Star Trek:
The Next Generation™:
Slings and Arrows

Book 1: A Sea of Troubles by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

COMING SOON:

Book 2: The Oppressor’s Wrong by Phaedra M. Weldon

Book 3: The Insolence of Office by William Leisner

Book 4: That Sleep of Death by Terri Osborne

Book 5: A Weary Life by Robert Greenberger

Book 6: Enterprises of Great Pitch and Moment by Keith R.A. DeCandido

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2007 by CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved. STAR TREK and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc.

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ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5008-2
ISBN-10: 1-4165-5008-9

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

On any project, a good editor can make a writer look great. For his help on this one, we salute Keith DeCandido, a god among editors. You know, not the smiley kind of god, with a robe and a white beard, but the cool kind. With tentacles.

CHAPTER
1

The U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-E, sped through space. Long, lean, and muscular, like a hunting hound, she dodged and leapt through hedgerows of dust clouds and incandescent gas. As fast and nimble as she was graceful, her nearly seven-hundred meter length turned like a fighter as she threaded her way through the clouds of the vast planetary nebula that surrounded the bloated red star Pantera.

But this hound was the hunted, not the hunter, and though she could not see her pursuer through the clouds and sensor echoes, the volley of pulse-phaser bolts that cut narrowly above her saucer section offered ample evidence of its presence. Responding, the Enterprise veered hard to starboard and dove headlong into a streamer of glowing yellow dust large enough to hide a planet.

Sitting in his command chair on the bridge, Captain Jean-Luc Picard watched intently as his crew responded to the threat. They moved quickly in reaction to the readings flashing across their displays, without wasted motion. Despite the pursuit, the crew maintained their outward calm, their low tones a muted hum against the chirps and beeps of monitors relaying ever-changing warnings.

Picard could sense the underlying tension, as palpable as the low rumble growing in the deck beneath his feet. The ship’s deflectors struggled to handle the huge concentrations of dust at speeds their designers could scarcely have imagined.

“Status, Mr. Data.”

“The star’s radiation flux is increasing. Shields at eighty-seven percent and deteriorating, Captain. We are suffering minor hull erosion at the leading edge of the saucer section.” A slight quaver in Data’s voice served to remind Picard of the functioning emotion chip that Data now carried.

But Picard’s thoughts were more on the damage to his newly launched ship, and he couldn’t suppress a tiny, sad, flash of smile. We had to scratch the paint sometime. “Reduce to one-quarter impulse. Lieutenant Hawk, switch to evasion pattern omega two.”

“Aye, sir.” There was a trace of emotion in Hawk’s voice as well. Excitement. Pride. Most of Picard’s senior staff had not come to this newest Enterprise until after its shakedown cruise. But Sean Hawk was what had been known since ancient nautical times as a plank-owner. He’d been with the ship since its space-frame had been assembled at drydock. He knew this ship and its capabilities as well as anyone aboard. Damn the manuals—if Hawk said it could be done, it could be done.

Commander William T. Riker turned to look at Picard, his eyes narrow and intense. “No sign they followed us into the dust streamer—not that sensors do us much good here. Do you think we’ve lost them?”

“What do you think, Number One?”

Will grinned slightly, a brief flash of white teeth against his dark beard. He knew the outcome of this encounter, and therefore the safety of the ship, might depend on his evaluation, and though he relished the responsibility, he understood the importance of his decision.

“If I were them, I’d risk a few tenths of a second of warp straight up out of the star’s elliptic to give the sensors the best view back down into the nebula. Then I’d warp back in at the first hint of a sensor contact.”

Picard nodded. “They’ll be waiting for us on the other side. At most we’ll have a slight element of surprise. The question is, how to best use that to our advantage.”

The captain pulled up a tactical display of the region on his console. The Pantera Nebula was only a few thousand standard years old, the cast-off gaseous shell of a class-G star gone nova and the pulverized dust of its inner planets. It would last no more than a few more tens of thousands of years before it began to dissipate.

Metals in the dust made sensors unreliable, and the region was in constant flux, impossible to chart accurately for more than a few days at a time. Complicating things was the star itself, violent and variable, subject to occasional and not always predictable fluctuations in brightness and energy output.

For astronomers and scientists it was an exciting and fascinating place. For a starship, it was a challenge, a hostile and dangerous place to operate. Yet this was also what made the region ideal for Picard’s purposes, if they could stay alive long enough to learn its secrets.

“Mr. Hawk, plot a maximum-impulse course toward the alpha planetary remnant, closest possible approach.” The alpha remnant was little more than a molten, metallic ember, all that was left of a super-Jovian gas giant, its atmosphere long ago stripped away by the nova. Soon, even this would be swallowed by its expanding parent star.

Data turned his chair to face Picard. “Captain, I should point out that this will bring us dangerously close to the star’s corona. With our degraded shields…”

“As we make our closest approach, you’ll divert power from propulsion to shields and structural integrity fields. We’ll use the remnant’s gravity to slingshot around and away from the star.”

Data raised an eyebrow and nodded. “That will conserve power and minimize our exposure to solar radiation.” He turned back to his console and set immediately to work. “I will program an optimized power redistribution pattern.”

“Mr. Hawk, do you concur?”

Hawk was already busy with the new course. “She’ll hold together, Captain.”

“See that she does.”

Ahead, the clouds of dust were clearing, the glowing red eye of the central star peeking through. “Put the remnant on-screen.”

Even at maximum magnification, the remnant barely filled the screen. But it grew rapidly, the day side black, veined with silver, the night side glowing orange, seas of molten metal in which black, slowly dissolving continents floated like ice cubes in a neglected glass of Andorian glow-ale.

“The planet’s crust is highly unstable. It will be difficult to determine the surface elevation at the point of our closest pass.”

There was that quaver in Data’s voice again, so slight that someone who knew him less well than Picard would not have noticed. Fear.

That was new. Data had only recently installed his emotion chip, and in dealing with his emotions, Picard’s most trusted officer remained unseasoned and relatively untested.

“Then I trust you’ll give Mr. Hawk your best guess, Commander,” Picard said.

“Aye, sir.” Something on his console caught Data’s eye. “The pursuit vessel has spotted us, Captain. They have warped in two hundred and eighty thousand kilometers behind us and are following at maximum impulse.”

The image of the planet remnant overflowed the screen as they approached, plumes of volcanic ash interrupting the razor line of the planet’s horizon. A huge mountain range, jagged and raw, appeared over the horizon and raced toward them with alarming speed.

Picard leaned forward in his chair. “Lieutenant Hawk.”

Hawk said nothing, his brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers danced over the console. Thrusters fired. The view on the screen rolled slightly, and the Enterprise shot through a narrow mountain pass like a thread through the eye of a needle.

“The pursuit vessel,” said Data, “is taking a looser arc around the planet. Sensors show that their shields are weakening, and they are losing speed. Captain, readings indicate a solar flare is beginning only slightly off-axis from our current position. Particle density is already climbing.”

“Mr. Hawk, get us in the planet’s shadow. Now! Data, where is the pursuit ship?”

“Still lagging behind, Captain. I do not believe they will make the planet’s shadow before—”

On the screen, a streamer of glowing plasma swept past them like a passing train, catching and shaking the small dot that was the pursuing spacecraft.

Data tapped his console rapidly. “Captain, their shields are down to thirty percent. Radiation flux is still increasing. They have damage to weapons, warp, and impulse systems. I cannot be more precise due to the radiation interference.”

Picard’s jaw clenched. This had suddenly gone from a combat situation to a rescue. “Transporters?”

Data shook his head, never looking up from his console. “Nonoperational due to the radiation, Captain.”

“Lieutenant, bring us within tractor range, best possible speed, then plot an immediate return course back into the planet’s shadow. Data, prepare to take them in tow.”

Now they were rushing headlong toward the vessel they’d just spent the last six hours trying to elude. The ship grew from a dot to a saucer with two under-slung nacelles. Picard was able to read U.S.S. SAMSON across the saucer in the blue glow of the tractor beam.

A Federation officer appeared on the screen, square-jawed and distinguished-looking, with wavy silver hair and captain’s pips on his uniform. “Looks like you win this engagement, Jean-Luc.”

“If we don’t survive this, Roger, nobody wins.”

The captain grunted. “Impulse is down. Main power is down. I’m routing all available secondary power to shields and structural integrity.” On the screen, Picard could see the Samson’s bridge shake as the tractor beam took hold.

“Full ahead, Mr. Hawk.”

“Shields are down to twenty-five percent, Captain.”

“Put everything you can between us and the star, Data. And keep an eye on the Samson’s shields. If they fail, we may have to protect them as well.”

There was an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation before Data replied. “Aye, sir. Radiation flux still increasing. I estimate six minutes before it peaks.”

“Thirty seconds till we enter the penumbra, Captain,” said Hawk, referring to the area of partial shadow behind the planet. They would not be truly safe until they entered the total darkness of the umbra, a narrow cone directly behind the planet.

“The Samson’s shields are failing,” said Data, “I am attempting to compensate.” He tapped rapidly at his console. “Our shield power is draining rapidly, Captain.”

“Star on-screen,” ordered Picard. The glowing red eye of Pantera filled the screen, and as he watched, the black disk of the planetary remnant began to slide across it.

“Radiation is falling,” reported Data, “but shield power is becoming critical.”

“Just a few more seconds, Data. A few more seconds—”

The star vanished behind the planet, and they were instantly treated to a stunning sight as the visible cone of shadow appeared around them, outlined by brilliantly illuminated clouds of dust and glowing energetic plasma. Streaks of light and color hundreds of thousands of kilometers long danced around them. Even Data stared at the screen, awestruck.

Picard tore his eyes from the screen. “There’ll be time for sightseeing later. Status.”

“I’m assuming a stable position behind the planet while we make repairs,” said Hawk.

“Shield power is already returning,” said Data. “There is widespread damage, but most is minor. Commander La Forge reports we should be fully operational within the hour.”

“Very good. Contact the Samson and see if they need any assistance with repairs. Mr. Hawk, keep us in the planet’s shadow for now. Let’s give our shields a rest.” Picard stood and tugged at the hem of his tunic. “Number One, you have the bridge. I’ll be in my ready room.”

He instinctively turned to port, then remembered that the Sovereign-class Enterprise-E had the ready room to starboard. It caused but the slightest swerve in his step, yet it made him feel no less the fool. Perhaps a new ship is a good thing. Maybe I was getting too comfortable, too set in my ways.

The ready room had an enclosed, intimate feel, with a single vertical window through which he could glimpse the nebula’s stunning streamers of yellow, green, and gold beyond. He ignored them and slipped behind his slender arc of a desk, inlaid with dark hardwood from some world he had yet to identify. “Computer, open a channel to Captain Adrian on the Samson.”

The screen came to life. The Samson’s ready room had been fitted with a large window onto the bridge, and in the background, Picard could see a flurry of activity. Captain Roger Adrian initially was turned away, concerned with some other matter. Finally he passed a padd to someone unseen off-screen, and turned to address Picard. “That was quite a chase you gave us, Jean-Luc.”

“I trust repairs are going well.”

Adrian nodded. “We’re short a few plasma diverters, but your chief engineer is beaming over some spares. Quite a beating we took just for a combat exercise.” He shook his head. “I hope this is all worth it. If I lost my ship in an exercise they’d bust me back to junior waste management engineer on an ore freighter.”

Picard smiled sadly. “These are hard times, Roger. Starfleet needs every captain it can get. More likely, they’ll assign the waste management engineer as your first officer.”

He chuckled. “It would serve me right.” But his smile faded and they just looked at each other for a moment, darker concerns looming, unspoken.

Finally Picard broke the silence. “You’ve seen the latest intelligence projections?”

He nodded. “I never thought I’d live to see so many wars. The Cardassians. The Borg. The Klingons. Now the Dominion. We’ve lost too many officers, and too many ships. And the Dominion is unlike any enemy we’ve faced before. Genetically engineered Jem’Hadar soldiers, Changeling infiltrators. We’re—” He hesitated, as though the word itself tasted foul. “—vulnerable.”

Picard nodded. “But we’re also forewarned. That’s why we’re out here testing new tactics, new ways to refit modern weapons to old ships…”

Captain Adrian frowned. “That’s putting a good face on it, Jean-Luc. You can read between the lines as well as I.”

Picard sighed. “We’re part of contingency planning. If the core Federation worlds, even Earth, should fall, Command believes this could turn into a guerrilla war of last resort. I admit that. Still, although it’s wise to consider every option, it does not sit well with me to plan on losing.”

A bit of a smile crept back onto Captain Adrian’s face. “Then we’ll just have to win, won’t we?” He picked up a padd off his desk and briskly changed the subject, as though talking about the war had somehow brought it closer. “Well, this is a supply rendezvous as well as an exercise. I’ve got eight transfer officers from Starbase 11 for you, and two crates of assorted isolinear circuits so state-of-the-art that we couldn’t use them over here on a bet. I also picked up a case of ’57 Van Dozier chardonnay last time I was back on Earth. Very nice. I’m sending over a bottle, just as a reminder there are things worth fighting for.”

“You should beam over, and we could raise a glass together. Our new lounge is an excellent place to observe the nebula.”

“I’m sure it is, but we’re scheduled to return immediately to Jupiter Station for debriefing and analysis of our new targeting systems.” The regret in Adrian’s voice only served to underscore the growing threats that made such a visit impossible.

“Another time then.” Picard lifted his chin, his posture ramrod straight. He was a man used to winning, and the coming battle would be no different.

“We’ll toast to victory,” the Samson’s captain replied, his resolve mirroring Picard’s. “Adrian out.”

Picard stared at the blank screen for a moment. Victory. If history had taught him anything, it was that victory was an elusive word. Hard to achieve. Often hard to define. Defeat, sadly, was more concrete, and much more easily accomplished.

On an impulse, he tapped his combadge. “Picard to transporter room three. Have the transfer officers beamed over from the Samson yet?”

“Chief Mun Ying here, Captain. The Samson’s transporter emitters were knocked out of alignment. They’re running final tests and estimate five minutes until they’re ready. Would you like me to do a direct beam-over?”

“No. Hold transport till I arrive. I’m on my way.”

He stepped out of the ready room, and Commander Riker, who was leaning over Data’s shoulder examining the console, looked up.

“The bridge is still yours. I’m going down to meet the new officers who are beaming aboard.”

Riker raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That’s unusual, Captain.”

It was true enough. Picard knew he had the reputation of being distant from his junior officers and crew. Sometimes he never met short-timers at all, and occasionally he went months before meeting newcomers. There was an especially infamous incident where a promising young officer had “introduced herself” by accidentally dumping a cup of hot chocolate on the captain’s uniform.

“It’s a new ship, Number One. Perhaps it is time for some new traditions.”

Lieutenant Hawk turned his chair to face Picard. “Captain?”

Hawk hesitated, and Picard nodded an acknowledgment. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“One of those officers is an Academy classmate and a friend of mine. Permission to accompany you?”

Picard hesitated for only a moment. Several of the new crew would be serving on the bridge. Hawk would make a good mentor, and he could act as a liaison to get them acclimated. “Granted.”

Hawk stood and fell in behind Picard as he stepped into the turbolift.

Picard shifted his feet slightly. He’d never been good at small talk with junior officers. Perhaps it was time to change that as well. “My compliments on your flying skill today, Lieutenant.”

Hawk grinned slightly. “I told you she’d hold together, Captain.”

“You’re proud of this ship, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been with the E since her keel was laid down in drydock, Captain. I’ve always heard plank-owners had a special bond with their ships, but I never really understood that until now.”

“I envy you in that, Lieutenant. The Stargazer was an old ship when I first lay eyes on her, and I even missed the shakedown on the Enterprise-D. Just once, I’d like to share that experience, but I’m afraid at this point in my life, I never will.”

“It could be worse, Captain. Even if I weren’t a plank-owner, I could spend the rest of my days serving on the E and be a happy man. She’s a good ship.”

“Indeed she is, Lieutenant. Indeed she is.”

The turbolift doors opened and they stepped into the corridor. Picard looked over at Hawk. “This classmate of yours?”

“Lieutenant Linda Addison.”

“Our new security chief?”

“Yes, sir. We were drinking buddies back in the day, and did some rock climbing together. We’ve fallen out of touch, but every six months or so one of us remembers to send the other a message catching up. Last I heard, she was headed for Vulcan to take some leave time.”

Picard nodded. Addison had served as a security officer on the Enterprise-D under Worf. With the Klingon now serving as strategic operations officer on Deep Space 9, his old job was open, and the newly promoted Addison had taken it.

They stepped into the transporter room. Chief Mun Ying stood at the console, a stocky man with thin black hair. “Ready to transport on your command, Captain.”

“Energize.”

Even the transporter, Picard noted, had a slightly different sound on the new ship. He felt a pang of regret for the old D. It seemed a much more common emotion lately.

The first group of six officers shimmered into solidity on the pad. Addison was not in this first group.

“Chief, bring the rest over at will.”

He turned to the new arrivals, who were all looking at him with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. “I’d like you all to remain here for the moment.”

The remaining two officers beamed over. He immediately recognized Addison: a tall woman, thin and athletic, dark-skinned, with short, curly auburn hair. Picard gestured for them to join the others.

The new crew members formed a single row, and without prompting they each assumed a formal posture. Picard stood silently and looked along the row, taking in each somber face. They knew, as he did, the importance and the danger of their mission.

He straightened his back and addressed them. “As you have likely deduced, I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Welcome to the Enterprise-E. You are privileged to serve on the flagship of the Federation. She’s a new ship, but she has a proud history behind her name, and a fine crew. I fully anticipate that she has great days ahead of her, and today, you are lucky enough to find yourselves in a position to share in that destiny. She deserves the very best from each one of you, and I expect no less.” He glanced at Hawk, who stood at his side, hands behind his back. “This is Lieutenant Sean Hawk, my alpha-shift conn officer. He knows this ship as well as anyone, and you will all—especially those of you assuming bridge and department head positions—find him an invaluable resource.

“The computer will guide you all to your assigned quarters where you can stow your personal gear. Report at 1400 hours and meet Mr. Hawk in the lounge for orientation and a tour of the ship. Keep in mind, Mr. Hawk is not your concierge. He’s one of my finest officers. Learn from him.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow in surprise, but said nothing.

“That is all. Dismissed.” He turned to Hawk. “Make it so, Mr. Hawk.”

“Yes, sir!” Hawk turned his attention to the new officers as they filed out the door. He stepped in front of Addison and, smiling, put out his hand. “Linda, it’s great to have you on board. How was the rock-climbing on Vulcan?”

Picard watched as she smiled wanly, hardly returning his enthusiasm. “It was…a lot more difficult and dangerous than I anticipated. I don’t plan to go back.” She stepped around him. “I’d really like to get settled. I’ll see you at the orientation.”

She turned and smiled at Picard. “Captain. It’s an honor to be back on the Enterprise, even if it’s a different one.” Addison started to walk away, then hesitated. “Sir, I was observing on the Samson’s bridge during the exercise. Captain Adrian asked me if I was aware of any minor flaws in the Enterprise-E design that he might exploit.”

Picard raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I’m afraid I was less than useful.”

“You failed to mention there might be a minor weakness in our rear weapon spread?”

“I might have neglected that, yes, sir.”

“Interesting, since it was your analysis report at Starfleet Command that brought that weakness to my attention.”

She smiled. “Sorry, Captain. I must have completely forgotten in the heat of battle.”

Picard considered her answer. If she had simply forgotten, it indicated a potential problem, a lack of attention to detail. But perhaps she had deliberately misled Adrian, out of some sense of loyalty to Picard, a misguided attempt to help them win the mock battle.

“Well, don’t let it happen again, Lieutenant. By the way, you’ll be pleased to know that, based on your report, I’ve suggested that Starfleet make suitable upgrades to our rear torpedo tubes as part of the next major refit. Good work.”

“Thank you, Captain. I do my best.” With a barely polite nod to Hawk, she turned and left.

Hawk frowned as he watched her disappear through the transporter room doors, then shook his head in puzzlement.

“It appears,” said Picard, “that you have been out of touch too long, Lieutenant. Was your relationship romantic at some point? If this is somehow awkward, I can assign another—”

“Not at all, Captain. We were just friends. She’s, uh, not my type. Maybe I somehow offended her in my last message. I’ll deal with it.”

“Very well then.”

Hawk hesitated. “Captain, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about the lieutenant from anything you may have overheard in our conversation. I don’t know what happened on Vulcan, but I have never known Linda Addison to back down from any challenge, no matter how difficult. She’s no quitter.”

“I’m quite familiar with her abilities, Mr. Hawk. However, I appreciate your endorsement. Now, you’d best go prepare for your orientation.”

“Yes, sir.”

Picard stood in the transporter room, allowing Hawk to leave first. He had no particular reason to remain behind, but he’d once again found himself in the middle of his crew’s personal affairs, and he was reminded why he’d always kept a certain professional distance, even from his senior officers.

Change, he reflected, was good, but he had to decide if it was worth the price.

CHAPTER
2

Returning to the bridge, Picard directed Riker and Data to the observation lounge for a post-exercise briefing. They seated themselves at the long, curved table. Data sat facing the windows, and his eyes seemed drawn to the vista outside.

“Status report, gentlemen.”

“Astrophysics is complaining,” said Riker, a trace of sarcasm in his voice, “that our violent maneuvering and weapons fire have interfered with their observations of the Pantera Nebula.”

Picard frowned. He stood and studied the gold-plated models of the various starships named Enterprise that lined one wall. The Enterprise-E was a magnificent vessel, but he was not entirely comfortable with the idea that, unlike the previous Enterprise, this ship had been designed as a warship first, and its capabilities as a scientific, diplomatic, and humanitarian vessel had been given a diminished priority.

War, to Picard’s mind, was the failure of diplomacy, and thus, it seemed that Starfleet Command was planning for failure. “The complaint is valid, Number One. The more we know about unusual stellar phenomena like this one, the greater the chances that we can use them to our tactical advantage. However, all our departments will need to learn to adapt to the new realities of our situation. It may be some time before astrophysics, or any other science department, will have first priority on the ship’s resources.”

Riker nodded. “I’ll discuss that with them at the next departmental briefing. Meanwhile, Mr. Data can give you a status report on the ship’s systems.” Riker glanced over at Data, who still seemed distracted by the windows. “Mr. Data?”

Data blinked, then looked at them like a sleeper awakening. “I am sorry. I believe I am having an emotional response to my observations of the nebula outside. Subjectively, of course, I realize that it is merely the planetary nebula surrounding a class-IV Mira variable star, a short-period variable red giant late in its stellar evolution, and a rare natural source of coherent microwave radiation. But emotionally I find it to be…beautiful. Should I put that in my report?”

Riker grinned slightly. “I’d save that for your personal logs, Data.”

Picard, however, was not so amused. “Mr. Data, I understand that this emotion chip is new and overwhelming to you. However, I caution you not to allow it to divert you from your duties. Even the most benign emotional reaction could be a distraction in a critical situation. I require your complete focus on the task at hand.”

Data looked hurt, and, Picard reflected, it was possible he actually was.

“Of course, Captain. I will endeavor to keep my emotions in check.”

Picard quietly sighed. “Don’t misunderstand, Data. Your emotions are not an impediment to your duties as a Starfleet officer. They are a tool, one that any good officer learns to use. This is still, in essence, a shakedown cruise, not just for the ship, but for its officers as well. Use this time to understand your emotions and how they affect you, and to make yourself ready for the challenges that lie ahead.

“Now, your report.”

Turning his chair away from the distraction of the window, Data composed himself. “The nebula environment continues to be a challenge for the ship. The extreme magnetic and radiation flux is taxing our shields, but they are holding well now that we have applied some regenerative tuning techniques adapted from the Maquis operations in the Badlands.”

“The high particle density,” added Riker, “is preventing us from going to warp in many parts of the nebula and has even limited our impulse velocities. However, Lieutenant Hawk has suggested some modifications to the main deflector that might mitigate the problem.”

Picard nodded. Mr. Hawk was having a busy day. It was about to get busier. “That sounds promising, Number One. Mr. Hawk will be occupied with other duties until about 1530 hours, but let’s put him in charge of those modifications.”

Riker tilted his head curiously. “That’s a challenging assignment, especially given his regular duties.”

“I’m seeing command potential in our young officer. Such potential is rarely developed in a realm of comfort and safety. Challenged he shall be.”

“Yes, sir,” said Riker.

“So it does seem we’ve learned something from this exercise.”

Riker replied, “I’ve been studying every log and historical record I can find on battles taking place in nebulae and other cloud phenomena, from the Battle of the Mutara Nebula, to the Tholian Hive Revolt, to the Betreka Nebula Incident, to the Maquis resistance, and I’ve been coming up with some ideas of my own. The Tholians once tried to use a Bussard collector to collect volatile gases from a class-9 nebula in order to—”

He was interrupted as Picard’s combadge chirped. “Captain, this is Ensign Molinero. We’re receiving a distress call from the Samson, sir. They’ve lost main power on their way out of the nebula, and they’re drifting. Their shields are on emergency power.”

“We’re on our way.”

The three senior officers rushed onto the bridge. Data quickly replaced a young ensign at the ops station.

“Plot a course for the Samson, best possible speed. Mr. Data, can we go to warp?”

“Not at this time, Captain. I am calculating the quickest route via impulse to an area of low density. Even taking some calculated risks, I estimate it will take us ten minutes to reach the Samson’s position.”

“Open a channel to the Samson.”

The speaker crackled with interference. There was no visual. Evidently the Samson’s main transmitters were down as well. Picard could hear excited voices as the bridge crew struggled to cope with the emergency. “Captain Adrian, this is Picard. What’s happening there?”

There was a moment of hesitation before the response came. “Main power just failed on us. No reason we can isolate yet, but we’re venting plasma from somewhere at an alarming rate. A blast of microwaves from the star blinded half our hull sensors, so we can’t localize the problem.”

“We’re on our way.”

Picard took the command chair and turned to Data. “Have astrophysics launch a probe on a tangential course immediately. If we can get a visual of the Samson, even from a distance, perhaps we can help them locate their leak.”

Data’s fingers flew across his control panel, relaying the order. He paused for the fraction of a second it took to receive confirmation, then looked up from his console. “Captain, the probe is away, but our sensors are detecting a flare event directed nearly square-on to the Samson’s position. A beam of coherent microwave radiation is building strength. Radiation flux is already climbing.”

“Roger, did you hear that? Can your shields hold?”

There was grim resignation in his voice. “Not for long.” A pause. “We’re going to have to abandon ship.”

“Captain,” said Data, urgency in his voice, “escape pod shielding will be inadequate to protect the occupants from the radiation. Only a ship’s shields will suffice.”

“Roger, you can’t use the escape pods. Get everyone you can into shuttlecraft.” Even as he said it, Picard had a sick feeling in his stomach. The Samson had three, possibly four type-6 shuttlecraft, and two or three type-15 shuttlepods. Even with emergency evacuation loading, well over half of the Samson’s two-hundred-twenty-person crew would be left behind.

“Captain, we are receiving visual from the probe.” Data tapped his console, switching the display onto the main viewscreen.

On the viewscreen, the Samson was a distant spot. Data magnified the image, as Picard strained to find a detail that would identify the damage. But surges of microwaves hammered the Samson’s shields, turning them into a glowing ball, a miniature aurora of shimmering light.

As they watched, helpless, a stream of plasma shot from the sun’s writhing surface.

“I’ve already given the order, Jean-Luc. I’m staying on the bridge. Tell Becka—”

The plasma stream struck the Samson with unimaginable speed and force. There was a shriek from the speaker, then silence.

“We have lost the signal, Captain. A plasma stream from the flare has engulfed the Samson’s position. Long-range sensors are showing—” Data turned in his seat to face Picard. His voice caught in an uncharacteristic manner as he struggled to control his emotions. “Sir, long-range sensors show only debris. The Samson is gone.”

CHAPTER
3

The Enterprise swept the area repeatedly, but there was little to find. No life pods had been launched, and they would have served as little more than coffins if they had. But for a time, there was hope that some of the crew might have escaped in shuttlecraft and been able to move clear of the area struck by the plasma stream. As hours passed, that hope faded.

The entire time, Picard refused to leave the bridge. He felt a duty to his friend Roger Adrian. This grim detail demanded his full and uninterrupted attention. But he knew the search could not go on forever.

“Mr. Data, anything at all?”

Data swiveled his chair to face the captain. “Only small pieces of melted wreckage. Based on analysis of the surrounding nebula, I can account for at least seventy percent of the Samson’s makeup—duranium alloys and organics—in elemental form. It appears that she was largely vaporized by the plasma, and the loss of antimatter containment would have completed the process. It also appears that either she was unable to launch her shuttles, or if she did, they were unable to escape the flare and were vaporized as well.”

A chirp came from his console. Data immediately turned and examined the panel displays. “Captain, I am picking up a solid object in a dust cloud six hundred kilometers from the Samson’s last position. Two meters in length, duranium hull. It appears to be the Samson’s data recorder. But it must be badly damaged. I am picking up no transmissions or energy output.”

“Conn, move us to within transporter range. Data, beam the recorder aboard, and see what you can recover from it. I want to know what happened to the Samson.”

Lieutenant Hawk headed for Ten-Forward at 1330 hours with the idea of having a cup of Vulcan spice tea and reviewing the main deflector schematics before his crew orientation.

He wasn’t sure what to make of all the extra duty that Captain Picard was loading on him. He couldn’t decide if the captain was testing him in some way, or if he’d merely gone too far with his “plank-owner” speech, and this was Picard’s way of putting him in his place.

It really didn’t matter. Either way, he’d give it his best, determined to prove himself to his new captain.

Picard was a larger-than-life character to him, one he’d heard about from his earliest days at the Academy. The man was both legendary and infamous. Legendary because of his twenty-two-year mission on the Stargazer and his invention of the Picard Maneuver, and the shorter but even more historic mission of the Enterprise-D. Infamous because of his role as an assimilated Borg drone named Locutus, in the devastating Battle of Wolf 359. Under Locutus’s guidance, thirty-nine ships had been lost, and nearly eleven thousand crewmen killed.

Subjectively, Hawk knew that the assimilation process left no freedom of will, and that upon his rescue, Picard had been instrumental in defeating the Borg. Still, he could understand the uneasy tone he’d heard in the voices of some older officers at the San Francisco Yards when they were discussing Picard.

Either way, it was difficult to work for a legend, and Hawk was still trying to relate to the man underneath.

He walked into the lounge—which, despite neither being on deck ten nor in the forward section, was referred to as Ten-Forward by the holdovers from the D—with a large engineering padd under his arm, and was almost to the bar when he spotted Linda Addison sitting at a table near the viewports. She was not looking out the windows as most of the other patrons were, but instead was quietly watching the watchers, a full cup of black coffee in front of her.

Linda did not notice him as he placed his order and strolled over to her table, hoping to discover what had caused the rift between them. He stopped politely several paces short of the table before he spoke. “Linda?”

She looked over at him, then smiled slightly when she recognized him. “Sean.” Her voice was warm, her tone welcoming. It was strangely at odds with the brusque dismissal she had given him earlier.

“Can we talk?”

She gestured at the chair across from her. “Please, sit down.”

He slid into the chair, and they looked at each other for a bit, she still studying him with that curious smile.

After several moments, he broke the uneasy silence. “Listen, if I’ve offended you in some way, maybe in that last message I sent…I don’t know how, but—”

She raised a hand to interrupt him. “Of course you haven’t, Sean. I’m the one who owes you an apology.” For an instant, she looked unsure of herself. “I was unspeakably rude to you down there, and in front of Captain Picard no less. I just wasn’t expecting to see you there. I was nervous, and you caught me off guard, and then asking about Vulcan—Well, rock-climbing on Vulcan was not my finest moment. So I treated you badly in my clumsy efforts to save face and impress the captain.”

Hawk was relieved, though a little surprised. Linda had always been unflappable at the Academy. He reminded himself that it had been a number of years since he’d seen her, and he’d changed significantly in that time. Although they had remained in sporadic contact, there were undoubtedly things he had missed. Who knew how she might have changed over time?

She saw the look in his eye and sighed. “There comes a time when you run face-first into your own limitations. For me, it was Vulcan’s Forge. The heat, the high gravity, the thin air, the electrical storms, and the most treacherous terrain I’ve ever seen. There was an accident. I fell and was badly injured. The woman I was climbing with was killed.”

Addison looked away, as though afraid she had revealed too much. They had been friends once, but Hawk sensed her hesitancy, the distance that had grown between them.

He leaned back, sorry he’d pressed the matter. “I’m very sorry.”

She smiled sadly. “Don’t be. I’ve learned to live with it. But things like that change a person, you know?”

In fact, he didn’t. He’d spent most of his Starfleet career sitting in a shipyard playing nursemaid to an uncompleted starship. It was stupid to be jealous of what must have been a terrible experience, but Hawk felt his life had been sheltered and boring by comparison.

A server brought over a steaming teacup and placed it in front of Hawk.

While he was distracted with his tea, Linda glanced down at the padd, a general side-view schematic of the Enterprise displayed on its screen. “What are you working on?” She reached over, put a slender fingertip on a corner of the device, and slid it around so she could see. She sipped her coffee and studied the display. “Engineering schematics?” She tilted her head and ran her finger down the spine of the ship in a slow, sensual, sweeping motion. “The Enterprise is such a beautiful ship. The lines are so graceful, beauty through function. Not like the Samson. Miranda-class ships are so angular and clumsy, mismatched twenty-third-century parts all jammed together in ways that shouldn’t work. I don’t like them at all.”

He frowned. “It’s not right to speak ill of the dead, even dead ships.”

She looked at him, surprised by the sharpness in his voice. “Of course, you’re right. It’s just hard for me to believe it’s gone. I was on board the Samson just hours ago, and everything was fine. It just isn’t real.”

He shook his head and glanced out the window at the nebula. Beautiful or not, it was hard to look at it the same way now, knowing how deadly it had become. The loss of the Samson, the helplessness of watching her disappear and not being able to do anything, weighed on him. Perhaps his attachment to the Enterprise-E made the loss of any ship more difficult.

Linda reached over and tugged at his cuff. “Hey, let’s not get all maudlin. Things keep going wrong, but this should still be a happy occasion.” She raised her coffee cup in a salute. “To old friends.”

Hawk nodded and sipped his tea.

“Show me what you’re working on?” Linda slid the padd in front of her and began paging through the schematics. “It looks interesting.” Her voice was light, almost flirtatious.

Hawk struggled to throw off his melancholy. The loss of the Samson and her crew had been a tragedy, but it was only a taste of what was to come. For now, he had a few moments of peace, and he should take advantage of them as best he could.

He was happy to see Linda. She was an old friend, and he should have been enjoying their reunion, not wasting this precious respite brooding about an irretrievable loss.

“You never showed any interest in ship design back at the Academy. In fact, as I recall, you always hated the engineering classes,” he teased.

“I always thought they were for grease monkeys and plasma plumbers, and I never wanted to be one of those.”

“Like me.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, just slightly parted. “I came this close to going into engineering before I realized I had a knack for piloting.”

She laughed, and had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to call you a grease monkey. Plasma plumber, maybe, but not a grease monkey. Anyway, I’m the new chief of security, but you can’t defend a thing unless you know a thing, and nothing is more fundamental in knowing a thing than its shape and form. I’m trying to familiarize myself with the E in every way possible.” She grinned. “Even if it means getting a little greasy.”

He laughed. This is more like the Linda I remember. “So now I pilot the flagship of the fleet, but sometimes—” he tapped the screen, “—I still get to keep my feet in engineering. In this case, I’m working on modifying the main deflector to better allow the Enterprise to enter warp, even when surrounded by gas and dust clouds.”

She continued to page through the schematics. “You think you can do that?”

“We can make improvements, for sure. There are still going to be environments where warp travel isn’t going to work. The problem I’m having is that those schematics are inaccurate.”

She looked up, a sharp question in her eyes. “Inaccurate?”

“Those are the U.S.S. Sovereign blueprints, and yeah, the E is a Sovereign-class starship, but in practice, thousands of changes were made between the Sovereign prototype and the Enterprise. When the Sovereign was built, the Borg and the Cardassians were the primary threats. Now we’re just as worried about the Dominion. So running changes are made in the weaponry, defense systems, even propulsion and navigation. And even more changes are being made every day as we go through shakedown. The next Sovereign-class ship out of drydock will be even more different as they apply everything we’ve learned out here with the Enterprise.”

“So, what? Nobody knows how the ship really works?”

“Well, yes. And no.” He chuckled. “Every engineer knows that the real book on a starship’s operation and capabilities isn’t written at Utopia Planitia. It’s written by the shakedown crew. The shakedown logs record every design change, operational procedure, and performance evaluation.”

Hawk felt an odd surge of pride as he talked about the shakedown cruise, about the development of the ship. Picard might be the captain, but the Enterprise belonged to him, in a way he was only beginning to understand. He pulled the padd back across the table, idly paging through the schematics as he spoke.

“What I’m finding here is that there are a number of important differences between the Sovereign deflector and the one on the Enterprise. Which means that after all is said and done, I need to go down to main engineering and convince Geordi to let me have a look at the master log.”

“You can’t just call it up from here?”

He shook his head. “Security is tight on the ‘book.’ It can only be accessed from main engineering and command terminals on the bridge. Geordi watches over it like a mother hen.”

“I suppose I should find that commendable, but there’s a new mother hen in town. I’d like to see it. As security chief I should. Why don’t I go with you after the orientation?”

He hesitated. His day was already full, and he hadn’t been planning to check the master log until the next day’s watch.

She reached out, and to his surprise, gently stroked the back of his hand. “Come on. It would be good to spend a little time together after all these years.”

He stared at her hand, then couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled it away. “Funny, Linda. You know my sexual orientation better than anyone. You’re the one who once said we had the same taste in men!”

She grinned slightly. “It’s always the way. The good ones are either gay or taken. Maybe in a mirror universe—”

“Maybe in a mirror universe you’d be gay!”

He glanced over at the door just as three more of the new officers arrived. It was nearly time for the orientation. He gulped down his nearly cold tea. Linda must have been joking, but her flirtation just seemed wrong somehow.

What had happened to her on Vulcan? There had to be more to it than she’d said, but she seemed reluctant to talk about it. He had a few contacts on Vulcan. Tonight, before hitting his bunk, he resolved to make a few discrete subspace inquiries.

CHAPTER
4

Picard entered the science lab to find the Samson’s data recorder fully disassembled on the large workbench in the middle of the lab. Several smaller components of the recorder were currently attached to a diagnostics console at the back of the room, where Data watched a rapidly flickering screen.

At first, Picard thought there was some sort of problem, but as he moved closer, he realized Data had simply sped up the display rate to the maximum his android mind and senses could process, hundreds of times faster than a human could follow.

Picard turned and examined the parts spread on the bench. The largest of these were the two halves of the cylindrical hull. He touched the outer surface, which was warped and pitted. He noted that the inner surface was warped and discolored as well. The data recorder itself had come within a hair’s breadth of being destroyed.

Data paused the display and looked back at Picard. “The hull plates were completely fused. It was necessary to cut the data recorder open with a laser torch.”

“But I take it you were able to recover the Samson’s logs?”

“Actually, there was considerable damage. All of the storage chips were degraded, and approximately twenty-two percent were completely destroyed. However, thanks to the holographic file system used, I was able to apply error-correction protocols and reconstruct much of the damaged information. I have been reviewing all logs covering the last seventy-two hours in hopes of isolating the cause of their power failure.”

“Have you done so?”

Data turned back to his display, resuming his scan, though at a slower rate, while he replied. “Not precisely. The Samson’s chief engineer had not been able to identify the cause before the ship was destroyed, and I was faced with the same lack of information in my analysis. Unable to find a specific cause, I started with the observed failure and reverse engineered a probable scenario. I believe a trace contaminant was slowly introduced into the EPS power grid through the plasma itself. The buildup was slow enough that it had infiltrated the entire system before significant damage occurred. But when it reached some threshold level, it caused damage to key parts of the EPS system simultaneously, including EPS taps, plasma manifolds, and the plasma injectors in the warp drive. The cascade effect was sudden, and at some point, the plasma itself broke down and simply ceased to transmit power.”

Picard looked over Data’s shoulder at the display, but the image flickered so quickly it made him feel slightly dizzy, and he looked away. “Why wasn’t this detected?”

“Without knowing the precise nature of the contaminant, it is difficult to say with certainty. The traces may have been quite small, and it is difficult to routinely monitor the plasma itself because of the temperatures and energies involved. In any case, the system is sealed and under pressure. With any rupture or failure, the tendency is for the plasma to violently escape with a force that does not allow contaminants to enter. There’s no reason to continuously analyze the makeup of the plasma. However, protocols call for a plasma sample to be extracted from the system and analyzed every twenty-four hours. It is uncertain why the contaminant was not detected during the last sampling before the ship’s destruction.”

“How did the contaminant get into the EPS system?”

“The Samson had been extensively modified as part of her testing program. Pulse phasers adapted from the Defiant-class ships had been fitted, as well as a new deflector array system. It is possible that there was some unanticipated negative interaction of the old and new equipment.”

Data stopped the display and reconfigured the components, swapping out a set of chips from the workbench. Picard took the opportunity to examine the scorched memory module now resting next to the hull. The high-tensile materials, designed to withstand extremes of temperature and pressure, were curled and blackened. They had come close to destruction in the heat and pressure of the plasma blast.

“I was not satisfied with that answer,” Data continued as he resumed his scan. “So I continued to analyze the logs for any kind of anomaly. I found several, none of them directly related to technical issues or the EPS system. However,” Data’s voice rose, betraying the strain he felt, “six hours before the Samson was destroyed, the computer shows tactical officer Ensign Zane Laumer asleep in his bunk, but at the same time, there is a visual recording of Ensign Laumer entering main phaser control. There are several other instances during the period I have investigated of duplicate personnel appearing on the ship.”

Picard felt a cold dread run up his spine. “A Changeling infiltrator?”

“It appears likely, Captain.”

“Then the Samson was sabotaged!” Dread turned to anger as Picard recalled the image of the Samson, and the death of her crew.

“That also appears likely. However, I do not believe a Changeling would have unnecessarily destroyed itself. It is possible the intent was not to destroy the Samson, but only to disable it. If one assumes deadly intent, however, then it is probable that the Changeling escaped the Samson before it was destroyed.”

“Our intelligence reports indicate that at least some Changelings are capable of traveling independently through space by assuming the form of spaceborne life-forms. Could the Changeling be out there, hiding in the nebula somewhere?”

“I do not believe that even a Changeling could survive the radiation this close to a Mira variable star. They would require the protection of a ship, at least until they could reach deep space. It is more logical to assume that the Changeling came aboard the Enterprise during our crew transfer. Since all cargo and baggage were subjected to routine phaser sweeps, it seems very possible that the Changeling arrived in the form of one of the transfer crew.”

“They were all subjected to blood screenings. I observed it myself.”

“Unfortunately, blood screenings are far from foolproof. Most such screenings use a simple visual inspection of a blood sample. If the sample were from a Changeling, it would revert to its protoplasmic form.” Data’s voice dropped, the faintest hint of an emotional reaction quickly suppressed. “However, if a Changeling were able to store a quantity of blood, or even a similar appearing liquid, inside its body, it could easily pass such a test. There are countless possible methods to fool a blood test.”

“Then we are in very serious trouble, Mr. Data.” Picard frowned. The idea of a Changeling aboard his ship, threatening his crew, was unthinkable. Yet, he could find no other explanation.

“I suggest calling an intruder alert.”

Picard shook his head. “No. That would alert the Changeling and send it to ground. It would be wiser to act quietly. We are in a unique situation here. If you are correct, the Changeling is contained on the Enterprise, and so long as we remain in the nebula, it cannot endanger the ship without placing itself in mortal peril.” He considered for a moment. “Computer, can you locate the eight new crew members that beamed aboard earlier today?”

“Affirmative,” the computer replied. “All eight are in stellar cartography.”

“Excellent. They must still be with Mr. Hawk. Mr. Data, program holodeck three for—let’s see—a historical overview of the various ships named Enterprise. There’s probably something existing in the library that you can use. The exact subject matter isn’t so important as the length. We need to keep our new transfers busy for at least an hour or two while we work on our strategy.”

Data pulled up a holodeck interface on his console and prepared the program. “Done,” he said.

Picard tapped his communicator. “Picard to Hawk.”

“Hawk here, Captain.”

“Mr. Hawk, I think it is very important that our new crew members appreciate the legacy of the Enterprise, and I’ve had a holodeck presentation on the subject prepared. Please conclude your tour at holodeck three. The presentation will be loaded and waiting for them.”

“Yes, sir.” Hawk sounded slightly puzzled.

Picard considered the situation for a moment. “All except Lieutenant Addison. I’d like our new security chief to meet the senior staff as soon as possible. Mr. Data and I will wait for her at the holodeck and escort her to the bridge. Picard out.” He tapped his combadge, severing the connection with Hawk.

“Data, program a computer trace on the eight crew members. If any of them leaves the group before they reach the holodeck, we should be notified immediately.”

“Already done, Captain.”

Picard turned and headed for the door. “You’re with me. We’ll take care of the rest on our way to the holodeck.”

Hawk decided to make the holodeck itself the end of the tour. Anticlimactic though it was in comparison to the rest of the ship, it seemed the easiest way to comply with Picard’s puzzling order.

“You’ve all seen holodecks countless times before, but the Enterprise-E’s represent the most realistic simulations yet available. For example, at it highest realism setting, almost every object that a holodeck user might touch or hold, be it a book, or a wall, or a weapon, is actually replicated in complete detail, on the fly, rather than being simulated with holograms and force fields.

“For instance, if you were to see a sword on a table across the room, you’d be looking at a hologram. Walk toward the table, and the table and the sword will be seamlessly replicated before you arrive. Pick up the sword and it will be completely real and solid in your hand. Walk away from the table, and it will dematerialize and again be replaced by a hologram.” All this was exciting from an engineering standpoint, but hardly the big finish he wanted for his tour. Still, he pressed on.

“Of course, if you were to swing the sword at another user, safety protocols would cause the blade to be immediately dematerialized and replaced with a hologram. And if you wish to participate in a subjective-mode program, you don’t even need to put on a costume before your arrival. The holodeck can replicate one for you directly.” Stunning, Hawk. You’re putting them to sleep. You sound like a Ferengi holosuite salesman.

Thankfully, at that moment Picard and Data appeared around the corner. Hawk turned to them gratefully. “Captain, we were just concluding the tour.”

“Excellent, Mr. Hawk. Now, if our new crew members will proceed into the holodeck for the historical presentation, you and Lieutenant Addison can accompany us to the bridge.”

The seven crew members entered the holodeck, glancing back over their shoulders at Addison. Hawk thought he detected a trace of envy in the glances they threw at her, and he felt a moment of sympathy for them.

As they entered, Data selected the program from the console just outside and initiated it. Then Hawk noticed him do something very curious. Data continuted tapping on the console long enough to program a security lock on the door. It could be opened only from outside, and only with command authorization. Hawk wondered if Addison had noticed, but her attention again seemed to be focused on Picard.

The four of them strolled down the corridor to the turbolift. When the doors opened, they found not an empty car, but Dr. Crusher flanked by two security officers armed with phaser rifles.

Two more armed security guards appeared from a cross-corridor behind them. Hawk realized he was in the middle of some kind of ambush. “Captain?”

Picard and Data stepped back behind the security officers. “Lieutenant Hawk, Lieutenant Addison, I’m afraid we will need to screen a sample of your blood.”

Linda looked as surprised as Hawk felt. “I was just screened a few hours ago, Captain. You were there.”

“Explanations will be made in due time, Lieutenant. Please give Dr. Crusher your arm.”

Confused, Hawk stepped up and presented his arm. There was a tiny sting as the hypo was pressed against his shoulder and a small sample of blood appeared in the clear vial attached to its top. Crusher popped off the vial, shook it, and held it up for examination.

“It hasn’t changed,” she announced. “Lieutenant Addison.”

Addison, a puzzled frown on her face, extended her arm. Crusher attached a new vial to her hypo and took the sample. Around them, the security officers seemed to tense, their weapons ready.

Crusher held up the vial. “Still blood,” she said.

Addison looked vindicated. “As the new security chief, Captain, I appreciate your diligence, but as I said I was just—”

Picard held up his hand to silence her. He watched as Dr. Crusher snapped the two vials into the top of her medical tricorder. She tapped the tricorder’s keypad. “I’m comparing the DNA in the samples to your DNA patterns as recorded at Starfleet Medical when you entered the Academy—and in Linda’s case, from when she served on the Enterprise-D.” There was a delay, and the tricorder chirped. “Mr. Hawk, your DNA checks out.” She continued to study the readouts.

Another chirp. She raised an eyebrow and looked directly at Picard.

The security officers seemed to be holding their breath.

“The DNA is a match.”

Picard gave a little sigh of relief. “I’m sorry for this, Lieutenant, but we have reason to believe that one of the people who beamed aboard with you is a Changeling spy, and that they may have destroyed the Samson through sabotage.”

Addison blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Thus,” said Data, “the subterfuge.”

“We have every reason,” said Picard, “to suppose that the Changeling is currently contained on the holodeck, but we can afford to take nothing for granted. We’re not sure we really understand all the capabilities of Changelings, nor are we even sure that there is only one aboard. I’ve called a meeting of the senior staff, at which time all of us will undergo the DNA screening. Once we’ve established a trusted circle, we can plan our next move.”

“What,” asked Linda, “do you hope to accomplish through all of this, Captain?”

“First and foremost to secure the safety of the Enterprise. But it is my hope that we can also do something that has never before been accomplished, something that could help change the course of the war to come. I want to capture one of the Founders of the Dominion alive.”

CHAPTER
5

Hawk walked with Picard, Data, Crusher, and Addison to the bridge. On the way, Data explained how they’d learned about the Changeling on the Samson, and their reasoning about how it had come aboard the Enterprise.

“It’s amazing,” said Linda, “that a shape-shifter was standing right next to me, and I had no idea. They’re evidently just as convincing as Starfleet Intelligence told us.”

Amazing indeed.

Hawk found himself suffering from a kind of mental whiplash. Just as Picard had arrived, he had been developing his own suspicions that “Linda” was not what she seemed. But having seen her pass the enhanced blood screening, his whole line of reasoning had run full-speed into a wall.

Indeed, his suspicions were grounded on only a few quirks of behavior, like his old friend’s sudden interest in ship design and engineering.

Mostly, it was based on the fact that she seemed to have been flirting with him—with an old friend she well knew (should know!) to be gay.

Even that last one wasn’t absolutely damning. Perhaps it had been a joke. Perhaps he’d misread her intention, though he didn’t think so.

Or perhaps Linda had made a pass at him. It wouldn’t have been the first time a woman had made overtures to him. Hawk had no false modesty about his looks. His piercing blue eyes and chiseled features were part of a clean-cut visage that many humans, both men and women, found attractive.

And the fact that the women should have known better, well, it didn’t always keep them from trying.

They reached the bridge and found Riker, Counselor Troi, and Lieutenant Commander La Forge waiting. “Mr. Hawk, you have the bridge,” Picard said.

Hawk watched as they all filed into the observation lounge and the doors closed behind them.

She passed the blood screening, he thought as he sat in the command chair. Why can’t you let it go?

Because, he realized, his deepest instincts told him something was wrong. When piloting the ship, he’d learned from hard experience that it was necessary to separate instinct from appearance. There were circumstances when human senses, the viewscreen, even the ship’s instruments could be wrong. Always, for him, there was an inner voice that helped him separate the real data from distractions, misinformation, and noise.

When he was sitting at the conn, he always trusted that voice. Now he was second-guessing it, perhaps in part because he wanted it to be wrong. If the “Linda” here was in fact a Changeling spy, the best he could hope for was that the real Linda Addison was a prisoner of the Dominion. It was far more likely that she was simply dead.

This “Linda” was very good. She looked right. She talked right. She moved right. She seemed to know almost every detail of Linda’s life. But a spy would likely have studied such details from Starfleet records, and would have access to her personal logs, files, and diaries, as well. With time and determination, Hawk had no doubt that he could trick a Changeling spy into an unambiguous mistake, but time was something he didn’t have.

He stared at the observation lounge doors helplessly. He still had no more than a suspicion, but if it was valid, the ship’s officers were alone in a room with a murderous enemy.

All the senior officers he could have approached about the matter, the people with the authority to do something about it, were already in that room, and he couldn’t charge in without alerting the Changeling. There were ways he might slip a message in to the captain, but it wasn’t simply a matter of telling him. He would have to be convinced, and Hawk wasn’t that certain himself. All the other options he could think of would either take too long or had other drawbacks.

What he needed was conclusive proof. His plan to contact Vulcan might turn up something, but that would take too long as well.

There was one other possibility, much closer at hand.

Looking around, he saw that the senior person on the bridge was Lieutenant Berardi at ops. “Adriana, I’m not feeling well. I think the replicator’s steamed asna needs work. Can you take the bridge while I run to sickbay?”

Berardi got up from ops, saying, “Sure, but you owe me one.”

Nodding, Hawk headed for the turbolift, refusing to consider the ramifications of what he was planning.

“Deck eight, section four,” he said after the door closed and before he changed his mind.

Thanks to his orientation assignment, he’d earlier seen the cabin numbers assigned to the new arrivals. He knew the location of Linda’s cabin, and knew that her personnel file had been logged into the computer. That file would include certain personal preferences and configuration files, which followed a Starfleet officer from assignment to assignment, ship to ship.

Most of these files would concern such mundane things as the temperature she preferred in the shower, or what sort of music or audio she preferred to be associated with the wake-up alarm.

But they also would include an override file for the door lock.

At the Academy, Hawk and Linda had shared an interest in nineteenth-century American literature, and Linda had a small collection of books that had been handed down through her family. She had allowed Hawk to borrow them, and had given him an override code so he could return or take them at his leisure. It was just possible she had never deleted the code from her file. Of course, it was just as likely that she had, and he’d have to think of some other way into her quarters.

Worry about that later.

He stepped from the lift and trotted down the hall to her quarters. “Computer, override code Poe Alpha Nevermore.”

The computer seemed to take forever. “Override authorized.”

With a feeling of both satisfaction and dread, he watched the door whoosh open. He was about to commit the ultimate act of betrayal, to violate the trust placed in him by someone he cared about. If he was wrong, their friendship would be damaged beyond repair.

So he needed to be right, much as he didn’t want to be.

Stepping inside carefully, he wished he had a phaser. There was no certainty that only one Changeling had come aboard, or that if there were others, they were still safely isolated on the holodeck.

Addison’s bags were lined up neatly on her bunk. He noted that nothing appeared to have been opened or unpacked, which was not typical of Addison at all. She’d always been just a little sloppy in her quarters, and quick to make a new place feel like home. He checked the top dresser drawer, but it was empty, and the others were probably empty too. Unless something had been hidden in the room, anything of significance was still in her bags.

He snapped open a red, cylindrical valise. The off-duty clothing inside was the sort of thing Linda would have picked, natural fibers from multiple worlds, hand-dyed fabrics, and simple, rugged outdoor clothing made faded, soft, and comfortable through long wear and many washings.

Digging deeper, he found things that screamed “Linda,” and even items he recognized: a star shell she’d brought back from a vacation on Risa, a holoframe with a picture of her parents, and—his hand trembled slightly as he held it—her beloved leatherbound copy of collected Edgar Allan Poe stories.

Guilt washed over him as he violated her personal belongings, but it had to be done, and the idea of a Changeling having these things, touching these things, made him quietly furious. He lifted a Bajorian wool sweater, and a silver metal box, no larger than his hand, tumbled out.

It was strangely cold to the touch, and he noticed a miniature control panel on one end. A stasis box.

He’d seen the Ferengi use stasis boxes to transport live tube-grubs and other small, perishable items. It took him a minute to deactivate it and figure out how to slide back the lid. Something rattled inside as he did—the delicate clinking of glass tapping against glass. Three vials of a dark liquid rolled around inside a box big enough for at least ten. He picked one of them up, and the red color was immediately apparent. A chill came over him. He said it out loud, to prove to himself that it wasn’t a dream. Wasn’t a nightmare.

“Blood.”

Hawk sat on the bunk beside Linda’s bags. No, not Linda’s. These belonged to someone, something, else. Something that threatened the ship and everyone on it. Something that was, at that moment, in the observation with the entire senior command staff.

He forced away the anger and grief. There would be time for that later. For now, he had to get a warning to the captain. He reached for his padd and swiftly entered a text message for Picard, emergency priority.

CHAPTER
6

“Lieutenant Addison,” said Picard from his seat at the head of the observation lounge table, “it appears that we will be needing your services immediately.”

She smiled slightly. “I’ll do my best, Captain. If I may make a few suggestions?”

“Of course.”

She looked around the table at the rest of the senior staff. “To avoid alerting any other Changelings that might be on board the ship and sending them to ground, I don’t recommend alerting the entire crew. Instead, the information should be spread down through the ranks, one person at a time, and only after careful screening to be sure the person being told is in fact not a Changeling. This will be difficult to do without creating suspicion, but I have some ideas. Senior officers should never travel alone. It should be possible to do this in a way that isn’t too conspicuous.”

Picard nodded. “Make it so, Lieutenant. We also need a way of dealing with the transfer crew in the holodeck. If one or more Changelings are in there, we need to identify and contain them without putting the others in danger, or allowing them to be used as hostages.”

“Captain,” said Data, “I have already modified the holodeck program to isolate the individual occupants within discrete force fields. I have done this in a way that will not be obvious from within the holodeck, at least until the program ends. This will happen in fifteen minutes and thirty-two-point-seven seconds, unless I take action to extend it.”

“No,” said Picard, “let it end, but keep them contained within the force fields. The Changeling or Changelings may be tricked into exposing themselves. Failing that, we will need to screen each of the officers in turn. Dr. Crusher, Counselor Troi, you will conduct the screenings. Lieutenant Addison will provide whatever security backup is required.”

Picard picked up a padd displaying the personnel files on the transfer officers and scrolled through them. “Lieutenant, assign some of your people to look over all the logs and files on these people, working backward from when they boarded the Enterprise. Try to identify any suspicious behavior or recent situations in which they might have been captured or killed and replaced with a duplicate. It may help us target the screenings.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He glanced at the padd one last time and placed it facedown on the table. “The clock is ticking. We need to identify the Changeling or Changelings on this ship, neutralize any damage they may have done, and prevent them from doing more. Dismissed.”

Picard stood, tugged at his uniform, and walked quickly past the others and onto the bridge—with Berardi in charge rather than Hawk, though he knew why that was—and went directly into his ready room. He turned and set a security lock on the door, then tapped commands into the door console that caused a security force field to shimmer into existence behind the door.

He tapped his communicator. “Picard to Hawk, status report.”

“Captain, are you alone?”

“Yes, I’m secure in my ready room.”

“Captain, Lieutenant Addison didn’t leave the briefing room with the others!”

Picard looked around the room. Nothing seemed amiss. His treasured Mintakan tapestry. His complete works of Shakespeare in their transparent case. His d’k tahg from when he served as Worf’s cha’DIch. His chair. His desk. A small couch. Three side chairs.

Three chairs.

“Mr. Hawk, I believe the Changeling is here with me now.”

“Captain.” It was Riker’s voice. “We have a security team standing by on your command.”

The middle chair shimmered, changing into a reddish amber liquid that flowed and reformed into a humanoid shape, which solidified into the form of Linda Addison. Her pose was relaxed, and she made no move toward him. He was intensely aware that it could all be a ruse. “If you do that, I’ll simply have to escape, Captain, and we won’t have a chance to talk. I’ve read your files, your outstanding history of diplomacy. You once said that war is simply the ultimate failure of diplomacy.”

Picard stood motionless, his posture ramrod straight, as though bracing himself for whatever came next. He spoke slowly and carefully. “I said that a long time ago, before meeting the Borg. I am not sure I believe it anymore.”

“The Dominion is not the Borg.”

“Nor are they like any other adversary that we have ever encountered. I can assume nothing.”

“Captain?” It was Riker again.

“Have them stand by, Number One. Computer, authorize audiovisual monitoring of this room from the main bridge, authorization Picard Sigma Six.”

“Monitoring authorized.”

“Number One, if the Changeling makes any move toward me, you are authorized to enter and use whatever force is necessary. Until then, have security hold their positions.”

“Addison” tilted her head and pouted. “Picard, I was so hoping we could have a private conversation. As you can imagine, this is a very delicate situation, and if I can offer a way to forestall war between our respective powers, can you afford not to explore it?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Computer, modify order. Allow visual monitoring only. No audio.”

“She” smiled. “That will do.”

Picard frowned at the Changeling. “You have five minutes to persuade me that this is anything but a desperate act of self-preservation.”

“Addison” seated herself on the couch and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Captain, you hide your feelings well, for a solid. But when I saw your face as you looked at the padd just before putting it down, I knew that someone had exposed me. I assure you, at that moment, if I had wanted simply to escape, I could have done so in any of a hundred ways. If I had wanted you, or any of your senior staff, or all of you dead, it would already be done.

“But what I wanted to do was talk, which is why I chose to follow you into what could well be a trap.”

“This room is sealed with force fields.”

She smiled. “Indeed, and if it comforts you to believe that will keep me in, then so be it.” Her expression turned serious. “Understand this, Picard. You think, because you have intelligence provided by our lost foundling, Odo, that you know the full capabilities of a true Founder. You do not. You think you know how to detect us, or contain us. You do not. There is a reason we’re worshipped as gods throughout what you refer to as the Gamma Quadrant. Any sense of safety or superiority you may feel is an illusion. That you live, that your ship has not yet been destroyed, is only evidence of my benign intent.”

“Forgive me if I remain unimpressed. Despite your claims, it seems that we have contained you quite successfully. If you could have left the ship while we remain this close to the Mira variable star, I believe you would have done so.”

She smiled again. “You have me then, Captain, but it does not invalidate what I said before. It only leaves it subject to interpretation.”

“And what of the U.S.S. Samson and the two hundred and twenty lives aboard her? Did you destroy her as a demonstration of your benign intent?”

“And if I did? First, Picard, our people are at war. Second, it was a regrettable accident not of my doing. While studying the Samson’s weapons systems as part of my mission, I discovered that certain components in the modern pulse phasers were incompatible with the old ship’s drive plasma. A coupling was slowly dissolving, contaminating the drive plasma.”

The Changeling shrugged, a slight, dismissive smile playing across her lips. “Of course, I did not report this, nor did I do anything about it. I am, I admit, guilty of inaction. But I had no reason to believe the problem would do more than disable the Samson. It simply made it urgent that I get off the ship before it became stranded and that I move on to a more valuable intelligence objective.”

Picard was suspicious. Some or all of the Changeling’s story could be false. “What about Lieutenant Addison—the real one. Did you murder her?”

“She died in an accidental fall on Vulcan while I was in her company, impersonating a Vulcan guide. I took the opportunity to hide her body and take the place of a Starfleet officer. It was, if you’ll forgive me, a happy accident.”

“You hid her body and stole her blood. Oh yes, that was what gave you away. Mr. Hawk located the vials of blood in your quarters.”

She laughed. “I thought he might be a problem. That’s why I tried to seduce him. It didn’t work, by the way.”

It was Picard’s turn to laugh, as much from a small sense of triumph as from amusement. “You are not nearly so perfect as you imagine, nor do you understand the nuances of humanity as well as you think.”

“If that is so, then maybe the conflicts of our people are based on misunderstanding as well. I came to talk, Picard. If you prefer armed conflict to negotiation, then call your security people to crash in here, and we’ll see what happens.” She gestured at the door. “Go ahead. Let’s do it.”

He stepped around the end of his desk and slid into his chair. “If this is to be a negotiation, then I assume you won’t mind if I make myself comfortable.”

“Not at all.”

“Then, antagonism aside, what does the Dominion have to talk with us about?”

She grinned lopsidedly. “You make the assumption that all members of the Great Link are the same, interchangeable, that they have the same agenda, and in that, you are wrong. Our lost Odo is different, because of his circumstances, as are a few others. As am I.”

Picard leaned forward, finally intrigued. “How so?”

“It is true, the Great Link, the collective consciousness that all our people join in, tends to make us the same. But I have been away from the Great Link for a long time. I have lived among solids for many years, learning your ways, assuming small parts of your limited lives. And as I have remained separated from my people, my knowledge, experiences, and reasoning have been my own. In that time, my feelings about solids have changed and grown more sympathetic than is typical of my people.”

“You claim to be a friend of the Federation?”

“I care nothing for your governments or political alliances. But I have developed a fondness for you humanoid solids and your ways of living. Mind you, I have no wish to actually become a solid the way our poor, misguided, Odo seems to desire. To be limited to one form, to one life would be a nightmare for me.

“But I am literally legion, Captain. I have been hundreds of different humanoids, living their life for an hour or a day or even a month at a time, and I desire to be thousands more before I am through, sampling your simple yet chaotic lives like a bee flits from flower to flower.”

Picard forced his expression to remain neutral, to allow the Changeling to continue. With each word, he learned something more about his adversary, and each piece of information made him better able to negotiate.

“This behavior may seem strange to you. I’ll confess, from a Changeling perspective it is strange, even perverse. I should reject my interest in the solids and return to the blessed Great Link. Yet I have little desire to do this.

“My theory,” she said, a trace of pride in her voice, “is that I have uncovered the vestige of some ancient propagation instinct, left from a time when there were many Links on our world of origin. From time to time, they would send off individuals, who, instead of returning to their own link, would instead be driven to travel and explore, one day founding a new Link far from their original home. Perhaps this instinct no longer serves a purpose, but it serves me. I value you. I have no desire to see you destroyed, or even to see your fascinating existences crushed into order by the Dominion.”

“If that is so, why allow the Samson to be destroyed? Why do you still gather intelligence for the Dominion?”

The Changeling’s brow furrowed in anger. “I’m not a traitor to my people, Picard. I still work for the Dominion, and I’m loyal to them in my fashion. I confess, I’ve been assigned to negate the Federation’s flagship, and to the Great Link, that doubtless means destruction. I’ve also been charged to advance the downfall of the Federation and its sublimation into the Dominion. And in my own way I serve that goal as well.”

Picard removed his hand from under his desk, now holding the type-2 hand phaser that had been hidden there. He pointed it at the Changeling. “Then we have nothing to discuss.”

She laughed again. “How theatrical. How did you come to have a phaser hidden there?”

“It’s something I learned from a man named Dixon Hill.” He reached for his communicator to call security.

“Wait! You misunderstand, Picard. The downfall of the Federation is inevitable, and nothing you or I can do will change it. The Dominion has faced a dozen or more civilizations like yours, and each has fallen before us. But I don’t relish the day when that happens, and I’m in no hurry to see it come to pass.

“The Dominion is great and eternal. What does it matter if the Federation falls in a decade rather than a month? To the Dominion, none at all, but to me, it would mean a great deal. My people as a whole place great value in order. That is where I am different. When the Dominion comes—and it will—your people, if they survive at all, will become ordered, controlled, and will no longer be interesting to me. If I can delay that inevitable day, I will. And if I can neutralize your beautiful ship without destroying it, what difference would that make to them?”

“You have your own agenda?”

“My interests are not yours, Picard, but they are not necessarily the Dominion’s either. But for you, they are better than the alternative. Let me make things easier for you.”

“Riker to Picard. Do you need assistance?”

She stood. “We’ll talk again soon, Picard. Think about what I’ve said.” With that, the Changeling changed to liquid form.

Picard fired the phaser, but the Changeling was too fast, vanishing under the couch. He tapped the communicator. “Enter!”

The force fields on the door came down and a phalanx of security officers armed with phaser rifles charged in. At Picard’s direction, they turned the couch over and swept the wall and floor beneath it with phaser bursts. But the Changeling was gone, having somehow found some tiny crack or opening through which to send its liquid form, and Picard was faced with a difficult choice.

Could he put any trust at all in the words of an adversary whose very nature was deception?

CHAPTER
7

For the second time that day, the senior staff gathered in the Enterprise’s observation lounge. But this time things were much different. A pair of armed security officers stood guard in the corners of the room.

This time, Lieutenant Addison, or rather, her doppelgänger, was not present. This time, Lieutenant Hawk stood at the end of the table nearest the captain, not quite sure what he was doing there.

Picard looked at them grimly. “The need for subterfuge has passed. We have a confirmed Changeling loose on the ship, and if there are others, they have doubtless already been alerted that we’re aware of their presence.”

His gaze traveled around the table, connecting briefly with each of his command staff. They understood the threat, and he knew he could depend on each individual.

“I’m ordering enhanced blood screenings of all personnel, and I have ordered that everyone remain in groups of two or more at all times.” He grimaced, his voice betraying the revulsion he felt as he spoke. “That won’t help us if the Changeling should kill a crew member and take their blood, though.”

He stood and walked over to the large windows along the back wall, looking out into the nebula that was both their protector and their prison. “Mr. La Forge, I want command-level security lockouts on all shuttlecraft, Work Bees, the captain’s yacht, and all other auxiliary craft.”

“Done, Captain.”

“I’ve apprised Starfleet Command of the situation. They’re sending the Al-Batani to assist us, but of course, there can be no material contact between our ships due to the risk of allowing the Changeling to escape. We’ve been ordered to stay within the star’s radiation zone indefinitely, until the Changeling is either caught, killed, or confirmed to have left the ship.”

Crusher frowned. “That could take a very long time, Captain.”

Riker leaned his elbows on the table and knitted his fingers together in front of him. “The Changeling will be counting on us to become impatient.”

Picard turned back to face his crew. He inclined his head toward Riker, acknowledging his assessment. “Exactly, Number One. So, as frustrating as this situation is, for our own safety and the safety of the Federation, we must remain here until the threat is somehow neutralized. That’s where you come in, Mr. Hawk.”

Hawk blinked in surprise. “Me, Captain?”

“I will be directing myself toward some kind of negotiation with the Changeling. While I do not believe we can afford not to explore this avenue, it creates a conflict of interest on my part.

“In order to attempt negotiation, I must try to develop some degree of empathy and trust with the Changeling. I fear it might provide a weakness for the Changeling to exploit. Normally, I would depend on security to act as my right hand, to operate on a foundation of suspicion that would offset my empathy.” Irony filled his voice as he continued. “Unfortunately, I find myself short a security chief. I would like you to fill that role.”

Hawk’s eyes widened in surprise, quickly controlled. He kept his voice carefully neutral. “Captain, I appreciate your confidence in me, but I like my position at conn.”

Picard smiled just a little, an expression of wry amusement. “We have little need of those services at the moment, Mr. Hawk, and your record shows excellent performance in the relevant security class work. In any case, this would be a temporary assignment. But I have a particular reason for giving the assignment to you.

“We do not know that the Changeling killed Lieutenant Addison, but it remains a possibility, and it was certainly there when she died. It has used her likeness and her memory for its own purposes. It has deceived all of us, you especially. I would suppose that makes you angry.”

Hawk hesitated. He didn’t like exposing his emotions in a duty situation. But in this case, there was little choice. The captain’s tone left no room for equivocation. “It does, sir. I’m angry at the Changeling for defiling her memory and for deceiving me. I’m also angry at myself for being deceived as long as I was.”

“But it was your work that ultimately exposed the Changeling, Mr. Hawk. And it is my hope that you will find it possible to channel your emotions to positive use. I believe I can trust you never to treat the Changeling with anything except suspicion and a desire for justice.”

“Yes, sir, I think I can do that.”

“You will do it, Mr. Hawk.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, then.”

“Captain? As chief of security, may I speak?”

“Proceed.”

“Captain, I’m not sure why you’re talking with the Changeling at all, under the circumstances. If it wanted diplomacy, it should have approached us in a good-faith manner rather than through sabotage and deception, and possibly murder. You’re placing yourself at risk for no good cause that I can see.”

Picard stood for a moment, contemplating his answer. Finally, he nodded slowly. “You may be right, Mr. Hawk, but slim as the chances are, the potential benefits are too great to be ignored. It is a matter of the ratio of risk versus reward. This is our first and possibly only opportunity to negotiate directly with a Founder. Moreover, this one claims to be different, to have its own agenda, and in this respect at least, I believe it. And while it is true that the Changeling has not approached us in a manner we would interpret as benign, I’m not sure we can apply our own standards in this case. Deception is the natural state of a shape-shifter, and Changelings reportedly have a long history of violence and oppression directed at them by humanoids.” Picard furrowed his brow as though considering an idea. “Counselor Troi, did you recall sensing any emotion from the Changeling during our prior meeting?”

“Nothing unusual. None of the anxiety or nervousness one might expect from a spy in fear of discovery.” She considered for a moment, mentally reviewing the earlier meeting. “In fact, I remember thinking that she seemed extremely calm and comfortable for an officer reporting for her first day of duty as a new department head.”

Picard nodded. “Exactly. At that point, maintaining the deception, the Changeling was in its comfort zone. A Changeling in the presence of any potential threat is going to be least comfortable in its natural liquid form.”

Hawk frowned. “Forgive me, Captain, but it sounds to me like you’re defending the Changeling’s actions.”

“I’m trying to understand them, Mr. Hawk, not defend them. There is a great deal of difference. Fresh from Earth, you’ve likely had little experience dealing with aliens—”

Hawk started to protest, but Picard held up his hand. “I know you’ve encountered many aliens at the Academy, at Starfleet, and here on the Enterprise, but that is far different from dealing with extraterrestrial sentients operating solely on their own terms with no regard to your sensibilities as a human, as a citizen of the Federation, or as a Starfleet officer.

“Our intelligence tells us that the Founders of the Dominion seem to think of us as, at best, useful animals and, at worst, vermin to be exterminated. This individual,” he said the word carefully, as though qualifying it, “seems to operate only slightly above the high end of this range, but the fact that it is willing to engage in a dialogue at all is significant.”

Picard paused, weighing his choices.

“In any case,” he continued, “consider this a hostage negotiation. So long as we are talking, the Changeling is not acting against the ship or its crew, and it gives us—” He looked at Hawk. “—you—time to take action that will neutralize the threat.”

“But security is to look the other way while you set up meetings?” Hawk was reluctant to let the matter stand, despite Picard’s explanation.

“The situation is delicate. If I arrange negotiations, I have to offer some assurance of safe passage to the Changeling. But outside of that specific framework, I grant you full authority to use any means necessary and possible to capture the Changeling.”

Riker’s eyes narrowed. “Capture, Captain?”

“Yes, Number One, capture. If the Changeling is killed, we will have gained nothing from this encounter. I believe it is worth the risk. Deadly force is not to be used except in direct defense of life. Is that clear?”

Hawk nodded, but he wasn’t happy about it, and from his expression, neither was Riker.

“Keep in mind the added security protocols and cooperate with Mr. Hawk in every way possible. Dismissed.”

There was no rush for the door. The senior staff left in twos and threes, moving deliberately, and with everyone watching everyone else. Hawk stood but waited until all but he, Picard, and Riker had left. He lingered in the doorway, but Picard merely looked at him sternly. “You have work to do, Mr. Hawk. I’d suggest you get to it.”

Picard glanced at Riker. “I’m glad you stayed, Number One.”

“This situation concerns me greatly, Captain.”

“As it concerns me, Will, and yet I cannot allow this opportunity to slip by me.” Picard moved back to the window and looked out. His gaze wasn’t focused on the nebula, but rather on something distant and unseen.

“I have always thought of myself as a diplomat and ambassador first, and as a warrior second. Circumstances of recent years have too often required me to reverse those priorities.” He lowered his head, regret softening his posture and clouding his eyes for a moment. “War with the Dominion may be inevitable, but I have always believed that diplomacy has a place in any conflict between species and civilizations. If it cannot prevent war, then it at least has the potential to moderate it, to reduce the death, suffering, and injustice that is the inevitable result of war. At least, that is what I once believed,” he finished, almost to himself.

Riker’s face softened. “The Borg.”

“I came face-to-face with a species that would not talk, a species with which dialogue and negotiation was impossible. The only language the Borg understand is aggression, violence, and reprisal. That, perhaps, is why I feel so strongly about the Borg. Not merely because of the threat they pose, or the countless fellow beings they have killed, or the atrocities they have visited on me personally. It is because of how they drag us down to their primal level in the name of survival. How they rip away our veneer of civilization and bring out the very worst in what we are.”

“The Borg are not your responsibility, Captain.”

He turned and looked at Riker. “If not mine, then whose? Who goaded Q into bringing us into contact? Whose mind, willingly or not, guided the Borg in the slaughter at Wolf 359? Every night I lie awake, thinking, ‘What could I have done differently?’ But ultimately, the answer is that it doesn’t matter. What is done is done.

“So I look into the future and see the Dominion waiting there, and I have much the same, hopeless feeling about them that I do about the Borg. What will we be driven to do before this war is over? Even if we are victorious, what will be the price to our souls?”

CHAPTER
8

Hawk watched as the security teams swept the walls of Ten-Forward with low-power phaser fire from their rifles. The blasts were carefully calibrated to be weak enough not to damage the ship or its furnishings, but strong enough to sting a disguised Changeling into reverting to liquid form.

Hawk looked at the empty table near the windows where he and the false-Linda had sat, what now seemed a lifetime ago. Again, he cursed himself for not detecting the deception, for not taking action earlier. Even now, he still felt helpless.

He’d had security teams doing continuous phaser sweeps and blood screenings for nearly a day now, with no results. He honestly didn’t expect any. There were too many areas of the ship that, for technical or safety reasons, they could not phaser-sweep. There were too many places to hide and to move about the ship.

The Enterprise had hundreds of kilometers of Jefferies tubes, ducts, conduits, service areas, and other hidden spaces through which a Changeling could travel. For all they knew, a Changeling could even assume some form that would allow it to safely travel through the plasma in EPS conduits. Perhaps that was why the Changeling had been so interested in the Enterprise schematics. For a liquid shape-shifter, they provided an invaluable road map.

He hoped the fact that she—it—had been studying Sovereign plans caused it to take a few wrong turns.

When they were finished, Hawk moved into the corridor, where his escort, Ensign Shreff, waited, antennae waving nervously. Shreff was a tall, quiet Andorian with a fierce devotion to duty that Hawk found admirable.

“Where next, sir?”

Hawk realized that he didn’t know. He was out of ideas. “Back to the security office, I suppose.” On their way back to the turbolift, they passed Riker and Troi in the corridor.

Riker stopped him. “How goes the search, Mr. Hawk?”

“Not well, sir. Frankly, I’m beginning to think this is an exercise in futility. If the Changeling is sufficiently motivated to stay hidden, we’ll have to take the ship apart plate by plate to find it.” He thought about what Picard had said about trying to understand the alien. But how was he supposed to know what a morphing blob of gelatin might want?

Then it came to him. He blinked in sudden understanding.

Troi tilted her head curiously. “I don’t need to be an empath to know you’ve thought of something significant, Lieutenant.”

He nodded. “Commander, I think I have an idea of what the Changeling is after. Captain Picard said the Changeling wanted to ‘neutralize’ the Enterprise, not destroy it. At first I thought that was simply a matter of keeping us trapped here near the Mira variable star, but now I think it’s something else entirely.” He gestured back down the corridor, toward the entrance to Ten-Forward.

“When I talked with the Changeling in Ten-Forward, it showed great interest in the Sovereign schematics I was looking at. She traced its lines on the screen in a way that was sensual, bordering on sexual.”

Riker frowned. “I don’t understand, Lieutenant. You’re saying it’s in love with the Enterprise?”

“In a manner of speaking, Commander. For a shape-shifter, what would be more attractive, more important than shape? Than form?” Hawk’s voice rose in excitement. “I think it finds the Enterprise’s shape pleasing in a way we really can’t understand. It’s not sex, but it’s close. It’s like—”

Troi smiled. “Chocolate.”

“Yes! Exactly. Like chocolate for some people. Or fine wine. Or a beautiful painting. A sensual pleasure so fine that it’s worth preserving, even defending.”

Riker shook his head. “Interesting theory, but even if it’s true, it doesn’t explain how it expects to neutralize the Enterprise.”

“I’m afraid that might be my fault. I unwittingly talked with ‘Linda’ about the significance of the shakedown logs as the final documentation of a ship’s design—its operation, capabilities, and weaknesses.

“If the Changeling could obtain a copy of those logs and return them to the Dominion and their allies, the Enterprise’s value as a front-line warship would be compromised. We wouldn’t dare put the E, or any of her sister ships, against the Dominion fleet for fear they would have learned some weakness or characteristic they could exploit. The Federation’s mightiest warships would be relegated to rear-guard duty.”

Riker nodded. “I see where you’re going with this. We can’t under any circumstances allow the Changeling access to those logs.”

“They’re already under tight wraps, but we can take steps to make them more so. However, I think we have to keep them accessible enough to give the Changeling the illusion that it can obtain them. A Changeling simply hiding from us might never be found, but a Changeling with a focused objective can be tricked. It can be cornered, and it can be trapped!”

Troi arrived with Riker on the bridge just as Captain Picard was finishing a communicator conversation with Hawk. As they stepped from the turbolift, they saw a security team sweeping the bridge with low-level phaser fire.

“Thank you, Mr. Hawk. Your insights into the Changeling’s psychology may prove very valuable in our next meeting. Picard out.”

Troi looked from the security team to Picard, her eyebrows arched in an unspoken question.

“Mr. Hawk insisted we maintain constant monitoring of the bridge.” Picard shrugged, though she could sense the effort it took for him to accede. “He felt the bridge was the one area where we could not allow the Changeling. Much as I disliked putting limits on our potential for negotiation, I agreed with his assessment.” He tugged at the hem of his tunic and stiffened his spine, effectively shutting off any further discussion.

“So, tell me, Counselor,” he said, steering the conversation back into safer waters. “Do you agree with Mr. Hawk’s interpretation of the Changeling’s motivations?”

“Hawk has some interesting ideas, but based on our limited exchanges, it’s difficult to be sure.” She sidestepped a pair of security officers who crossed the deck and continued. “It’s very easy, when dealing with a shape-changer, to project things onto them that aren’t there, either based on our own feelings or on our perceptions of the form they’re occupying at the time.”

“You have your own opinions of the Changeling.”

She frowned slightly. “I have concerns, Captain. From what we have observed and been told, this Changeling’s behavior is aberrant by Changeling standards. It might be described as deviant, or even psychotic. Its self-imposed isolation from the Great Link especially concerns me. It’s difficult to conceive of what extended isolation might do to such a being.”

“And yet, Counselor, a normally functioning Changeling would be unlikely to negotiate with us at all, much less concede anything useful. Perhaps a mad Changeling is exactly what we need at this juncture.”

“Perhaps, Captain, but it could also make this individual especially unpredictable and dangerous. In any case, I believe none of this necessarily contradicts Mr. Hawk’s ideas. Perhaps it even supports them.”

Picard watched as Troi moved across the bridge to talk with Data, while Riker sat in his chair to the captain’s right. “So Hawk has given you his theories about the Changeling. I see how that’s useful to Hawk, but how can it be useful to you?”

“One of the primary tactics of negotiation, Number One, is to develop a relationship with the other side, to find and exploit areas of commonality. If the Changeling believes this is a beautiful ship, then so do I. If we share nothing else, we have that, and it’s something I may be able to build on.” He studied Riker’s face. “You seem skeptical.”

“Someone, I think it may have been the writer Will Rogers, said that diplomacy is the art of saying ‘nice doggie’ until you find a rock. In this case, I’m not sure if we’re the guy with the rock, or the dog.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Will, but I’m not willing to give up diplomacy without giving it at least one more chance.” Picard turned and punched up a shipwide intercom on his chair’s armrest companel. “This is Captain Picard. I address myself to the Changeling who has infiltrated this ship. As you are doubtless aware, we have continued our efforts to locate and neutralize you as a threat to this ship. You certainly must understand that we cannot sit idly by while you openly profess to being an agent of an enemy of the Federation.

“However, I remain open to dialogue. To that end, I am willing to meet with you in one hour’s time in lecture hall two on deck twelve. This is centrally located near many ducts and central Jefferies tubes, allowing you multiple means to enter and exit, and you have my word that there will be no attempts to trap you within one hundred meters of this room for ten minutes before and after the meeting. Despite our differences, I still hope to find some common ground on which we can base an understanding. Picard out.”

The security team had stopped their phaser fire, and openly stared at the captain. Riker scowled. “You people have duties. Get to them.”

The phaser fire resumed, and the crew busied themselves at their stations, but the undercurrent of unease remained.

Picard managed a sour frown. “Number One. My ready room, now.”

As they stepped up to the door, the security officers stepped through first, sweeping the room with phaser fire before giving them the all clear.

Picard watched them through the closing doors. He stopped to examine the cylindrical fish tank, now empty, its occupants taken to the biolab because of the phaser fire. “This is becoming tiresome, Will.” He looked up. “What just happened on the bridge especially so. For a while, the continual security sweeps seemed to reassure the crew that we were taking precautions.”

Picard’s usual confident determination slipped for a moment, concern furrowing his brow and carving worry lines around his mouth. “But now, I feel I may be losing the confidence of my crew. In any other negotiation I could speak with them, discuss the importance and perhaps even the strategy of what I was trying to accomplish. But under the circumstances, I can’t do so without showing my hand to the Changeling. Even on the bridge, with all our precautions, there is the chance of discovery.”

Riker leaned against the edge of the desk. “Captain, they’re frustrated and concerned because they know there’s a Changeling among them. But I believe most of these people would hike their way around Andor with nothing but an ice pick and a light sweater if you asked them to.”

Picard nodded. “They’re a fine crew. I should never doubt that.”

“Begging the captain’s pardon, but it seems like it’s yourself you’re doubting.”

Picard smiled slightly, his confidence returning. “You’d never have said that so freely eight years ago, Will. You’ve become more than just a fine first officer to me. You’ve become a friend, and I trust your judgment.”

There was something in the captain’s voice, a hesitation, as though he wanted to say more. Riker prodded. “What exactly is it you’re asking of me, Captain?”

Picard looked away thoughtfully. “I don’t really think I need to ask. If I went too far in the name of diplomacy, if I put this ship and this crew at unreasonable risk, I believe you would tell me so.”

“I would, sir,” Riker assured him. He looked directly at the man he trusted and admired, the man who returned that trust. “But I haven’t so far, have I? I’ve got my concerns, yes, and in my judgment you’re walking this side of a very narrow line. But you are on this side.”

“I’m glad you think so, Will. I’ve always prized my skills as a negotiator, and in the past, I’ve always felt that no matter the circumstances, I knew at any given moment who had the upper hand, who was manipulating whom. Right now, I’d like to think I have the Changeling at a disadvantage, but I’m by no means sure that I’m not being played, and that I haven’t been from the very beginning.”

“You said it yourself, Captain. Deception is the very nature of the Changeling’s existence.”

Picard walked over and looked out the window. The nebula danced and taunted him beyond. “And that, I am very much afraid, is the problem. I’m trying to find some common ground with the Changeling, to earn its trust in some way. But I must keep reminding myself that my trust is all based on illusion, not substance.”

He turned back to face Riker. “In truth, the only substantive thing about the Changling is the nature of its character, and of that, I truly know nothing. It tells me that it took no active part in the death of Lieutenant Addison or the destruction of the Samson, and while that is plausible, it is simply a tale with no substance to support it. More illusion. When I speak with the Changeling, not just its appearance, but every gesture, every move, every facial expression is a calculated illusion. In some respects, I might just as well be negotiating with a holodeck program. And yet the sum total of my human experience programs me to respond to those cues.”

Riker stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I was thinking of poker. A Changeling would be a perfect player. No tells. Nothing unconscious that could show what’s in its hand.”

“This isn’t poker as we usually play it here on the Enterprise, Will. The stakes are impossibly high, and it is anything but a friendly game.”

“If anything,” Riker said, “it’s like no-limit poker. There comes a time in a no-limit game when there’s nothing to do but go all in. Force your opponent to either abandon all illusion, concede defeat—or turn over a winning hand.”

Picard nodded. “One of the last things I discussed with Captain Adrian was our shared aversion to planning with the assumption of failure. But in this case, I think I must. If I cannot succeed in negotiating with the Changeling, you and I must come up with a workable plan to neutralize it.” His jaw tightened, and his mouth narrowed to a grim line. “By any means possible.”

“Mr. Hawk should be involved in this.”

“He will be, when the time is right. But for now, what is needed is my experience and your talent for creative strategy.”

Riker smiled. “Creative strategy? Is that what you call it? I believe the term they were using at Starfleet Tactical Command after my plan to rescue you from the Borg was, ‘What in blazes will Riker do next?’”

“Either will serve in this case, Number One.”

Picard’s combadge chirped. “Data to Picard. Captain, astrophysics reports increasing instability in the corona of the star. They believe it is building up to an intense flare cycle.”

“Take all necessary precautions, and keep me posted. Picard out.” He looked at Riker. “We’d best get to work. It’s about to get a good deal hotter around here.”

CHAPTER
9

Hawk stood at the corridor junction, phaser rifle at ready. It was disturbing, annoying, to know that the Changeling was probably somewhere nearby, and his orders were to give it free passage.

Ensign Shreff stood a few meters away, his ever-present shadow. It seemed they spent as much time watching each other as they did looking for the Changeling. It was a ritual repeated all over the ship, cutting their efficiency in half, or worse, and creating tension and paranoia. Doubtless the Changeling knew this, counted on it. It was an atmosphere that would eventually lead them to make mistakes, and one mistake at the wrong time would be all the Changeling needed to cause untold damage.

His combadge chirped with the voice of Berardi. “Bridge to Hawk. Sir, we have an incoming communication for you from Vulcan. The stellar activity is limiting us to audio only, and even that isn’t perfect.”

“Patch it through, Ensign.”

The badge cracked and popped, even before anyone began to speak. “Hawk, this is Dan Duvall.”

He and Lieutenant Duvall had crossed paths in the advanced flight training school at Jupiter Station. They’d never really been close friends in any conventional way. More like friendly rivals, and Hawk had narrowly edged him out to finish top in his flight class.

But like Addison, Duvall was one of those people Hawk had kept in infrequent contact with. Dan had liked to chide Hawk about being assigned for so long to a ship in Utopia Planitia that never flew, and Hawk reminded him that being the personal pilot for the Vulcan ambassador simply made him a glorified taxi driver.

When this was over, Hawk decided, he would have to look up old friends and renew old acquaintances. Life, he was discovering, was too short. “Go ahead, Dan. What did you find?”

“The news isn’t good, but I guess you expected that. Sorry I couldn’t get anything for you earlier, but they only just found her body buried in a cave well inside Vulcan’s Forge. Communicators and transporters generally don’t work there, so it required a ground search.”

“Do you know the cause of death?”

“We only have skeletal remains, but everything we see is consistent with a fall of at least twenty meters. I’ll send you the preliminary forensics report if I can get through that static you’re in.”

“Of course, that doesn’t tell us if she slipped or was pushed.”

“If we’re talking about a Changeling, I know where I’d put my bet.”

The panel next to the turbolift just down the corridor indicated an arriving car.

“Thanks, Dan. I’ve got to go, but I’ll be in touch. Hawk out.”

He lifted his phaser and watched the doors open. Picard and Riker emerged, and Hawk lowered his weapon.

Picard walked rapidly toward him. “Mr. Hawk, is everything in order?”

“This entire section has been evacuated, Captain, plus adjacent areas. The decks above and below the lecture hall have been cleared, and my security people have pulled back as well. I can’t say I’m happy about it, sir, but you have your clear zone.”

“Very good, Mr. Hawk. I’ll be going in alone.”

Hawk hesitated a moment before speaking. This was Picard. He wasn’t used to questioning the man, but it was now part of his job, something he was still adjusting to. “Captain, I should remind you that your standing orders are that all personnel are to travel in pairs outside secured areas. When you walk out of this meeting, how will we know it’s you?”

Picard raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem disturbed. “Excellent point, Mr. Hawk, which is why you will go with me. Give Commander Riker your phaser.”

He handed over the rifle.

“The other one too, Mr. Hawk.”

He reluctantly removed the type-1 phaser from his belt and handed it to the XO. His duties in the past had rarely required him to wear a sidearm. Now he felt naked without it. It startled him to realize how quickly he had acclimated to the change, and how natural it now felt to carry a weapon at all times.

He and Picard walked down the corridor to the lecture hall. Picard turned to him, his voice just above a whisper. “I seriously doubt they’d have done much good, in any case, Mr. Hawk. Consider this a learning experience. Diplomacy can be as dangerous a game as open warfare, and a weapon is a poor choice for a security blanket. In any case, your job here is not to ensure my safety, it is to ensure the ship’s safety against me.”

They stepped through a side door into the lecture hall. It was a multifunction room, capable of being configured for use as a small gymnasium, a dance studio, a formal banquet room, and dozens of other applications, but at the moment it was set up to match its name, with a hundred or so theater-style seats in curved rows facing a low stage with a podium. Next to the podium, Hawk noted, was a table. On the table, a detailed model of the Enterprise-E, two meters long, casually rested, as though it were a prop set up for an engineering lecture.

Hawk knew its presence was no accident. Picard had assigned Hawk to have it replicated and quietly moved to the hall.

Picard gestured for Hawk to wait by the door, then continued up the side aisle and climbed the steps to the stage. He stood next to the table and looked around the room. “Changeling, are you here?”

Hawk scanned the room, considering any object that might be the Changeling. A lighting fixture? A seat cushion? A computer console? The carpet beneath his feet? The idea alarmed Hawk, and he kept his feet still only through an extreme force of will.

Or could the Changeling be watching them from an air duct or some tiny gap in a wall panel? Would it simply fail to show?

A movement to the left of the stage caught his eye. A water pitcher on the podium shimmered and transformed into a moving stream of amber liquid that arched over to the floor, grew larger, and extended into a vertical shape that took on humanoid form. It refined its shape and color, and the form became very familiar to Hawk.

Linda!

His jaw clenched, and he had to suppress the anger. Somewhere inside him, a voice cried out: Murderer! But he was a Starfleet officer, and he knew his duty. He stood quietly, making no provocative moves, even as his stomach tied itself in a painful knot.

“Picard,” the false Linda said, “I expected you to be alone.”

“Mr. Hawk is simply here to observe and ensure that you don’t attempt to replace me. He is not part of this negotiation.”

The Changeling turned and smiled at him. “If you prefer. I have no objections to the lieutenant. He and I have—history.”

The words hit Hawk like a punch to the gut, and he had to fight just to keep his lip from curling in revulsion. Probably the Changeling was trying to provoke him, or test his reactions. He wouldn’t offer the satisfaction of a response.

Picard simply glared at her, as though she were a green ensign who had somehow provoked his ire. “I find the shape you have taken objectionable. No matter the circumstances of Lieutenant Addison’s death, it is an insult to her memory for you to continue to mimic her form.”

The Changeling again smiled slightly. “As you wish.” Its shape shimmered back into liquid and it changed, resolidifying in a form no less familiar, that of Counselor Troi.

Picard still looked annoyed.

“Really, Picard, I can’t be offending her memory. She’s quite well as far as I know.”

“Why don’t you show yourself to me as you really are?”

The Changeling laughed softly, and it was disturbingly like the real Counselor Troi. “You solids still don’t even begin to understand what it means to be a Changeling. This is as I am. I am Counselor Troi. I am Lieutenant Addison. I am that pitcher on the podium. I am a tree, or a rock, or a padd, or a Denebian slime devil. A Changeling is not defined by a form. It is whatever form it becomes. If your mind can’t grasp even this simple concept, then there can’t be much for us to talk about.”

“Why Counselor Troi?”

“Why not, Captain? She is someone you know and are comfortable with. It could have been anyone. I’ve studied your files and logs in some detail, including most of the secured ones. I am a spy, after all. I could take the form of someone else in your life—Beverly Crusher, or Vash, or Kamala, or Nella Daren.”

Other than Crusher, Hawk didn’t recognize any of the names, but he could see Picard tense at the mention of each one. It was clear that they had some strong personal meaning to him.

The Changeling continued. “Would it be better if I adopted the form of some stranger? From my perspective, I find Troi’s pleasing enough. Changelings do not have gender as you understand it. I could become anyone, male or female, but I find I prefer the elegant curves of the typical female humanoid to the more angular male form.” She slid a hand along the curve of her hip, as though smoothing the fabric of her uniform against her skin. “The aesthetics of shape are important to me. Strangely they seem to increase in importance the longer I stay away from the Link.”

“Perhaps,” said Picard, “you are becoming more of an individual. Perhaps, despite your words, you seek a shape to define as your own.”

“One shape, to return to day after day? What a repugnant idea! I hardly understand how you solids endure it. Your lives are fascinating in small doses, but to be trapped in one, like an insect in amber.” The Changeling shuddered and crossed its arms, gripping its shoulders in a gesture that was, again, eerily reminiscent of Counselor Troi.

Hawk tried to develop some understanding of the Changeling that would be helpful, but it was difficult to force his own anger and revulsion out of the way. This is not how you were trained, Hawk! Straighten up!

Picard grimaced. “‘Wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury.’”

“Quoting one of your poets?”

“Shakespeare, from Timon of Athens. ‘I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, that I might love thee something.’”

The Changeling seemed puzzled by the quotation. “I do not hate mankind, Picard, nor your Federation, nor solids. In a manner of speaking, I’m quite fond of you.”

“Then show it. Help me to reach your people—your Great Link—and avoid this war.”

The Changeling shook its head sadly. “Again, you don’t understand, Picard. This is beyond your power or mine. This is inevitability.” The Changeling turned and looked at the model, as though seeing it for the first time. It reached out its hand and followed the curve between engineering hull and warp pylon. “Let me spare you and this beautiful ship from it for a while. That is all I can do for you.”

Picard looked scornful. “How? Mr. Hawk seems to think you have an interest in our shakedown logs, that with them you can neutralize our ship, and others like her, as a front-line threat in the coming war.”

She turned toward Hawk and smiled again. “Hawk is very perceptive. That would indeed be a very useful plum to send back to the Dominion. It would justify my spending more time away from the Great Link, and it would offer you some temporary measure of safety.” The false Troi looked at Picard and tilted her head. “You could make that so much easier. Simply turn over a copy of the logs to me. Take me out into open space and leave me. Or better yet, allow me a shuttlecraft.”

Picard laughed harshly. “Why do you expect I would do that?”

“Because it serves your interest, Picard.”

“I have a duty as a Starfleet officer. That is, first and foremost, my interest. I seek peace, but I will not shirk from war if it must be.”

The Changeling tilted its head. “Poor little solid. Then you will die.”

“In service to the safety and principles of the Federation, in service to freedom from tyranny, then gladly. And I will not be alone. The beings of over a thousand worlds stand with me.”

“Am I supposed to be intimidated, Picard? The Dominion knows all about your Federation, its worlds and its capabilities. If you seek to impress me with your resolve, determination, or courage, you should not bother. They are irrelevant.”

The Changeling shook its head, Troi’s dark tresses moving against her shoulders. “That is what you do not understand. You are tiny to us. Your Federation, your history, your short and fragile lives. If I were to aid you, it might delay the inevitable, a year, a decade, maybe more. But this is nothing to the Dominon. They are patient, and in time, they will crush your Federation. They will bring order to your worlds and your peoples, as they have to countless others. And I, with regret, will move on, looking for other untouched worlds where I can seek my destiny.”

“You say that if you delay things a year, a decade, it will mean nothing to the Dominion. But will it mean nothing to you? If you enjoy living among us so much, why not preserve that as long as you can? And if that delay is meaningless to the Dominion, then you would not even be betraying them, merely serving your individual interests.”

The false Troi blinked, then laughed musically. “Very clever, Picard. Your offer is almost intriguing. I haven’t seen Earth yet, and from what I have heard, it is a place I would like to linger and explore to the fullest. But Earth will be the last place to fall. There will be time enough before the end.”

Picard laughed. “To explore Earth, you will first need to leave this nebula, and I will never allow that under the present circumstances. It is to your advantage in every way to reach an accommodation with me. Aid us, or help us reach some agreement with the Dominion.”

The Changeling smiled. “You have me at a disadvantage, Picard, it is true. But while I might have something to gain here, the Dominion does not. You have nothing they want that they cannot take from you in due time. All you can offer, your one true hope, is unconditional surrender, and that I would gladly bring back to the Great Link.”

“Never.”

“Then we are at an impasse, Picard. Whatever my agenda, whatever my hopes or desires, to betray the Great Link is to betray myself.”

“Then I will quote to you from Shakespeare again. ‘This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.’”

This seemed to give the Changeling pause. “I will consider this, Picard. Give me a day.”

“Mr. Hawk and his security people will still be looking for you.”

She—it, he had to keep reminding himself—looked at him again. “He won’t find me unless I want to be found, I assure you.” The Changeling turned, and as it did, changed into a white-furred Pyrithian bat, which sped past Hawk, triggering the door. It flew through and vanished into the corridor outside.

Hawk ducked his head through the door, but the Changeling had already vanished. He stepped back inside, and the doors closed behind him. He and Picard looked at each other for a moment. “I appreciate what you said, Captain, about Linda.”

He frowned. “Don’t. It was a strategy. We negotiated a seemingly insignificant point, and the Changeling made a concession, no matter how small. I was offended by its use of her form, but I could have ignored it if it suited the needs of the negotiation.”

Hawk frowned. “I don’t see how that accomplished anything, Captain. Taking the form of Counselor Troi, mentioning Dr. Crusher and those other women, whoever they were, it all seemed calculated to push your buttons.”

Picard considered a moment. “Those were all women who were important to me at one point or another in my life. The Changeling could only have learned of their importance to me by reading my personal logs.”

“Then it’s already deep inside our computer files, Captain. I’ll have to run security scans to see how bad the damage is.”

“Perhaps not as deep as you believe, Mr. Hawk. There simply hasn’t been enough time to crack many deeply encrypted files. The Changeling focused on my files for its own reasons: to unnerve me, to learn things it could use against me, to make me feel vulnerable, and most of all to demonstrate its power over me. Well, it doesn’t matter. The Changelings may be used to being worshipped as gods, but I will not bow down before this one.”

“And I don’t trust it, Captain. I think this time it’s asking for, to consider your offer, is just a stall.”

“I don’t know if you’re right, Mr. Hawk, but we won’t be waiting to find out. It’s time to finish work on our Changeling trap.”

CHAPTER
10

Geordi La Forge climbed down the long ladder next to the warp core, scanning the plasma flow with his VISOR as he descended. He reached the main engineering level and nodded in greeting to one of several security officers assigned to engineering. Then he turned and stood looking up at the towering warp core, watching the glowing stream of drive plasma emerging from the injectors, flowing up the core and out into the warp nacelles. The injector timing still seemed a little off.

Despite the distraction of the Changeling threat and the increased security, La Forge had continued to work on improving warp engine performance inside the nebula. He wasn’t going to let the Changeling prevent him from fulfilling his original mission of enhancing the Enterprise’s combat performance.

He turned away from the core and was surprised to see Data standing at the master engineering console, accompanied by Lieutenant Huff from security.

“Data! What brings you down here?”

Data looked up at him. “Geordi. I am glad you are here. I am attempting to develop an algorithm to anticipate the Changeling’s movements through the ship’s service passages, and this requires accurate and detailed schematics. I require your command override code to access the shakedown logs.”

La Forge suddenly felt awkward. Data was one of his closest friends, but there were security protocols in place, and the shakedown logs had been identified as a priority target for the Changeling. Still, he felt funny questioning Data. Now, with his emotion chip installed, Data could be insulted, or have his feelings hurt the same as anyone else. More easily, actually, since the emotions were so new and powerful to him.

Before saying anything, La Forge scanned Data with his VISOR. Everything looked right. He could see the glow of Data’s power supply, the flow of positrons through his matrix. Yet Starfleet Intelligence assured them that a Changeling could fool a tricorder, and so it could probably fool his VISOR as well.

“I’d love to, Data, but there’s a little problem. The captain left standing orders for me to require a blood screening before allowing anyone access to the shakedown logs, and you—uh—”

“Yes, Geordi?”

“You don’t have any blood, Data.”

“Sir,” Huff said, “I’ve been with Lieutenant Commander Data since he left his quarters this morning.”

La Forge nodded at her. “Thank you, Althea, but I still have my orders, assuming I can figure out how to implement them.”

Data tilted his head the way he did when he had an idea. “While I do not have blood, I do have lubricants and coolants, though those are generic fluids and a poor substitute for this purpose. I had, however, anticipated this problem, and I have a simpler and more definite solution to offer.” He reached up and pressed his fingers against the side of his head. There was a click and a soft hiss, and a section of his scalp slid smoothly outward. Data snapped the panel free and set it on the table.

They watched it for several moments. If Data were a Changeling, the separated part should have reverted to gelatinous form, but it did not.

Data looked at him. “If that is satisfactory?”

It should have been, but something was bothering La Forge, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. Still, Data had passed the test, and La Forge’s scans. You’re just being paranoid.

“That’s fine, Data.”

He punched his override code into the console. In response, the master shakedown logs appeared on the tabletop display.

“Thank you, Geordi. This may take some time. I do not wish to keep you from your work.”

“Sure.” He turned and started to walk back to the warp core, then hesitated. Everything looked right about Data, but he suddenly realized that not everything sounded right. As the access panel had snapped back into place on Data’s head, the little click just hadn’t been right. It was the sort of thing only an engineer would have noticed, but fortunately, La Forge was a very good engineer.

“Data,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder.

Data looked up curiously. “Yes, Geordi?”

“Why did the chicken cross the wormhole?”

He tilted his head. “Excuse me, Geordi? I do not understand.”

“It’s a joke, Data. Why did the chicken cross the wormhole?”

“I do not know.”

“To get to the other side.”

Data looked puzzled, but otherwise did not react.

“I am afraid I do not understand, Geordi.”

Geordi tensed, turned, and backed away several steps. This seemed like Data in almost every way, but a Data drawn from files and records, drawn by somebody or something that might have missed the information about Data’s recently installed emotion chip.

It suddenly occurred to him that he’d made the mistake of thinking of Data as a human being, and that there was yet another way to verify that he was not a Changeling.

He addressed the security escort. “Lieutenant, do a phaser sweep of Commander Data.”

Hearing the tension in La Forge’s voice, several other security officers moved toward them to investigate.

“Excuse me, sir?” Huff looked confused.

“He’s an android. It won’t hurt him. It wouldn’t hurt the real Data anyway.”

Data looked up at him and slowly smiled. “Oh, Geordi.”

Geordi realized the fake Data was reaching under the console for something. “Phaser! Now!”

Huff raised her rifle and fired, but the Changeling was too fast. It shifted to liquid form, shot up like a fountain, arched over onto a catwalk above them, then transformed into a ball and shot away almost faster than La Forge could follow.

While one of the security officers remained with La Forge, Huff and another one gave chase, but La Forge knew it was probably hopeless. Instead he bent to inspect the underside of the console where the Changeling had done—something. He found an open access panel exposing a rack of isolinear chips.

One was missing.

He tapped his combadge. “La Forge to Captain. The Changeling was just in engineering disguised as Data, and I’m afraid I gave it access to the shakedown logs. It was only for a few moments before I figured it out, but there’s an isolinear chip missing from the engineering console, and I believe it encoded the log data onto the chip.”

“Very well, Mr. La Forge. At least carrying the chip may limit its mobility.”

La Forge’s foot bumped against something on the floor. He reached down and gingerly picked up Data’s head access panel. Again he tapped his combadge. “Security, send a team to Mr. Data’s quarters. I believe he may have been attacked by the Changeling. I’ll meet you there.”

He grabbed a tool kit just as Huff returned, a distressed look on her face.

“I’m sorry, sir. He got into a Jefferies tube and was gone. I swear, I’ve been with him every moment since he left his quarters. I didn’t—”

La Forge held up his hand to cut the woman off. “He fooled me too, Lieutenant. Let’s go find the real Data.”

Picard arrived at Data’s quarters to find Data, or at least his torso and head, propped up on the floor. The panel was missing from the side of his head, and flashing and flickering circuitry could be seen inside, but Data was at least operational.

La Forge bent over him, working diligently to reattach his right arm.

Data looked up sheepishly. “It only hurts when I laugh, Captain.” Then he laughed nervously at his own joke. He hesitated a moment before saying, “Ow.”

Looking up, La Forge said, “We found him partially disassembled, parts stuffed under his computer console and in various hiding places around the cabin. The Changeling took his head access panel, and used it to help fool me into believing he was the real Data.” La Forge looked down at him. “How did he disable you, Data?”

Data frowned. “I am embarrassed to report. I was…playing with my emotion chip.”

La Forge shook his head. “What?”

“I was moving it. Manually. The chip is fused into my circuitry, but it wiggles. This is both disturbing and fascinating.”

Looking up at the captain, La Forge chuckled. “It must be like having a loose tooth. Listen, Data. We can’t remove the chip, but I can lock it down a little better for you.”

“That would be appreciated, Geordi.” Data continued. “In any case, the access panel was open, and I was preoccupied. The Changeling appeared from under my computer console in liquid form and actually entered my body through the open panel. Once inside, it was able to disable my main power relay, but before I stopped functioning, I could feel it. The sensation was—” Data actually shuddered.

“Data,” Picard said, “before you were disabled, were you able to complete the special project I assigned you?”

“Yes, sir. I have created a false shakedown log, convincing in every detail, and yet inaccurate enough to be essentially useless for strategic purposes. It can be accessed through my console, file name ‘booby prize.’” He tilted his head. “Funny, no?”

Picard didn’t have time to be amused. “Geordi, I’ll need this file transferred to an isolinear chip identical to the one the Changeling took.”

La Forge frowned in puzzlement. “But, Captain, he already has the logs.”

“Just do it.”

The engineer stood and stepped over to Data’s console, opening a panel to expose the chips inside. It took him only a moment to transfer the file.

Just as La Forge finished, his combadge chirped. “Commander La Forge, this is Ensign Jarka. We’ve got more problems down in engineering. The Changeling must have gotten to the shield power relays before leaving here. They’ve been splattered with some kind of acid, and we’re losing shield power. We’re already down four percent, and it’s just going to get worse.”

La Forge slammed his fist against the side of the console. “Captain, there’s no way we can replace those relays without dropping shields, and with the star becoming more active, the only way we can do that is to move away and out of the nebula.”

“Now that it has its prize, the Changeling is attempting to force us to leave the nebula.”

“Doing a good job of it too, sir. At this rate, we’re going to lose shields in an hour or so no matter what we do.”

“Finish repairing Data. Data, when you’re functional, get to engineering and do what you can to keep those shields functioning as long as possible. Geordi, bring the chip and wait for me in transporter room three as soon as you’re able.” He headed for the door.

“Wait, Captain! Where are you going?”

“To bait a Changeling trap.”

CHAPTER
11

Hawk and Ensign Shreff arrived at the designated corridor junction, located just to starboard of main engineering, to find Riker and a security team waiting. Moments later, Picard and his security escort arrived as well.

Picard looked at Riker. “Will, I said that the only tangible thing about the Changeling was its character. It’s revealed some of that to us now, and very shortly, we will know more.”

“It seems,” said Hawk, “that we know everything we need to know. Let’s take this thing.”

“Patience, Mr. Hawk. Patience and restraint. We know now that it is a spy still loyal to the Dominion and its mission. What we do not know with certainty is if it is a killer.”

“It attacked Commander Data.”

“Who is not dead, and may have been chosen as a target for that very reason. But it is the very possibility that it is a killer that is the greatest reason we must practice restraint. Shoot to kill only on my authority.”

“Captain!”

“You have your orders.” He turned back to Riker. “Will, get to the bridge and monitor both the shield situation and stellar activity. The shields will protect us for a time against regular background radiation, but we are increasingly vulnerable to flares and coherent microwave bursts. Take whatever action you must, dodge flares if you must, but keep us within the nebula until you hear otherwise from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Hawk, you and your people have your orders.”

“Aye sir, but I’m not happy about it.”

“Objection noted. No one asked you to be happy, Lieutenant.” Picard’s voice was sharp. “I expect you to do your job.”

The rebuke stung, but Hawk knew he had been out of line. As acting security chief, he was expected to offer his opinion, but in the end, the responsibility belonged to the captain.

Picard tapped his combadge. “Computer, patch me into shipwide intercom. Changeling, this is Captain Picard. We are aware of your sabotage to our ship’s shields, and your purpose is clear. But we are not leaving the nebula. If you wish to escape this nebula alive, you will meet me in the engineering hull immediately.” He gave the designation of the corridor junction. “Picard out. Mr. Hawk, you and your people pull back. Monitor this corridor using visual sensors to ensure that the Changeling does not attempt to impersonate me, but otherwise, keep your distance.”

Hawk nodded reluctantly. The thing has shown its true nature. Why can’t we just take it out?

Picard waited alone and unarmed at the junction. He felt defenseless and exposed, and though he knew the Changeling would probably not come that way, he kept scanning the corridors in all directions.

At last, he caught a flicker of movement above him just in the corner of his eye. The Changeling flowed down as a narrow stream to form a blob on the floor in front of him, then rose to take on the shape of Beverly Crusher. “Picard, do you want to die? Your shields are failing. Take this ship away from the nebula.”

Picard only laughed. “This ship will go nowhere unless I order it, and I will do no such thing until you return to me what you’ve taken. I can’t allow you to leave the Enterprise with those logs. And though we’re alone here, we’re being closely watched, in case you have any ideas of attempting to replace me.”

“You’re mad, Picard. Put aside your pride and admit defeat.”

“We humans have a game of bluff called ‘who blinks first.’ I believe you will blink first. You Changelings, with your long lives and your vast powers, you simply have too much to lose. It’s conceivable you might be willing to lay down your life for your Dominion, or for your Great Link, but it would have to be for something vastly more valuable than this trinket of information.”

“That might be so, Picard, if I really believed you would destroy your ship, if I really doubted my ability to find another way to survive.”

“Then I offer a compromise. We will leave this nebula, but not until you tell me how you’ve sabotaged my ship.”

The Changeling smiled with Beverly’s face, and Picard hid his revulsion. “Really, Picard. Why would I destroy this ship? You know how I feel about it.”

“You admire its form, not the ship itself. You’ve experienced that, and now you can move on without regret. You can even re-create it at your leisure. But the thing itself has no value to you once we leave the nebula. As a threat to your Dominion, with or without the shakedown logs, I believe you will not hesitate to destroy it.”

“Leave the nebula, Picard, or we all die.”

“Or you die, you mean. I will die anyway, unless you tell me what you’ve done to my ship. I have nothing at all to lose by remaining here and taking you with me.”

“Picard—”

“Decide!”

The Changling stared at him for long moments. “You’ve finally learned to think like a Changeling, Picard, much to my displeasure. There is a cloaked control device behind the main EPS conduit where it feeds the containment grid for your antimatter storage. It will shut down magnetic containment in a little less than an hour. I expected you to be well outside the nebula by then. You would have been, if you were sane.”

“How do we disable it?”

“Touching it will disable the cloaking device momentarily. There’s a numeric code to be entered on the control pad. Three-three-eight-seven-one-seven-one-oh-four-five.”

Picard touched his combadge. “Geordi, were your people monitoring that?”

“Yes, sir. I have people up there searching already.” There was a pause. “Captain, they’ve found it. The cloak was disabled just as described. They’re entering the code now.”

Picard looked at the Changeling. “If this is a trick—”

“Then we’ll all go together when we go, Picard.”

“Captain.” It was La Forge. “The device shut down and disengaged itself from the control circuitry.”

“Beam it into space immediately, just in case there’s a fail-safe.”

“I’d love to have a look at that mini-cloaking device, but yes, sir. Done.”

“Very good, Mr. La Forge. Hawk, close the trap.”

Running footsteps closed in on them from every direction. The false-Beverly glared at him. “You tricked me, Picard!”

It lashed at him, and encountered a force field. It growled, then dived toward the wall, flowing into a crack until the isolinear chip became visible through the last bit of amber liquid.

Unable to take the chip through the crack, it flowed back out, assumed the form of Linda Addision, and, glaring at him, pulled away a Jefferies tube access panel and dived inside just as armed security officers closed in from every adjoining corridor. Several of them climbed into the Jefferies tube. The others moved out along parallel corridors, doing phaser sweeps as they advanced.

One of the officers remained behind to guard Picard, and handed him a phaser rifle.

Picard took the weapon and tapped his combadge. “Mr. Hawk, the Changeling is in Jefferies tube three-seven-eight delta.” Picard didn’t wait for an answer before he started running in the direction of the transporter room.

“We’ve got visual on it, Captain. Looks like it’s changed into some kind of Klingon racing targ, which is appropriate, since we’re herding it with security teams and force fields. This close to the curve of the engineering hull, there aren’t that many places for it to go without reverting to completely liquid form and leaving the chip behind. It’s headed right for the starboard pylon, as we planned.”

Now it was up to Hawk and his teams. The warp pylon was the most restricted area of the ship, the place where they’d have the most control over what route the Changeling would take. It was in the Jefferies tubes now, but the plan was for the security teams to trap it there. It would need to either drop the chip or move to the life support duct that ran parallel to the tube, and there, it would encounter a difficulty—

Picard and his security shadow entered the transporter room. La Forge and another security officer waited.

“I’ll take that chip now, Geordi.”

La Forge placed the oblong, translucent blue chip in his hand. He clenched it in his fist. “A literal bargaining chip.”

Picard stepped onto the transporter pad. His security escort started to join him. Picard signaled him away. “Once again, this is something I must do alone. Geordi, try not to put me inside a bulkhead.”

“I’ll do my best, Captain. Next stop, nacelle control.”

“Energize.”

There was the familiar whine of the transporter, the peculiar sensation of flickering in and out of existence, and he was in the control room at the rear of the starboard nacelle, looking forward through a force field at the warp coils. On the other side of the force field, deadly drive plasma flooded the space. On the Enterprise-D, this opening had been covered by doors that could be opened only for ninety seconds at a time before the force fields began to fail. With the new design, the doors were an emergency measure, and under normal circumstances could be left open indefinitely.

He turned, phaser ready, and watched the hatch for the Jefferies tube that provided access to the room. He waited several minutes, but finally the hatch slid open, and the Changeling, in liquid form, flowed into the room.

Picard aimed the phaser.

Becoming aware of Picard with whatever senses it possessed in its natural state, the Changeling again assumed the form of Addison. “You won’t stop me, Picard.”

He lowered the rifle slightly. “I don’t intend to. And I’m sure by now that I don’t need to. You no longer have the chip containing the shakedown logs for the Enterprise.”

“I had to travel through a duct. There was—”

“A micron-filter not listed on the inaccurate schematics you’d previously studied, a recent field modification. You see now how useful the shakedown logs can be.”

“Are you taunting me, Picard?”

The captain reached to his belt and produced the chip Geordi had given him. “I want you to understand exactly what it is I am doing for you.” He looked around the room. “I had to keep up appearances down below, but they can’t monitor us here. If this were discovered, my career with Starfleet would be over.”

The Changling laughed. “You mean to tell me you’re selling out your precious Federation, Picard?”

“Not by choice, but I’ve come to accept the inevitable. The Federation is doomed, and defeat by the Dominon is inevitable. Why should I and my crew suffer in a hopeless war? Better to sit it out on the rear lines and hope we survive to see Dominion rule. I contrived to take the shakedown logs from you, but now I offer to give them back.”

“I tried to destroy your ship, Picard. Why do you choose to trust me now?”

“My people have already found and disabled your sabotage device. Even if you were of a mind to withhold information from me, I doubt you had time to plant a backup, or that you had any reason to. We’d never have found it in time if you hadn’t told us where it was.”

“True. But the logs do me no good if I’m still trapped on this ship. Do you offer me escape as well?”

“The Enterprise is already moving at full impulse away from the star and out of the nebula. We should reach a zone safe enough for you to leave the ship in the next five minutes.”

He pointed at a console next to the force field opening. “This panel will briefly deactivate the force field. After I’m safely in the Jefferies tube, use it. This room will flood with plasma, but I’m assuming you can change into some form that can survive it long enough for you to travel the length of the nacelle inside the warp coils, through the Bussard collectors, and out into space.”

The Changeling approached him carefully, then took the chip from his outstretched hand.

It held the chip in its palm for a moment, inspecting it, then the rectangle sank into its flesh, safely secreted inside its body. “Very good, Picard. You succeeded in manipulating me, deceiving me. You have started to think like a Changeling, and that is a very dangerous thing in itself. Perhaps even more dangerous than this ship.” It studied him for a moment. “I’m sorry, Picard. You’ve succeeded in saving your ship, but you didn’t save yourself.”

It flashed into liquid form, shooting past Picard to activate the control panel.

The force field buzzed, flickered away.

Million-degree drive plasma flooded the room.

And Picard vanished in a ball of incandescence.

CHAPTER
12

The Changeling took the form of a sun-hunter, a silvery spaceborne creature shaped like a rocket-propelled pumpkin seed, and capable of enduring the plasma long enough to escape the ship, the chip still hidden safely deep inside its body. It was a shame there wasn’t time to destroy the Enterprise, but now it and its sister ships would be neutralized in the war to come.

And an even greater threat had been eliminated. Had Picard really intended to betray his Federation, or had it all been part of some larger scheme he had been trying to pull off? Well, it didn’t matter now.

Picard was dead.

The Changeling emerged through the glowing red screens of the Bussard collector ducts to see the shimmering nebula far behind them, its star glowing brightly from its center. The Changeling shifted forms again, this time becoming a Starfleet long-range probe. It sensed the Enterprise turning toward it, but they were too late. In a moment, the Changeling went to high warp and left the big ship far behind.

Soon it would rendezvous with another Dominion spy and transfer what it had learned back to the Dominion. And after that…Well, there was still Earth. Best to see it in what little time it had left.

Picard stepped off the transporter platform. Despite their precautions, he felt sunburned from the inside out. He’d let Dr. Crusher—the real one—check him out when there was time.

His combadge sounded. “Riker here. Captain, the Changeling has gone to warp.”

La Forge looked at him. “Captain, should we really have let it escape? After what it did?”

Picard scowled. He wasn’t happy about the situation either. “We may never know with certainty. But at this point, Mr. La Forge, I have little doubt that the Changeling sabotaged the Samson with deadly intent, and that it very likely murdered Lieutenant Addison as well. I am at least certain now that the Changeling was fully capable of those acts, without thought or remorse.”

The room’s doors slid open, and Riker and Hawk entered.

“Captain,” said Riker, “you’re looking well for a dead man.”

Picard nodded. “Well, as I was just telling someone else, I have great faith in Mr. La Forge’s skill with a transporter. In any case, the safety interlocks Mr. Hawk installed prevented the force field from fully disengaging until I had dematerialized.”

“I’m glad it worked, sir,” said Hawk, “but I don’t quite understand the theatrics.”

“While you were literally ‘herding’ the Changeling though the narrow confines of the pylon, I was figuratively herding it through a narrow series of choices, one it followed to the very end. Now it has a false set of shakedown logs that will lead the Dominion to underestimate Sovereign-class ships and waste effort trying to exploit nonexistent weaknesses, and my betrayal of the Federation and my ‘death’ helped to sell those as authentic. We have misled our enemy, and in war, that can be far more valuable than striking down one individual.”

Hawk shook his head. He still looked angry. “There’s no justice in it, Captain.”

“War isn’t about justice, Mr. Hawk. Like so many of our ideals, war leaves little room for it. It is one of the countless ways that war, necessary or not, diminishes us all.”

Riker nodded. “I’m just glad you’re safe, Captain. I just hope this was worth all the risk you took.”

“I had to know what the Changeling’s intentions were. If there was any shred of doubt, any hope of negotiation, I had to know. But my worst fears were confirmed. This will be a long and difficult war, Number One.”

“At least now if the worst comes to pass, the Enterprise and her sister ships will be able to play their part.”

“These are dark times, when that passes for good news, Number One. Dark times and troubled waters ahead.”

The U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-E, sailed in a smooth arc away from the planetary nebula, which glowed and pulsed behind it like the watching eye of an angry god. The ship’s delicate curves shimmered in the shifting light, form and function existing in perfect harmony. It turned gracefully, and its warp nacelles flashed with blue light from within. And like a beautiful warhorse charging with its rider into battle, it was gone.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

J. STEVEN YORK has published multiple novels (most recently, MechWarrior: Trial by Chaos, Roc, 2006), novellas, short stories, and eBooks. He’s written fiction for computer games and scripts for radio. He considers his one nonfiction book an aberration, as he sees himself first and foremost as a storyteller, regardless of what form those stories take. He’d be happy scripting amusement park rides as long as they had character and plot. As though to prove this point, he produces a weekly web comic (www.MinionsAtWork.com) photo-illustrated with action figures. In addition to his solo work, he’s co-written two Star Trek: S.C.E. novellas with his wife, romance writer Christina York, and has made a number of collaborations with his friend Dean Wesley Smith. Born in southeast Alabama, Steve has lived in 16% of all the United States at one time or another. After decades of wandering, he now resides on the Oregon coast, where he intends to make a stand. He lives in a house overlooking the Pacific Ocean with his wife Chris, two writer’s offices (located a safe distance apart), two cats named Oz and Sydney, and a battalion of GI Joes.

CHRISTINA F. YORK keeps her fingers in a lot of pies. She has written SF, fantasy, romance, young adult, and action-adventure, as well as things she wouldn’t tell her grandmother about. Besides her own work, she likes playing in other people’s sandboxes, as evidenced by her two Alias novels and assorted short fiction, in addition to her forays into the world of Star Trek. She lives on the Oregon coast with her husband and sometime collaborator, J. Steven York, where they serve two feline overlords.

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