who was calling him.

"Gaius! What are you doing on board?

Aren't you supposed to be helping that

Enterprise security team with--"

"Captain," Gaius broke in. "I

need to see you. Immediately."

Sejanus frowned. "I'm rather bogged down

at the moment. Can it wait until this evening?"

"I'm afraid not, Captain."

Sejanus nodded, instantly serious at the

undertone in his first officer's voice. "Then come

immediately. The ready room."

The communications screen went dark.

Gaius sighed and pulled off his Starfleet

uniform. Slowly, and with great care, he put on

his dress uniform, reserved only for

ceremonial occasions. This had changed little

since ancient times; it was the garb of the Magna

Romans who had set out to conquer a world--and

succeeded. First came a tunic. Over that, he

put on a heavy breastplate with armored

epaulets. He added a skirt onto which

plates of metal armor had been sewn, a

helmet, and a cloak. Finally he strapped

to his waist a belt from which dangled a short,

broad sword--ceremonial, but sharp-pointed

and edged.

He examined himself in the

full-length mirror set upon one wall. He

adjusted his armor, hiked up his sword belt,

and then, satisfied, stood to attention and gave

his image the Roman salute.

Now he felt ready for what was required of

him. Gaius left his quarters and headed for the

bridge.

Once again, the crew members Gaius

passed saluted him. Before, they had done so because

they respected him and because of his high status on

the ship. Now they did so for both of those

reasons and also because of the ancient, revered

uniform he wore. And this time, Gaius walked

more slowly, noticed the salutes, and returned

them gravely. "Salve," he said

quietly. "Salve."

The turbolift doors slid open, and

Gaius Aldus stepped onto the bridge, the

embodiment of Roma Aeterna, Eternal

Rome. Conversation on the bridge stopped, and the

crew watched in fascination as Gaius walked

across the bridge with great dignity and entered the

ready room.

As the door slid shut behind him, Sejanus

looked up from his desk. "Gaius. Be

welcome." Then the uniform registered on him,

and he raised his eyebrows. "Such ceremony with

me, Gaius?"

"Captain, you paid me the compliment of telling

Jean-Luc Picard that I have long protected

your honor as well as your life."

Sejanus nodded. "Quite true. Not a

compliment, but the simple truth."

"Then it is my duty to warn you that that honor

is in great danger."

"I'm not sure how that can be." The words were

neutral. The voice was cold. This was not

Sejanus speaking to his lifelong friend; this was

a Roman patrician reproving a plebe for

speaking out of turn. "Perhaps you can explain it

to me."

Gaius deliberately ignored that.

"Marcus Volcinius is in Zhelnogra.

He is overseeing a program to turn the children

of Tenara away from their traditional ways and

toward our Roman ways--pre-republican

ways, in fact."

"I see," Sejanus said. The captain

stood, and crossed the ready room to stand in

front of the great window. "Go on."

"Marcus implied that these ... these new

Romans he's creating might play some

important political role in the future,

involving more than just Tenara. He even went so

far as to claim that he was following your orders."

"Indeed."

"Does that mean that he is following your

orders?"

"Are you questioning me? Are you requiring me

to explain my motives to you?" More than ever,

Sejanus was the patrician reproving the

plebeian.

"By our friendship and our history, yes."

Sejanus stared at Gaius for a long

moment. "Very well, then. Marcus is acting in

my interest--mine, and that of Magna Roma."

"I fail to see how that can be, Captain,"

Gaius interrupted. "What Marcus is doing

is against the laws of the Federation and against the laws

of Tenara. It is dishonorable."

"Dishonorable?" Sejanus shook his head

angrily. "No, it is not dishonorable. It

is necessary."

Gaius folded his arms across his chest.

"Explain."

Sejanus sat back in his chair and offered

a smile. "Do you remember the war games we

used to play, Gaius? When we were children? I was

the emperor, and you my general?"

Gaius nodded.

"We could act with impunity then, with utter

disregard for the consequences. We could make

mistakes--die, even--but it was all

make-believe." He looked into Gaius'

eyes. "Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"Well, my friend, this is a game no

longer. The M'dok, the Romulans, the

Ferengi, follow no rules," Sejanus

said. "They will destroy us unless we destroy

them first. Using any method we can."

Gaius shook his head. "Any method?

No, sir. A battle won without honor is

a worthless victory. You knew this once--when

we defeated the Romulans at Adhara.

Then, you let the survivors escape, with

dignity. You showed them true Roman

honor."

"Escape to attack us again," Sejanus

said. "I was a fool."

"No, sir. You were a hero. And now you have

changed. You fight for personal glory, for your

own selfish ends. Not for the good of the Federation."

Sejanus rose from his chair. "No! Now

I act in the interests of the Volcinii gens

and our world. Support me, Gaius Aldus!

Join me! You'll be rewarded." He smiled.

"I'm not asking you for anything new. Continue

to serve me as you always have."

"You say we must destroy our enemies,"

Gaius said carefully. "How will you accomplish

this? Picard has command here--and he will not go to war

against the M'dok."

"True," Sejanus said, eyeing his first

officer carefully.

And then he told Gaius what he planned

to do with Captain Picard and the Enterprise.

"It is a bold plan," Gaius agreed

when Sejanus was finished.

Sejanus turned toward him, smiling.

"But it is the plan of a madman with a

callous disregard for life. I can serve you no

longer, Captain," Gaius said fiercely.

"You have no honor."

Sejanus stiffened at the rebuke. "And you

are no Magna Roman. You disgrace the

uniform you wear."

"Disgrace this uniform?" Gaius asked.

He quickly drew his short sword, and

Sejanus stepped back, hand moving toward his

chest insignia and his communicator. Gaius'

short sword darted out and flicked the

captain's insignia to the ground.

Gaius stared at him for a moment--a clear

look of contempt. Then he lowered his weapon.

"On the contrary, it is you who disgrace this

uniform, Captain. I go now to inform the

Magna Roman government of your plot."

"I am ruined," Sejanus said, distress

spreading across his features.

"No," Gaius said, his voice softening.

"You are saved."

He reached out to take Sejanus' hand--

--and his captain reached inside his guard,

drawing the short sword, and plunged it

into Gaius Aldus' belly.

The first officer groaned once, a horrible

noise like a giant animal gasping for breath.

He grabbed hold of Sejanus' wrist,

trying to loosen his hold on the

sword. But Sejanus stepped forward again,

putting his weight underneath the sword, and lifted

Gaius off the ground.

Gaius' eyes rolled upward in his head,

and Sejanus lowered his body carefully to the

ground.

"I will miss you, old friend," Sejanus

said, kneeling down by his first officer's side.

"But this is war."

He loosened Gaius' fingers from around his

wrist and wrapped them one by one around the hilt

of the sword. He held them there until

Gaius' grip stiffened and his hand grew

clammy.

Sejanus stood and wiped his hands clean on

a towel. He picked up his communicator

insignia and attached it to his chest, then touched

it once, lightly.

"Security here, Captain."

"There has been an accident in my cabin.

Send someone in to clean it up."

"Yes, sir."

Sejanus thought a moment. "And then get me

Jenny de Luz on board the Enterprise."

"Captain Sejanus?" Jenny's

surprised face filled the screen. "I was

told you wanted to speak with me, sir."

"Yes, Jenny, I do." He paused,

choosing his words carefully. "I regret

to tell you that Magister Navis Gaius

Aldus has dedicated his life to Magna

Roma."

Jenny looked confused. "Sir? I

don't--"

"I mean," Sejanus said gently, "that our

beloved friend Gaius Aldus has taken his own

life. He has given his soul to the state."

Slowly the meaning of the strange formal

phrasing sank in. Jenny's mouth opened.

No sound came out. She stared at Sejanus,

and tears filled her eyes.

"I understand your grief, child. Gaius was my

oldest, closest friend," he said softly. "I

am here if you need me."

Sejanus gestured, and the contact was broken.

And you will need me, he added silently.

Very soon.

Chapter Thirteen

"How are you feeling, Number One?"

Riker cracked open his eyes and groaned.

The last thing he remembered was Gretna

screaming ...

The M'dok.

He propped himself up on his elbows. He

was in sick bay, lying on one of the diagnostic

couches. Leaning over him on one side was

Dr. Beverly Crusher, and on the other, his hand

resting on Riker's shoulder, was Captain

Jean-Luc Picard.

"Fine--I guess, sir," he said. "The

attack--"

"Completely repelled, Number One.

Zhelnogra is secure."

"And Gretna?"

"She's fine--in a lot better shape

than you, I might add."

Riker groaned again, and turned to Dr.

Crusher. "Give me the bad news,

Doctor. How much longer have I got?"

"You'll live to a ripe old age," Dr.

Crusher assured him. "You had a number of

deep cuts here"--she pointed to Riker's chest

--"and a couple bruised ribs, and your right

forearm"--he looked down, and saw it was held

in place by a stasis field--"was broken."

She shrugged. "Just what you'd expect from a

face-to-face collision with a M'dok

warrior."

Picard smiled. "Perhaps I should have you take

Mr. Worf's self-defense class."

"Perhaps you should have , sir." Riker returned

the smile, and tried to sit up straighter. He

was rewarded by a bolt of pain that shot through his

chest like a knife. The captain noticed his first

officer's discomfort and leaned forward to help, but

Riker waved him off.

"I'm fine, sir." He took a deep

breath. "Fill me in on what's been

happening."

"A lot," Picard said. "And very little of it

good."

The captain summarized the events of the last

few days--saving the news of the Great

Saavta's impending policy change for

last.

"I still don't understand Gretna's

change of heart, though, sir," Riker said when

Picard had finished. "Have you been able to talk

to her father about it?"

"Aah." Picard hesitated a moment.

"That's a bit of bad news I had left out,

Number One." He sighed heavily.

"Chairman Melkinat was killed in the

attack on the Great Hall."

Riker's face fell. "Oh, no."

"I'm afraid so. Which has left a

thoroughly disagreeable woman named Anka as the

most prominent Tenaran government official--

and Gretna Melkinata has been supporting

her stance."

With his good hand Riker stroked his beard

thoughtfully. "What could have happened to change her

mind?"

"This occurred before the M'dok attack?"

"A few days before, sir. She had stayed

behind in one of the outposts ..." He snapped his

fingers. "When we met back in Zhelnogra,

she mentioned something about Marcus Julius

Volcinius--called him that teacher from the

Centurion."

"Teacher?" Picard frowned. "That man is

no teacher."

"I know that, sir. Perhaps you should ask

Captain Sejanus about what's going on."

Picard straightened abruptly and turned

away from Riker. "I don't know, Number

One. I am frankly convinced at this point that

the man is not to be trusted."

"Captain Sejanus?" Riker was

surprised, but said nothing.

"I'd be more inclined to find out more about Marcus

ourselves," Picard said.

"Captain Picard." The voice was

Deanna Troi's, and it came from the

bridge.

The captain crossed to one of the companels in

the wall. "Picard here."

"We've just had some rather disturbing news,

sir. There's been an accident of some kind

aboard the Centurion. Gaius Aldus is

dead."

Picard and Riker exchanged surprised

glances.

"Thank you, Counselor," Picard said.

"I will be on the bridge immediately."

He turned back to Riker.

"Something is rotten aboard that ship, Number

One--and I intend to find out what it is."

"Good luck, sir."

"Thank you, Number One--and get well

soon, will you?"

"I'll try, sir."

He was asleep, though, before Picard was

completely out the door.

Picard strode crisply out of the

turbolift and directly into the ready room,

motioning Troi to follow him.

"Have a seat, Counselor." He gestured

toward the chair in front of the desk. He

raised his voice slightly. "Computer--put

me through to Captain Sejanus on the

Centurion."

The desk screen cleared to give a view

of the Centurion's bridge, with Sejanus in

the foreground. "Captain Picard," he said,

"I assume you wish to discuss the further

disposition of our forces on Tenara."

It was the first time the two captains had

talked face-to-face since Picard had

assumed command of their joint mission. Troi

noticed that the two captains avoided

pleasantries or small talk of any kind.

She did not need her Betazoid abilities

to sense that these two men actively disliked each

other.

Picard said, "No, Captain. I need

some information from you. I am surprised and

distressed at the reported death of your first

officer, Gaius Aldus. I would like some more

information."

Sejanus' voice softened. "May I

speak in confidence, Captain?"

Picard nodded. "I'm in my ready room.

Your words will not go beyond the door."

"Good. I am reluctant to tell anyone

the details of the story, since it does not

reflect well on the Aldus family, but

I know I can rely on your discretion. Poor

Gaius learned just recently of a scandal

involving his family. It seems an uncle of

his was selling Federation secrets to the

Romulans. Gaius' uncle--and quite

possibly the rest of his family--faces

certain imprisonment."

As he spoke, Sejanus' face

grew ever more solemn.

"My magister navis, Captain, was

perhaps a bit old-fashioned--a Roman of the

old imperial school. He came to me in my

cabin and told me what he had learned ..."

Sejanus' voice trailed off. "I knew

he was upset, but I had no idea he intended

to kill himself."

"I see." Picard nodded. "You have my

deepest sympathy, Captain."

"Thank you, Captain Picard. If I

might ... I would ask you to keep a close

eye on Ensign de Luz," Sejanus said.

"She and Gaius had grown quite close."

"Understood. Picard out." He broke the

connection and turned to Troi.

"He's lying," she said flatly. "There is

much more to Gaius' death than he is telling

you."

"I feel the same way." Picard

hesitated, then said, "If you think it's wise

to tell Ensign de Luz about this conversation, you

may do so, but please do it in here."

For a moment Deanna looked puzzled. Then

she remembered Picard's promise

to Sejanus that what he said would not go beyond the

ready room. "I'll summon her now, sir,

if that's all right."

Picard nodded. "I'll leave. No, on

second thought, I'll stay."

Jenny arrived within minutes. It was clear

immediately that she had not been sleeping much. Her

face was pale and drawn--paler even than her

normal redhead's coloring--and with lines

Deanna had not seen there before. Her eyes were

red-rimmed, her uniform was rumpled and creased,

and her hair, normally a smooth red cap, was

dirty and uncombed. Still, there was a kind of

bright energy in her face, but to Deanna's

eye it was an unhealthy, driven kind of

energy.

"Sit down, Ensign," Captain Picard

said quickly.

Jenny sank gratefully into a chair.

"Thank you, sir." Right away, she turned

to Deanna Troi. "Do you have any news for

me?"

"Ensign--Jenny--the captain and I tried

to find out the details of Gaius Aldus'

death, as I promised you." She

told Jenny what Sejanus had said.

"His uncle betrayed the Federation? And so

Gaius killed himself?"

"That's what Sejanus told us, Jenny,"

Deanna said. "Do you have any reason to doubt

that?"

Jenny shook her head.

"Had Gaius given you any hints of trouble

aboard the Centurion, or with Captain

Sejanus?" Picard asked.

"No," Jenny said quietly. She stared

at the floor silently for a moment. "If that's

all, may I go, sir?"

"Of course." Picard smiled gently.

"And take the next couple of days off,

Ensign. Give yourself some rest."

"Captain Sejanus?"

"Hmmm?" The aide's voice had startled

him; Sejanus had been preparing for bed, and was

unaccustomed to interruption.

"Captain, someone from the Enterprise is

here to speak with you. An ensign." The aide's

voice carried an overtone of disapproval.

"Ensign de Luz?" Sejanus asked, the

fatigue vanishing from his mind. Instinctively

he could feel the importance of the call.

"Yes, Captain," the aide replied,

sounding somewhat surprised.

"Where is she now?"

"In the transporter room, Captain."

"Have her brought here, Lieutenant.

Immediately."

Sejanus had just finished dressing when the

chime rang. "Come," he said, sitting on his

bed.

The door slid open and Jenny walked in.

Sejanus was immediately struck by the difference in

her appearance. She was clearly exhausted, her

face lined with worry and pain. But somehow she

glowed with energy, her eyes oddly luminous.

He had never thought of her as attractive

before, but now ...

"Ensign de Luz reporting, sir." Her

voice was very distant.

"At ease, Ensign. Jenny. Please,

relax."

She moved from attention to a stance with her feet

shoulder-width apart, her hands clasped at the

small of her back, her upper body

still ramrod-straight, and her eyes staring

straight ahead--the textbook definition of

"at ease," and not what Sejanus had had in

mind. "How can I help you, Jenny?"

"Gaius Aldus ..."

Jenny had closed her eyes, and she was

shaking; after a moment, Sejanus realized that

she was crying. He rose from the bed and took her

into his arms, holding her tightly as she

wept.

After a little while he pushed her away

slightly, still holding her shoulders, and looked

into her eyes. "Listen to me, Jenny," he said

gently. "Gaius' death was a tragedy, and I

feel his loss no less keenly than you. But

we must put him behind us and look to other things,

to the future."

"I know that," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"Look." He led her to a chair, helped

her sit down, and stood beside her. In front of

them, on his desk, was an empty computer

screen. "Computer," he said. "Roma, the

Regia."

Onto the computer screen there came the

image of a great city, the view focusing upon a

large building fronted by massive pillars,

magnificently decorated. Men in togas were

walking in and out of the building, looking like

insects in comparison to the gargantuan

structure.

"This is the Regia Republicae, the

Palace of the Republic, our capitol. It

occupies the entire top of the hill we call

the Palatium. It's where the Senate meets

and the center of government on Magna Roma.

This is where the power lies!" He turned her

chair around, gazing down at her.

"That hill, that complex of buildings"--he

gestured toward the screen--"used to be called

simply the Regia, the Palace, and everyone

understood that that meant the Palace of the

Emperor. My namesake's palace, Jenny!

Augustus built his palace up there, and then

Tiberius built one near it, but it was the

Emperor Sejanus who completed the complex and

made the Palatium the true center of the

empire. For two thousand years it was the seat

of the emperors, the center of the empire, and then the

center of the world. For two thousand years, until

the republic, and even now it is st ill the

true center of power. It is the crowning

achievement of our civilization, yet it is in

danger of falling--in the same way Tenara

has."

He clasped his hands behind his back and began

pacing. "Jenny, the M'dok grow bolder with

each attack. The next time they strike, we

must deliver them a crushing blow--a blow that will

send them scurrying back to the safety of their

own borders. The Centurion alone is not

powerful enough to deliver that blow. I need the

Enterprise's firepower on my side to do

that."

Jenny swallowed. "I'm with you, sir ...

but there is little I can do to help you."

"On the contrary, Jenny." He faced her.

"You hold the key to our chances against the

M'dok." He crossed to the computer on his

desk and brought up a display of the

Centurion's defensive systems.

"Look how intricate my ship's

defenses are. No one man can possibly

coordinate them. It takes the thinking power of a

computer--and in any battle involving more than

one ship, the problems of maintaining a coherent

offensive and defensive strategy multiply

exponentially. One ship's computer must take

command of all the others--a procedure

accomplished through the use of a simple

six-digit number called a prefix code.

"We talked before about the Romans who

sacrificed themselves for the safety of the empire--

who were unafraid to stand up for what they thought was

right. Now I want you to stand up for what you

believe in, Jenny." He gazed into her

eyes. "I want you to obtain the

Enterprise's prefix code for me. So that

the next time the M'dok attack Tenara, I

have control of the Enterprise."

For a long moment Jenny was silent, staring at

the computer screen, deliberately avoiding

Sejanus' gaze.

Then she straightened, and nodded. "You'll have

that code, sir. On my honor, I swear

it."

Sejanus nodded, and allowed himself a small

smile.

He had won.

He would use the code to lower the

Enterprise's shields, and destroy

her himself. His engineers on board the ship were

even now sabotaging the larger vessel's

phaser banks, destroying her ability to fight

back. The M'dok, of course, would be blamed

--and that would bring on the war he needed

to catapult him to glory, to the command of his

planet ...

... and perhaps beyond.

"Is there anything else I can do, sir?"

Jenny asked.

He was about to dismiss her, then noticed

Jenny's eyes gleaming darkly, luminously

at him. By God, she was beautiful! If

nothing else, Gaius had shown excellent

taste.

Perhaps there was something else she could do for him.

"Jenny," he said urgently, "there's a

great adventure ahead of me. Join me. I

know you nothing is beyond you. Be my magistra

navis, stand beside me, command my forces."

He bent toward her, touching his lips gently

to hers.

With a passion that surprised him, Jenny

returned his kiss.

"Gaius Aldus! Commit suicide!"

Worf shook his head. "Never, sir."

It was the following morning, and Picard was on

the bridge, having just brought his security

chief, down on the planet's surface,

up-to-date on recent events.

"Go on, Lieutenant."

Worf's image, on the main viewscreen,

said, "I was with him yesterday, and he seemed in

fine spirits." The Klingon paused. "That is,

until Marcus Julius showed up."

Picard's eyebrows rose. "Marcus

Julius Volcinius? That man's name seems

to be cropping up everywhere, Lieutenant."

He thought a moment. "See if you can locate

Marcus yourself, Lieutenant Worf. And find

out what he knows about Gaius' death."

Worf grinned, revealing two rows of sharp,

even teeth.

"It will be my pleasure, sir."

Marcus Volcinius, in his brand-new

sumptuous house in Zhelnogra, was feeling

rather pleased with himself. He was ahead of the schedule

he had proposed to his cousin. Tomorrow

he would begin the organization of what he intended

to call the Young Romans League.

He was wearing the ornately embroidered

toga he would wear the next day when he

addressed the new organization. On his desk

before him was a sheet of paper on which he was

drawing various possible standards that the Young

Romans would carry during their frequent

parades. At this point, the words of the

League's charter were still vague, but he knew

they'd come to him. This kind of organizing was

certainly his talent, what the gods had made

him for. In the future--the future planned

by Sejanus--there would be even more avenues for that

talent.

The sound of a knock on the door interrupted

his pleasant reverie.

"Come in," he said. He was expecting

Julius Apius, his personal assistant.

"Now, Julius," he said, not bothering

to look up, "I need you to arrange for another

case of the local ale--the jhafre--to be

brought here immediately. The first one is simply

unsatisfactory, and--"

"Excuse me."

That was not Julius' voice.

He looked up--and saw Lieutenant

Worf from the Enterprise standing in front of his

desk, hands folded behind his back.

"I was told I might find you here,"

Worf said. "If you have a moment, I would like

to discuss several matters with you."

Marcus glanced quickly at the old-fashioned

clock hanging on the wall behind Worf.

"I find I am running late for an

appointment, Lieutenant." He rose and

pushed his chair back from the desk. "Perhaps tomorrow

afternoon ..."

Worf turned and noticed the clock.

"Hmmm," he said, taking it down off the wall

and examining it closely. "Your clock is

running fast." He turned the hands back a

full hour. "Now it shows the correct time."

The Klingon pulled up a chair and sat

down in front of Marcus' desk. "Now, I

would like you to tell me about Gaius Aldus--

what happened to him after you two left me."

"Ensign de Luz calling, sir."

Sejanus rose from his desk.

"Put this on a closed channel, Ensign.

In my quarters only."

"Aye, sir."

Sejanus strode quickly to the small

monitor in his quarters and activated it.

"I have the information you requested, Captain,"

Jenny said. Her eyes shone with excitement.

"Excellent. Beam over at once."

Jenny shook her head. "It would seem too

suspicious. I will rendezvous with you on the

planet's surface in one hour." She gave

him a set of coordinates outside the city.

Sejanus nodded to himself. The fewer people who

knew he had been meeting with an Enterprise

crew member before that ship's untimely

destruction, the better. "Very well.

Sejanus out."

He placed another call to his personal

guard, to alert the engineers aboard the

Enterprise to stand ready.

Chapter Fourteen

"That is a very interesting story," Worf said

calmly. "Now I would like to hear the truth."

"What I've told you is the truth,

Lieutenant," Marcus insisted. He raised

his right hand and held it out so that his palm was facing

Worf. "I swear it--upon my honor as a

Roman."

Worf frowned in disapproval. "Then we

Klingons have a much different code of honor

than Magna Romans. We would never swear

to such a transparent lie."

Marcus wiped his brow. The Klingon had

remained virtually motionless in his chair for the

last five minutes while Marcus spun a

tale of how Gaius Aldus and he had gone

to a brief meeting with a group of Tenaran

farmers. Now Worf glanced briefly at the

clock behind him again, and spoke in a disapproving

tone.

"I see your clock is beginning to run fast

once more."

But while the Klingon's attention was

elsewhere, Marcus had extended one

hand below his desk, eased open a drawer, and

reached inside.

"I don't know what you want from me,

Lieutenant," the Magna Roman said, "but

I assure you--"

He drew the phaser that had been hidden in his

desk and held it in front of him with both

hands, pointing it directly at Worf.

"--t you are not going to get it."

He would have to kill the Klingon, of course--

but how to explain his disappearance? Then he

remembered; it would not matter. His captain's

plan called for the disappearance of the entire

Enterprise crew.

He laughed.

Worf shook his head reproachfully. "I

know you are not threatening me with that phaser," he

said. "That would be a foolish thing to do."

"Oh?" Marcus raised an eyebrow.

"How so?"

"It is very simple," Worf continued. "That

is a type-I phaser--currently turned

to setting three. Powerful enough to stun most

humanoids, but unfortunately for you"--and here

he smiled--"we Klingons are not most

humanoids."

Marcus' own grin wavered slightly.

"Of course," Worf continued, "you could

change the current setting. But that would take you

at least two seconds, during which time I would

surely--"

Marcus glanced for a split second at the

phaser, sliding his thumb forward ...

... and Worf bounded over the desk in one

easy motion, ripping the phaser out of Marcus'

grasp as easily as if he was disarming a child.

"--overpower you," Worf finished, sitting

back in his chair again. "I was wrong. It

took you only one second to change the setting

on the phaser." He smiled.

"Congratulations."

Marcus nodded dumbly.

"Now, tell me about Gaius Aldus,"

he said. "The truth. Or perhaps you would like

to experience some of the physical discomfort I

promised you earlier ..."

Marcus slumped disconsolately over his

desk and began to talk.

The Tenaran plains were dusty and dry, and the

wind was high.

Jenny blinked back tears from irritated

eyes as she waited for Sejanus.

He materialized about a meter in front of

her, dressed in Roman armor instead of a

Starfleet uniform.

"Jenny," he said, stepping toward her. He

took her hands in his, and smiled. "Do you have

the prefix code for me?"

"Yes, I do. But first I want to know

something."

"Of course." Sejanus nodded. "What

is it?"

Jenny let her hands drop to her sides and

stared the Centurion's captain in the face.

"Why did Gaius kill h imself?"

"Why did ...? Well ..." He cleared

his throat. "I assumed Captain Picard

had told you. A family scandal." He

looked directly at her. "To talk of it now

... brings me pain. You do understand, don't

you?"

"Of course," Jenny said quietly. "It

brings me pain too."

Her gaze left Sejanus' face and

seemed to focus beyond the horizon, into empty

space. When she spoke again, her voice was

harsh and empty of feeling. "Because when Gaius

and I first met, you see, he told me he had

no family. No one in the world at all--but

you."

She turned back to Sejanus, and now she

couldn't keep the tears from her eyes. "He

loved you. And you killed him--just as surely as

if you had driven the sword through him with your own

hand."

"That's nonsense," Sejanus said

coldly. "Utter nonsense."

"Then why the lie about his family? Why

did he kill himself?"

In response, Sejanus moved closer

to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Forget him, Jenny. You and I are what is

important now. The things we can achieve together

..."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head,

pulling away from him. "You still don't understand,

Captain Sejanus." Her eyes snapped

open. "Captain, in my capacity as

an officer of Starfleet security, I am

placing you under arrest, relieving you of duty

until such time as you may be brought to trial.

You are charged with conspiring to overthrow by force the

democratically elected government of a

Federation member world."

"Jenny ..." He stepped forward, offering

her his hand. "Come with me. Stand by my side. You

can have power, glory, everything--"

She cut him off. "I don't want your

power," she said, spitting out each word, "and I

don't want you."

"Then you're a fool," he said, reaching for his

sword. "And you will have to die a fool's death--

just as Gaius Aldus did."

Jenny stared at him unbelievingly for a

second.

And then she went mad.

There was very little of Starfleet training in her

attack, and nothing of discipline. She was the

daughter of an ancient warrior family of

Meramar, of a people accustomed to fighting their way

to what they wanted through blood and war, and it was this

tradition that sent the adrenaline pouring through her

in a burst of freezing flame, sent her hands

reaching for Sejanus' throat.

He stepped back, hand around the gladius

hanging by his side; before he could do more than

draw it halfway, her foot smashed into his

wrist, and then she was on him.

He was knocked to the ground by her furious

attack, landing with her hands already locked around his

neck. He grabbed her wrists, trying to force

her hands back, trying to breathe.

Slowly the pressure lessened, and he

gained enough leverage to pull his leg out from under her,

placing his knee against her belly and pushing.

Even as she was lifted off him, she struck

down like a snake, fastening her teeth in his arm,

and then they were rolling over and over in the dirt,

each trying desperately to gain an

advantage over the other.

His superior size and weight told

heavily in this type of fighting. In the end,

though cut and bruised, he was on top of her,

holding her wrists with one hand, while the other

drew back for a brutal punch to the side of

her face.

The Roman struck her with a fury as great as

hers, uncontrolled animal

brutality, for that was his way. Both of them children

of warrior worlds, they had both lost control in

the rush of blood lust.

And suddenly Jenny was clearly, coldly

sane.

It's the warrior's way. It's

Sejanus' way. But not Starfleet's way,

not Captain Picard's--and not mine! She could

win, she knew, if she fought as she had been

trained. Even as he was preparing to hit her

again, she shifted under him, finding the weak point

in his balance and throwing him off in a single

convulsive movement.

Before he could rise, she lashed out with a snap

kick, catching him in the face, and then leapt

to her feet. He rose almost as quickly,

stretching out his hands and roaring as he charged for

her.

It could hardly have been simpler. She

stepped aside, dodging him easily, and

delivered a vicious kidney punch before

catching him in the stomach with a powerful roundhouse

kick.

Holding his side, he wheeled and charged her

again. This time she did not step aside; instead,

she met him squarely, stepping forward and

driving a side kick straight into his chin.

The shock jarred her, but Sejanus fell

to the ground, trying weakly to rise and then

collapsing, semiconscious.

She stood there sucking in great gasps of the

clean, cold air, standing over her fallen

opponent.

Then she reached up to her communicator.

"De Luz to Enterprise," she told

them. "Two to beam up." And then she threw

back her head and looked to the sky as her body

dissolved in the transporter beam.

"Lieutenant Worf calling from the

planet's surface, sir."

"Put him on-screen," Picard snapped.

He'd just had another frustrating day of

discussions with the Great Saavta--and another

angry exchange with its hard-line members

over the need for Federation defenses on Tenara.

The captain leaned forward in his chair, hoping

for good news.

Worf's face appeared on the main

viewscreen at the front of the

bridge.

"Any progress, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," Worf replied. "I found

Marcus Volcinius, sir--and some very interesting

information."

Captain Picard listened intently as

Worf relayed the information Marcus had given

him.

"Well done," Picard said when he was

finished. "Bring your prisoner aboard ship, and

then I think we'll arrange another meeting

with the Tenarans."

"Yes, sir." The Klingon's image

faded from the viewscreen.

Picard smacked his hands together in

satisfaction, and sat down again.

"Get Sejanus on the Centurion for

me, and--"

"No need, Captain."

Picard spun.

Jenny de Luz stood in the turbolift,

her hair disheveled, her uniform torn and

dirty, her face bruised.

"Captain Sejanus is in the brig."

She smiled. "And I am reporting in--fit

for duty, sir."

Picard walked slowly up to the deck in

front of the turbolift and studied Jenny for a

moment before he spoke.

"Yes, you are, Ensign." He smiled.

"And we're glad to have you back."

When he had to, Geordi La Forge could

move.

And judging from what little Captain Picard

had told him, he had to move now. When he

reached the turbolift, his heart was pounding

madly; he had covered the short distance from his

quarters with a speed that would have surprised some of the

best runners in the Federation. The human ones,

anyway.

Data, whom Picard had also alerted, was

already in the turbolift, waiting.

"Engineering," Geordi gasped as he leaned

against the turbolift door. He shook his

head. "Appius Cornelius and his Magna

Romans have been crawling all over this ship for

days. They've probably got the engines

halfway dismantled by now!"

"I hardly think that likely,

Geordi," Data began. "Were that the

case, we surely would have noticed--"

Geordi shook his head, just as the

turbolift doors slid open.

Simultaneously, the turbolift doors

on the other side of engineering opened, and three

security officers stepped out, their phasers

drawn.

The Centurion personnel who had been

working on the Enterprise systems looked up,

startled. As the security guards approached

them, most simply raised their hands over their

heads, but one grabbed a heavy tool and swung

at the head of one of the security officers.

There was no time to react, and Geordi

gasped, expecting to see the officer's head

laid open--and then an arm suddenly appeared

between the tool and the officer's head, stopping the

blow with ease.

Data smiled pleasantly, showing no sign

of pain from a blow that would have broken a human's

arm. He removed the tool from the Roman's

grasp and crumpled it with one hand.

"I believe the appropriate phrase is

"Surrender or die,"" Data said.

Geordi laughed. "You've been reading too

many old detective stories, Data. No

one says that anymore!"

"Why not?" Data asked, turning back

toward the Roman, who had his hands held high

and clearly intended to offer no further

resistance.

"It seems to work quite well."

Worf stood behind Picard on the bridge

now, watching the image of the Centurion

floating in space.

"Captain, we have a message from the

Centurion."

"On-screen, Lieutenant."

The ship disappeared, and its place was taken

by a burly, aggressive-looking man wearing a

cloak over a gold-colored uniform, with

commander's rank on his collar.

"Captain Picard, I am Commander

Claudius Marcellus Caecus,

Centurion chief of security and acting

captain. I demand to know what has happened

to Captain Sejanus."

How typical of Sejanus,

Picard thought sadly, that his security chief

should be so high in the chain of command.

"Commander Caecus, I regret to inform you that

your captain has been placed into custody."

Caecus' eyes went wide. "On what

charges? And by whose authority?"

"He has broken countless Starfleet

regulations, not the least of which is the Prime

Directive," Picard said flatly. "We

will keep him on board the Enterprise until

such time as we can release him into Starfleet

custody at Starbase 16. Furthermore,

if I have anything to say about it, Commander, and I

shall"--he rose from his command chair, his powerful

voice ringing out across the bridge--"he will be

court-martialed!"

Caecus' image abruptly disappeared,

to be replaced by a starfield, with the

Centurion floating before them. As they

watched, the smaller ship's impulse engines

glowed, and she accelerated away from them.

"Should I follow them, sir?" Wesley

asked from the helm.

Picard shook his head. "No, Mr.

Crusher, not now. But track them."

Wesley tapped some controls, then shrugged.

"They've disappeared around Tena ra, sir. And the

satellites aren't tracking them."

"Very clever," Picard said, steepling his

fingers. "The Centurion doesn't register

on the satellites' sensors, so we have no

idea where they are or what they're doing. How

did they manage that, I wonder."

Almost simultaneously, Data and

Wesley turned around and said, "The subspace

transtator wavelengths can be--"

Picard held up his hand. "A technical

explanation can wait, gentlemen. What's

really important is how long they've been

doing that, and what they've been doing in the

meantime. Worf, have Captain Sejanus

brought to the bridge."

Several things then happened

simultaneously.

The Centurion appeared suddenly from behind the

Tenaran moon, her phasers glowing with contained

energy. Without pause or warning, she opened

fire.

The Enterprise was totally unprepared, but

Starfleet designers had made the

starship well. The low-level navigational

shields, which protected the great ship from space

debris, absorbed some of the energy. The

immensely fast ship's computer should have done the

rest. It calculated in a picosecond the

direction of fire, how much power would be needed

to counteract it, and how much would inevitably get

through. Normally that would have been sufficient

safeguard to prevent damage. However,

Appius Cornelius' men had done their work

well, and there had simply not been time enough for the

engineers under Geordi La Forge's command

to find all of the Magna Romans'

sabotage. Despite the automatic

signal from the Enterprise computer, very little

extra energy was fed to the shields at the

impact point.

The Centurion's shot had been aimed at

the juncture between the main saucer section and the

warp drive section, resulting in a minimum

of casualties, but totally disrupting power

throughout the entire ship for a little over five

seconds.

Which was all the time Sejanus, down in the

brig, needed.

The Centurion's captain had always been

quick to take advantage of fortunate

accidents. As quick as thought, his powerful legs

pushed hard against the wall and sent him flying out

into the corridor.

The lights and security force field came

on just as Sejanus cleared the doorway to his

cell. He felt a tingling in his feet and

looked down to see that the soles of his boots were

smoking. It had been a near thing.

He rolled to his feet. No guards had

been posted. Foolish.

He ran down the corridor, and as he

ran, he slapped the control plates on the

outside of the other cells holding prisoners from

the Centurion, releasing them. There was a

good-sized pack following him by the time he was

done.

Sejanus gathered them together. "Is this

everyone?" he asked.

One of the Magna Roman engineers spoke

up. "All of us except for Appius

Cornelius, sir. They took him to sick

bay."

"Most unfortunate," Sejanus

said brusquely. Appius was--had been--

one of his better operatives. A pity that he

had to be left behind, but Sejanus had never

wasted time on vain regret. "Follow me,"

he ordered.

Together they sprinted for the transporter room.

"Sir!" Data said sharply. "My

displays show transporters being activated!"

"Cut power to the transporter room, Mr.

Data!" Picard ordered immediately.

Data's fingers flew over his console--but

even as he worked, the android was shaking his head.

"It is too late, sir. A full load

was beamed over to the Centurion."

"Sejanus," Picard said. He cursed

himself for not posting guards outside the brig.

"I am detecting an energy buildup from the

Centurion, sir," Data added.

"Centurion firing photon torpedoes,

sir!" Worf said.

"Evasive action!" Picard cried,

bracing himself. The whole structure of the ship

shook slightly as the powerful engines kicked in

full force.

But the torpedoes had not been intended

to damage the Enterprise. They detonated

several hundred kilometers in front of the

great ship, momentarily filling the main viewer

with a brilliant burst of blue-white light.

When the explosion faded, the Centurion was

gone.

"Can you follow them, Mr. Crusher?"

Wesley shook his head. "They left at

maximum warp, sir. There's no way to tell

where they are now."

Picard nodded; he had expected no other

answer.

"Lieutenant Worf, prepare messages

for Starfleet Command and the Senate of Magna

Roma, informing them of the Centurion's

disappearance and Captain Sejanus' plans."

He stood. "Mr. Data, you have the conn."

Picard headed for the turbolift and his cabin

--and some much-needed rest.

Epilogue

Several hours later, Worf went off

duty, having finished transmitting the last of

Captain Picard's messages to Starfleet

Command. Coded, of course--regulation

procedure in a situation where hostiles could be

monitoring communications.

When he returned to his quarters, he found

a message waiting for him from Jenny de

Luz.

He first thought of calling in Deanna

Troi. But Jenny was his subordinate, his

responsibility. He had recommended her

for the duty on Tenara that had led to her

involvement with Gaius Aldus in the first

place. "Computer," he said, "get me

Ensign Jenny de Luz."

"Ensign de Luz is on Holodeck

Three," the computer answered. "You are now in

contact."

"Jenny, this is Lieutenant Worf."

"I have something to ask you, Lieutenant."

Her voice was strong and purposeful, not at

all what he expected. "Could you meet me

here on the holodeck?"

Worf nodded. "I'm on my way."

When he reached Holodeck Three, there was

no sign of Jenny, and he realized she must be

waiting inside for him. He entered to find himself

in the middle of a simulation.

Before him was a flat plain stretching to a

distant horizon. The tip of the rising sun

showed over the horizon, growing slowly in the

overcast sky. To his left was a heavy forest,

and to his right was a hill, its top crowned by a

massive building. Ringing the hill was a

camp, with men strolling about or standing in clumps

talking. Every now and then, some of them would look

up at the building on the hilltop and then

resume their conversations. Jenny stood a short

distance in front of him, watching his reactions.

"Welcome to Meramar, Lieutenant," she

said. "I've spent the last couple of hours

getting the details right. What do you think of

it?"

"A harsh environment," Worf said.

"Very harsh. That's where I grew up."

Jenny pointed at the hilltop. "Castle de

Luz, which makes it sound a lot

grander than it really was. And that"--she pointed

at the encampment--"is the army of my father's

cousin, Domin Hame de Luz, which is laying

siege to the castle."

"Siege!" Worf exclaimed. "In this

day and age? With modern weapons, that's a

meaningless word."

Jenny shook her head. "Not if all the

parties agree to limit themselves to the weapons of the

first settlers brought here by the Preservers. This

siege happened when I was three years old.

It was finally settled by single combat between my father

and his cousin. My father won. I can still remember

his wounds. And the head of his cousin decorating the

great dining hall for a few days. Fortunately

it was winter."

"Barbaric."

Jenny grinned suddenly. "Remind you of

another world?"

Worf said stiffly, "Klingons were not

barbarians. They reacted to a grim

environment with a grim social code in order

to survive. And then in the end they outgrew even

that code and joined the Federation."

"Yes. Exactly the same thing happened

on Meramar. My ancestors evolved a

grim code too, to survive. They joined the

Federation, but the social code has scarcely

changed."

Worf felt off-balance. "Ensign, you're

not there anymore. This is a simulation.

Problems aren't settled here on the

Enterprise by means of single combat."

Jenny nodded soberly. "I know that, sir.

But I'm a product of this world. It's part of

me. I came here to try to understand something about

myself. The battle between my father and his cousin is

about to begin. Right now, my father is up there in his

castle, in the chapel, dedicating his weapons and

his soul to Servado and praying for victory.

It's an ancient ceremony. And this time

I'll be able to watch the whole thing with a lot more

understanding than when I was three years old."

A shout arose from the camp at the base of the

hill, and suddenly the camp came alive, men

running toward a central point. Jenny

smiled, her face transformed by eagerness. "Do

you hear that, Lieutenant? It's about to begin.

My father is about to come down the hillside and

settle the old feud."

"You said you had something to ask me, Ensign.

I have no interest in watching two men try

to kill each other." He turned to go.

"Computer," Jenny called out, "freeze

simulation."

The shouts from the camp stopped abruptly.

Worf turned back to Jenny. "Well?"

"First I have to correct you, Lieutenant,"

Jenny said, as if she were discussing a

completely neutral topic. "It's not two

men trying to kill each other it's two men

trying, and one succeeding." She took a deep

breath. "I want you to put me on special

assignment. I want to find Captain

Sejanus."

Worf shook his head slowly. Despite the

abrupt change of subject, he was not

surprised. "So you can kill him?"

"So I can bring him back to stand trial for the

murder of Gaius Aldus!" Jenny shouted.

Worf shook his head. "How will you bring

Sejanus to justice? He has disappeared--and

it is a very large galaxy, Ensign."

"I'll find him," Jenny said simply.

"I'll find him."

"Indeed," Worf said. "Then I wish you

luck. But why did you call me here?"

"I thought you might want to help."

"I do," Worf said. "But my duty is

here aboard this starship, Ensign. Not chasing

vengeance across the galaxy."

"I ..." Jenny said, and then she broke,

began sobbing.

There was nothing in t he manual about how to cover

this situation, so Worf acted instinctively.

He growled, and reluctantly allowed Jenny

to lean on him as she cried.

"I'm glad you could come," Will Riker said.

He reached out with his good arm, taking Gretna's

hand and helping her down off the transporter

platform.

"Will," she said, looking at him in shock.

"Your arm--"

"Is fine," he assured her. "It'll be

good as new in another day or two. Now, come

on--and I'll show you how Marcus tricked

you."

He led her down the corridor and into the

turbolift.

"Deck Four," he said. The car began

moving.

"So," he began, turning to Gretna and

smiling, "how do you like the Enterprise?"

"It seems wonderful. I'm very excited

to be here, especially if what you told me about

this ..." She faltered, looking for the word.

"Holodeck," Riker supplied.

"... holodeck is true."

"It may sound like a miracle, but I

assure you, it's quite real."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand how they

got the doubles to sound and behave just like real people."

"They're not doubles. The holodeck is run

by a sophisticated computer program, which they--

Marcus and Sejanus--simply told what

to do."

The turbolift doors opened, and Riker

led Gretna down the corridor to the

holodeck entrance.

"Now," Riker said, "what you'll first see

is a completely empty room--but whatever you

want to make real in there, you can. Anything is

possible in this room. Anything."

Riker touched the control panel, and the door

slid open--revealing Lieutenant Worf

holding Jenny de Luz in his arms.

Riker smothered a laugh.

"Excuse me, Ensign, Commander," Worf

said, detaching himself from Jenny. He strode

determinedly past them into the corridor beyond.

Jenny was just a few seconds behind him,

looking just as uncomfortable. "Commander, ma'am."

And she was gone as well, the holodeck

door sliding shut behind her.

"I think we interrupted something," Riker

said.

"I think so too. Will, what is this

place?"

"I don't know, but it's beautiful."

"It's like we're on another world,"

Gretna said, turning to take in the entire

holodeck illusion. "And you could make

images of people as well?"

Riker nodded.

"My father and Captain Picard?"

"I could," Riker said gently. "Would you like

me to?"

"No," she said quickly, then lowered her

gaze. "Will, I feel like such a

fool. I should have talked to you before about what

Marcus said, not been so quick to believe him."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter

now."

"But it does," Gretna said. "Can you

forgive me?"

Riker smiled. "Well ... anything is

possible," he said, taking her in his arms.

"Especially in here."

There was still too much to understand.

Jean-Luc Picard, scholar, scientist,

diplomat, and sometime soldier, drummed his

fingers on the table-top in his quarters as he

tried to comprehend it all.

The M'dok had at last responded

to Federation overtures--Picard felt confident

their murderous raids would soon end. The

Magna Roman government was itself in the midst

of a massive shake-up, sparked by these latest

revelations about the Volcinii gens. And

Sejanus ...

He was out there somewhere, Picard knew, still

pursuing his ambitions, undoubtedly planning

to pursue his mad dreams, to reclaim his lost

honor.

Picard doubted that he would ever know exactly

what motivations had driven Captain

Lucius Aelius Sejanus. That

Sejanus was truly a madman, Picard

did not doubt--but underlying the madness there had

been a brilliance and a capacity to make things

happen of a sort which altered the course of

civilizations.

Alexander, Picard thought. Julius

Caesar. Saladin. Napoleon. Gandhi.

Hitler. Schroeder. Colonel Green.

Kahless. Cochrane. Surak. Tagore.

It's such a fine line ...

Perhaps, as well, it was another case of power

corrupting? For Magna Roma to leap from the

equivalent of twentieth to twenty-fourth

century Earth technology in eighty years

had to be a heady, destabilizing experience.

To find oneself with so much power, so quickly ...

It could change a man--even one who had

passed Starfleet's strict psychological

tests.

And yet there was more.

For within Captain Sejanus there

had also been something else which, perhaps, only

Captain Picard could fully understand.

It was nothing he could name, nor did he

want to.

"But in Lucius Aelius Sejanus,"

he whispered aloud into the silence of his cabin,

"there was much of Jean-Luc Picard."

He stared at his desk, at his hands lying

folded atop it.

Our hands and our minds, he thought. These are

what make us human. What our minds can

imagine, for good or ill, our hands can build.

And from then on, there are no limits.

Outside the Enterprise were uncounted

gleaming stars, and things that had yet to be

understood, and the absolute silence of space.