Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!pacific.mps.ohio-state.edu!linac!att!cbnewsk!cbnewsj!att-out!cbfsb!cbnewsf.cb.att.com!hillel From: hillel@cbnewsf.cb.att.com (hillel.e.markowitz) Subject: Errand of Malice Message-ID: <1992Oct28.182805.14419@cbfsb.cb.att.com> Sender: news@cbfsb.cb.att.com Organization: AT&T Federal Systems Date: Wed, 28 Oct 1992 18:28:05 GMT Lines: 971 ~Newsgroups: rec.arts.startrek ~Subject: ERRAND OF MALICE -- Finally! Message-ID: <7983@milton.u.washington.edu> ~Date: 23 Sep 90 01:09:00 GMT Well, after much prompting and prodding from e-mail flowing into my mbox, I have finally finished the final part of "Errand of Malice," and here, for the first time, the story appears in its entirety. Any comments and criticism would be greatly appreciated, and also, if you're interested in my fanzine, (hint hint :) please send e-mail to singh@bailey.cpac.washington.edu. At any rate, here at long last (nearly a year after the first installment appeared -- go figure :) is "Errand of Malice." Enjoy. (Please note -- this story is (c) 1990 Michael J. Montoure, and may not be reproduced without my written consent. MIRROR, MIRROR: THE NEXT GENERATION "Errand of Malice" by Michael Montoure Captain Picard leaned forward in his high-backed command chair, a faint smile playing around his taut lips. Next to him, Commander Riker drummed his fingers impatiently on his display console. "Entering standard orbit, Captain," the ensign at the helm reported. "Good. Lieutenant Yar, lock phasers on target and open hailing frequencies." "Aye, sir." The screen hummed and the image of the Ferengi ship faded, replaced by a very nervous Ferengi captain. Picard stood up and glared at the screen. "Ferengi vessel, you are in orbit around a planet of the Terran Empire. Please identify yourselves." The Daimon scowled. "Enterprise, this planet is not mentioned in the Border Dispute Treaty of -- " "Ferengi vessel, identify." The alien swallowed. "This is the Ferengi trader vessel Glaktai. We are at this planet on a peaceful mission of trade and commerce; we wish no harm to its populace." "You are infringing on an Imperial economic monopoly, Daimon." The Ferengi's eyes widened. "Please, Captain, we only wish to trade peacefully with the -- " "Kill the signal." The Ferengi captain was abruptly replaced by an image of the ship. "Shall I fire phasers, Captain?" Yar asked. Picard nodded. "Make it so." Twin blue shafts of phaser energy stabbed from beneath them and covered the Ferengi vessel in deadly blue fire. Tasha smiled to herself as the ship exploded. Picard turned to her. "Lieutenant, assemble a Tactical Away Team. I want your officers to fan out and track down any remaining Ferengi traders on the planet." "Understood." Tasha stood at attention. "Do you want them captured for questioning?" Picard considered. "No -- this looks like a standard Ferengi free trade operation, nothing remarkable. Terminate with prejudice, Lieutenant." "Understood, sir." "Oh, and Lieutenant . . . if just ONE Ferengi escapes alive, you will be spending some time in the Agonizer Booth. Isn't that so, Mr. Data?" The golden-hued Internal Security Officer turned and smiled faintly. "Quite true, Captain. I would see to it myself." "Good." Picard turned to Riker. "Number One, would you care to join me on the Holodeck?" * * * The stench of rotting leaves hung in the air as a simulated sun beat down on them. With pike and short sword in hand, Picard moved quietly through the underbrush, his first officer close behind. "Was there something you wanted to talk to me about, sir?" Riker asked. "As a matter of fact, there is, Commander," Picard said, lashing out with the short sword at a passing small animal. He missed and cursed. "You were recently offered the chance to be the captain of the I.S.S. Noonian Singh. But you turned it down." "True, sir, I did." "Might I ask why?" Riker took a deep breath, holding the crossbow close to his body. He took careful aim and speared the animal Picard had missed. "The Singh didn't interest me, sir. It's the Enterprise I want." Picard scowled. "You realize, of course, that you'd have to kill me to get it." "I'm aware of that." "That wouldn't be that easy. Many have tried." "And failed, sir. I know." "What makes you think you could do any better?" Riker smiled. "Perserverance, sir. The ability to bide my time until the right moment." "There will never be a right moment, Riker." Suddenly, faster than Riker could follow his movements, Picard turned and swung a blow at Riker's chest, knocking him to the ground. Picard stabbed the short sword at him, the point just breaking the skin of Riker's chest. "Computer, end simulation," Picard said calmly. The jungle around them faded, and there was only a dark room, and Riker lying bleeding at Picard's feet. "Remember that," Picard said. "There will never be a right moment." * * * "You let him do this to you?" Pulaski said, frowning as she placed the bandage carefully on Riker's chest. "I didn't exactly LET him," Riker said, smiling humorlessly. "I don't understand how the old man can move so damn fast." "He has to," Pulaski said simply. She put the final touches on the bandage as it blended with Riker's skin. "There. All done." She stood up straight and looked at him curiously. "Now, then, why did you bother to come down here for that little scratch?" "I needed an excuse to see you," Riker said. "It's about Geordi." Kate laughed. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to help him. Having a Pakled spaceship explode around you isn't something you can get better from." "That's not what I'm talking about," Riker snapped. "Geordi was useful to me, with that VISOR of his. I couldn't afford to lose him." "You should have thought of that before you opened fire on the Pakleds." "Picard's idea, not mine. Damn him. He probably realized that Geordi was on my side." "What do you want me to about it? I can't raise the dead." "No, but do you still have one of Geordi's spare VISORs?" "Certainly . . . " "And you know how to attach one?" "Sure, but not to a sighted person." "I don't mean using it on a sighted person." Riker grinned. "I think it's time Engineer O'Brien suffered a little . . . accident . . . . " * * * Picard stared across the briefing room table at the Klingon. "Let me see if I understand you. You want to change your hostage status?" Worf nodded. "Correct." Picard stroked his chin. "You realize, of course, that having hostages on board all vessels is an important part of the Klingon/Terran Treaty." "Treaties should not stand in the way of personal goals." "True . . . true. You wish to defect." "I wish to be a member of your crew." "Why? Your race is not a race of fighters." Worf nodded sadly. "Klingons are bred to peace." "Then why would you wish to join the crew of a battleship?" Data interjected. "We fight when we must. We do not waste blood. But I would rather serve beside you than live out my days as a . . . " his face looked as though he had bit into something distasteful. "As a pet." Picard exchanged glances with Data. "Thank you, Worf, we will consider your offer. Guards, take him back to his room." Two men with portable Agonizers accompanied Worf from the room. "Well, Commander?" Picard asked. Data leaned forward interestedly. "He would seem to be sincere in his offer, Captain. And he could be most useful to us. His people do have a better understanding of defensive tactics than we do." "True. You think he was telling the truth about his reasons?" Data cocked his head to one side and considered. "I was not programmed to evaluate truthfulness, Captain. As my name suggests, I was built to store data on security matters, and to be an impartial observer for the Empire." "But you have exceeded that function before, Commander." "True -- yet emotions are still beyond me." He paused meaningfully. "But they are not beyond Commander Riker's new -- acquisition, sir." "His Betazoid prisoner? Hmmmm." Picard drummed his fingers along the tabletop. "I'd understood she'd been conditioned against using her empathic abilities." "No, sir, I only conditioned her against using them on Imperial officers. I decided that she could be useful to us." "Hmmmm. Very well. Have her interrogate Worf for us." "Certainly, sir." "Oh, and Data . . . ? You're doing a fine job, Commander." "Thank you, sir." Even if you are a soulless, tin-plated machine, Picard thought, and even if I don't trust you at all. * * * Picard stared across the table at Wesley, drumming his fingers slowly. "I imagine you're wondering why I called you here, Ensign," Picard said. "Yes, sir, I am." The boy isn't afraid to look me in the eye, Picard thought. Good, good. "It's about Lieutenant Commander Data." "What about it?" "How much do you know about its design structure and source code?" Wesley smiled as he leaned back in his chair. "Practically everything." Picard nodded. "Do you think you could access its memory core?" The boy's eyes widened. "That would be a treasonous act, sir. To tamper with a piece of Imperial Intelligence equipment would be -- " "Extremely advantageous to us." Picard leaned forward. "Data has inside its memory banks records that I can't access from the ship's computer . . . fleet strength, security forces, passwords. Useful information for a starship captain, wouldn't you say?" Wesley's eyes narrowed. "It also contains a record of everything that it observes on this ship." "A record which you could . . . edit." "I'm sure I could." He looked at Picard suspiciously. "What's in it for me?" "Protection. Someone with your . . . abilities . . . is dangerous to many people on board this ship." "Including you?" "No. Not including me." Picard scowled. "Remember, Ensign . . . I had your mother killed when she . . . displeased me. The same can easily happen to you. Easily." Wesley swallowed. "Yes, sir. I'll remember." "I can offer you protection, from others on this ship who would find it -- convenient to have you disposed of." Wesley nodded. "I'll need help in catching Data off guard." "You'll get it." * * * O'Brien looked up from his work to see Commander Riker standing over him. "Morning, Commander," he said uneasily. "What brings you down to Engineering?" "The collimiter coils, Engineer. We had a little trouble with them during the last phaser drills." "Trouble? I wasn't aware of any trouble." "Could you come take a look at them?" Riker smiled. "If you're not busy here, of course." O'Brien hurriedly dropped the sonic driver into his toolkit and stood up. "No, sir, I'm not busy . . . what seems to be the problem?" He opened the collimiter coil access cover and looked inside. Riker casually reached out and raised the power level to full capacity. Within seconds he heard the most satisfying scream. O'Brien staggered back, his hands clutching at face. "My eyes! I can't see!" Riker tapped the planet-and-dagger shaped communicator pinned to his chest. "Riker to Sick Bay," he said calmly. "Sick Bay, Pulaski here." "Please send a medical team to Engineering, Doctor. There's just been a most unfortunate accident." * * * Deanna looked across the room at the Klingon. Data stood near the door, his arms casually folded across his chest. He seemed to be paying no attention to the exchange between the two prisoners, but Deanna had learned in the short time that she had been aboard that there wasn't a single word, a single sound, a single heartbeat that Data didn't hear and record with its damnable perfect memory. "Why do you wish to join us?" Deanna asked calmly, trying to clear her mind of her own fear so that she could more clearly read the Klingon's emotions. "Your people have no love for combat." "That is true," Worf said, his dark, deep-set eyes meeting hers without fear. "But we do what is necessary." "But you would be willing to serve the Empire?" "Naturally. Just as you do." Deanna caught his meaning. Worf understood her, she realized; understood that she was only a useful tool, a pawn, who would live and thrive as long as she was useful and wanted. She served Riker, and his master, Picard, out of fear. And so, even though it was nearly impossible for him to admit, would Worf. She nodded, the unspoken communication passed between them. Data glanced at both of them, its eyes narrowed suspiciously. Deanna stood up. "I have no further questions, Mr. Data." She walked out into the hall, with Data following close behind. "Well, Ms. Troi?" Data asked. "Your evaluation?" "I believe he is sincere in his offer," Deanna said. "He will serve the Empire faithfully." "So it is your recommendation to accept him." "Yes, it is." Data nodded tersely. "I shall report your recommendation to Captain Picard." He paused. "Let me remind you that if you are lying, or if you and the Klingon are conspiring together, you will both suffer." The complete lack of emotion in his promise sent a shiver through Deanna's body. * * * Captain's Log, Stardate 43402.6: After destroying the Ferengi trading vessel Glaktai, I have dispatched Lt. Yar to lead a Tactical Away Team to wipe out any remaining Ferengi on the planet below. She is due to make her first report of her progress in a few minutes. Internal Security Officer Data has suggested an interesting ploy for dealing with the Klingon captive, Worf . . . by having Commander Riker's consort, the Betazoid, read the Klingon's emotions, we have been able to guage the truth of Worf's assertions that he wishes to change his hostage status and become a member of the Terran Empire. The more Data's advice turns out to be useful to us, the more convinced I am that I was correct in allowing it to serve aboard this ship. Picard out. * * * Data walked through the corridors of the Enterprise, eyes never closing, taking in every bit of information, noting as each crewmen moved from station to station. Its movements were slow, precise, deliberately calculated. Hearing a strange sound from inside the Holodeck, the android stopped and turned curiously. A touch of his hand overrode the privacy lock on the door and opened it. The pleading eyes of a young ensign [Crusher, Wesley, Ensign assigned to Engineering, Data registered automatically] stared back at him as the young boy's body lay there, trapped under a pile of debris from a training program. Data regarded him calmly for a long moment, noting the fact that the boy's legs would most likely never function again. "It would be wise in future, Ensign," Data said, "to set the Holodeck's mortality failsafe. It would protect you from accidents like this." "Help me!" the boy screamed. "Get me out of here!" "Computer, end simulation," Data said, and the buildings and rubble around them faded away, leaving a dark room with a red, glowing grid. Wesley groaned and tried to move, his legs refusing to follow his orders. "Help me up . . . you've got to help me to Sickbay . . . . " the boy moaned. Data wordlessly reached out a hand to help the boy to his feet, and touched -- nothing. His hand passed through empty air as the hologram of Wesley Crusher dematerialized. Fascinating, thought Data. Someone must have extensively reprogrammed the Holodeck for one image to remain after the others have discontinued . . . That was all Data had time to think before a stealthy hand reached from behind and found his off-switch. Data collapsed on the floor like a useless pile of circuits and wires. An all too solid and real Wesley Crusher sighed with relief and sagged to the floor next to the android's inert form. He reached up and tapped his planet-and-dagger shaped communicator. "Captain Picard, this is Ensign Crusher. I've disabled the android. Awaiting your orders, sir." * * * Chief O'Brien opened his eyes -- and immediately wished he hadn't. He tried to close them again, but discovered that it made no difference. He still was seeing, somehow impossibly seeing, distorted shapes, colors that he didn't have names for . . . . He screamed, and the nebulous mass that hovered over him told him to calm down. The voice sounded like Doctor Pulaski's, but it sounded impossibly far away. He tried to claw at his eyes, but all he could feel was a band of cold metal. The last thing he remembered was a blinding flash of light, and then his eyes had stopped working. He was taken to sickbay, and . . . and . . . Oh, no. Oh, no. They couldn't have. He looked across the room in the mirror, and when he could make sense of what he saw, he realized it was Geordi's visor staring back at him. He screamed again, and pushed Pulaski away. He darted out into the corridor, running down the shifting, changing, garish hallways, not knowing where he was going, not caring. * * * Captain Picard folded his arms impatiently as he watched Ensign Crusher connect long, intricate conduits to the interior of Data's head. The computer terminal in front of them displayed numbers that Picard found meaningless, but that Wesley was finding more and more interesting. "Well?" Picard snapped. "We're nearly there," Wesley said. "I've never seen a system with this many intrusion countermeasures before, but I think I'm getting the hang of it." Wesley held the sonic driver firmly in one hand as he tried to connect a long, red cable with the other hand. There was a burst of sparks and a puff of smoke from somewhere inside Data's head. Picard's hand automatically leaped for the agonizer on his belt. "What have you done?" he demanded. Wesley ignored him, staring in surprise at the android. "That shouldn't have happened . . . " he said wonderingly. Suddenly, Data's eyes blinked open. The numbers on the terminal screen in front of them were suddenly replaced by the words, "Picard, Jean Luc. Retinal Scan Requested." Picard stared at the screen. "Get out." "But . . . . " "I said, get out. Return to your quarters. If you tell anyone about this . . . I'll find out about it." Wesley took the hint and left. Picard turned and looked deep into the android's eyes. Data's eyes glowed with a mysterious amber light. The screen read, "Retinal Pattern Match. Voice Print Requested. State Your Name, Rank, Serial Number, and Security Code." "Picard, Jean Luc. Captain. CEJ-128237B. Security level red three." The screen read, "Access Permitted. Recording Starts." Then, as suddenly as it had started, the screen faded to black. Data turned toward Captain Picard, amber eyes regarding him solemnly for a moment. Then, it spoke. "Congratulations, Captain." Picard's eyes widened. The voice was not Data's. But it was one he knew well. That was the voice of Fleet Admiral Spock. * * * Vaguely, from someone ahead of him, O'Brien heard a shouted warning, but he didn't know what it was. The constant flow of data driving into his mind was making his head pound, shoving all thoughts aside. He just knew he wanted to get away. And he knew just how to do it. Back when he still had his job as Transporter Chief, he'd always joked that he could do his job blind. He never thought he'd have to prove it. Someone approached and clapped an agonizer to his chest. The pain was nothing compared to the roaring in his head. He ignored it and shoved the person aside. He set the controls for the planet below and dived onto the transporter platform just in time to be swept away by the transporter beam. * * * "Undoubtedly," Data continued in Spock's voice, "you have wondered how an elaborate device such as this android came to be built, and how it came into your hands." Picard nodded slowly. "Long ago, Captain James T. Kirk of the I.S.S. Enterprise discovered an alien laboratory of some long-forgotten race. In that lab he found the device that kept him safe and alive for years. "He called this device the Tantalus Field. The Field was capable of scanning individuals from a great distance away, and at the touch of a button, could disperse their atoms along dimensional lines. As you can well imagine, such a weapon made him a formidable adversary." Picard smiled wryly at the Vulcan's gift of understatement. "But he was no match for Khan Noonian Singh," Data/Spock continued. "And when Khan took over the Enterprise, he had no idea that the Tantalus Field existed. I took the weapon for myself, keeping it for the proper time. "When the time was right, I silently disposed of Khan himself with the weapon, knowing that I would then have to find some way to hide the Field where it would be safe with or without my presence. "With the help of a Terran scientist, I designed this android to build around the Tantalus Field. As Data is not consciously aware of what it carries inside it, there is very little danger that it could somehow accidentally reveal its secrets. It can only use the Field when you speak the codeword 'Tantalus' to it. "I have assigned Data to you, Captain Picard, because I grow old. I shall not live much longer. I needed the Tantalus Field in the hand of a wise and strong leader, a leader whom the Empire may someday need to hold itself together -- someone like you. "Use it sparingly and wisely, Captain. Long life and success." Data fell silent again, like a puppet with cut strings. Picard stared at it for a long, long time. * * * "Hold your positions!" Tasha whispered to her men. "I heard a transporter beam. Over that way." She pointed with the barrel of her battlephaser to a clump of trees a few meters away. She grabbed the thermal binoculars from her pack and raised them to her eyes. "Definitely not a Ferengi," she muttered. "Not with a heat signature like that." "One of our people, then?" one of her task force said. Tasha shook her head rapidly. "They were supposed to send anyone else down until we'd cleared the area. Robinson, Hurley, you two go over there and check it out." "Yes, sir," they said. Carefully, they did a low crawl to a better vantage point where they could take tricorder scans of their mysterious humanoid. Then, a few minutes later, they returned. "Well?" Tasha hissed. Ensign Hurley shook his head. "Definitely one of ours, sir. I believe it was Chief O'Brien, but I can't be certain." "Why not?" "Whoever it is . . . is wearing a visor, sir. Like Geordi used to wear." "What the . . . ?" Tasha scowled and tapped her communicator. She'd better get a good explanation for this one. * * * Data touched the controls, turning the level up just a little higher on the Agonizer Booth. Inside, Doctor Pulaski twitched as every muscle in her body rebelled. "Tell me again, Doctor," Data said. "I want to see if you can tell me what the Prime Directive is." "The . . . . the directive to . . . to . . . . " Data shook its head. "Not good enough, Doctor." It turned the power up just a bit higher, and listened to the screams. "What is the Prime Directive?" Dr. Pulaski's spine arched as another jolt of pain shot through her body. "To keep . . . l-l-l-lower races from obtaining Imperial technology." "To what end?" ". . . . To keep them from becoming a serious threat to us . . . . " "Correct. Very good, Doctor. Now, then, would you care to explain what you would call it if you were to allow one of your experimental patients . . . . such as the unfortunate Chief O'Brien . . . . to fall into the hands of an underdeveloped people?" ". . . V . . . vi . . . violation . . . " "Of the Prime Directive. Yes, Doctor. That is correct." Data abruptly snapped the controls off, and she slumped forward in the booth. "Remember that, Doctor." Data turned and left the room. Dr. Pulaski stood up slowly, grabbing the hand rails for support, and glared after the android with undisguised loathing. * * * Worf put on the uniform, distaste barely concealing itself beneath his heavy features. He turned from side to side, looking at himself in the full-length mirror. Finally, he shook his head and sighed in frustration. Deanna smiled at him sadly. "You don't like it?" "Like it?" Worf rumbled. "It is heavy, hot, and uncomfortable. The belt is confining. The fabric irritates my skin." "Wil has always told me that those are precisely the reasons they wear those as standard uniforms." Deanna shrugged and sat down on Worf's bed. Worf scowled. "I do not understand." "If they wear clothing that makes them irritable, then they are always ready for combat. Or so goes their theory." Worf sighed. "Why are the Terrans so hungry for battle? What drives them?" Deanna could only shake her head. * * * "O'Brien?" Tasha sat down by the mouth of the cave, talking slowly and calmly. She knew that taking her time and using her head often gained better results than a more direct approach; so, with her men concealed in the forest behind her, she sat down to simply wait. "O'Brien, it's okay. It's me. Tasha. Remember?" There was no sign of response, as O'Brien lay curled up far in the back of the cave. Tasha sighed inwardly and tried again. "Come on, O'Brien," she said, wishing she knew his first name. "You're going to be just fine. We'll get you right back to Sickkbay." O'Brien looked up at that. Tasha couldn't tell if his reaction was relieved or fearful, but at the very least it was recognition. "Sickbay, O'Brien. Come on, we'll get you fixed up in Sickbay." He actually seemed to calm down at that. Tasha wasn't expecting it, then, when he lunged at her like a caged animal, teeth bared, the visor shining strangely in the twilight. * * * Ensign Wesley Crusher snapped off the monitor on his desk and leaned back in his chair, troubled. Perhaps he shouldn't have set a security monitor inside Data when he had the chance. Then he wouldn't have to be troubled with the knowledge he had now. He had heard every word . . . . Fleet Admiral Spock's recorded message to Captain Picard that Data had spoken, outlining the android Internal Security Officer's origins -- and its hidden purpose. This device that Data carried -- the Tantalus Field -- sounded like the greatest weapon ever devised. With the ability to make one's enemies simply disappear, one would never need to live in fear again. Wesley still stared at the blank screen. If he let on to Captain Picard that he knew of the Field that Data carried . . . . he would be its first victim. He would simply wait . . . . and watch. * * * O'Brien was running. He didn't even know why, or for how long he had been running through the forest, branches scratching deep gouges in his face, but he was running all the same. Then, finally, he could run no more, and he crumpled into a heap on the ground. Eventually, he heard voices. Not the voices of his crewmates . . . . but other voices, strange and foreign. Ferengi, he noted somewhere in the back of his mind, but he was too tired to care, and the strange images playing through his mind from the metallic band around his eyes were too strange to allow him to concentrate. He lay there, breathing hard. "One of the Terrans?" "Stand back . . . he must have a weapon . . . " "He looks injured . . . can we help him?" "Not with our ship gone," another voice said bitterly. "Since the Enterprise destroyed the Glaktai, we've nothing to return to." "What is that around his eyes . . . ?" "A Terran Empire invention to improve vision . . . . it replaces normal sight entirely . . . . " "Could it be used to help the blind?" "It would seem so . . . " "Think of the potential," the first voice exulted. "We could trade this device to other planets, help millions . . . . " "How does it come off . . . ?" There was a short flash of pain and light, and then at last, blessed darkness. O'Brien slept. * * * Captain's Log, Stardate 43402.9: I have been told by some of my informants among the crew that Chief O'Brien, before receiving a visor from Dr. Pulaski, was last seen in the company of Commander Riker. I strongly suspect that Riker caused O'Brien's "accident" in order to gain an ally with the late Mister LaForge's advanced sight. This is undoubtedly another of his ploys to wrest the command throne from me. Unfortunately, Commander Riker is still too strong of an asset to the crew at this point. His grasp of starship tactics and interrogation procedures has saved this ship on many occasions . . . not to mention the fact that he has thus far been successful at avoiding attempts on his life, thus making the captaincy an even more difficult target. No, it would be foolish of me to remove Riker directly. However, that does not mean that at least one of his more useful allies may be removed . . . Also, the Away Team has missed their last communications deadline. We can only assume at this time that Lt. Yar has failed in her mission. If this is so, it is Data's recommendation that the Klingon captive, Worf, who has recently expressed an interest in joining our crew, be assigned as head of security. This, more than anything else, will test his ability to survive among the crew of an Imperial Terran starship. Data is reporting to see me in a few moments. He and Worf will beam down to the planet shortly to determine what has become of Lt. Yar and her Tactical Team. But first, I have another duty to ask him to perform . . . . * * * In Ten Forward, Riker stared glumly into his drink as Pulaski watched him. "He's on to us," Riker said. "I know he is." "Look, as far as Picard knows, O'Brien suffered a minor accident. There's no reason he should connect you with what happened," Pulaski said. If she concentrated, she could pretend she didn't feel the after-effects of the agonizer booth. Lt. Commander Data did not reward incompetence gently. "But he WILL. That's just the way Picard thinks. The old man may be paranoid . . . but he has a reason to be." He finished his drink, and Guinan moved to pour him another. Riker shuddered, watching her smoothly walk away. He was always unnerved by Guinan -- rumors about her on the ship were that she was hundreds of years old, and that no one but Picard knew where she came from, and that she has eyes and ears everywhere. Riker didn't usually listen to rumors, but Guinan's bearing lent credence to them. "All right," Pulaski said. "Suppose he DOES suspect you. What's the first thing he would do?" Riker didn't answer her as he took a new drink from Guinan. * * * The doors of his Ready Room chimed. "Come," Captain Picard said. Data stepped into the darkness. "You wished to see me, sir," it said. "Yes, Commander, as a matter of fact, I did. Sit down, would you?" "I prefer to stand, sir." "Very well. Mister Data, concerning Doctor Pulaski . . . . " He hesitated. "Yes?" Data prompted. Picard drew in a sharp breath. "The codeword is Tantalus." Data froze, every synthetic muscle in its body contracting. Its eyes unfocussed and began to glow with a pale amber light. Picard was surprised and slightly amused to see the monitor screen on his desk light up, and an image of Ten Forward appear on it . . . . * * * Pulaski sipped her coffee and watched the worried Riker, inwardly laughing at him. He thought that Captain Picard was unbeatable. She had seen starship captains that could have Picard for breakfast. After all, it wasn't as though he could -- And that was all she had time to think. Riker watched in amazement as Pulaski disappeared in a brief blaze of light. He turned to Guinan . . . but she only smiled. * * * Worf stepped up onto the transporter pad, his new Imperial Terran uniform hot and uncomfortable under his Klingon peace sash. He was very nervous to have the automaton Data behind him, a full battlephaser strapped to his side. The transporter chief looked at him disapprovingly, but without comment. "Ready?" he asked. "Of course," Worf snapped. He was quickly learning that the only way to deal with these Terrans was to treat them as they treated each other. "Energize." The transporter hummed, and Worf found himself in a forested clearing. Data looked interestedly off into the distance. "I believe I hear sounds of distress coming from over there," Data said. Worf nodded curtly and strode off into the forest, Data close behind him. Soon they came into another clearing near a cave, and found what had become of Lt. Yar's team. Bodies lay strewn across the clearing, limbs half-phasered away. Lt. Yar herself was trapped under a felled tree, the trunk still smoking. Worf's eyebrows lifted. "One of your men did this?" Data looked on impassionately. "It is said that trauma and insanity can result in great rage and strength. This would seem to support that hypothesis." Worf went to Lt. Yar's side. With the Terran tricorder he had been given, he saw that she was still alive. He shook her roughly awake. Her eyes blurred, then widened as she saw the Klingon in an Imperial uniform. "Your customs, human, would say that if I killed you, I would gain your position and rank . . . is this true?" Worf rumbled. Tasha could only nod. "And what if someone as lowly as a Klingon were to SAVE your life . . . . would that dishonor you enough to surrender your titles to me as well?" Tasha only glared at him. Worf shrugged. "Very well, I shall do this the simple way." He began to press his full weight against the fallen tree. "All right! All right!" Tasha screamed. "You can have anything! Let me up!" Worf nodded, and lifted the tree trunk. Inwardly, he sighed -- the Terran had not seen through his bluff. He doubted if he could ever seriously kill another. "You will help me find Chief O'Brien -- Ensign," Worf said. Tasha got to her feet, gingerly, and scowled at Worf . . . but obeyed. * * * Soon, they found a clearing where O'Brien lay stunned, and several Ferengi around him were curiously examining the stolen visor. Worf watched them for several long moments, hoping they wouldn't see him behind his place of concealment in the bushes. "What are you waiting for, 'Security Chief?'" Tasha taunted. "Kill them!" Worf drew in a sharp intake of breath. To kill without provocation was against all his Klingon teachings. But . . . if he did not . . . his newfound status as an officer, not a slave, would all be lost. He drew the battlephaser from his belt, took aim, closed his eyes . . . and fired. * * * Captain's Log, Stardate 43403.2: We have completed our mission here, and all remaining Ferengi infiltrators have been removed from the planet. I strongly doubt that the Ferengi will try to infringe on Imperial economic monopolies in this sector again. Some surprises have resulted out of this mission -- Lt. Yar has now been reduced in rank to Ensign, and Lt. Worf has replaced her as head of Security. Ensign Yar will remain directly under him as his "advisor"; namely, someone to keep an eye on him. I am quite satisfied with Worf's performance so far, and am satisfied with the results of my "experiment". Also, since Dr. Pulaski's . . . mysterious disappearance, Dr. Selar is temporarily replacing her as head of the Medical department. I will have to find a more permanent replacement eventually . . . and I have just the person in mind . . . . T H E E N D