20.



"Deanna, you're killing me!"

Deanna looked at Beverly curiously.

"You're sitting there looking like you're having the time of your life in your head. You keep smiling like that. I can't stand it any more - tell me all about it."

"About. . . ."

"Oh, you know what. I can't take this any more. What's so wonderful that you've been glowing like a pulsar? I need the distraction anyway."

Deanna smiled. She'd needed the distraction too, to block out the disturbing spillage of violent emotion from Gwaheer's session with Jean-Luc, which was how she'd wound up remembering last night. She knew Gwaheer was so focused that he wouldn't "hear" it -- it took a lot to distract a working telepath.

Glancing up and down the empty hall, she turned to sit sideways on the
bench. "You really want to know?"

Beverly had the sort of complexion that showed the slightest embarrassment
in her cheeks. "I'm a doctor. I've heard everything."

"But I'm your less-inhibited friend, and you don't like discussing other people's sexual antics. Possibly due to personal insecurities -- "

"Shut UP, right now! I am not insecure! About. That."

"That?" Deanna grinned and did her best not to laugh. "Really."

"Okay, whatever, I'm insecure and embarrassed -- but tell me already!"

Deanna sighed. She really hadn't told Beverly much about the Worf debacle, and she'd not made her privy to the developments of her relationship with Gwaheer -- although that had happened so fast, there just hadn't been time. She owed Beverly a catch-up session. Close friendships, especially of the secret-keeping variety, were rare in Starfleet, and this one deserved maintaining.

"What exactly are you looking for, a blow-by-blow or a basic summary?"

The blush was really an artform, the way Beverly did it. It always started with her cheeks, just a little spot on each, and spread outward from there. "Just a summary. Unless you think it would upset him that you're talking about it?"

Deanna looked at the floor; it usually made embarrassed people less anxious if she didn't look at them, she'd discovered. Empathy played a large part in all her relationships, whether she took advantage of it or not.

A quick thought, and she verified that Gwaheer was still embroiled in whatever was going on with Jean-Luc. "My time with Worf damaged me, Beverly. You knew that. What I didn't expect was that it would affect my sexuality."

Beverly held her breath, and her blush faded a little in shock. She'd expected a review of a love fest and gotten angst. Mindful of her friend's sensibilities, Deanna continued.

"I wanted to marry Gwaheer, and when he finally let me convince him I wasn't making a rash decision, when we finally. . . I froze. I was so scared, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it."

"What did he do?"

"I could tell he wanted it -- he needed it, badly, but he stopped. I had a flashback to when I was with Worf. A bad one. He sensed it even as I experienced it."

"Gwaheer left?" Beverly exclaimed, incredulous, knowing it couldn't be so.

"He stayed. I cried myself to sleep. And I woke up, and we tried again."

"Ryxi are a little different than human males, aren't they? I can't imagine -- as much as I love him, Jean-Luc wouldn't know what to do with me if I went through all that."

Deanna pressed her lips together to prevent a smile at the admission of love and filed the confession away for future conversations. "Gwaheer's a counselor. He also had two wives, and as Zakhad is so quick to point out, she's been with the big ugly alien for over a century. I get the impression he's mellowed a lot."

"Big ugly alien?"

"Her words, not mine. Familiarity breeds teasing. Anyway, Gwaheer has a lot of traits most human men would pay a lot to acquire, from a strictly physiological perspective."

Beverly bumped her in the ribs with an elbow. "Like?"

"Ridges, a little like the ones on his nose, but in a more stimulating location. And I still haven't figured out how many orgasms he can have before he has to quit."

Beverly's eyes shone in amusement. "Are you saying he's wearing you out?"

"Wasn't that what I just said?"

"So what's the *best* thing about it?"

Deanna shivered just thinking about it. "Ejaculation."

"You're kidding! What about it?"

"It's. . . partly that we're bonded. Partly that it lasts a long time, and it's. . . slow. Everything leading up to can be wild and passionate, but then he freezes for a moment, and then it's like lying in the surf, letting waves wash over you."

"Gentle," Beverly said. "That's just what you need, isn't it?"

Why was it that offhand comments could be so overwhelming? "What I need," she repeated.

"Sure. It's what you want, obviously. The passion, and the gentleness, too. Dee, what's wrong?"

Deanna shook her head frantically and wiped tears on her sleeve. "I'm fine. But you don't know how right you are. It's exactly what I needed, and -- "

The door opened. An elated Picard emerged, followed by Sakhara and Gwaheer. Both Ryxi looked at them, and Sakhara looked at his brother with a mercenary grin then walked away without a backward glance.

"Captain," Deanna said, as she and Beverly got up. "You look -- you *feel*
different."

For once, Jean-Luc didn't respond to her. He held out his arms, eyes only for Beverly, and finally, when she'd hesitated too long, Deanna grabbed her friend's arm and threw her at the captain.

Gwaheer stepped around the hugging couple and came to Deanna. Purring, he didn't touch her, but managed to make her feel as though he'd swept her up in a hug.

<Teach me to do that.>

<And what would you do with the ability, if I could teach you?>

She stepped close, placing herself out of view of their friends behind his mostly-folded wing, and slipped a hand down the front of his. . . clothing. Someday she'd remember to ask what it was called, but at the moment, other mischief was afoot.

<You don't want to do that here.>

She looked at his face and her smile waned slowly. From his tone, from his wily, determined expression and the currents of his emotions, she realized he would let her go right ahead and do whatever she pleased, right in the middle of the hall, on the fourth floor of the Tannick branch of drone rehabilitation services. She patted the object of her manipulations and withdrew.

<Are you ever embarrassed? By *anything*?> she queried, a little exasperated.

<Of course. And if I have my way, it will be a century or so before you discover what I am embarrassed by. Your captain is waiting. We should go.>

<It went well?>

<It was difficult for him to trust completely. It would have been easier if he weren't so defensive. And there is the possibility of relapse -- he had reached a certain point in his healing and seems to have frozen there, for years. The successive encounters with the Borg did not help. Neither did his repeated self-flagellation over -- >

"Are you going to stand there all day looking at each other, or are we leaving?" Beverly exclaimed.

Gwaheer put an arm across Deanna's shoulders and they walked with their friends. <Do you always tell Beverly everything about your sexual encounters? Will you have to file reports?> Obviously, he'd caught at least part of their conversation through the bond.

<No. But it distracted her from worrying about Jean-Luc, for a while. And it reassured her that you are nothing like a Klingon.>

Begrudging agreement, and a twinge of anger. <Worf will be here shortly. The *Yorktown* is hours away. If you do not wish to see him, I can make arrangements to see that he does not bother you.>

<Why, Counselor, I thought you would recommend facing him.>

<The counselor would say that. Your husband does not. Your husband wishes
he could have been present earlier, and prevented the situation that damaged you.>

"Hey!" They stopped, and had to turn around. The others had stopped, and Beverly had her arms crossed. "You want to join us, or are you going to get a room?"

Gwaheer's thoughtful expression seemed innocuous, but Deanna sensed the
deviousness at work behind it. "Get a room?" she asked innocently.

"Oh, puh-leeze! Don't try the innocent non-human act. He's looking at you like he's got blue balls, and you're off in orbit somewhere."

Gwaheer feigned displeasure, and looked askance at Deanna. "You told her what color my balls are?"

Deanna grinned at Beverly's dismay and shock, and Jean-Luc's amusement. The captain was in too good a mood to pass up the opportunity to tease him. "Well, you won't believe what she told me. . . ."



21.



Will Riker stood at attention as the admiral, accompanied by the Federation and Conglomerate delegates, beamed into the main transporter room in the customs center.

Nechayev smiled, but only on the surface. Her eyes held little mirth. "Captain."

"Sir."

The Ryxi stepped forward, one of them eyeing him disdainfully for a moment. But as Nechayev turned to them, the disdain vanished, replaced by a smile as artificial as Nechayev's.

"This is *Kreh'talliath na erzu Lonan zel'Wya,*" Nechayev said. "And this is Ambassador Zora. I believe you already know our delegates, Captain Riker?"

Riker looked at the three and suppressed shock. Lwaxana was actually quiet, standing with an artificial smile of her own, her arms at her sides and her frivolously-gauzy red dress hanging in folds around her -- he was accustomed to seeing her in motion. Worf was the same as always, stalwart and head high, looking very much the Klingon warrior in his full armor. He nodded once and flared his nostrils. The third ambassador was human.

"Commodore Draven," Riker said, inclining his head. "It's been a long time. And Lwaxana, you're looking lovely."

"Thank you, Captain," Lwaxana replied in her usual happy tone, but still, her demeanor was wrong. And she'd called him captain. "Do you know where my daughter is?"

'My daughter?' What was going on?

"You can check with the *Enterprise* about that. I'm certain they would know where she is. Many of the *Enterprise* crew are sight-seeing on the planet."

"Captain, if you would walk with me." Nechayev put her hands behind her back and walked with him from the transporter room. The others followed them at a discreet distance, the Ryxi chatting with the ambassadors about local sights.

"The captain, Dr. Crusher, and Counselor Troi have continued to become especially close friends with Gwaheer," Riker said, knowing that would be the first item on the agenda. "Though the other *Enterprise* senior staff have shown respect and friendship as well."

"You mentioned in your report of two days ago that you thought Troi had developed feelings for Gwaheer."

"She married him. Yesterday, I believe."

Nechayev raised an eyebrow. "You know the counselor quite well, don't you?"

"Yes. We've been friends for a very long time. Most of my career, in fact."

"Does that seem an unusual action for her to take?"

"Frankly, no. It wouldn't be the first time she's leaped without looking. And I have to admit that he can be very appealing."

"Do any of them behave out of character? What about Steichen?"

"Steichen appears to be back to normal. He appeared before a group of their telepaths this morning, as a part of their usual security investigation procedures. As for the rest, they seem to be behaving as I'd expect."

Nechayev searched his face. "Seem to be. You aren't protecting them, are you, Captain?"

"No, sir," Riker snapped.

"Anything else?"

He thought about the things he'd left out of his report -- the tour of the drone rehabilitation facility, the incident in the bar -- and reaffirmed his prior decision. Gwaheer's actions as pertained to the *Enterprise* crew. Those were his concerns, officially. Gwaheer had discussed the Borg with Captain Picard. Gwaheer had shared a drink with Riker. End of story.

He'd dropped enough hints that Picard and the others would know why he continued to be suspicious of Gwaheer. He didn't like Deanna's decision to marry the alien, but she seemed happy with him. For now. There was enough doubt in Riker's mind to leave it be, for the moment.

"Nothing else, sir."

"Keep me informed. If you'll excuse me, Lonan promised the ambassadors and myself a tour of the city."

"Do you mind if I tag along, sir? I haven't seen much of it myself."

"Go right ahead."





22.



Another alien restaurant, Picard thought with a sigh. At least the food was recognizable. Breakfast on top of a very tall skyscraper made Beverly nervous, but Picard enjoyed the view. He held her hand under the table to make up for them sitting so close to the edge.

The city, as Gwaheer explained, was not where most of the Ryxi lived. Most of the buildings were two- and three-story, built and mostly inhabited by We'lassi and people of other races who had emigrated to Tannick. The few Ryxi buildings were skyscrapers, tall structures with concave sides and a network of supporting girders and cables.

The restaurant was on the top of the medical center, where Steichen's examination took place, and the height above the ground was truly dizzying. Ryxi flew by often, zipping around other buildings and occasionally landing at the restaurant.

Zakhad had joined them, as Gwaheer had pre-arranged. It made the group dynamic feel odd. Deanna seemed perfectly at ease, which helped. While they sat over the last few bites of a very spicy pie, continuing the discussion of the differences between major cities on Earth and on Tannick, a Ryxian walked by and flicked Gwaheer's nose with the tip of his tail.

Gwaheer stopped in mid-sentence and whipped his head around to watch the retreating tail tip. It waved in the air, following its owner, who glanced back at him with a smile.

Zakhad whacked him over the head with more than just the tip of her tail. "How rude. You have a new bride, and you're already tail-chasing again?"

Gwaheer straightened out of his reflexive duck. "I didn't -- she hit me!" He looked at Deanna. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know. I'll probably not find out, either."

"Can't take you anywhere without plugging your nose, can we?" Zakhad grumbled.

"We do have the extra room," Gwaheer said hopefully, with a smile that announced plainly that he was teasing.

"I was thinking of asking Mother if she'd like to stay with us," Deanna said. "For a few months."

Gwaheer's teasing smile only widened. "Oh, but it will take that long to have her house built next door."

Picard thought Deanna would react with something other than glee at the suggestion, but she and her husband had obviously been through similar exchanges before. "But we do have the room," she exclaimed, as if appalled by the thought that her mother would live anywhere but with them.

"I was only thinking of her privacy."

"So what's the key to a happy marriage, when you have two wives?" Beverly asked.

Gwaheer's face acquired a contented expression very like Deanna's had been. Then a sly one. "But what are you really asking, Beverly?"

Deanna made a muffled noise that could have been a stifled giggle. Beverly poked her remaining food with her utensil and shrugged.

"You can ask them," Deanna said. "They won't be embarrassed."

Beverly shrugged again.

"Beverly, you can fly around a mountain all day, but unless you actually look at it, it will tell you nothing about the mountain. There really is no reason for you to be anxious about asking us questions." Gwaheer glanced at Deanna. "One of us certainly shows no qualms about volunteering personal information."

"As if you care if I do. Anyone who can stand in my mother's kitchen on a summer afternoon and watch her arrange flowers in vases while she's in her usual around-the-house attire, which is *nothing,* and discuss the sexual preferences of humans, Betazoids, Rigellians, Vulcans and Bajorans -- "

"You left out Risans. By far, more interesting than Vulcans. And the Deltans are more interesting yet."

Deanna shrugged. "I was six. I can't remember everything."

"I've often wondered what growing up in Lwaxana's house might have been like, and I've been tempted to ask. Now I'm glad I never did." Picard smiled at Deanna.

"It wasn't that bad, Captain. My mother has always been very open about her sexuality, but, believe it or not, she also taught me that it's impolite to be so open in the company of others with more restrictive mindsets. The Ryxi are, in politeness and in sexual openness, very like Betazoids."

"Probably one of the reasons you get along so well," Beverly said. "I would have a lot more trouble with -- sharing."

It was a nice try. Zakhad and Gwaheer turned to her simultaneously, causing a flare-up of red in her cheeks. Zakhad smiled and said, "Gwaheer has brought home so many of his friends. They all ask the same questions. We always answer. You're still flying around the mountain looking at the plains, Beverly. You'll have to land on it some time."

Picard looked from Zakhad to Deanna and back, and experienced a jolt of understanding. The two were alike in their gentle regard for others, yet Zakhad had a more cerebral approach that balanced Deanna's empathic, emotional focus.

"Synergy," he said.

Beverly blinked. "What?"

"You asked what makes a happy polygamous marriage. Synergy. Balancing personality traits. Finding parts that make a unified whole. Like assembling a command crew for a starship - the different officers do not have to be exactly alike, but there has to be some commonality, a goal or a devotion to principles, and a basic respect for each other's differences. We had that, even though we had an android with little knowledge of how to behave among biologicals, a Klingon with militaristic tendencies, a blind engineer, an empath who strives toward harmony, a first officer who went by the book yet managed to not get kicked up to captain out of personal preference, and -- " Picard grinned, thinking about himself as he'd been in the beginning " -- a stuffed shirt who hid behind dignity and rank because he had no idea how all those radically-different people would work together, or how he would handle a shipload of families with children. We had balance."

"You left out Beverly." Deanna's tone chided him, but her smile rewarded him for understanding so well.

"Beverly was a known quantity. I had no qualms about her -- as an officer, that is. I knew she could work well with any of you."

Beverly gaped at him, then at the others. She closed her mouth and shoved her hair, blown across her face by a gust of wind, behind her ear. "I can understand synergy, and basic compatibility."

Zakhad and Gwaheer traded glances. "Almost over the mountain," Gwaheer said.

Beverly rolled her eyes and blushed. "But I can't understand the logistics -- how do you avoid jealousy, or rivalry?"

"She just missed that cliff," Zakhad said.

"How do you handle sex?" Beverly blurted in exasperation.

Zakhad and Gwaheer put their arms over their heads and leaned away from her. "Collision imminent! Evasive Maneuvers!"

"Stop it," Deanna exclaimed, laughing even while trying to sound stern. "People are staring at us. You're embarrassing her."

"Forgive us, Beverly," Zakhad said, chuckling and resettling in her seat. "It's always the same question, over and over, and the answer is that we handle it quite well. Where there is honesty, respect and love, anything is possible."

"And a regenerator." Gwaheer ducked as both Deanna and Zakhad aimed a half-hearted slap at his face.

"Blue balls," Deanna scoffed.

"What about them?" Zakhad asked innocently. Apparently, that hadn't been just a joke, after all.

Gwaheer looked at the sky, and Deanna covered her smile. Gwaheer leaned and whispered in Zakhad's ear; she rocked back and appraised him briefly.

"Well, then, it's accurate either way. Did I tell you, Deanna, how happy I am you've decided to join the family?"

"Didn't you say something about a tour?" Picard asked, in hopes of quitting this conversation before Beverly leaped off the building to escape it -- and before he was tempted to join her.

The distraction worked well. Gwaheer led them to the center of the rooftop restaurant and they rode the lift down, debarking in a typically-cavernous hall. They walked among considerable numbers of fellow pedestrians, quite a few of which looked at Gwaheer as if they recognized him, and emerged from the building on one of the many bridges between buildings. The traffic thinned outside; only a few peopled were walking across to the other building. Beverly halted, staring at the edge. Wind batted at them in gusts.

"By the way, I took the liberty of ordering wings for the three of you," Gwaheer said, starting across the narrow span. "We're picking them up right now."

Beverly grabbed Jean-Luc's hand and kept her eyes focused on the area just in front of her toes as they crossed.

The rooms they entered in the other building were not public areas, Picard guessed. Too messy. Parts and small devices littered the counters and tables, which were arranged in no coherent order around the room. Several large machines stood along a wall, panels open and "guts" hanging out and scattered around the floor. It looked like the sort of place one would expect to find genius engineers creating the next great technological breakthrough. The We'lassi who answered Gwaheer's call looked distracted and annoyed, but his face changed upon seeing who interrupted him.

"Gwahiri, Zakhad! And you have guests," he exclaimed. Picard noticed he had a tattoo, and wondered if the tattoos correlated with cultural designations somehow. This We'lassi had a red geometric design on his thigh. And still, no clothes.

"Ones who want their wings. This is Seg'hamor," Gwaheer said, looking at Picard and the others. "Whenever I have a project that requires technical expertise, he always manages to do it well and quickly."

"You only give me that option. How could I not?" Seg'hamor studied them critically. "You have a good eye. I believe you have the measurements right. The ratios I used should be fine for the range of gravitational and atmospheric specifications you gave me." He returned to the back room and came out with a set of brilliant blue wings, attached to a long-sleeved shirt. "These are for the lovely one," he announced, holding them out to Deanna.

She took them like a child being given candy, holding them by the power pack with the folded wings vertical. "Thank you."

Beverly's had a black-on-blue pattern, and Picard's were green. They tried them on over their uniforms, and under Seg'hamor's watchful eye tested the controls. "I've given them a thorough flight testing already, but if any problems occur, bring them back and I'll take care of it."

Gwaheer thanked the man and led them out to the bridge between buildings again. Picard found himself leaning forward slightly, as the Ryxi all did, and chuckled -- with wings on the back, counterbalancing was necessary. Though they were light, the bulk of the artificial wings was enough to give the sensation of being overbalanced.

"Are we feeling adventurous?" Gwaheer asked. Zakhad leaped off the span with alarming speed and looped beneath it, stalling on the upswing and landing behind them.

"Yes and no." Beverly studied her controls. "I think I remember. . . ."

"You're nervous, that's all. Flying from here should be easier than at *Jhegwa,* because you can simply fall off into the air." He glanced at Deanna. "Zakhad, you remember how these wings work? Why don't you and Deanna go ahead? We'll be home shortly."

Deanna leaped eagerly without waiting for an answer, so Zakhad followed without giving one. They glided over the city, banking around another of the tall, cylindrical skyscrapers. Gwaheer turned to his remaining pupils.

"I'm upset," Beverly blurted.

"I know. Why are you upset?" Gwaheer asked.

"Everyone we've met called Deanna the lovely one. What am I, chopped liver?"

Gwaheer grinned. "Beverly, everyone we have met has spoken in Widesky. In the Ryxi equivalent of Standard, the word for 'wife' literally means 'lovely one.' Remember what I said about the downfallings of the universal translator? They don't know what to make of you -- they know Deanna is with me, and in Ryxi terms, she is my wife."

"Oh."

"Has anyone ever told you how lovely you are when you're embarrassed?" Gwaheer asked, grinning and winking at Picard, who was trying not to smile at her crimson face.

Beverly glared at the Ryxian. "You're just saying that. I look like I've been boiled alive when I'm embarrassed."

"Well, I look like a big winged alien when I'm embarrassed. Beat that." Gwaheer crossed his arms and looked down his ridged nose at her.

Surprised, Beverly laughed, a sound not heard often enough. Gwaheer was trying to make her feel less embarrassed; she'd broken all previous records for blushing in the last half hour. If she'd been able to approach the topic clinically, it would have been different, but Picard guessed she felt a little threatened by Deanna. He'd often wondered if Beverly wasn't just a little jealous of Deanna, for her ability to be so comfortable with her own sensuality that she didn't mind expressing it in public.

Gwaheer's amused expression faltered as he looked up. Picard watched as Gwaheer, standing against the pale blue sky, blue hair tossed by the wind, turned into a predator on guard, ears flattening into his hair, head up, nostrils flaring, his body tensing as if preparing for sudden and quick action. Shifting his wings restlessly, Gwaheer stepped closer to Beverly. She had quieted at his change of demeanor, and turned to look at whatever he had fixed his gaze upon.

Coming out of the building behind them were two Ryxians, four humans, and Worf. Picard revised his listing when he recognized Lwaxana, and again as Will Riker emerged a few moments after the others.

"I knew it," Gwaheer muttered.

"You knew they were here? Is that why you sent Deanna ahead of us?" Beverly asked.

"I knew they were arriving soon, and that touring the city would likely be one of the first things they did. I sensed them a few moments ago. Lwaxana is upset and has been calling for me. Allow me to deal with them." Gwaheer glanced at Picard, then went forward.

Beverly hugged herself nervously. "Relax," Jean-Luc whispered. "Don't look so anxious. Be natural."

"I wish it hadn't been Worf."

"There's more to it than that, Bev. He wouldn't be that worried about Worf. I think there's something else. . . listen."

Gwaheer had stopped in the middle of the walkway, posture open and welcoming. "Lonan zel'Wya, fair weather to you."

The Ryxian in the lead stopped a wing's length from him and spoke over the wind. "Gwahiri, friendly winds to you. Have you met Zora, our ambassador? And these are the Federation delegates."

Lonan made a show of introducing everyone to Gwaheer, even Riker. Gwaheer responded in a friendly, even exuberant, manner, and treated Lwaxana like a complete stranger.

Picard gritted his teeth.

"I've told them of your work in drone rehabilitation," Lonan said. "I was hoping to get your permission to take them through the facilities. I contacted the center, but was told I would have to ask you directly. The admiral is quite interested in the process and in the Federation citizens you've managed to recover."

Gwaheer masked whatever his real response was well -- Picard was certain the cheer with which he replied was false. "I'm sure they'll find the facility very interesting, but the initial stages of the project are, of course, not on Tannick. The only phase we have here is the final one."

Picard watched Lonan's ears. If he'd learned enough from watching Gwaheer, the other Ryxian was displeased. Her right ear lowered slightly. "I was not aware of that. You're very secretive about your work with the drones. And with the cloaking array -- would we be able to arrange a tour of that, perhaps?"

"The array is not open to visitors," he replied. "I'm sorry -- "

"But surely we could make an exception for our visitors. Especially seeing how much devastation the Federation suffered when the Borg attacked them."

"I'm well aware of the Federation's travails with the Borg -- in fact, I've discussed it at length with Captain Picard. Have you met him?" Gwaheer turned and gestured at Picard, who went forward for the obligatory introductions, Beverly hovering at his side and being included as well.

"Doctor Crusher has experience with the removal of Borg technology from the human body," Gwaheer said. "Our doctors have already expressed interest in discussing it with her, and I've begun arrangements to host a conference of sorts to facilitate that. And the captain has first-hand knowledge of the Borg. He was the first successful recovery made."

The wind moaning across the walkway filled the resulting pause. Lonan's delayed-reaction smile sent a chill down Picard's back for some reason, though it was pleasant enough. "But the Federation already knows what they have experienced. Admiral Nechayev was most interested in our cloaking array -- "

"I am very sorry, Admiral," Gwaheer interjected, redirecting his response. "But the array isn't habitable. I have not been to see it myself. It was installed and is maintained entirely by the Blue Fleet. The units are concealed in the asteroid belt. With some advance notice, we could perhaps arrange a demonstration of how it works. We would have to notify all ships and space stations that we were staging a drill, and issue public news statements so as not to panic the populace. And that only after obtaining approval of the Defense Board."

"That sounds like a lot of bother," Picard said. "Could we see the schematics?"

Nechayev looked at Picard, finally -- it seemed she'd been avoiding that -- and said, "An excellent idea, Captain. But I'd like to see it implemented, as well. I've never seen a planetary cloaking device, let alone one that cloaks a system."

"I am not optimistic, but I will ask the Defense Board if it could be done. In the meantime, if you wish to see the rehabilitation center, I would be happy to schedule it. It may take a few days, as I would need to locate a ship and pilot to take us."

"Oh, there's no need for you to go," Lonan said. "I know you're very busy with your work. I can -- "

"Access to the facility is limited for a very good reason, Lonan. There are Borg there, and where there are Borg, there is also the risk of assimilation. Though we take every precaution, there is still risk. And because there is risk, I insist upon being present when there are visitors."

Lonan seemed to expect that -- she took it with a small smile. "Of course."

Gwaheer exchanged a few pleasantries and suggested visiting the Observations Museum, and the group walked on, leaving him standing with Jean-Luc and Beverly. He turned his back on the departing group and stared at the walkway.

"Now in the final act, disaster tows our history towards us on its face," he said.

"Gwaheer, what's wrong?" Picard shot a glance at the Federation ambassadors. "Lwaxana didn't acknowledge you -- and am I the only one who thought Lonan was being smug? And what disaster?"

"I'm sorry." A weary smile was the most the Ryxian could manage. "Lonan and I have a long shared history, and this -- we should be going. Deanna and Zakhad will worry if we don't."



23.



Riker followed the others a short distance behind, as he'd done all along, and pondered what had just happened on the walkway between Lonan and Gwaheer.

The two obviously had bad blood between them. He'd seen more of Gwaheer than Lonan, knew Jean-Luc trusted the man, but Riker didn't trust either of the Ryxi.

Gwaheer had done his best to not sound like he was avoiding the issue of the Borg, but he'd been impatient with Lonan's questions. Why would he be so wary of letting the admiral and the delegates tour a facility that he'd already shown Jean-Luc, Beverly and Deanna -- and Riker?

Nothing jived. When Riker thought of what he'd learned of Gwaheer first-hand, he wanted to trust him, in spite of his liaison with Deanna that set Will ill at ease. When he thought of everything he'd been told, those things hung together and made sense, now that he'd seen Gwaheer being evasive. Holding the two perspectives up to each other -- forget it. No reconciliation of the two accounts was possible.

He had to sit back and watch the delegates, Lonan and Gwaheer duking it out over what was to happen officially, but Deanna was in this, too. He had to try to talk her out of this marriage. She'd made the decision too quickly. Gwaheer was personally open, but officially evasive, and he'd seen that now first hand. If there were as many problems as Lonan had hinted at, it was only a matter of time before Deanna's husband was revealed to be a traitor.



24.



Deanna went to meet them when she heard the wingbeats. But she stepped out the front door to find three grim faces, rather than the smiling ones she'd left on the walkway.

"What's wrong?"

She'd sensed Gwaheer's upset, but he usually hid such emotions well. That he wore them openly on his face meant something bad had happened.

He came to her, folding his wings, and pressed his nose to her forehead briefly. "Zakhad?"

"She had a patient," Deanna said. One of the Ba'ku had come to the door, actually, but she wasn't certain if he'd told the captain about them.

Deanna went to the kitchen for beverages, and when she returned to the front room, Jean-Luc and Beverly had already removed their wings and hung them on one of the many hooks along the wall near the door, next to her own set. She'd opened the ceiling panels to the sky, and the wind gusted in occasionally. They sat around one end of the long oval table, silent until the captain spoke.

"What do you think is going on between the admiral, Lonan and Riker? Why did Lwaxana act that way?"

Gwaheer addressed Deanna's alarm first. "Your mother is worried, and behaving cautiously. She says Lonan has hinted that I am not to be trusted, and that I am against the negotiations. That I've sabotaged the *Enterprise* by tampering with Gregory's mind. Her hinting has done more damage than if she'd told them detailed accounts of treachery. I've heard her do it before -- a few offhanded remarks and soon there are questions, and demands for explanations. After her explanations, which are of course vague enough to be misinterpreted, investigation. The *Rampage* was likely dispatched to keep watch over the *Enterprise* because of suspicion that I might be manipulating its captain. Lonan knows my long-standing observation of the *Enterprise,* and the rumors about you reached her early -- Zakhad mentioned you to her friend before I met you in your quarters. Lonan guessed that I would be on the *Enterprise* frequently, and cast more seeds to the wind, hoping they would find purchase and sprout."

"Then there's really no set plan she's following?" Picard exclaimed. Gwaheer turned to look across the table at him.

"No. She's done this sort of thing before, though not during negotiations. Spreading rumors, hinting, suggesting false implications -- there are no laws against it. She's always hoping that something will stick and cause me difficulty. And if nothing else, if no formal accusations were ever made, she might have deprived me of contact with a people I've long wanted to walk among. That the Federation is suspicious of me would be enough incentive for me to stay clear for the sake of negotiations -- under normal circumstances."

"But. . . ." Deanna faltered. Here again was another rift between cultures. On Betazed, lies were difficult to carry off convincingly. On Earth, one could sue for slander. "How do you fight her lies?"

"If I protest, it would make me seem guilty. I do my job, and I ignore her. Most of my superiors and co-workers know me, and Lonan, well enough. We are judged by the integrity of our actions. And she never has proof of anything. I always keep my nose clean." He smiled, faintly amused at Deanna's puzzlement. "An old Earth saying. I obey the rules, and I tell no tales."

"But what you're saying. . . if not for me, you wouldn't have stayed in contact with us. I've made some of what she's accused you of seem credible."

Gwaheer put a hand on her arm. His love washed over her, and soothed her guilt. "You cannot blame yourself for my choices, *Kahzan'kahliu.* I regret nothing. I will do nothing I regret. I will keep my oaths, and I will keep my promise to you."

Picard shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Deanna glanced at him apologetically and smiled at her husband. "So who is Lonan?"

"Rehia's sister."

Deanna went rigid. "Sister?"

Gwaheer sat up straight, head tipped back, eyes closed. He might have been praying, but Deanna 'heard' him assembling his unruly emotions to order. Lowering his chin again, he smiled ruefully into his tea. "She propositioned me, before Rehia did. I turned her down. I met Rehia some months later, and didn't realize Lonan was her sister until I went to see her family. After that, I had no contact with her until I had been an agent for a few decades; we were then thrown together on an assignment. She made a mistake. Fell off a roof, and made contact with pre-spaceflight natives. She asked me to block their memories and omitted it from her report. I put it in my report without knowing she'd left it out of hers. The inquiry was not pleasant, and after that, neither was Lonan.

"Her husband Wya became a member of the sub-council several decades ago, after being a *Veshad* for thirty years. The *Veshad* are superior to the *Kreh'talliath* and govern the Observations and Security Departments. The sub-council oversees all external affairs -- Observations, Security, the Blue Fleet, and the Diplomatic Department. They are responsible to the Council, which governs Tannick, and all Ryxi and We'lassi colonies."

He paused to take a drink. "There are informal liaisons going on throughout the infrastructure of our government. Favors, grudges, friendships, rivalries -- in short, politics, and complicated ones at that, due to the Ryxi perspectives of family and friends. Wya maintains his wife's status as *Kreh'talliath* and there's no one in Observations who doubts it. A quarter of my own unit are former agents from hers, and the stories they tell would make your tail kink. She is one of those who want what they are unwilling to work for. Lonan is jealous of my accomplishments, especially as related to the Borg. She would have loved to be credited with the rehabilitation project. She hated me because after her angry outburst when I married Rehia, she lost her sister -- Rehia wanted nothing to do with her after that. And she hated me again when Rehia died, because I did not rescue her. And she hated me again, when the drone rehabilitation started and she insisted that I could have saved Rehia after all. Her understanding of the Borg and what it takes to defend against them is minimal at best, because she has no need to know and no clearance. She assumes that I do not reveal details because I have something to hide. She goads me at every opportunity because she knew I wanted supervision of Earth surveillance and she got it. I wanted it primarily because I did not want her to get it."

"And she has it, and now she's using it against you," Picard intoned. "She's filled the Federation representatives with mistrust of you. Except Lwaxana."

"Yes." Gwaheer looked at Deanna. "Your mother has been careful, because she knows if she had spoken out on my behalf too much, she would have been excluded. She wanted to help me. I wish she had stayed on Betazed."

"Do you think something might happen to her? To us?" Beverly swallowed. "And what will happen to you? Can't you do anything to defend yourself?"

"I can ride the wind where it takes me, and trust the truth will win out in the end." The sound of a transporter beam outside interrupted him. He tensed warily, then relaxed as a Ryxian came in. "*Veshad* Bari. Welcome."

"My apologies for the intrusion," she said. The *Veshad* came to Gwaheer's side, but looked down at Deanna. "Ah -- the lovely one. I'm Bari zel'Aayer, fourth *Veshad* and your husband's superior officer."

"Deanna is Counselor on the *Enterprise,*" Gwaheer said. "And this is Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Bari said. She smiled at the captain and doctor, then sobered and looked at Gwaheer. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

"You've heard about Dwo, then." Gwaheer put his ears back and looped his tail around Deanna's ankle under the table.

"The *Kreh'kahn* informed me just moments ago. I wish I could say I'd found out something that could help you."

Deanna rubbed her foot along her husband's tail. Gwaheer's mood had dropped steadily since before he'd come home, and it was still descending. "Who is Dwo?"

"The man arrested on *Jhegwa.* While we were undergoing examination, so was he. He implicated me. I was told by one of the telepaths who performed the procedure, while I waited for Gregory's session to end."

"Wouldn't they realize he wasn't telling the truth?" Deanna cried.

"Telepathic interference is subjective. His memories wouldn't be enough to prove anything. I suspect that he was employed by another telepath, and agreed to allow that telepath to alter his own memories, so he could 'remember' that I was the one who hired him."

"But we know that where there are scattered leaves flying, there is wind," Bari said. "There will be more to come. This can only be Lonan's doing, and it is the first time she has actually done something more than gossip. You know she will have contingency plans."

"But will Gwaheer be questioned? Will he be blamed for what happened to Dwo?" Deanna asked.

The desolation in Gwaheer's face was all she needed to start crying. He reached across the meter of table between them and brushed tears from the corners of her eyes. "There will be an inquiry. Nothing for you to cry about."

"An inconclusive inquiry, but these things tend to put blotches on one's record." Bari touched Deanna's shoulder. "I want you to know that we *Veshad* do not doubt your husband's innocence, in this or any other claim made against him. Some of us have worked with him for nearly a century. We know who he is."

"Thank you," Deanna murmured.

"It will be tomorrow before they come to you, but I thought you would want to know," Bari said, smiling sadly at Gwaheer. "You may wish to find representation."

Gwaheer returned her smile and nodded once. She left, launching herself into the air outside the door.

"I am sorry," Picard said.

It amused Gwaheer, lifting his spirits a little. "It's always amazed me, how humans apologize for things so far beyond their control. I appreciate your sharing my distress. It makes the difficulty easier to bear."

"There must be something we could do. Something," Beverly said.

"There is. We can wait."

Deanna couldn't sit any more. Leaping up, she fled, first at a walk, then at a run, through the house to the terrace overlooking the canyon. Unfortunately, that reminded her of Gwaheer in flight, and the overwhelming joy of it, which only made the current situation harder to bear.

He came to her. As she expected, he wrapped himself around her from behind, pressing his face into her hair. "You are worried over little. This will blow past us, as it always has before. I have done nothing wrong."

"But you feel -- "

"My feelings are what they are, *kahzan'kahliu.* I have spent long decades enduring Lonan's darts and insults. Her husband ensures that she will not go away soon. She has never done anything directly to implicate me, until now. If she is indeed at the heart of the problem with Steichen, that will prove her to be the manipulating person she is, and provide enough irrefutable evidence to oust her from the ranks. She is not a brilliant strategist; her plans have always been scattered and random. But I cannot deny that enduring them has created a weariness in me."

He kissed her cheek, then purred. <You make me feel better, lovely one. You help me hope for change. I would do anything for you, Deanna.>

She turned within the confines of his arms and wings and ran her hands down his chest. His twin pulses fluttered against her palms. <Which one is mine?> She knew Ryxi didn't have the same predilection as humans, who claimed feelings came from the heart, but he humored her just the same. It was convenient. Two hearts, two wives. She wanted his heart, he gave her one, and being able to define it in those terms eased the stress of adjusting to sharing him with Zakhad.

He guided her hand to his right side. <You have been here, since the moment I saw you in your quarters.>

<Tell me everything will be all right. Tell me you'll be all right, make me believe you -- I'm so afraid. I don't want to lose you. What do they do with criminals?>

<I am not a criminal. I will be fine. Trust me.>

Deanna felt the wind brushing her hair, but the warmth of his wings shielded her from it. She slipped her arms around his neck and clung to him. There was a vast ache in him, a chasm she couldn't cross or see the bottom of, and she wanted to help. It didn't seem to her that it was really related to Lonan. But since he wasn't forthcoming about it, she was left only with the simple choice to take him at his word and leave it be, or turn into a nag.

<I love you. I trust you.>

In the co-mingling of their emotions, she felt him smiling, then singing.

*The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

I'm living in a kind of daydream I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem

To me that's everything

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

I see your face in every flower

Your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you

The very thought of you, my love. . . .*





25.



Beverly sat silently for a while after Gwaheer left the room. "I don't know what to make of all this, Jean-Luc," she said finally.

"Deanna wouldn't be so open to him if he weren't telling the truth from the beginning. She's completely involved in him now, but even so, she wouldn't accept him if he were dishonest."

"I guess I can see how Will might doubt him. If all Will knows is what he's been told -- Lonan sounds like some of the bureaucrats I've met." Beverly shook her head. "But there's more to it now, for Will. Since Deanna and Gwaheer married, Will's been acting more suspicious of Gwaheer. But he couldn't doubt, if he saw them as they are now. The way they look at each other. . . it's like they're making love from across the room, sometimes."

Picard chuckled and patted her hand where it lay between them on the table. "Wouldn't that be a handy talent to have? It would make diplomatic functions so much more. . . interesting."

Beverly's surprise and pleasure at the suggestion widened his smile. "I think we should hang around with them more often, if it has this effect on you," she said.

Kissing her at that point seemed the most logical thing to do.

They were interrupted by a transporter beam appearing just outside the door. The flickering caught Picard's eye, and Beverly turned to look. When the visitor stepped in, they were sitting apart and composed, glasses in hands, Beverly taking a sip of her tepid tea.

Speak of the devil. Will Riker didn't smile as he looked around. "I was hoping I could talk to Deanna."

Beverly, turning to Jean-Luc, couldn't help her alarmed look. Picard smiled. "I believe she's in the garden, with her husband."

A flash of anger seared Riker's eyes, then disappeared. "Thanks." He marched through the house.

"Oh, God," Beverly breathed. "What's he up to?"

"We know it's nothing official," Picard said. "He still hasn't budged an inch. At least we know why, now. Nothing like a few nasty rumors about a first contact with technologically-superior aliens to set the admirals on edge."

Moments later, Gwaheer returned, smiling pleasantly at them. "Would you like more tea?"

"You left him out there with her?"

Beverly's blurted question brought a split-second of pain to his face. He reinforced his smile. "Beverly, she doesn't need me to defend her." Gwaheer reclaimed his seat across from them. "If she wishes me to, I'm certain she would let me know."

"You know what she and Will were to each other?"

Gwaheer tilted his head and looked at her incredulously. "How could I not?"

Picard wondered if Will really thought he could talk Deanna out of her marriage, and estimated the odds. Poor Will.

And almost as if on cue, Deanna's voice rang through the house, getting louder. " -- serious, Will. I love my husband!"

"Deanna -- "

Deanna burst into the room and wheeled to face Riker. "Stop it. Just go away, and forget about it."

"I can't! Why do you think I'm here? I -- "

"You can forget me just fine, Will Riker!" Deanna shouted. "You've done it repeatedly over the last decade."

"That doesn't mean -- "

"Of course it means something. And I think you know what!"

Riker glared at Gwaheer for a moment, chewed his lower lip, and stepped around Deanna. "You honestly think you can trust him?"

Deanna stepped back and regarded him as she might regard a slime mold. She turned her back on him, hugging herself tightly.

"Dee, what happened to your reasoning ability? What happened to thinking it over rationally?"

She trembled. "Your jealousy is not my problem, Will," she whispered.

Gwaheer, hunching over the table with eyes closed, looked as miserable as Picard felt. Beverly had actually propped her forehead on Picard's shoulder to avoid watching the scene, to pretend she wasn't there and participating in the invasion of privacy neither Will nor Deanna seemed to care to protect.

"This isn't about my feelings, Deanna."

"Isn't it?"

"Fine -- I feel that you are compromising yourself again. I feel you've made a mistake."

"Go away, Will."

"Not until you convince me you've actually thought this through."

Deanna spun, flinging her arms wide. "I don't have to prove anything to you, Captain. You gave up any claim to me long ago. It -- I -- " She gaped for a moment, and sadness warred against anger to claim her eyes. "Gwaheer, sing it for me. I know you have the words in you."

"This isn't his business!" Will spat.

"*You* made it his business, by pursuing this here and now! Sing, damn it!"

Gwaheer froze, and silence lasted for a dozen heartbeats. Then he sat up, inhaled sharply, and did as he was asked -- eyes closed, in an anguished tone, with a reluctant twist to his lips.

*I know what you're doing
I see it all too clear
I only taste the saline
When I kiss away your tears
You really had me going, wishing on a star
But the black holes that surround you
Are heavier by far
I believed in your confusion
You were so completely torn
Well it must have been that yesterday
Was the day that I was born

There's not much to examine
There's nothing left to hide
You really can't be serious
If you have to ask me why
I say good-bye...

'Cause I am barely breathing
And I can't find the air
I don't know who I'm kidding
Imagining you care,
and I could stand here waiting
a fool for another day
But I don't suppose it's worth the price
Worth the price,
the price that I would pay

Everyone keeps asking, what's it all about?
I used to be so certain and I can't figure out
What is this attraction? I only feel the pain
There's nothing left to reason and only you to blame
Will it ever change?
But I'm thinking it over anyway...

I've come to find, I may never know
Your changing mind, is it friend or foe?
I rise above or sink below
With every time you come and go
Please don't you come and go

And I am barely breathing
And I can't find the air
I don't know who I'm kidding
Imagining you care,
and I could stand here waiting
a fool for another day
But I don't suppose it's worth the price
Worth the price,
the price that I would pay*

Riker was madder than Picard had ever seen him. Since he and Beverly seemed so invisible, Jean-Luc put an arm around her shoulders and bowed his head.

After the sight of Will's beet-red face, Picard was surprised that the tone he took was amazingly calm and civil. Quiet, but deadly. "That's Deanna's feelings? Why don't you tell me yours, while you're at it? Might as well. You're involved, too, after all."

Anger was doing bad things to Riker. He'd never sounded that maliciously sarcastic in Picard's memory. Picard calculated the distance to the door, and nudged Beverly. She didn't move. Probably petrified by the debacle taking place nearby.

"My feelings," Gwaheer said thoughtfully. "I don't believe they really have any bearing on this."

"Come on. You may as well, you've summed up Deanna's so well. How do you feel about me? What's your opinion?"

<Damn you, Will Riker,> Picard thought furiously. To his surprise, Gwaheer started to sing again. Didn't he know this would make it worse?



*To really love a woman
to understand her
you've got to know what deep inside
hear every thought, see every dream
and give her wings when she wants to fly
and when you find yourself lying helpless, in her arms
You know you really love a woman

When you love a woman
you tell her that she's really wanted
When you love a woman
you tell her that she's the one
She needs somebody
to tell her that it's gonna last forever
So tell me have you ever really
really, really
ever loved a woman?

To really love a woman
to let her hold you
till you know how she needs to be touched
you've gotta breath her
and really taste her
until you can feel her in your blood
when you can see your unborn children in her eyes
You know you really love a woman

When you love a woman
you tell her that she's really wanted
When you love a woman
you tell her that she's the one
She needs somebody
to tell her that you'll always be together
so tell me have you ever really,
really, really ever loved a woman?

You've got to give her some faith
hold her tight
a little tenderness
you've gotta treat her right
she will be there for you
taking good care of you

and when you find yourself lying helpless in her arms
you know you really love a woman*



"Who are you to tell *me* -- just what is it you think you know about love and women that I don't?"

How did Gwaheer manage not to sound smug? "I know enough. Does over a century of marriage, not to mention some counseling experience with them, count as sufficient experience?"

A long, long silence.

"I don't know what kind of scam you're pulling, or why," Riker exclaimed at last. "All I care about is that you're pulling my friends into it with you. I don't like it. If you do anything to hurt them in any way, I'll see to it you regret it."

"Captain, if I intentionally do anything I know will harm them, you have my permission to pummel me senseless."

"Of course you're going to say that. It's how you're keeping her here -- always saying exactly the right things."

"If I am not honest, Deanna would know it. Or do you mistrust her now, too?"

"Damn you," Will muttered. Picard heard him leaving, and looked up finally.

Gwaheer stared at the door. Deanna had come to stand at his shoulder, and now that Will was gone, she dropped into the chair next to her husband. "I'm so sorry," she husked. "I had no idea he would be that determined."

"He is frightened for your welfare, and Jean-Luc's and Beverly's. I cannot fault him for his concern. Neither should you."

Deanna put a hand to his cheek. "I shouldn't have -- "

"But you knew I would understand. Later, *kahzan'kahliu.*" Gwaheer brushed her hair back from her face and turned to Jean-Luc and Beverly. "My apologies. I suppose it's easy enough to guess why Riker suddenly launched this attack."

"Lonan's rumor-mongering," Beverly said, raising her head. "He must have heard more of her hinting after we met them on that bridge. He's set on the idea that there's something wrong."

Deanna sighed. "I can't believe you asked Will if he'd ever really loved a woman!"

"I thought it was a valid question. His behavior would seem to indicate otherwise." Gwaheer's tone of disapproval was a first, at least in Picard's memory.

Picard sighed. This was not something he cared to discuss, or to hear about. There'd been enough personal observations made in his presence for one day. "I don't suppose we could talk you into more flight experience? The trip here was a bit too rushed, and I'd like to see more scenery and fewer blurs."



26.



Gwaheer slipped from the bed, then from the room without looking back. If he looked at her, if he allowed himself to become trapped by her scent, he would wake her. She needed sleep. Riker's guerrilla tactics to change her mind about marrying Gwaheer had done nothing but upset her. Letting her talk it through had taken too much of their time, after Jean-Luc and Beverly had left.

Zakhad's door was open. He stood over her bed for a moment, sampling her odor. When he touched the base of her tail, rubbed the minute ridges with his palm, she stirred, smiling, but sobered as she awoke.

"What are you doing in here? Deanna -- something is wrong."

Gwaheer pressed the bed's edge, and sat on it as it provided a ledge. "'khad, I must tell you what happened while you were out this day. Would you let me put it in your mind?"

She pressed her forehead against his cheek. When he was finished, she sat up. Her scent turned bitter, fearful.

"Lonan is getting brave at last. What to do? Where are Tessel and Bayator?"

"I do not know. I've sent a few agents to search for Tessel. All we can do is glide, and hope the wind does not turn on us."

Zakhad leaned against him for comfort. "We should tell Deanna. Lonan already mentioned the Borg -- she's never been that insistent before. This smells very rotten, 'hiri."

"I cannot tell Deanna. You know this. Not without permission."

"Then get permission."

"I don't think that will be necessary, *khadlon.* I can handle it."

"Rehia would be grieved to know what Lonan is doing."

Gwaheer sighed, then allowed himself a grim smile. "Rehia would not allow it. She would sooner kill her sister than allow her to become such a disgrace to the clan."

"She wouldn't kill her."

<You should have been an empath, dear 'khad. You simply cannot believe ill of anyone.> "She would have been furious, and she would have done something. Or perhaps this would never have happened. Rehia's death is one of Lonan's grievances against me, perhaps the largest of them. Let it be."

Zakhad sniffed and nuzzled his neck. She accepted his decision to ride the wind further along, and seemed willing to provide a distraction from the threatening storm clouds. She bit gently, then pulled him closer and nipped his neck ridge.

A purr throbbing in his throat, he grabbed her by the tail. She pulled free and led him a merry chase around the bed, then the room. He caught her by the foot; ignoring her token struggles, he leaped on her back, churring and chuckling.

After much tail-twining and wing-flapping, he put his mouth across the back of her neck and carefully bit both her neck ridges. Zakhad writhed and came, arching her back into him.

He let go of her neck and loosened his grip when she subsided. She dropped to her stomach on the floor, purring happily. When he tried to settle on her, she rolled and shoved him with her foot. "Deanna likes to wake up with you there. She will be leaving on her ship too soon as it is."

"I did not want you to -- "

"'hiri. I'm not a silly young thing any longer. I know you would do anything for me." She laid her hand against his cheek. "I love you, but take your blue balls back to your new wife and let me sleep."

"Zakhad," he said, plaintively. She butted his shoulder.

"I'm tired, 'hiri. I had a patient today who tried to kill herself. And we could not find a counselor today, so I had to spend most of my time with her."

"You should have -- "

"You were busy with Deanna and your friends. You haven't had time off in years -- I wanted you to have this time. It's important to you. You like Jean-Luc, and it would be selfish of me to deny you the opportunity." She slithered out from under him.

Gwaheer laid back his ears and tried to pursue her one more time. She put her foot over his face. "I'm tired. And do you think you didn't wake up Deanna with your amorousness? It always woke Rehia."

He bit her toe, and she removed her foot. She was right -- Deanna was awake.

Zakhad swatted him with a wing as he left for good measure. He trotted down the hall and launched himself at the bed from the door. Landing astride Deanna, he found her lying face down.

"How do you always know exactly where to put your feet?"

<Unimportant.>

She inhaled sharply. "How do you always know exactly where to -- " <never mind>





27.



Sakhara dove from the eighty-second floor of the medical center and soared around the building. On his way home in the pre-dawn darkness, he had to rely on his sixth sense to avoid collisions; clouds obscured the moon and stars. He flew slowly, weary from an early emergency session with a patient gone suicidal in the middle of the night.

Before he made it to the city's edge, he heard wings approaching. Automatically, he altered trajectory and sought a higher altitude. Weary as he was, and empty as he expected the skies to be, he wasn't prepared to block the surge of anger from the other flier. And the mind of the other felt familiar.

He banked and sought to touch the mind again, worried that it might be someone he cared about in trouble. It wasn't unlike a Ryxian to be out flying off unruly emotions.

The person wasn't a telepath, obviously. But it wasn't someone he cared about. And the trickle of thoughts from her made him flinch.

Sakhara corrected his course and wished it weren't unethical to speak of stray thoughts one picked up in passing. That Lonan hated Gwaheer and wanted to do him ill would be no surprise to anyone who might care to know. That she despised the humans wouldn't necessarily surprise anyone, either, and Sakhara guessed that Deanna would know that soon enough, anyway. And if Gammin were any kind of Starfleet officer, he would have told Riker already.

But that was another unsettling factor in all of this. Gammin. Though Sakhara had told Gwaheer what he'd sensed that night in sickbay aboard the *Enterprise,* he knew Gwaheer wouldn't be doing anything about it. Leave the wind to blow where it will, he always said. For someone who always seemed able to manipulate situations to his advantage, Gwaheer could be unfailingly stubborn about leaving things to chance. That Observations training of his. Prime directives, and all that. It would be like Gwahiri to apply those principles to even his own people. In a galaxy of ethical shades of grey, 'hiri did his best to paint with black and white.

But 'hiri also tended to be right about such things. Inaction was probably the best thing to do, though it was frustrating to see something so clearly and not be able to act. Anything read from someone's mind was subjective and no proof of anything. Actions, evidence, concrete proof -- the humans would accept such things without doubt. Ryxi courts would only accept such things. After all the mistrials due to misread thoughts and the occasional telepathic subterfuge, the courts couldn't afford to trust telepathic impressions alone. Gwaheer was right to stick to that same policy. Give others the benefit of the doubt, until there was no more doubt.

He'd done the same with Lonan all these years, after all. And if 'hiri could extend her the benefit of the doubt, then Sakhara could do the same for Gammin.



28.



Gwaheer opened his eyes. Someone had tugged his tail.

"Come on, you said you would help us," Deanna exclaimed.

He rolled lazily, the bed reforming around his wings. "Already?"

Deanna smiled and tugged again, but not his tail, and not as hard. "Stop teasing me and get up. Zakhad's already been up since before dawn. If you wanted to sleep in, you shouldn't have invited them in the first place."

"If you keep pulling that, you're coming back in here with me."

She giggled and left the room.

Gwaheer purred to himself and flexed expansively, stretching muscles and splaying toes and fingers. Eyes closed, he flew through memories of last night.

"Didn't Deanna just tell you to get up?"

Without opening his eyes, he tossed his tail out and looped it around her leg. "It's a plot to lure the two of you in here at once -- can't you tell?"

Zakhad wasn't so gentle as Deanna. Her tail tug sent him sliding to the floor. But she dropped on his back and wrapped arms and legs around him, hooking her wing wrists under his.

"'hiri, you make me so frustrated and so happy, all at once. But un-blue your balls for a while. The first of the guests has arrived, and Deanna isn't comfortable with him."

She pushed off and trotted from the room. Sensing the truth of it now that he paid attention to the bond, Gwaheer made a guess at the guest's identity and rushed through a sonic shower, pulling a clean *nafta* from the clothes closet and winding it around his hips as he went through the house.

He'd guessed wrong -- it wasn't Riker. Worf, in full traditional Klingon armor, stood just inside the door, scowling. Since Klingons usually scowled, that didn't seem unusual or disturbing -- but Gwaheer knew Deanna was upset. Not as upset as she'd been at Will, but she might be soon.

"Good morning, Ambassador Worf. You're early."

Worf's lip didn't uncurl. "Good morning." He hesitated, then looked at Deanna. "I would like to talk to your. . . husband, privately."

She stood just out of arm's length, smiling, but forcing it. Gwaheer felt the protest building in her, felt her forming words around it, and said, "Deanna, my lovely, if you would help Zakhad?"

She turned and left the room, closing the door between it and the kitchen. <Please don't fight.>

<*Kahzan'kahliu,* I may become furious, but for you, I will not fight.> Hopefully she would trust that reassurance regardless of what she sensed from him. The Klingon odor was unfamiliar to him, but Worf's face promised an 'interesting' conversation was at hand.

"I trust you enjoyed the tour yesterday? There is much to see on Tannick. I hope Lonan remembered to show you -- "

"I did not come early to discuss the tour," he rumbled. "I am. . . concerned. Deanna is my friend."

"Your former lover," Gwaheer amended smoothly.

Worf's eyes widened. "She told you of that?"

"Why should she not? We keep no secrets."

"She should not have told you that! It is not your business to know the details of our relationship."

Gwaheer gave him a moment to recover. When the Klingon's nostrils weren't flaring so often, Gwaheer paced slowly down the other side of the table, putting the length of it between them. "I suspect that you thought she would behave as a Klingon would. She's isn't a Klingon, Worf. She shared with me because she would have no such secrets between us." Somehow, telepathic bonds didn't seem the sort of thing Worf would understand. "I am not telling other people about it -- she would be angry with me. It's her business as much as it's yours."

"You are not worthy of her," Worf growled.

"Of course not." Gwaheer watched him digest that, wondering how many weapons he had hidden in his armor, and whether he would pull one. "Did Riker send you along, to try where he failed?"

Worf growled. His undecipherable odor was pungent, and getting stronger. Pure empathy was more difficult for Gwaheer, as his telepathic tendencies wanted to always rush in and pick out actual thoughts, but, thinking he should try to second-guess what Worf might be about to do, he gapped his shields and sampled the emotional currents.

Bad idea.

From Worf, anger -- just as he'd guessed, the Klingon was working himself into a towering rage. But Gwaheer hadn't thought of Deanna. From the bond and indirectly via empathy, he realized that Deanna was having a reaction to Worf's rage, and that by opening himself to it, Gwaheer had just delivered a double dose of it to her.

The angry Klingon's importance in the scheme of things dropped to the bottom of the list. Gwaheer rushed for the kitchen, to find her stifling sobs into a confused Zakhad's shoulder.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and touched his forehead to hers. The contact allowed for a quick, effortless link.

<Flowers,> he said, adding the subconscious instruction set to invoke memory as if in a counseling session, and her mind immediately supplied the image and smell of a bunch of roses.

She clung to the distraction and brought herself out of the flashback he'd purposely ignored. <Thank you. I'm sorry -- >

<No. The fault is mine. You are not completely healed of it; let yourself be calm, and try to explain to 'khad while I finish my discussion with our guest. And block me out. I'll tell you about it later.>

Worf was just where he'd left him, and more composed. "My apologies. Your anger is upsetting Deanna, and I had to reassure her."

Since the Klingon's ire seemed to be focused on protecting Deanna from him, the hint that Worf was in fact inflicting harm on her distracted him slightly.

"I am not here to upset her," he said, the ever-present hint of a growl in his voice. "I am informed that she may have made a decision in haste that she will regret."

Gwaheer crossed his arms across the back of one of the human-style chairs. He glanced up at the ceiling panels, made a mental note to open them when he was done with the conversation to air out the angry-Klingon smell, and composed himself into a relaxed, non-threatening, good-natured attitude.

"I understand why you feel such concern for Deanna. You probably realize that you hurt her yourself. You probably also believe that your best way of atoning for that would be to ensure that she does not rush into a second ill-considered relationship with yet another member of an alien culture."

Worf stared at him -- he hadn't thought it possible to shock a Klingon. Then Worf smiled, another shock, though he had to look closely to see the turn of one corner of Worf's lips.

"You sound just like Deanna," he said.

"I'm a counselor. I tend to do that."

Worf rumbled. Gwaheer realized he was chuckling -- it took a Klingon to sound like he was growling even while laughing. "You speak the same language, then."

"Technically, we speak in many of the same languages. Betazoid, Standard, the language of thought, the language of the counselor. . . ."

"Then you are well-matched, indeed. She loves to. . . speak."

Gwaheer grinned. "I thank you for that compliment, son of Mogh. Or has that changed, since you are now of the House of Martok?"

Suspicion, replaced shortly by respect. "You know of much. You are an observer, I am told."

"I am. I have observed the *Enterprise* since Pike." Communicate in a way comfortable to the subject -- the Observation Department credo of first contact. Worf spoke in choppy sentences, so he would, too.

Worf raised his head slightly as if scenting new prey. His brow, already furrowed, wrinkled further. "You know of the 1701-C, then."

"Yes."

"You know of. . . the rift. And Tasha."

Landing on the mountain at last. "Yes. When she passed into the Romulan Empire, she moved out of my field of responsibility. If you wish to find out what became of her, the *Kreh'talliath na selnat* may know. I could ask her." Gwaheer paused. "I know you admired Tasha a great deal. I can respect that you might wish to honor her somehow, and that it will be easier if you know what became of her."

"I was not certain the rift had ever occurred. None of us remembers it."

Gwaheer let his ears drop forward. "My agent on the C was trapped on the ship when it moved forward in time. When they returned, Tasha was on the ship with him. When Tasha died in the corrected timeline, years later, it came as a surprise to us. But the agent on the D when the anomaly occurred did not remember it, as you did not."

Worf's scent had lost the darkness. Gwaheer realized that once Worf understood the commonality between Deanna and her new husband, he'd stopped voicing concern. "Worf, not to drag ourselves back down a trail already traveled -- but you appear to be no longer upset that Deanna has chosen to marry, as you say, unwisely."

"You are quite like her. She expressed devotion to you. It is no longer an issue."

"You don't have other reservations about me?"

"You refer to the insinuations of the other Ryxi," Worf growled. "I have no use for subterfuge. If they cannot make their case against you plain, they should not make it at all. You, however, speak plainly and without anger. You confront me rather than retreat into vagueness."

"You don't believe I'm hiding something? Even though I was evasive when we met on the bridge?"

"You were speaking to Lonan," Worf rumbled. "I would not be forthcoming in her presence, either. She uses rumor as if it were fact. I would not give her any real information."

Gwaheer wondered if this turn of events could be credited to some Klingon propensity for mistrusting the evasive, or if this were something this particular Klingon had learned. "Have you shared this belief with the admiral and the other delegates?"

And there was the wall. Like Riker, he'd obviously been given some instructions. "I am not willing to discuss what they have said."

"Good. Loyalty is an honorable trait. Would you join me in a drink? If it is not too early by your tradition for such things, of course."

"It is never too early to drink with a friend."

A friend. After the suspicions of Riker, with whom he'd expected more of a kinship than with the Klingon, Worf's simple 'if not enemy then friend' assessment smelled like a fertile field, ready to plant in anticipation of a harvest. No doubt Deanna's endorsement had something to do with it. Worf would trust her judgement, at least in that respect.

"I will get a drink more appropriate than Zakhad would have in her kitchen. And perhaps Deanna would like to join us."



29.

The first thing Picard heard after the transporter beam dissipated was the sound of Klingons singing.

He turned and looked at his fellow officers. Beverly looked as puzzled as he did, and the admiral merely shrugged and headed for the door. Riker and Gammin followed the admiral.

The ceiling panels, cranked wide open as they were, funneled morning sunlight and breezes into the main room. On opposite sides of the table stood Worf and Gwaheer, bellowing something loud and roughly-melodious. Gwaheer stopped and raised a glass of clear, ice-blue liquid.

"Welcome to my home," he exclaimed. "Just a little intercultural exchange of music."

"To music," Worf exclaimed, raising his own glass.

"To music," Gwaheer echoed.

"To Kahless!"

"Kahless!"

Deanna emerged, wearing a soft blue dress and barefoot, and leaned in to take the half-full bottle from the table. "I think that's enough Klingon sociability for one morning."

Gwaheer gave her his glass, too, and smiled at Worf's disgruntled look. "In a house with two wives, you learn to accede to one or be shunned by both."

Worf passed his glass across the table without comment.

Deanna smiled at the newcomers and took the glasses and bottle away. She'd requested time off for her honeymoon, and looked relaxed; Gwaheer must have soothed the hurts Will had caused the day before. And Picard guessed that Worf's early appearance was fortuitous and she'd managed to smooth over whatever trouble there had been before the rest of them arrived. He knew she had been nervous about Gwaheer meeting Worf.

The group had no sooner been settled around the table than another transporter beam dropped another few guests outside the door. Lonan came in with the air of someone who knew she wasn't welcome but had a phaser-proof reason to be there, and enjoyed inflicting her presence on them. Instead of Zora, she had another Ryxian with her, one with a wary expression that disappeared as he greeted Gwaheer.

"*Veshad* Nor'alis," Gwaheer exclaimed. "A pleasant surprise to see you this morning."

"I hope I am not intruding. I was not able to meet the delegates yesterday, and Lonan suggested that I attend this morning in Zora's stead -- he had some family emergency. I have wanted the opportunity to meet the delegates, and of course any opportunity to enjoy Zakhad's cooking. . . . "

"I don't believe you've met my lovely one, Deanna," Gwaheer said as Deanna and Zakhad came in bearing trays of food.

"I have not." Nor'alis smiled and appraised Deanna appreciatively.

Picard glanced at Riker, then at Worf. Riker seemed uncomfortable. Worf didn't blink. Nor'alis, after greeting Deanna, teased Zakhad about being replaced by a younger woman.

"Really, *Veshad,* I'm very happy to have her here." Zakhad smiled at him, but glanced at her husband. "Or are you saying you have a larger house? A fourth room?"

Why was that so funny? Even Deanna laughed, giving Zakhad's tail a yank as she followed her back to the kitchen. It must have been some obscure Ryxi joke. Picard watched the reaction of the other guests. Lonan didn't find the joke amusing. She sat near the end of the table, nearest the door, and began filling her plate from the assortment of serving dishes.

Gwaheer paid her no attention, but greeted and introduced the others -- the admiral, Beverly and Jean-Luc, Riker -- to the *Veshad* warmly enough. He seated Nor'alis between himself and Lonan. That left four places around the far end of the table.

"Ambassador Troi is late, apparently because her son is fussy this morning," Nechayev said. "I am not certain where the Commodore went. He took advantage of the invitation of one of your *Veshad* and stayed in his home."

"Glovan probably kept him up all night," Nor'alis said. He grinned at Gwaheer conspiratorially. "You know Glovan. He could drink a clan of Klingons to a stupor."

"Unlikely," Worf rumbled.

"We should introduce you to Glovan, Worf" Gwaheer said. "He's partial to your culture. In fact, so is my younger brother."

"I know your brother. Tormal." Nor'alis gave a bad-taste grimace. "I'm sorry, he does not appear to be related to you, or your other brothers. Is he a foster?"

"Tormal was a late child. My father had a. . . lapse of judgement, in his later years. Shortly before he died, he met Tormal's mother. She left after the funeral and my mother begged me to take Tormal rather than allow him to go to more distant kin." Gwaheer sighed. "I wish I had refused. The guilt of seeing one's brother run wild in spite of one's better efforts -- he defied me, at every turn, because he learned early that I was not his father. My mother believed we should tell him the truth. And his mother would not leave him alone -- I came home often to find him gone, slipped out to be with her."

"Raising your own child can be difficult," Worf said. "Raising your brother -- unimaginable."

"A promise is a promise."

"I think I would have run away from home if my brother had tried to raise me," Picard said. "He had no patience for my 'nonsense.'"

"Siblings can do things that infuriate you like no one else," Lonan said unexpectedly. "Making decisions that you know will turn out badly, for example. Not listening to your reasoning, even when you have sound logic for disagreeing."

Gwaheer put back his ears and ate silently.

"I've always wished I'd had a brother," the admiral said. "Instead of a bossy older sister who insisted she was always right."

Lonan's nostrils flared and her head jerked up. She subsided a moment later, and fell to pretending to study her food.

"Is your sister also in Starfleet, Admiral?" Gwaheer asked.

"She's doing private research in a medical facility on Starbase 32, with her husband."

Deanna returned and sat next to Gwaheer, an innocuous act -- but the atmosphere changed as she began filling her plate. Gwaheer purred quietly, which attracted everyone's attention.

The electricity between the two that Beverly found so fascinating didn't escape the notice of the other guests. The admiral studied the couple with a carefully-neutral expression. Nor'alis smiled indulgently. Riker turned all his attention to his plate. Beverly elbowed Jean-Luc in the ribs as Deanna filched a bite of something from Gwaheer's plate, smiling puckishly at her husband. Gwaheer gave her a chiding look, then smiled and picked up another piece of his fruit and put it in her mouth.

Zakhad came in with pitcher and offered refills, and joined them. Riker started the conversation again, surprisingly. Picard thought that after yesterday's confrontation with Deanna, he certainly wouldn't be talkative.

"Have you asked about the cloaking array, Gwaheer?"

Nor'alis came to attention, ears orienting on Gwaheer.

"Not yet. The Board will meet tomorrow. I had planned to seek audience at that time."

"What about the array?" Nor'alis asked.

Picard noticed Deanna putting down her fork and looking at Gwaheer with something less than her normal adulation. Suddenly, the spicy-sweet fruit Jean-Luc had been eating lost its flavor.

"The admiral expressed interest in seeing it in operation," Lonan said. "I thought we certainly could do so, given the surety of an alliance with the Federation."

Nor'alis glanced at her, then returned his gaze to Gwaheer. Dismay and questioning tinged his words. "You should not have to approach the Board for permission. Surely, you would be able to arrange that yourself. Upgrading it was your project, and the Board gave you full jurisdiction and access to it."

"Then why did he claim it would be difficult?" Lonan asked, eyes narrowed, a pleased smile fighting for expression.

It was the first time Picard could recall Gwaheer being at a loss for words. Zakhad was alarmed; she looked at her plate and pushed food around busily. Deanna was staring at nothing, all her attention turned inward, her breakfast forgotten.

Beverly's fingernails dug into Jean-Luc's leg.

Finally, the silence was broken, not by Gwaheer but by Deanna. "What are you hiding?"

"Deanna, I -- "

"You're shutting me out."

Gwaheer, from the attitude of his ears and overall posture, was dismayed and rapidly approaching panic. "It's not what you think. There are some things -- "

"Some things? They asked to see the array that protects this system from detection by the Borg and you refused -- that much I got, before you closed me out."

"Gwaheer." Nor'alis had gone deadly still in his chair, watching Gwaheer with as neutral an expression as he could muster, though alarm still showed in his dilated eyes. "Explain this."

Picard finally pulled Beverly's nails from his leg, engulfing her hand in his to keep her from latching on to anything else.

Gwaheer glanced around the table at his guests. "I cannot do that."

"You are hiding something. Something is wrong with the array. You are trying to avoid a demonstration -- is it that the array would not function?"

Nor'alis and Gwaheer warred silently with their eyes for an eternal moment. Finally Gwaheer dropped his gaze to the table.

Lonan, still fighting a triumphant smile and losing, stood. "I think that unless you have an explanation, *Kreh'talliath,* someone else will be asking the same questions of you in a less informal setting."

Deanna got up and fled the room. Picard glanced at Beverly when Zakhad didn't move from her stricken, frozen position, and Beverly rose and went after Deanna.

All eyes were on Gwaheer then, even Zakhad's. She opened her mouth and received a scathing glare from her husband for her trouble. She closed it again and a tear wandered down her cheek as she bowed her head.

"Why will you not tell us?" Nor'alis demanded. He grabbed Gwaheer's arm as he rose. "If you do not explain, you are giving me no choice."

"I cannot explain," Gwaheer snapped. His demeanor seemed familiar -- Riker, Picard realized. He was acting as Riker had been. Angry, evasive, and resolute. He was doing this against his will.

Nor'alis unfastened the wrist unit from Gwaheer's arm and tossed it on the table. "You will explain it to the *Kreh'kahn,* then."

"No," Zakhad sobbed.

Gwaheer looked at his discarded wrist unit, then at her, pointedly. "It will be all right, *khadlon.* Take care of our guests."

"That won't be necessary. I shall take them to my home, where we can eat in better company," Lonan exclaimed. "I trust you will see Gwaheer to the proper authorities, Nor'alis."

Nor'alis didn't let go of Gwaheer's arm as he nearly dragged him from the house. Because Gwaheer could teleport, Picard realized -- of course they would be careful not to lose contact with him. Gwaheer could be anywhere he wanted to be without a second's delay.

"I'm not certain I understand what just took place," Nechayev said.

"The Borg are a great threat to us, Admiral," Lonan said, triumphant. "We nearly lost our civilization to them once, long ago, and we are ever vigilant against even the suggestion of a possibility that our security may be compromised. Gwaheer has been instrumental in developing our defenses, and though the array pre-existed him, his innovations and proposed modifications of it were approved and supported by the sub-council, to the extent that he was given unlimited access to it. If he has neglected it, if somehow the array is not working, he has been derelict in his duties and our security is compromised. And when one has been entrusted with so much responsibility, the punishment is severe, indeed."

Zakhad got up so quickly her seat clattered across the floor behind her. "Rehia was right to have cut you off so completely. To think I suggested to her that she make amends with you," she cried.

"If you will come with me, honored guests," Lonan said, gesturing at the door and smiling superciliously at the Starfleet officers and Worf.

"I would rather stay," Worf declared.

Picard said nothing. Nechayev and Riker rose. Gammin, who had said nothing and remained out of Picard's line of sight behind Riker, glanced at Picard and smiled that tiny, arrogant smile he'd given him on the bridge of the *Rampage.* Picard looked at Will. The other captain didn't share Lonan's triumph; he looked uncertain, but grim.

When Lonan and the rest were gone, the transporter beam faded, that left Picard alone with Zakhad and Worf. He looked at Worf.

The Klingon sneered. "I do not like Lonan!"

"Neither do I, Worf. It was apparent to me that Gwaheer was under some sort of order not to speak."

Zakhad choked.

"You know, don't you? You promised him you wouldn't say?"

She nodded mutely.

"What will happen to him?"

"Paranoid," she gasped. "They're all scared to death of the Borg. Anyone in the Blue Fleet hierarchy would be, they have frequent contact with cubes. Lonan did this. She filled your fellow officers' heads with suggestions and let them fester until someone asked a question Gwaheer could not answer. She brought Nor'alis here on purpose. Zora's absence was not due to an emergency." She seized Gwaheer's wrist unit and put it on her arm, tapping the keys with a claw.

"Zakhad, what's the worst that could happen to him? Is there anything we can do to help?"

"The worst?" Zakhad looked terrified. "They will hold an inquiry. If he doesn't answer to their satisfaction, and there is enough cause in the examiners' opinions, they will file a motion to extract the information from his mind forcibly. It's a seriously restricted process, rarely done, but when it comes to security against the Borg -- I'm so afraid, Captain. They will push this too quickly, and give him no chance -- I must go find Councilman Regorran," she exclaimed suddenly. "He would be able to stop this! You should return to your ship -- they will call for you as a witness when the formal inquiry begins."

"Zakhad -- "

Before he could ask anything else, she dropped and raced four-legged from the house. Wingbeats boomed, then faded rapidly.

Picard sighed. "I don't believe this."

"Just another mission," Worf said.

Picard turned to the Klingon. "Intrigue, first contact, and a lot of alien food -- you know, you're right. This does seem quite familiar."

Worf cut another piece of the white item, apparently meat of some kind. Shoveling bits of the rest of the items on his plate on the fork along with it, he ate the large mouthful, chewed several times, and swallowed. "Then we should eat now. There may not be another chance."

Bowing to Klingon logic, Picard picked up his fork. He had to wait for Beverly and Deanna anyway. But the nagging feeling that he should be doing something to help Gwaheer, in spite of Starfleet regulations barring involvement in civil disputes, would likely mean indigestion.



30.



Deanna wanted to tear Raynor Gammin's tongue out.

"She was shocked, and hurt that he would hide anything from her."

"Did his other wife have any foreknowledge of what he was hiding?" the lead examiner, Sevalis, asked.

Gammin looked amused. "She kept reciting a grocery list in her head. Probably trying to distract herself from her fear for her husband. The mind does strange things sometimes when under great stress. But no, she didn't appear to know anything. She may have suspected something -- she wasn't surprised."

"You may step aside."

Gammin bowed and left the center of the floor, coming to stand next to Riker behind Deanna. The room was small enough to feel crowded with Gwaheer's breakfast guests, the examiners and their table, the five officials standing on the other side of the room, and Gwaheer's superior Bari at the back near the door. Lonan had given her testimony, eloquently and in great detail, and asked to be excused. Worf had never shown up.

Bari kept all her attention on whoever stood before the examiners. Deanna sensed great disappointment and resignation -- she believed, too. She was just as paranoid as the rest of them, in spite of her earlier reassurances that she trusted Gwaheer.

Deanna had heard the muttering in the corridor, between various parties -- Gwaheer had always been too good to be true. Too trustworthy. Too spotless. The sub-council's indulgence had finally gone to his head and made him careless.

Lonan hadn't been the only one who begrudged Gwaheer his success.

Sevalis gestured, and the guard at the door opened it and leaned out. A few moments later, two Ryxi brought in Gwaheer, holding him by the arms between them and hardly letting him walk on his own.

He wouldn't look up from the floor. When they stopped before the examiners' table, he glared at it resolutely. He was still blocking his thoughts and emotions, keeping them from her -- probably because of her outburst. He didn't trust her any more. All she could sense through the bond was emotion, dark, angry determination.

She bit her tongue. Again. Her teeth clenched on the same sore places she'd already bitten repeatedly. At her ragged gasp, Jean-Luc put a companionable hand on her shoulder. He and Beverly had stood on either side of her, protective as she and Beverly had been of Jean-Luc at the rehabilitation facility. And Will stood behind her. She sensed regret from him.

Too little, too late.

"Do you have an explanation for the events that took place in your home this morning?"

"I request that Councilman Regorran be contacted and informed of this proceeding," Gwaheer exclaimed.

"He's been requesting that all along," one of the officials said. "He has no claim on the Councilman's attention. He is -- "

"We are aware of what he is, thank you. I remind you, Gwaheer, that your responsibility is to the *Veshad'lan,* not to any member of the Council. Your legal avenue of appeal is with the sub-council. As a courtesy, a message has been forwarded to the Councilman's office on your behalf, though it's unlikely that he will pay attention to it. Answer the question, please."

"I cannot answer that question."

"You cannot explain the events -- "

"If you cannot contact Regorran, I cannot explain!" he snapped, tail lashing.

"Let me ask you specifically, then. Is there something wrong with the cloaking array?"

"Nothing is wrong."

"Then why are you inventing excuses to avoid a demonstration of it?"

Gwaheer's head came up. His nostrils flared, and his ears were up and back, defiantly.

"If you do not answer you give me no choice but to proceed with further investigation. Your teleporting ability will be blocked. Your telepathic ability will be blocked. You will be questioned further, and if telepaths concur that there is reasonable justification for an extensive investigation into your actions, we will begin such proceedings until physical evidence is found and this case goes to trial."

"What incentive do I have to tell you anything, then, since you are already so positive that I'm doing something wrong? There isn't a Ryxi in this room who isn't already convinced that I'm betraying you all to the Borg, and you refuse to contact Councilman Regorran, so there is nothing more for me to say."

Deanna lunged, but her friends' fingers dug into her arms. Against the order of the examiners, she sent a thought to him. <Gwaheer! What are you doing? Tell them!>

He was either ignoring her or blocking her out completely.

"Is there something wrong with the cloaking array? Does it function properly?"

Gwaheer sagged, tight-fisted, and closed his eyes.

"If you do not answer, your silence will be interpreted as defiance, and as cause for further investigation."

"The cloaking array functions," he said through clenched teeth.

"Why did you lie about your ability to approve a demonstration?"

"I did not lie. I said I would ask the Board -- "

"You did not need to ask the Board. Why would you insist upon doing so?"

Gwaheer stiffened his jaw.

"In view of the negotiations, in view of your own history of working towards an alliance with the Federation, this behavior seems unusual, wouldn't you say, Gwaheer? Why would you not be willing to share -- "

"I am willing, but unable."

"Are you claiming you are under orders not to share information about the array with the delegates?"

"I cannot discuss this further. I request that Councilman -- "

"We have already established that you have no legal recourse with Regorran -- expecting a Councilman to intercede on your behalf seems diversionary. As does your insistence that you simply cannot discuss your motives." Sevalis fixed an angry stare on Gwaheer. "Does the cloaking array function properly? Why do you not wish to demonstrate it? This is your final opportunity, before we find reasonable cause to turn you over for more questioning in the presence of telepaths."

Deanna staggered under the outrage seething around her. Some of it was from Gwaheer -- but with it came frustration, and despair.

"I cannot answer." Over the din of the shouting that broke out, Gwaheer cried, "You must contact the Councilman! I cannot -- "

"SILENCE!" Sevalis roared, rising from his seat. He had to shout several more times to make himself heard. He gestured at the guards, who were not so gentle with Gwaheer on the way out of the room. As they passed the Starfleet officers, Gwaheer resisted and managed to free one arm. He lunged at Deanna and fell short. The guards wrestled with his thrashing arms and legs for control, enduring the barrage of his whipping tail and flapping wings.

"You can't do this, you'll hurt her!" Gwaheer bellowed.

More Ryxi rushed in. It took six of them to contain him, and a seventh darted in and injected a sedative. By the time he slumped, all seven bore bleeding gashes on various parts of their bodies.

"The court cautions you to be certain the defendant is fully awake and aware before proceeding," Sevalis intoned.

The original two guards snatched Gwaheer up by the arms and now literally dragged his limp body from the room. They were followed by the officials, Bari, and the reinforcements.

"This session will continue upon completion of the next phase of the proceedings. I would advise you all to remain within the courthouse and speak to no one of what you have seen here. There is no need to cause a panic." Sevalis and his fellow examiners rose, collected their padds, and filed from the room.

"Deanna," Picard said.

She turned to him, blinking. She couldn't respond. If she tried to speak, her tight hold on her emotions would crumble.

"Deanna, are you all right?"

She realized the rest of them were looking at her.

"I think she needs to sit down," Beverly said.

Riker retrieved one of the examiners' seats and placed it behind Deanna, and Beverly pushed her onto it. Deanna heard the medical tricorder distantly; her focus was on the bond, which suddenly jolted to life. They'd awakened him. He was furious, and terrified.

"Deanna?" Jean-Luc's voice sounded more worried than before.

<DEANNA!>

An instant of panic, then something snapped. Deanna lost track of her body -- it seemed to her that something hard struck her from the side, then it seemed she must be lying on something cold. Sounds, images, swam around her. She heard her mother's voice calling frantically from afar. Then blessed silence.



31.



"Deanna!" Beverly scanned with her tricorder again frantically. Lwaxana hovered, in tears and in constant motion.

"I should have been there. Andrew was so fussy, I couldn't leave him with Mr. Homn when he was like that -- oh, Little One, I'm so sorry!"

"Ambassador Troi, could you please -- " Beverly stopped herself on the verge of being shrill. "Could you help me? She's unconscious and undergoing some sort of trauma -- I think it has something to do with her bond with Gwaheer."

Lwaxana fell to her knees and gathered Deanna to her. "Deanna, Little One. . . ."

"Captain, may I be excused?"

Picard turned automatically, but Gammin was addressing Will. <If I had my way, Gammin, you'd be asked a lot more questions than you faced with Sevalis.>

"You may." Will didn't tear his eyes from Deanna to look at him. Nor did he ask Gammin's help with Deanna's condition -- a good thing. Picard would have objected anyway.

The door opened. Sakhara strode in, took in the situation, and dropped to his haunches next to Lwaxana.

"Help her," Lwaxana pleaded. "I'm no good at this."

Sakhara looked up at the concerned faces around him. "Zakhad called me from Councilman Regorran's offices, on Gwaheer's *datch.* She's waiting for Regorran's staff to get tired of her and tell her where he is, or to contact him for her. I would have been here sooner, but there's more security in the halls and outside the building than we have at the drone rehabilitation facility. This is causing a stir. Speculation is running away with paranoia, we already have media showing up, and of course everyone's assuming all the wrong things. They know Gwaheer is at the center of it, though -- someone saw him being brought here."

"Sakhara, what about Deanna?" Beverly exclaimed.

He touched Deanna's forehead. "They've blocked him. Poor 'hiri. He fought it tooth and claw. She caught some backlash when the bond was broken."

"Permanently?" Lwaxana asked.

"Not necessarily. When he's cleared, it can be restored easily."

"Do you know what Gwaheer is hiding?" Picard exclaimed.

"I know my brother is following orders, and that there's more at stake than just his job. It's the only explanation -- he would never allow this to happen to Deanna, if he could avoid it by abandoning his career." Sakhara took Deanna's face in both hands for a moment, then sat back as her eyes opened. Those dark eyes, once so alive, were vacant.

"Damn," Riker blurted. "Are you sure she's all right?"

"She's awake," Sakhara said. "She can hear us. But she doesn't care. It's the first reaction to the breaking of a bond -- after a while, the shock will wear off enough that she'll respond. The block will only affect Gwaheer. In time, she'll recover completely -- physiologically speaking." He leaned close again, putting his face in her field of vision. "Deanna, it's going to be all right. Gwaheer will come back to you. He won't put up with this nonsense. Look at me."

She didn't twitch an eyelid.

"Deanna, Zakhad sent me to help you through this. She wants you to know this isn't your fault."

Deanna closed her eyes. A tear ran out, painting a line of makeup down the side of her face.

"If there is anything we can do to help," Picard began.

"Gwaheer would not want you to try." Sakhara glanced around at their faces. "Your safety, your continued support, would be enough for him. He wouldn't want you to sacrifice negotiations by doing anything that might implicate you in any way. He's fought opposition to these negotiations for a long time, and any hint of collusion -- "

"I want to know why Lonan thinks Gwaheer is working against the negotiations, then," Riker exclaimed. "Why she thinks he's up to something."

Sakhara stood slowly, ears flat, tail twitching, then lashing. "Because, Captain, my brother has many secrets to keep, and she believes he does so out of malicious intent. But how many secrets do you keep, in the name of Starfleet and the common good? How much have you sacrificed to keep them? Have any of them been so crucial, so important, that you would be willing to cut your heart from your chest and pluck your eyes out to keep them? That's what Gwaheer is doing today."

"Why would Lonan -- "

Sakhara interrupted Riker impatiently. "Lonan was the sister of Gwaheer's wife, Rehia. She hates him, because her sister married him against Lonan's wishes. Lonan hates him, because Rehia was lost to the Borg and blames him for it. Lonan hates him so much that she is planting lies to sabotage any chance of friendship with those he has wanted to meet for years. In your case, it's working very well, I'd say."

Riker gaped. Picard took the opportunity to ask, "Does Lonan also want the negotiations to fail?"

"I don't know. It's not my business, either." Sakhara frowned and looked down at Deanna. "She'll be all right. Let her rest. It's lucky she isn't Ryxi. This sort of thing would probably -- but that doesn't matter. I will be going. Gwaheer wouldn't want me to interfere, and if I remain, I will be too tempted to do so. But I will say this -- watch out for Gammin. He's not trustworthy."

Sakhara left, tail coiling in the air behind him.

Riker stared down at Deanna, as they all did, while Beverly waved her tricorder and Lwaxana stroked her daughter's hair. Picard hated feeling this helpless. There wasn't a thing he could do -- even if he knew what to do, doing it would be considered interference.

"I think it's time I tested one of those new shuttlecraft," Riker said.

Picard looked at him. The Riker who met his eyes was familiar -- this was his ex-first officer and friend, looking back at him with regret and resignation in his eyes. "Will?"

"Since, according to Nor'alis, it would be no bother to anyone if we study the array -- "

"A capital idea," Picard said, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. "Why don't you take Geordi along with you?"

"I suppose he might be interested in such things. Good idea."

"Although it's too bad you couldn't distract Gammin somehow. I have the hunch he'd probably tell someone if he found out about your sight-seeing."

"I can take care of Mr. Gammin," Lwaxana said. She smiled archly, with such unusual clarity and calculation in her eyes that Picard was forced to revise his preconception of her.

"We should take Deanna to sickbay so I can monitor her condition," Beverly said.

"Agreed." Picard smiled grimly at Riker. "It's good to have you back, Will. What was it that convinced you at last?"

Riker shook his head. "Sakhara's right. Gwaheer is subjecting himself to too much pain. His attitude doesn't suggest trepidation or subterfuge. And all my 'official' misgivings aside, he doesn't seem the type to do this to Deanna. Why the hell can't they see he's not refusing to answer out of guilt?" He dropped to one knee and took Deanna's limp hand. "Dee, we'll help you with this. Just hang in there until we find a way to do it."



32.

Gwaheer woke with a pounding headache.

He lay still for a while, until it subsided enough for him to open his eyes without fainting, and then tried to sit up, only to find his hands and legs tied to the uncomfortable cot -- no, table -- he was lying on.

Then it hit him. Beneath the physical pain of the headache, beneath the ache in his joints, he was numb. They'd blocked him. No wonder he had a headache. He must have been uncooperative.

Deanna.

The only thing that kept him from complete despair was the knowledge that she was alive and waiting for this to end. Loss of the bond would cause her as much pain as it did him, however, and for that, he wanted to wreak bodily harm upon all of them -- insufferable Lonan, her henchmen, the telepaths who had forced their way in and taken his *kahzan'kahliu* from him. Especially the telepaths.

Of course, everyone was only doing their job. The examiners were doing it very well. His superiors were unaware of his 'extracurricular' activities, yet they were his only legal recourse -- Regorran remained his only hope. He hated calling on the *Seralkhan* for support. It called unwanted attention to him. His only hope of completing the great task he'd set himself was to remain as anonymous as possible. While being the *Kreh'atlliath na reil* wasn't exactly anonymous, it usually helped him maintain a certain aloofness without being called into question.

But not always. His current situation was a great example of 'not always.'

He heard his own breath coming in gasps. The room was empty, but for him and the table. All white. He couldn't tell the walls from the floor. His side ached.

<Deanna. Sweet one. I am so sorry.>

Unaccountably, one of the old Earth tunes jauntily marched through his mind: *The only time I feel the pain, is in the sunshine or the rain, and I don't feel no hurt at all, unless you count when teardrops fall, I tell the truth 'cept when I lie, and it only hurts me when I cry. . . .*

"DEEEEAAAANNNNAAAAAA!"

The echoes of his shout hurt his head. At least it drowned out the idiotic music. Yanking at the restraints, he gasped for air, then sobbed.

"DEEEEAAAANNNNAAAAAA!"

The feeling of being trapped triggered claustrophobia. The loss of the bond, the loss of freedom, the loss of telepathy -- they'd taken it all away, leaving him nothing, not even his heart -- a gaping hole yawned in his chest where Deanna had been. Zakhad -- she would be frantic, but she knew what she had to do, she knew why. . . . Deanna didn't know. She wouldn't understand --

"DEEEEAAAANNNNAAAAAA!"

He began to thrash on the table. Sobs razed his throat. The padded cuffs wouldn't give. He had no leverage. Giving in to panic, he threw all his strength against the bonds he knew would never break. If he hurt himself, they would have to stop this. It would buy time. Time for *khadlon* to do what she had to do.

"DEEEEAAAANNNNAAAAAA!"

A hand gripped his arm. Someone was there, and he hadn't sensed them coming. Someone -- they'd taken away his ability to shield! They could see his mind!

Rather than panic and think about what he didn't want them to see -- because that was how telepaths immediately got what they were after, panicked and frightened numbskulls always thought first of what they least wanted a telepath to know; little did they know that telepaths could only see what they were given, and were incapable of finding any single memory without help or a lot of time and effort -- rather than panic, he began to think of songs he could sing to himself, in his mind.

He couldn't make them up, he was in too much anguish for words, but there were plenty of non-Ryxi songs in his memory. From the vast storehouse of human music to Betazoid traditional epic love sagas to Klingon opera. Thank you, Worf.

Must sing. Must fill head with anything and everything inconsequential.

Rallying his failing, crumbling self around the goal of thinking of every song he knew, he chose one that was appropriate beyond all others.

*There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
There's a flag-pole rag and the wind won't stop*

"Gwaheer, get up."

*I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain*

"Come on, he's not going to cooperate." They picked him up -- when had they removed the cuffs?

Unimportant. Must sing.

*I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall
That's my soul up there
There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
That's my soul up there
There's a blue whale beached by a springtime's ebb
That's my soul up there
There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web
That's my soul up there*

He was being carried, through corridors, and all at once he was dropped on the floor. He didn't try to rise.

*I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
There's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread
King of pain*

They were pressing on his mind, not forcibly, but searching his surface thoughts, the only thing they could legally do at this point. Sing.

*There's a red fox torn by a huntsman's pack
That's my soul up there
There's a black-winged gull with a broken back
That's my soul up there
There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday*

<What are you hiding?>

He laughed maniacally and let his head fall back. Then he pounded his head against the floor. "DEAAANNAAAA!"

<What are you hiding?>

*And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

And all I could taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight*

<It will be easier for you, less traumatic, if you cooperate.>

"Don't patronize me!" he shrieked. "REGORRAN! LET ME TALK TO REGORRAN!"

<Do not attempt such distractions. The Councilman Regorran will not be disturbed. You are in no way under his jurisdiction.>

"DEEANAAA! ZAKHAD!"

*And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am*

<What are you trying to hide?>

*I just want you to know who I am*

<What are you trying to hide?>

*Down in the valley, valley so low
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow
Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew
Angels in heaven know I love you
Know I love you, dear, know I love you
Angels in heaven, know I love you.*



"ZAKHAAAAD! DEAANNNAAA! "

They stuffed something in his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but they were taping it in. Choking, he thrashed and found they'd tied him down again while he had been focused on his internal concert. He threw himself around in earnest and felt something snap. Pain. Stabbing his head like shooting stars, throbbing in his arm.

The pressure against his mind eased -- they had to stop to tend his arm. They hadn't gotten his cooperation. They would have to get a formal order to force themselves into his mind, to tear through his memories without regard for privacy. To get a formal order, another hearing, and more questions, and more investigation. By now they would have requested cooperation from his agents, his family, his friends. They would have more people who could not say what he was hiding, and the more non-answers they got, the more paranoid they would be.

He opened his eyes. Through tears, he saw a man. Thelexon. He'd been one of his classmates, in psychology classes years ago. A fellow counselor. He'd been part of the Borg rehabilitation program until three years before.

Thelexon looked down at him with anger. Disdain. Of course. He didn't remember any of it.

They were untying him and mending the broken arm. He wished they would leave it as it was; the pain was a good distraction.

<Zakhad, my little *khadlon,* please, hurry. I can't take much more of this.>

No. Can't think like that. They might hear him, he couldn't block anything out.

*Where do we go from here?
This isn't where we intended to be
We had it all
You believed in me, I believed in you

Certainties disappear
What do we do
For our dream to survive?
How do we keep
all our passions alive
As we used to do?

Deep in my heart,
I'm concealing
Things that I'm longing to say
Scared to confess
what I'm feeling
Frightened you'll slip away

You must love me,
You must love me. . . .*



33.

Picard had to override Deanna's door lock. Her quarters were dark; since the layout was precisely the same as in his quarters, he found the bedroom door without having to bother with the lights, and found that there, too, he had to override.

The door opened. More darkness. "Deanna?"

No answer. He heard a stifled sob. Damn.

"Counselor? Computer, lights."

He steeled himself for whatever state of undress she might be in. She was curled up in bed, the covers wrapped around her, with only her black curls showing. He waited, then went to put a hand on what was most likely to be her shoulder.

"Counselor, it's time to go."

Allowing her a moment to gather her wits, then another, then another, he sighed and shook her.

"Go away," she shouted, the words muffled by the blankets.

"Deanna, I realize how you must feel, but there's another hearing and they've requested your -- "

She rocketed up from the bed, covers flying, and to his relief she was still wearing the blue dress -- rumpled, but decent. He stumbled backward. Deanna's eyes were red, swollen with tears and full of pain. The desolation turning her prettiness into a wasteland of despair looked all too familiar.

He'd seen that expression, every morning in the mirror following another night filled with tormenting dreams of the Borg.

Her chest heaved, and the words tearing from her throat carried all the anger in her heart. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW I FEEL!"

Picard closed his mouth and looked at her, hoping she still had her empathic functions intact. The block they'd put on Gwaheer should affect only him, Sakhara had explained.

It had taken no empathic ability to know her feelings -- the hellfire leaping in her eyes during the inquiry, or the devastation as, somewhere in another room, Gwaheer was subjected to the block and the life in her drained out. When they had tried to put her on a bed in sickbay, she'd finally risen and wandered through the corridors to her quarters, then locked herself in. A rash of worried calls from crewmembers who had seen her stumbling journey had ensued.

She'd recovered more of herself since then. Picard stood still, waited patiently as Deanna railed against him, screaming herself hoarse. She cursed him, cursed the Ryxi and their fickleness, cursed Starfleet, the Borg, and all the while she gestured wildly, nearly striking him several times. He expected she might actually hit him but she never did. Finally she stood panting, and the anguish behind the rage seeped into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she cried, falling forward.

Picard caught her by the shoulders and pulled her up. "I understand."

Comprehension showed through the tears.

She did know he would understand. She was the only one who knew that the worst torment he'd felt post-assimilation was the realization that part of him longed to return to the Borg, to the constant sensation of never being alone. Even though the circumstances were complete opposites, even though assimilation had been abhorrent and her bonding had been desired and even craved, he understood her despair.

It was why he'd dared to come in the way he had. She needed him, and he'd finally have the chance to repay the great debt he owed her for all she'd done for him, for the nights she'd showed up at his door of her own volition and talked him through the worst of the nightmares. She hadn't done that as a counselor. The counselor would have made an appointment for him the next day. The friend had sat with him until his heart had slowed and he could sleep again.

He owed her this, and he owed Gwaheer.

"Deanna, he didn't lie to you willingly."

She closed her eyes and tried not to sob. "I know that now. I reacted too quickly -- it shocked me -- I didn't know he had secrets from me, I should have known but I didn't think -- oh, Jean-Luc, this is all my fault! I know he would never betray his people, or ours, that way! But it's all my fault, he's gone, I'll never see him again -- and Zakhad must hate me! Both of them must hate me for what I've done!"

"Deanna," Jean-Luc whispered. She'd used the technique on him countless times with good effect; it worked on her. She quieted immediately. He loosened the death grip on her shoulders, as she seemed to be standing on her own now. "Deanna, you can't lose faith -- I saw the look on his face. He loves you. If you still had the bond, you would be feeling his love for you. He's forgiven you already. It wasn't your reaction alone that put him in this situation. He's following orders, nothing more. And Zakhad could never hate you."

She covered her face with her hands, and the wrenching sound of a sob working its way free brought a sympathetic prickle to Picard's eyes. He tried not to be too stiff as he put his arms around her in a brotherly, comforting fashion; the contact seemed to open the floodgates.

Beverly appeared in the bedroom door sometime during Deanna's wailing, pounding fit. She hurried forward at once and rubbed Deanna's shoulders, murmuring the reassurances Picard couldn't bring himself to mouth. No reassurances would help. He knew that too well.

The sobs abated, and between him and Beverly, they lowered her to the bed. She shook visibly, and clutched her hands to her chest in a defensive posture. The empty expression returned -- no grief, no anger, no life.

"Deanna," Picard said. Then he didn't know what else to say.

The only thing he could think of that might reach her was music. Songs had reached him, after all, when little else seemed to -- the recordings Gwaheer had given him still echoed fresh in his memory. He thought about her husband, and the things she'd said about him -- their short time together was like a sad love song, of loving and losing. That wouldn't work.

One of Gwaheer's choices for the recording he'd given Jean-Luc seemed appropriate. Picard thought it a simple, matter-of-fact, slight tune, with no real depth to it. But perhaps at this point a simple sentiment would be best.

Picard hesitated. The song had more impact when sung directly, daunting as that was, and easy as it would be to have the computer simply access the data cartridge in the slot back in his quarters. The Ryxi believed the most important thing was the emotion in the song, not the way it was sung.

"Lean on me," he began, then cleared his throat. "When you're not strong, and I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on. . . ."

Deanna and Beverly both looked at him in surprise and complete distraction. It made it hard to continue. ". . .For, it won't be long, 'til I'm gonna need, somebody to lean on. . . ."

Deanna smiled. "Thank you. You can stop now. I know it's uncomfortable for you to sing." Her smile widened, a fraction of a centimeter. "Please don't quit your day job."

She squeezed his hand, but that just seemed inadequate. Picard put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a brief, one-armed hug. "Blame the Ryxi. I think they're contagious. Do you think you can manage?"

"You're right. I should be there," she said faintly, losing what little ground she'd gained. Her face fell into haggard, hopeless lines. At least she had lost the empty expression, he reasoned. She would be present.

"Don't lose hope," Beverly said. "We'll find a way to clear him."

Protest stopped short of leaving Deanna's lips. She closed her mouth and nodded, lacking conviction but willing to follow along.

They waited silently in the corridor while Deanna changed and washed her face. Beverly took his hand and leaned against him, silently thanking him with a small smile. When she emerged, Deanna had become an officer, albeit a stone-faced one with tormented eyes. She'd put her hair up in a severe knot on top of her head.

They beamed down into the hall outside the court room. The hall was empty, the door at the opposite end closed, and the voice of Sevalis giving someone instructions came muted through the wall.

Deanna made a soft, anguished noise. "I can sense him," she whispered. "He's lost all his shields, all his telepathic ability. He's humiliated."

"You can't try to contact him."

"I know, Captain. The attorney informed us of that earlier. No telepathic or empathic contact with the prisoner."

"I wasn't sure you were paying much attention."

She inhaled sharply, set her shoulders, and pulled herself up straight. "I've got to do this," she muttered, as if trying to convince herself. "He needs me to be there."

"Deanna!"

The hoarse cry startled the three of them. Zakhad came around the corner, and stood staring at them. Her face looked as puffy and distraught as Deanna's.

Deanna rushed toward her at once and threw her arms around Zakhad's neck. They parted almost immediately, as Zakhad whispered something to Deanna, eyes wide.

Beverly hurried toward them, and Picard followed. Zakhad looked frightened and teary-eyed, but somehow hopeful. "Captain, Beverly -- you must stall them.

Please, if you have to, if they try to come to a conclusion, stall them. They cannot proceed to the next phase. Please. There is only one thing left we can try, and if it doesn't work -- " Her neck muscles seemed to spasm, pulling her head backward, and she cried out in frustration. "We must do this! I could not find Regorran -- "

"Go. We'll give you as much time as we can." Picard touched Deanna's arm.

Deanna flashed him an appreciative glance and ran after Zakhad, who had dropped and ran four-legged ahead of her.

"What are we going to do?" Beverly asked. "What can we do, if we're not supposed to do anything to adversely affect negotiations? If we try to say anything to defend him, the Ryxi will see that as Federation intrusion into their affairs."

Picard allowed himself a tiny resolute smile as they headed for the courtroom. "I think that, in a way, it would improve our standing with them. They value personal relationships; we're doing our best for a friend. They know he's befriended Federation citizens before. We can claim friendship, nothing more, as our motivation. As for what we can do to stall, I have no idea, but I'm sure we can find something to try. Quote Shakespeare, if necessary. 'The quality of mercy is not strain'd. . . .'"



34.



Deanna hurried toward the courtroom, Zakhad trotting on all fours beside her, praying to all the gods in the heavens and all the stars above that their husband still sat on the Court of Inquiry floor, still awaited the decision to remand him to custody pending further trial, or freedom.

Picard's voice rang out through the halls. She paid no attention to the words -- they would be nothing, just smoke-blowing, stalling for time. Zakhad transitioned to two-legged travel just outside the door, and the two of them strode into the hall, cutting Jean-Luc's speech off in mid-sentence, making the entrance as belligerent and dramatic as possible. She felt the wash of startlement travel the room. She saw expressions of disdain for Picard's stalling tactics turn to surprise, and in Lonan's case, dismay.

Deanna stopped in the middle of the floor, just a few strides from where Gwaheer sat, head bowed, unmoving. His nearer ear had oriented on her, but he didn't look up. She cut herself off even as she reached out to him in reflex. By the rules. This would end here and now, by the rules. No more kangaroo court. No more paranoia overruling these people's better judgement.

"I demand -- we demand an explanation," she exclaimed, glaring at Sevalis. "I demand to know exactly why we are losing our husband. I have the right to know why I will lose my child, before this proceeds any further."

She felt the jolt of shock from Gwaheer, followed by joy he couldn't hide and so didn't try. She kept her eyes on the examiner's ears-back, eyes wide face. Focused. Rational. Calm. Everything depended on Zakhad's plan.

Zakhad had explained her idea even as she and her specialist friend performed the lightning-fast, slap-dash insemination that probably wouldn't even take. Injected hormones raced through Deanna's veins, and even as she thought about it, her hand went to her abdomen. They'd lingered long enough to see that the viable sperm left in her from the prior night's activities penetrated at least two of the four eggs Zakhad had given up. The chances of one of the eggs implanting itself were astronomically slim. There just wasn't time to prepare her properly. Add to this the fact that they were attempting a cross-species insemination on the spur of the moment, and the odds worsened.

But Zakhad couldn't do it herself. Her medical records were too readily available, and Lonan, who made it her business to pry into their affairs at every opportunity, would point out that she'd tried insemination before and failed, that she'd given up decades ago. Zakhad was aware of the odds against her ability to carry a child to term. Such an attempt now would look too much like complicity, like she too intended to hide whatever Gwaheer was concealing. It would be more defensible to claim that the new wife demanded children, and hope that those present knew so little about the particulars of it that they wouldn't guess it'd been done that afternoon.

For their purposes, for the moment, Deanna was as technically pregnant as she could be. Fertilized eggs in her belly. Hormones to alter her scent, for the Ryxi to smell. Zakhad had explained the basic logistics behind this clause of Ryxi legal procedure that allowed a stay of proceedings for the consideration of children. Incarceration would mean dissolution of marital bonds, which meant the children would be taken from the remaining parent and placed with another, intact family within the clan. The presence of children demanded more cause for them to proceed, Zakhad had said, and the courts had to extend benefit of the doubt until actual evidence was found. It might give them more time to wait for Regorran.

Zakhad had tried to reach Regorran first, but been turned away, by his office and by anyone else she and Gwaheer knew who might have any leverage in reaching him. She'd been shocked by that -- she'd expected his staff to know Regorran would want them to interrupt whatever he was doing. This was Zakhad's last resort, and desperation raged in her, Deanna sensed. She was terrified and trying not to show it for Deanna's sake. She believed this was the point of no return.

Sevalis spoke at last. Deanna felt faint. But for Zakhad's hand on her shoulder, she might have swayed.

"Why do you believe our proceeding further would endanger your family?"

He thought it was an admission of some kind! He thought Zakhad was merely afraid Gwaheer would be incarcerated, and of course she was, but there had to be more to her panic than that. Deanna clung to that idea. There had to be more reason for her utter panic.

Zakhad wasn't phased by the question. "Respectfully, Examiner, if you go on with the next step of your examination procedure, you will kill him," she announced clearly in spite of the tears standing in her eyes.

"No one has ever died of a telepathic examination." Sevalis sounded amused. He thought she was being paranoid.

"Our husband is under orders to kill himself if such a thing happens to him." The admission broke her calm. She bit her finger and stifled a sob.

"We would not allow him to do so, you have my assurance of that." Soothe the madwoman. That was his goal, Deanna thought.

"You would have no ability to stop him." Zakhad's eyes burned. "You have no idea what you are doing."

"Do you know what he is hiding?"

Zakhad drew herself up proudly. "I know that our husband is blameless of any treachery. I know that this *ridiculous* sham will only result in your shame, and that those who are perpetuating the notion that he is guilty of some crime will be proven incorrect -- if you will only wait for *Seralkhan* Regorran to arrive. And if you do *not* wait, you will be responsible for Gwaheer's death and the destruction of our family."

Sevalis' ears came forward, and he raised an eyebrow. "How could we not keep him from killing himself? Are you questioning our competence? We have had defendants before who had made such attempts."

"There is a device implanted at the base of his skull, around the first vertebrae. When it receives the proper trigger, it will send an electrical shock into his brain, disassociating his neural pathways beyond recovery. The procedure is such that even the Borg could not rebuild them. The goal was to keep anyone attempting forced retrieval of his memories from accessing what he knows."

She spoke like a doctor, Deanna thought, looking at Gwaheer at last. He sat on his haunches, bowed with forehead nearly on the floor, but feeling less anxiety than before. He trusted Zakhad. He didn't move.

"We shall see," Sevalis exclaimed. "Doctor Lagren?"

A Ryxian emerged from the crowd along the wall to Deanna's left, aimed a tricorder at Gwaheer's head, and looked up with bewildered eyes. "She's right about the device. There is sufficient cause."

"And the pregnancy?"

Zakhad's hand tightened on Deanna's arm. Lagren scanned Deanna with a tricorder. He looked at her with some surprise, flared his nostrils, and said dispassionately, "There is cause."

A cacophony of angry exclamations erupted around them. Deanna closed her eyes and leaned against Zakhad, trying desperately to close out the emotions banging on her brain.

"Silence!" one of the examiners shouted. Deanna looked to where Picard and Beverly stood. Both of them wore determined, near-triumphant smiles. They may not know all the details, but they had stalled long enough.

And Gwaheer was feeling stronger. Hope, confidence -- he would be all right. She trusted him on that, regardless of the lack of explanations and the scowls being directed at them.

The examiners conferred at length. Deanna felt her lower body losing the numbness from the procedure. She clasped her hands across her abdomen and closed her eyes. If she looked at Gwaheer again, she'd run to him.

Center. Calm. Breathe. They'd done it.

The door opened. Riker, followed by Geordi, Lwaxana, and Nechayev, all grim-faced. A short, whispering conversation with Riker, and Picard and Beverly also became grim. Deanna bowed her head again and tried to calm her fluttering heart. Whatever they'd learned wasn't promising.

"Captain Riker," Sevalis exclaimed.

Will stepped forward, keeping some distance between himself and Zakhad and Deanna. He glanced apologetically at them before looking at Sevalis. "Sir."

"You were supposed to be here when we reconvened."

"I'm sorry. I was detained -- I have a duty to my ship."

"The court has a right to know what you have said," Sevalis droned. "Since most of us heard it, you will please repeat it for the record."

Riker hesitated, then anger twisted his face. "You want to know what I know? I'll tell you what I know. I know that you, and just about every other official in this room, are paranoid and letting that cloud your ability to try this case objectively."

"That is a subjective analysis of the situation, and irrelevant. You will focus only on information pertaining to the defendant's actions concerning the cloaking array."

"Irrelevant my -- " Will stopped himself and regrouped, continuing in a slightly-calmer tone. "From the first orders I've received concerning your Conglomerate, until the recent arrival of the Federation delegates, I've heard hints and rumors regarding Gwaheer's integrity. I don't believe any of them are true."

Riker pointed at Gwaheer. "This man is here because he's following orders of some kind. He requests a Councilman, probably the one who ordered him to keep whatever secrets he's keeping. The questions you should all be asking should not be what he did or why - you should be asking yourselves why you're refusing to bring this Councilman here as Gwaheer requests, so this matter can be cleared up without resorting to inhumane treatment of him and his family."

The examiners' ears lay flat against their heads. Sevalis replied with the patience of someone speaking to a young child. "The issue of Gwaheer's alleged connection to the Councilman is not pertinent to this inquiry. This preliminary hearing is merely to assess whether there is cause for further investigation. If you would like detailed information of the order of proceedings in our legal system, I suggest you request the information from the clerk of the court. We are not interested in conjecture based upon observation of emotional states. The defendant's demeanor is not in question. His actions are. His continued refusal to answer questions would seem to indicate that his --"

"He's *under orders* not to answer you!" Riker bellowed.

Sevalis leaped from his seat and seemed about to leap over the table at him. "Captain, you do not know that! You infer it. Inferences are not welcome here. You and your crew studied the array, you have objective data regarding the array, and if you do not give it over to this court, you will only force us to repeat the process ourselves."

Riker glared at the Ryxian a moment. "Fine," he spat. "You just do that."

"No." Gwaheer raised his head. Riker stared at him, disbelieving.

"Do not be uncooperative. Do not adversely affect the negotiations with the Federation. Do not waste my career, and my father's." Gwaheer's cheeks gleamed wetly. "I appreciate what you are trying to do, Will, but I am not willing to see everything I've worked for destroyed -- give them what they want. Your refusal will only go against my intentions."

Zakhad's claws dug deeper into Deanna's arm. Deanna used the pain to keep her anchored in the here and now. Between the procedure she'd just been through and the inquiry, she felt like she might pass out any minute.

Will's next statements, as reluctantly made as they were, made her wish she had.

"The array has been modified -- it's no longer a cloaking array. The units have been altered to broadcast a signal, focused on a very tight beam and pointed out of the system. We haven't been able to decrypt it, but the frequency is the same as the one used to keep the Borg linked with the Collective."



35.



Gwaheer waited for the noise to die down - one or two of the Ryxi burst into angry song. Since the cacophony of outrage wasn't stilled by the examiners, he raised his hands from the tile, sat up on his haunches, and turned to look at his wives.

Deanna stood trembling, with wet cheeks and pain in her eyes. Zakhad clutched Deanna's arm as if needing the anchor. They knew if they tried to approach him, the examiners would object, but they seemed on the verge of rushing forward anyway.

Gwaheer smiled, and inclined his forehead in their direction. The songs swirling darkly in the pit of his stomach wouldn't do. He wanted to leave them with a memory of his love for them, not of his pain in his final moments before leaving them. He chose instead a poem to recite, one of the few he'd read and re-read after Rehia's death.

"Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad."

Deanna's anguished sobbing distracted Zakhad from her own ferocious denial of the sentiment. She refused to allow it -- no empathy necessary to read the fire in 'khad's eyes at the thought that he would die and leave them behind. She glared at him, demanding that he abandon the thought of it, demanding through her own glittering tears.

Gwaheer let his gaze travel across the faces of his friends. Lwaxana was in tears. The others, the admiral included, were grim. <Farewell, dear friends, and friends I never had the chance to make.>

Gwaheer tipped his head back and closed his eyes. The room had gone silent again. He'd run the course of anger, frustration, and pain, and though his body ached to hold his lovely ones, just one more time, he resigned himself to his fate.

His mistake had been in planning thoroughly for everything but the doubts of his own people. Everything about the project had been considered with great care, except this. Oh, he'd planned for it. Where there were secrets, there would be questions. But he hadn't thought of all possible questions, obviously. He'd been too confident in his ability to improvise.

Lonan had finally found her claw-hold in his inability to discuss the project. The elite group of people who knew the necessity of his silence did not, by his choice, include his supervisors in Observations. His other avenue of legal recourse, the security people he had worked with, didn't know enough to continue to trust him in the face of the data Riker had brought back. The Fleeters who knew all had voluntary memory blocks, which of course he could no longer remove in his condition. And, of course, they were the sort of blocks other telepaths wouldn't detect without deep probes.

What was the saying he'd heard from the lips of countless humans looking back at mistakes? Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Though unsure of the importance of the numbers, he knew it meant perfect vision in retrospect. He wished he would have the opportunity to review the choices he'd made that brought him to this point.

"The defendant is remanded to custody pending further investigation," Sevalis droned at last. "The defendant will be taken to have the device removed, prior to the resumption of standard court procedure."

<My epitaph. How disappointing.> Gwaheer wanted to weep. <My child. Deanna. I am so sorry. I wish I could be here to take care of you.> He prepared himself to set off the device, before they could subject him to the indignities to follow.

"You can't!" Zakhad shrieked. She lunged at the guards, who approached to drag Gwaheer from the room. "He's not -- you don't understand, it's not -- " She stopped short of the startled guards and put her hands to her head.

"Zakhad, stop it, don't -- " The guards caught him before he could reach her. Their fingers tightened where they'd already bruised his arms, but that minimal pain didn't matter. Rage blinded him, stole rational thought, and he seized both guards by the backs of their necks and crashed their heads together.

Pandemonium. Shouting. Sevalis called for order while Gwaheer fell on all fours and scrambled to his wife. Zakhad had recovered, and fumbled at her medical kit, which for some reason she'd fastened around her waist. As Gwaheer rose to reason with her, her hand darted up and something hissed at his neck.

"I can't let you die this way," she sobbed, as darkness swirled in to claim him.



36.

As Gwaheer fell limply to the floor, the guards, still reeling a little from their forced head-butting, redirected their attention to Zakhad. She dropped the hypospray and didn't struggle, and hung from their grip on her arms. Deanna stood alone to one side and sobbed uncontrollably.

Picard turned at the sound of the door, his hand tightening on Beverly's anxiously. What else could go wrong? What damning new evidence would this bring?

An old Ryxian, wings more silver than blue, entered the room. His bearing suggested importance in an unswaggering, unpretentious way; he simply was important. And the shouting died down quickly as people recognized him and dropped into subservient crouches, even the We'lassi.

"Let her go," he demanded on seeing Zakhad's plight. The guards complied and backed away, nearly stumbling over their own tails. Zakhad stumbled forward and the man caught her arms, steadying her. "My apologies for my lack of response to your messages. You can be assured that my staff have been reprimanded for their behavior. It was my error. I had intended to educate my new assistant but have been procrastinating -- for too long, unfortunately. I was in a meeting -- what is happening here?"

The Councilman, or so Picard assumed, took his time appraising the situation. He must be accustomed to everyone and everything conforming to his own schedule.

"We are investigating the questionable actions - "

"What actions?"

Sevalis spoke with the care of a man who knew he might be stepping out on a tightrope poised over a chasm. "*Veshad* Nor'alis and *Kreh'talliath na erzu* Lonan were present when the *Kreh'talliath na reil* said something that led them to suspect there was something wrong with the cloaking array. Further investigation led to the discovery that the array is in fact -- "

"Enough. This is over. You will hand me the records of this inquiry and wipe all traces of it from court records. You will issue a statement to that *zeledzak* feeding frenzy outside that the rumors of any such proceedings are unfounded and that -- "

"Respectfully, *Seralkhan,* the law is the law. The examiners have not heard enough evidence to dismiss the charges."

The Councilman's ears swept back as he looked at the speaker. "Lonan zel'Wya?"

She stepped out of the knot of Ryxi standing to one side of the examiners' table and nodded serenely, as if proud to be recognized.

"You act as though the name deserves respect," he said. "I have heard of you. I think you would be dismayed to know from whom, and in what terms. You have pursued your personal vendetta against Gwaheer long enough."

"The array -- "

"Is none of your concern, I assure you. When we need your input, we'll ask you." He watched Zakhad and Deanna tending Gwaheer's hurts; while Deanna aimed a regenerator at the bruises on his arms, Zakhad checked him with her tricorder, then administered what must have been an antidote to the sedative.

Gwaheer came awake with a jolt. Deanna dropped the regenerator and put her hands to the back of his head, closing her eyes.

"But there is evidence that he has tampered with the array," another Ryxian exclaimed.

The Councilman turned, his partially-folded wings blocking Picard's view of Gwaheer and his wives. "Of course there is. Did any of you think to ask the Defense Board about it? Perhaps contact the Fleet members who maintain the array?"

"The matter at hand was -- "

"Spare me, please. I know your procedures. There are times when procedures are not sufficient to the occasion, and I would have thought you would have recognized that."

"I did wonder, and I almost. . . but the law is the law," Sevalis said.

"That 'almost' of yours would have prevented a lot of suffering. If I had not arrived, you would have subjected him to a forced mind scan, in search of clues to lead you to concrete evidence of wrongdoing. He would have killed himself before you began. And then, my friend, you would have had to answer for the destruction of our civilization."

If he'd wanted to get everyone's attention and keep it, that was a good way to do it. Picard let go of Beverly's hand and rubbed his palm on his pants. She glanced at him appreciatively.

"*Seralkhan.*" Gwaheer's rough voice barely carried across the room. The Councilman turned to him, and with his wings out of the way, Picard could see Gwaheer had found his feet.

"No permanent harm done, I hope."

"No harm that hasn't been repaired." Gwaheer's radiant expression as he looked at Deanna said everything Picard needed to know about the state of their bond. Deanna took Zakhad's arm and the two walked across the room to join the ranks of the waiting. Serenity overlaid the fatigue in Deanna's face, and relieved triumph glowed in Zakhad's. They'd succeeded.

Deanna threw herself at Beverly and Picard, an arm around each neck, and whispered "thank you" into their ears. Thankfully, Beverly took over the hug in its entirety. Lwaxana tugged her daughter from Beverly and pulled her behind them.

Gwaheer and the Councilman broke off from a quiet discussion and faced the examiners. "As much as it pains me, Lonan is correct in one thing. The form of the law should be observed so far as possible. Questioning may proceed, but only under the condition that following the dismissal of charges upon conclusion of the questioning, everyone in this room will voluntarily undergo a selective memory purge of this incident. Gwaheer will administer the procedure himself, under my supervision. If there are any here who do not agree to this condition, you will leave the room now."

Nechayev shifted uncomfortably. Picard glanced at her; she was torn, as many were, between learning the truth temporarily or not at all. In the end, all the Starfleet officers and Lwaxana remained. The four examiners, Lonan, Zakhad, and *Veshad* Bari, were the only Ryxi left in the room. All others filed out, glancing back a few times as if they might reconsider.

"Lonan, you may leave also," the Councilman said.

"But *Seralkhan,* I -- "

"I did not ask you."

Gwaheer waited by the door. Lonan crossed the room slowly, lashing her tail angrily, glaring at Gwaheer as she passed him. He locked the door behind her, then returned to the center of the floor. He looked much improved from the pain-wracked, bowed defendant he'd been a short time ago.

"So what is the reason for the transformation of the array?" Sevalis asked.

Gwaheer set to the explanation with the quiet satisfaction of someone who'd done his duty and been vindicated. "Shortly after I instigated the drone recovery program, it became a concern that the Collective would notice so many absences from the hive mind. It occurred to me that making the Borg believe the drones had never left the Collective would be the way to keep them from realizing what we were doing. After long discussions with the Defense Board and the sub-council, it was decided that the project was feasible, and I obtained the support of all concerned to proceed with the alteration of the array, and the construction of similar transmission arrays throughout the Conglomerate. The project, which I call Project Moriarty, is today the only protection we have against the Collective."

Picard knew he was beaming and didn't care. Beverly hugged his arm. Moriarty. That could only mean one thing. His other officers, former and present, shifted around him. They knew. Nechayev glanced at him questioningly.

"But the Defense Board disavows any knowledge of it -- they claim that you have complete responsibility and that all maintenance and alterations of the array are cleared through you. The Fleet says the same, and seems unable to tell us who in their ranks maintains it."

Gwaheer paced back and forth casually as he spoke. "They disavow because they voluntarily submit themselves to memory blocks. They only remember when the blocks are lifted. I am the only one who can lift them. The project requires absolute secrecy, or it will not work. If the Borg learned about any facet of it, they would send ships. All it would take would be for you to tell your family, who tell their friends, who tell their friends -- and eventually it would reach the ears of someone on their way off planet. Any number of scenarios could follow. The rumor would certainly spread."

"You don't trust -- "

"Trust who? The populace? The sub-council? It only takes one person making one careless remark to bring the whole project to a halt." Gwaheer stopped pacing within a wing length of Picard, but faced the examiners. "One inadvertent slip would ruin it -- not immediately, perhaps not within the year, but eventually it could reach the Collective. The only people who know, the only ones who live with day to day awareness of the project, never leave Tannick. And if they do, they come to me or one of the other participating telepaths and have it blocked or completely wiped from their memory, depending on their destination."

"I'm unclear about the purpose of this project," one of the examiners asked. They seemed willing to abandon protocol; Sevalis had instructed them in the beginning that he was the only one who could pose questions.

"Our immediate goal was to prevent Borg knowledge of the recovery operation. Our long-term goal is complete dissolution of the Collective, after recovery of every individual possible. To that end, the Borg now believe Tannick is a part of their Collective. We virtually manufacture cubes and conduct Borg business, while in reality we are as you have seen. The members of the Conglomerate have been added to our virtual Collective, making such things as cloaking arrays unnecessary."

Nechayev asked, "How is this possible, and isn't the complete destruction of a race against your prime directive? Wouldn't building up defenses to a point that the Borg would no longer attack be sufficient?" Picard nearly answered that one himself. Like so many other people, Nechayev still didn't comprehend the determination of the Collective to assimilate and grow.

"Admiral, I know that you and the delegates have not received information vital to your understanding of this. If the court will permit, I will explain this briefly."

"I would appreciate further explanation, as well," Sevalis said.

Gwaheer turned to the admiral and took a few steps closer. "The Borg are the product of a miscalculation by a greedy and small-minded race. The creation of the Collective was, in fact, an accident. And realize too that Borg activity could conceivably spread to other galaxies, if they are left unchecked. The options we have are to hide from them, destroy them or to rescue them from themselves. Hiding from them is only delaying the inevitable. Since it is impossible to destroy them, I instigated the recovery program. Many drones die upon separation, many remain traumatized and never heal -- but better that than being forced to kill and assimilate millions of innocents."

"Why do you believe it's impossible to destroy the Borg?" Nechayev asked. "This virtual Collective -- it can't possibly work. You can't possibly keep up with the expansion of the Borg."

Gwaheer tucked his chin and took on a more patient tone. "We must keep up. As I told you, hiding isn't possible. Destroying them with your current Fleet, or even the combined forces of the Conglomerate and the Federation, is impossible. The Collective is too *large.* You have no idea of the immensity of it. And add to that what they learn with every race they assimilate. They discriminate -- not all races are worthy of joining their 'perfection.' The only way the Borg grow is to assimilate those with superior technology. And, I can assure you, the only thing saving you humans from the Borg is that they are perfectly aware of your potential, and await the development of it. Otherwise they would have already sent fleets of cubes to process the inhabitants of the Federation."

"What about the attacks we've already suffered?" Nechayev blurted. "Are you saying that wasn't an assimilation attempt? They killed thousands, destroyed most of our Fleet -- it took almost everything we had to turn them back!"

Gwaheer's ears took cynical angles. "Admiral, in evolution, what is it that drives a species toward the next step? Competition. The threat of extinction. They flirted with you, your fleet, your Federation, in the attempt to drive you forward. You weren't advancing fast enough for their liking. You were all busy exploring and having your little wars with peoples who had similar technologies, and weren't making such rapid progress as you were before. The Borg threw down a gauntlet. They're waiting for you to pick it up and throw it back, because when you do, they'll know you're worth assimilating completely. They've triggered that famous fight-or-flight mechanism, and they're waiting for the next step. They know humanity in particular is capable of some amazing leaps of inventive genius, and they want the next leap. We Ryxi have seen them do it before -- intimidate a race, send them into a panicked spurt of development, and acquire their technology. They may not be creative, Admiral, but the Borg are not stupid."

Picard couldn't remember seeing Nechayev this shocked before. She turned to Picard. "Did you know this?"

"He wouldn't," Gwaheer said. "Not all information is available to the entire Collective. Not even to Locutus."

"What do you know about Locutus?" Nechayev exclaimed.

"I was there. The *Enterprise* was in my jurisdiction, and I always go personally when subjects encounter the Borg. Jean-Luc's recovery was what gave me the impetus to start the reclamation project, and Jean-Luc's crew were the originators of the idea to create a virtual Collective." Gwaheer smiled in amusement. "You could say, Admiral Nechayev, that the eventual destruction of the Borg will be due entirely to the innovations of Captain Picard and his officers. I merely borrowed ideas from them. Riker insisted on reclaiming Picard, when it flew in the face of standard operating procedure, and won him back. That led to my reclamation of drones. When the problem of how to keep the Borg unaware of drone reclamation, I remembered the difficulty the *Enterprise* crew had when a holodeck character became self-aware, and their solution to that -- creating a virtual galaxy for Moriarty to explore in -- made sense, given what we knew of the nature of the Collective."

Gwaheer paused, glanced at the examiners and Bari, then at Regorran, and continued. "And Admiral, your suspicion of Jean-Luc is completely unfounded."

Nechayev gaped. "Suspicion? Captain Picard -- "

" -- has an agent from Section 31 aboard his ship, and has had one aboard since he was rescued from the Collective. You think he may still compromise Federation security somehow, which is why you ordered his ship to remain on patrol elsewhere when the Borg attacked Sector 001. You don't realize the folly of that -- you no longer have any security from the Borg. They know everything they care to know about you, and it isn't Jean-Luc's doing."

"There is no such thing as Section -- "

"Don't insult my intelligence, Admiral," Gwaheer exclaimed, ears flattened and tail lashing. "Don't deny what I've seen with my own eyes. Since this is likely as private a chance as I'm going to get, I will tell you now that one of the conditions to any alliance with the Conglomerate will be the immediate disassembly of Section 31 laboratories devoted to finding methods of using Borg technology in Starfleet."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Officially, you probably have to say that. Unofficially, I can promise you that unless you abandon that research as soon as possible, the Federation will never become part of Project Moriarty. The project will not be exposed to the dangers of assimilation. Your research exposes you to assimilation. We have seen other races assimilated by accident while studying Borg technology. The project will expand in other directions and exclude you."

Red-faced, Nechayev took a step forward, her right hand fisted. "This was not mentioned -- "

"Because Lonan doesn't know about the project. Because the ambassadors don't know. No one knows, Admiral -- that's the whole reason we are here today. No one *can* know about the project. It exists with the support of the Conglomerate, to protect the Conglomerate, but the populace is ignorant of it. All personnel supporting it -- engineers, doctors, counselors, those in the Fleet and security, those on the sub-council, clerical staff -- all of them swear oaths to reveal nothing while in my employ. All of them submit voluntarily to memory purges when they leave the project. When you leave here, Admiral, you will remember nothing about it. You agreed to that when you remained in the room."

"You can't make such demands of Starfleet without explanations! You can't ask us to abandon the research for no reason."

"You will abandon it, for the sake of the treaty, because we have information you will want to know about the Borg. If you do not -- well, your determination to ignore our advice will eventually cause your downfall. But humanity will go on, never fear. We have reclaimed Federation citizens to return -- if they know the Federation will not become an ally of the Conglomerate, many will decide to stay. They've already been assimilated once, and they know at least that the Conglomerate is successfully avoiding assimilation. Many of them will assume the Federation will be a lost cause without the Conglomerate's help."

Picard knew what he was doing -- his condescension, his assumption of the Federation's fate, were intended to drive home to Nechayev the seriousness of the situation. Jean-Luc glanced at Riker; he'd detected the same grim truth in Gwaheer's words. Riker's eyes were full of amazement, dread and regret.

Nechayev remained focused on the matters she could address. "How much information on the Borg do you have?"

Gwaheer's smile turned mercenary. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Nechayev turned her glare on Picard. "He can't know much more than we do."

Picard glared back at her. "He does. How long have you been watching me, Admiral? How long have you not trusted me?"

"Jean-Luc, you can't take his word on that."

"Someone has been going through my ready room. Someone has been reading my logs. I thought at first it was the Ryxi."

"We don't touch anything," Gwaheer said. "No need for us to read logs or go through your files. We observe what subjects do, not invade privacy. Which is why we know one of your crewmen has been doing so."

"Gwaheer," Regorran said. "You are traveling further afield. May we end this?"

"My apologies, *Seralkhan.*" He approached the examiners again.

The examiners stirred. They'd been absorbed in the drama between the admiral and Gwaheer. Sevalis pondered Gwaheer for a moment, then asked, "Why did you not want to reveal this in court, if you could have purged our memories so easily? Given what you are telling us, we would have been willing -- "

"You would have claimed I was making it all up. Just as I was pretending to have some connection to *Seralkhan* Regorran, and just as all my emotional displays, my loyalty to some 'fictitious' orders, were all nothing but an act, so would my explanation have been. You would have all gone home and laughed about it, and the story would spread, and soon it would go offworld, and eventually reach the Collective. And I would still have died. Then you would likely have investigated further, to uncover any co-conspirators, and you might have even found a few who had the same story. And since so few people know of the project, the array would have been converted back to its original function -- and a gap would have shown up in the hive mind. A cube would investigate. You would all be worse than dead."

Gwaheer approached the examiners with hands held out. "You see, I have thought of so many contingencies, anticipated so many ways that the project could fail, yet I failed to anticipate accurately one thing -- that so many friends would desert me the minute someone asked me a question I could not answer."

Regorran chuckled and pointed his chin at Gwaheer. "You couldn't predict that I would not prepare my new assistant for the unlikely event that your lovely one would arrive in my offices threatening to rip her throat out if she didn't contact me immediately."

Gwaheer laid his ears back and stared at Zakhad; she covered her face with her hands, then flipped both wings in front of her.

"Zakhad knew you were going to die," Picard said. "She knew you would kill yourself."

"She knew, because she implanted the device at the base of my skull herself. Zakhad is one of the few who is aware of the scope of Project Moriarty. Because she has to know, because of such incidents as the one that brought us here, she asked me to weave a web of near-undetectable blocks to keep her from inadvertently mentioning anything that might give the project away. When she is probed telepathically, all a telepath will find -- "

" -- is a grocery list," Riker put in. "Like Gammin did. And she experienced pain earlier when she tried to confess to them to keep them from taking you away."

"And she refused to leave the ship when we were at *Jhegwa,*" Deanna exclaimed. "Because there was a minimal but present risk of assimilation, due to the presence of untreated drones. That's why she stopped working in the rehabilitation center."

"That, and I did want to spend time with Guinan," Zakhad said, returning her wings to their normal positions.

Sevalis' ears pointed at the ceiling. "You would have committed suicide rather than attempt to explain your situation to the telepaths examining you?"

"You overestimate people, Examiner. If I were examining a fellow telepath, and such a story as mine came out, I would suspect at once exactly what you suspected when I demanded the *Seralkhan*'s presence -- that it was a diversion. As paranoid as we Ryxi can be about the Borg," Gwaheer flashed the examiner one of his reassuring smiles, "who would imagine one of us would undertake such a massive, distasteful project? Yes, I would have chosen suicide. There would be several of my compatriots who, upon hearing of my death, would be able to resume where I left off. I've taken precautions within precautions to ensure the continuation of the project. So long as nothing I do or say betrays it, my death will not end it."

Riker crossed his arms. "Your brother knows, doesn't he?"

"Sakhara, you mean?" Gwaheer smiled sadly. "He works with the rehabilitation center at *Jhegwa,* so I cannot tell him anything. He gets angry with me at times because I will not tell him some of the secrets he knows I'm keeping from him, but he trusts me."

"The scope of this project must be immense," Picard mused aloud. "How did you manage to begin it, without detection?"

"Our simulation began with a single cube apprehended just outside Conglomerate boundaries. They were on their way to assimilate one of the Conglomerate worlds, and so we substituted. Caught up with them when the cube was in sleep mode, instead of another firefight, and took all of them. Took apart the cube after uploading that branch of the hive mind into our specially-built banks of computers, in which the assimilation proceeded right on schedule. We were in the same phase you are now -- the Borg knew where we were, and waited for us to evolve. As more worlds were assimilated, fewer cubes came. The virtual Unamatrix 15 was built by the virtual colonies of Borg, and now when instructions come down to assimilate another world, there is no need to rendezvous with a cube sent by the Borg -- a virtual cube from our project does the work. Whenever an actual cube comes through our space, we tap into the virtual Collective and find out their orders."

He paused, uncertain of how they would take the rest of the explanation, Picard guessed. "And if their objective is not in Conglomerate space, you allow it to pass through to the Alpha Quadrant. It would be the only way to prevent detection of your project. And you are unable to send reinforcements to help others in battling them, because the Borg would recognize your ships, or assimilate them, and would know that the assimilation of Tannick is a hoax."

Gwaheer smiled in grim appreciation. "The ramifications the undertaking of the project has on us are great, but the potential if we succeed. . . ."

"But what if the Collective commands Unamatrix 15 to assimilate a Federation world?" Picard asked.

"Then I borrow upon my status as *Kreh'talliath* and upload part of the Observations database. I am not in Observations for my health," Gwaheer said acerbically. "I would have quit but for the project. There are too many advantages to having a career that so easily supports Project Moriarty. About a dozen Federation and Romulan worlds are already part of the project. But the Borg, if true to pattern, will send ships from Unamatrix Two to assimilate most of the Federation."

"The Romulans?" Nechayev exclaimed.

"It's only humanitarian to include them, don't you think? Even if they are suffering from a massive case of paranoia." Gwaheer sniffed. "They make the Ryxi seem complacent. Hard to believe they were once Vulcans. . . but I digress."

Picard heard a familiar chitter. Cocking one ear forward, Gwaheer looked at Zakhad. She glanced down and unfastened his wrist unit from her arm, and tossed it to him.

He punched a button. "Yes?"

"We found them. Clear case. They know who took them. Zora's house, locked in a room."

"Call *Kreh'kahn* Deyloda." Gwaheer disconnected and turned, addressing Bari. "*Veshad,* my faithful agents have found Tessel and Bayator. I suspect this will not be your only inquiry this week."

Bari's claws tip-tapped on the floor as she came around the examiners' table. "I am sorry, Gwaheer -- "

"As I am," Gwaheer said. "Your attention to the case of the missing ambassadors would be appreciated. I suspect you can find Lonan lurking in the halls, and she will know where you can find Zora, the pretender. And I'd willingly gamble last year's salary that both are equally guilty."

Bari tucked her chin. "I am truly sorry that I doubted. I did not wait for all the facts. It won't happen again."

"Misunderstandings do happen from time to time."

"Yes, well, at least it's come to nothing. I can't imagine how any of us could have suspected you of dereliction of duty. And it's always puzzled me, why do you have the responsibility of seeing that the cloaking array is maintained? Suggesting modifications, yes, but maintenance? Surely that's a matter for security and the Fleet."

"It's not a burden. I appreciate the variety." Gwaheer watched her leave with a pleasant, bland expression.

"Dereliction of duty?" Regorran echoed.

"It's close enough to the truth. I didn't want to plant a completely fabricated story in her memory. Are there any more questions?" Gwaheer turned to the examiners yet again.

The four Ryxi looked at each other solemnly. Sevalis rose, picked up his padd, and brought it to Gwaheer. He waited while Gwaheer read, then took it back and made a few adjustments. "I've entered the conclusion -- not enough evidence to pursue further investigation."

"Thank you," Gwaheer said. "I'm sorry this was such a lengthy waste of time."

"Legal processes are as they are for a reason," Sevalis said. "Fair weather, *Kreh'talliath.*"

Gwaheer nodded, and the four marched from the room.

"You can do it that quickly?" Regorran asked.

"Telepaths don't have to work to find what a non-telepath wants to keep secret. The very idea that someone can read those thoughts makes them immediately think of what they want to hide. It's like they're wearing it here." Gwaheer gestured at his forehead. "It takes a few seconds to remove the memories and replace them, because they are still so close to the surface."

Regorran smiled. "I'll remember that, the next time I meet an offworld telepath. Is there anything that could be done to prevent myself from thinking about things I don't want them to know?"

"Singing worked for me, when they had me blocked."

The Councilman turned toward the door. "You can handle these gentlefolk without me to intimidate them into submission, I imagine. 'Hiri, don't do this again. I'm too old to be frightened this way. My staff made Zakhad sound like a lunatic, and the press outside are already claiming you've been taken off to prison."

"I'll be careful."

"I've heard that before. Be *more* careful." Regorran left the room.

A flurry of movement distracted all of them. Lwaxana, her bright blue dress flowing, scurried around the officers and threw her arms around Gwaheer's neck.

"Oh, really," Gwaheer said bemusedly.

"I'm so glad you weren't convicted of anything," Lwaxana bubbled, standing back. "I would have hated visiting you in prison."

Gwaheer's tolerant, affectionate smile amused Picard. Zakhad went forward and pressed her forehead to Gwaheer's affectionately, then distracted Lwaxana with a suggestion that they return to the house and start dinner. The easy interplay between the two women as they left made Picard wonder how many times Lwaxana had been to see Gwaheer and his wife.

Gwaheer waited until they were gone. "If the rest of you would like to meet at my house, I'd be happy to be your host for dinner. I'm sorry this has been such a waste of time, but I appreciate your support."

Nechayev smiled as if nothing of import had taken place. "I'd like to do that. Thank you, Gwaheer. I must say, I'm glad our unfortunate initial suspicions turned out to be groundless." The admiral turned and left without looking at her subordinates.

"I've added a slight impulse to get them out the door," Gwaheer said. He was showing weariness now. "Geordi, the information you've acquired on the array has to be purged from any logs."

"That should be simple," Geordi said. "So I get a rain check on the memory wipe?"

"For now." Gwaheer smiled at the engineer. "Can I trust you?"

"I won't say a word to anyone. See you at the house when I'm done."

"I'll go with him," Riker said. "I have to authorize whatever he does. We used a shuttle from the *Rampage.* Gwaheer, I'm sorry about all this."

"It's a moot point, Captain, and you need not explain it to me. I've suspected all along what might be at the root of your behavior. And your defense of me was enough of an apology in itself. I appreciate the efforts you put forth to come to my aid."

Riker nodded, then stuck out a hand. As Gwaheer shook it, both of them smiled. With a glance at Deanna, Riker joined Geordi and the two strode out.

Beverly smiled nervously when Gwaheer turned to her.

"Why are you nervous, Beverly?"

She blinked and looked confused. "I don't know. Why are we still here?"

"We'll be along in a moment." At Gwaheer's suggestion, she wandered out, hesitating at the door.

"I dislike doing that, but the anticipation of the purge actually makes it worse," Gwaheer said. "And it is necessary. Jean-Luc, for you, I offer the choice. If you wish to remember what you know, I will forgo the procedure. You of all people are owed the knowledge of what your experience has brought about."

Picard stared at him. When he could finally speak, he said, "You would trust me with that."

One ear back, the other forward, Gwaheer bowed his head -- tilted his forehead in that affectionate way of the Ryxi, Picard realized. "You know what it's like to be forced to keep secrets from your closest friends. It's been doubly difficult to keep this from you, when the entire project would not exist without you. I have wanted to tell you these things since the night we met in Deanna's quarters."

Picard looked at Deanna. She was as tired as her husband, but smiling. "Will you take Deanna's memories of this from her?"

"I want him to do it, Jean-Luc. I couldn't live with myself if I ever betrayed this to anyone, even inadvertently." She regarded Gwaheer with luminous eyes. "Now, please, before I change my mind."

Picard stepped aside and looked at the floor, but couldn't resist peeking as the two stepped together. Gwaheer held her face in his hands for a moment, then kissed her on the forehead. "Go home, *kahzan'kahliu.*"

She didn't even look back at them.

"It's truly frightening what you can do," Picard said. "Just a thought, just a suggestion, and they follow along."

"Makes you glad we have ethics, doesn't it?" Gwaheer sighed. "But these were willing participants, remember. Resistance isn't futile when it comes to telepathy. And Deanna is more than an empath, Jean-Luc -- you've had someone alongside you all along who's capable of more than simply sensing emotions."

"But she's never shown more than empathy. And empathy's been enough," Picard said.

"She underestimates herself. I'll have to see that she apprentices herself to Sakhara. She broke through the blocks they put in my mind."

Jean-Luc blinked, then chuckled. "Sheer force of will, Gwaheer. She was that determined. She had to be -- pregnant? Would that have really prevented them?"

"They would have postponed pending further evidence, if Riker hadn't showed up. Zakhad was counting on the stay to give her time to find Regorran at home later today."

"I guess I should congratulate you on your impending fatherhood."

"That may be premature. Deanna is afraid it won't last. I didn't catch all the details, but apparently they were in such a rush, they couldn't adequately prepare her." Gwaheer sighed, then smiled wistfully. "But it would be nice if it works."

"You risked a lot when you married her," Jean-Luc said. "A Starfleet officer, an empath, and you have so much to hide. What would you do if it doesn't work out between the Federation and the Conglomerate?"

Sadness deepened the weary lines in Gwaheer's face. "That would be up to Deanna. She would have to give up all ties to the Federation, or -- "

"I would be sorry to see her go," Jean-Luc said softly. "But I'm certain that would be her decision. Starfleet isn't what it once was. The war was difficult for her."

Gwaheer's gratitude for the sentiment showed in his eyes. "Shall we join the others? Have you decided?"

"It's very tempting, Gwaheer. You don't know how much. But I don't care for the risk. We could confront the Borg again, between now and the implementation of Project Moriarty in the Federation -- Moriarty. I never once imagined anything would come of that. Amazing." Picard tugged at his uniform automatically. "No, it really would be best if you took the memories of the project from me."

"Would you like to live with the knowledge for a while, at least? Until the *Enterprise* leaves orbit?"

Picard's smile widened. "Yes. I believe I would. And -- do you suppose. . . I've wondered what it's like, this teleporting you can do."

"I won't force you to land on any mountains, Jean-Luc. I'm far too tired for word games." Gwaheer held out his hand. "How do you react to disorientation in free fall?"

"Not very much."

Picard took his hand, and suddenly the room swept past them. Their surroundings blurred, and the sensation of passing through solid objects rapidly made his stomach lurch. Then they were standing on the open place in front of Gwaheer's house.

And Worf charged out at them, nostrils flared, snarling. He stopped a second later. "Captain! Gwaheer," he greeted gruffly.

"It's a pleasure to see you, too," Gwaheer said, returning to his usual laconic humor.

"I have been waiting for you here all day. I came initially to find out what was going on, but no one was here but looters. I stayed to defend your home in your absence."

Picard stared at the Klingon. Gwaheer laughed, louder and freer than Jean-Luc had ever heard him do, and clouted Worf on the shoulder. "Thank you, my friend."

They went inside to find Zakhad and Lwaxana flitting about with refreshments. The admiral sat at the table with Beverly and a handful of strangers who looked human. Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow; the strangers were dressed simply, and one woman with an elegant, serene bearing glanced up at him curiously.

"Captain Picard," Admiral Nechayev exclaimed. "Gwaheer -- why didn't you mention the Ba'ku were here?"



37.



Evenings were the hardest.

Gwaheer stood in his front door and looked up at the sky, coiling his tail in lazy loops behind him, and pondered his past, and present. Deanna's absences had proved harder than he'd imagined. Two long weeks had passed, busy ones, but nonetheless difficult -- the bond helped, but it also hurt to sense her there, so present and yet so unreachable.

He'd returned in part to his old schedule. Those days and nights of toil toward goals that seemed unattainable. For years, his semi-routine had gone on, day in and day out, with the only variances being the faces and particulars of the problems. Put in his time at the office in Observations, shuffle agent assignments, review reports, handle personnel difficulties, maintain the array. Every six days, go to the rehabilitation facility, visit Lou'dar, make the rounds of the ships and maintain the connections that allowed him to ask favors of pilots. Infrequently, make the rounds of Observation Headquarters and speak to his fellow *Kreh'talliath'lan.* Make friendly with the *Veshad'lan.* Speak of wine and song and wives with Deyloda.

Evenings should have been his time to relax. Zakhad's sweet presence helped; skies knew that without her, he would have succumbed decades ago. He always felt a quiet sadness when he saw that she knew his despair. She deserved better than a husband who still laughed, still loved, but who had taken the weight of the quadrant on his shoulders. Too often, he brought work home with him, or it pursued him through the comm links.

Project Moriarty was far too large a load to carry. He remembered hours spent arguing over feasibility, when that wasn't even the point - what else could they do? Ignore the Borg and hope they went away? Some had even argued that there was no point in trying to do anything. Live for today, don't worry about tomorrow - we're all going to die someday anyway.

He remembered confronting one particular group who seemed unanimous in that attitude. He'd lost his temper and shouted poetry at them.



*Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men the last wave by crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight
And learn too late they grieved it on its way
Do not go gentle into that good night.*



They hadn't understood it; the human culture was alien to them, and the metaphors too puzzling. Not that it mattered. He'd gone over their heads the next day, to their superiors, and gone on singing the sun in flight while raging against the dying. He would never go gently. Neither he, nor those who trod the bridges of ships named *Enterprise.*

So many years, so many decades, of feeling estranged from and frustrated by his own people. He felt such a close kinship with the people he'd observed, especially certain starship captains, who at times held out against even their own oaths to Starfleet for the sake of principles that superceded regulations and laws of man. Yet the connection to home, to clan, to friends and family, could never be severed. He wavered between despairing and falling back to a simpler life of career and family, and the service of the higher goal of self-sacrifice for the salvation of the future. Most days, he went about his assumed duties with determination; some days, he did so only because Zakhad would ask, and would be sad if he failed.

Though much had been done, there was an incalculable amount of work to do yet. He doubted he would see the dissolution of the Collective in his lifetime. He'd learned how massive the task was early in the project -- he'd nearly given up then. The staggering number of races assimilated and the head count of drones -- those numbers had to be wiped from the minds of those who'd heard it, and kept out of the databanks. If it were widely known, the truth of it would dissuade the majority of his staff and helpers.

Secrets upon secrets. Some days, he wanted to wipe out his own ability to manipulate the minds of others, tell all to the first person he saw, and disappear from the universe. Find a place where the winds blew gently and the sun shone kindly, where there were no Borg.

Then he would think of Rehia, and of the possibility that Zakhad, and everyone he loved, might suffer the same end as his first wife. He would rise, and he would go out into the day, and toil onward.

But then Lwaxana had sent him to deliver flowers, and events had spun out to amazing conclusions, the most satisfying of which had been Deanna. Ridding himself of Lonan at last ran second only to his new wife.

"I'm ready," Zakhad exclaimed, interrupting his journey into the past. He
turned as she approached, wearing her medkit around her waist. Purring, she
nuzzled up to him. He hesitated for bearings, then "reached" for Deanna's
quarters and "pulled."

She was waiting for them. While Deanna clung to his neck and kissed him, Zakhad scanned her. Deanna laughed as she turned to look at her fellow wife. "I'm fine. Beverly just checked me this morning."

Gwaheer ignored their squabbling and purred, arms around her, inhaling the unique fragrance of Deanna, seven months pregnant and happy to see him.

"We should be going. You're already late," Deanna said, tugging his ear. "Although I have a more extensive welcome planned for you later. Two weeks is too long. I know you've been busy and Zakhad wants you to avoid teleportation sickness, but two weeks?"

"I am sorry, *kahzan'kahliu.* There were many urgent matters -- "

"I don't care." She lost some of her playful obstinance. "Actually, I'm thinking of quitting Starfleet."

"You've been talking about that since we knew about the baby." After the first, too-hasty attempt at insemination hadn't taken, Deanna had insisted on a second try. Which, thanks to Zakhad's insistence that the specialist foresee and counter every possible risk, had worked. He had to admire her tenacity, her determined adherence to the regimen of diet and supplements prescribed by the specialist.

Deanna tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed her forehead to his. "You can accuse me of being hormonal all you like, but I want to be a mother. After babysitting for Sakhara, I already know this ship is the wrong place for this child. And though I know you would take me home often, it wouldn't be enough to just visit him there. It already hurts like hell to miss you -- I couldn't stand missing you and the baby."

"I'm not going to argue with you, lovely one." Gwaheer kissed her hair. "I want you home, too. My assignment is changing. I only require that you be positive that leaving your career in Starfleet is what you really wish to do. But we can talk about that later. We mustn't keep them waiting any longer."

"He's healthy," Zakhad said.

"He has to be, he's checked every few hours by two of the best doctors around," Deanna said.

Zakhad placed a palm over Deanna's belly, rubbing in circles, wrinkling the thin green material of Deanna's dress. "His head. Here."

Gwaheer touched the spot, and Deanna dropped her hand to her stomach out of reflex. They laughed; all they could feel was each other's hands. "A very attentive set of parents," Gwaheer said. "Let's go to dinner."

He walked between them, listening to them chat happily about family gossip and Deanna's job. He could pinpoint the moment his continued downward-turning mood came to Deanna's attention. A moment after that, she took his hand. It was a simple acknowledgment of it; she wouldn't ask, wouldn't nag. She never did. She simply trusted him, believed that he would tell her if he could and left it at that. The hardest thing he'd done that fateful day when he'd experienced the relief of telling all to a roomful of people had been removing the memories of his confession from his *kahzan'kahliu*'s mind.

Neither would Zakhad, though she, too, knew what was happening, even without benefit of a bond. Her gleeful account of Tormal's latest obsession, mastering the bat'leth, faltered; she slipped her fingers between his and continued as if nothing were wrong. She understood his mood, as Deanna didn't. She accepted it with the practiced tolerance she'd developed over the last century. She understood that the project loomed over him like a dark, brooding monster, his dream and his nightmare, his highest achievement and his most onerous, dreaded duty.

The songs he knew and the ones yet unsung stirred in his gut, the darkest of them, the most wistful of them, and he indulged in a few verses in a private corner of his mind.

*Spend all your time waiting for that second chance
For the break that will make it OK
There's always some reason to feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction or a beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
Let me be empty and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of the Angel far away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you feel
You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the Angel; may you find some comfort here

So tired of the straight line, and everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
The storm keeps on twisting, you keep on building the lies
That make up for all that you lack

It don't make no difference, escape one last time
It's easier to believe
In this sweet madness, oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees

In the arms of the Angel far away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you feel
You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the Angel; may you find some comfort here
In the arms of the Angel; may you find some comfort here*

It wasn't good enough. Simply thinking about it wouldn't purge the heaviness. He'd just have to cope, as usual, and make it through dinner, until he could fall into the arms of the angel who carried his child. He tried to bring himself up by thinking about the child, but that wasn't enough, either.

Ten Forward was quiet; early for the dinner hour, he realized. Guinan nodded to them and left the bar as he and Zakhad settled at their usual table, placed away from the others for wing space and equipped with species-appropriate seating. Jean-Luc and Beverly waited there for them.

Guinan came to take orders as they settled in their seats. "Let me guess, dessert first?"

"Not tonight, thank you." Deanna ordered for the three of them; she already knew what Gwaheer wanted, and Zakhad trusted her judgement. Gwaheer's tail found Deanna's ankle from across the table. She rubbed her feet together, rolling his tail between them, and smiled at their friends.

"I have some good news I thought you would like to hear," Gwaheer said quietly after Guinan had left.

Jean-Luc exchanged glances with Beverly, and he sensed Deanna's eager curiosity. "You've gotten married again?" Beverly asked, grinning.

"Oh, no. There's no more room in the house. Deanna's decided to convert the third bedroom into a guest room for her mother, after all." It was a running joke between them, and Gwaheer indulged because Beverly was finally losing whatever uneasiness she'd had about Deanna and polygamy.

"Is this about Lonan?"

"Good guess, Jean-Luc. The trial is finally ended, and the facts released -- still classified, you understand, but *Veshad* Bari took great pleasure in gifting me with the details. She trusts that I won't release them to the public at large. And since I believe you would refrain from doing that as well, I thought I would tell you. News this sweet must be shared."

"I hope they threw the book at her," Beverly muttered. Zakhad frowned at the unknown figure of speech, but Gwaheer didn't stop to explain.

"She was convicted of conspiracy and of breaking a long list of regulations, including her premature initiation of first contact with the Federation. She also had to answer for the kidnaping of Tessel and Bayator, as did Zora. And her other conspirator was Dwo, the man who tampered with Steichen, who was in turn manipulated by Gammin."

"Gammin was in the conspiracy with her?" Deanna exclaimed. "I knew Will had asked for another counselor shortly after the *Rampage* left Tannick, but I wasn't aware Raynor had been part of Lonan's scheme."

"They chose him because he was easily manipulated. His career in Starfleet began shortly after the loss of his wife to the Borg. She'd been off planet for a conference, and the ship she was on was little more than a pause in the journey of a Borg ship bound for Earth. Lonan met Mrs. Gammin on Tannick, after we'd rehabilitated her, and gained her confidence by promising to reunite her with her husband. Alixia Gammin wasn't Betazoid, or she might have detected Lonan's ulterior motives. Lonan sent Dwo to find Raynor and recruit him with promises of Alixia's return in exchange for his cooperation."

"Was part of Gammin's end of the deal to convince Will that you weren't trustworthy?" Jean-Luc exclaimed.

"Not at first. He altered Dwo's memories to implicate me, and thought that was all he would have to do. When he understood more of what was happening, when he received orders from Nechayev to examine Steichen, his reaction was similar to Will's -- frustration. He was forced to play along, and say nothing of what he knew. What was initially a simple slip of telepathic ethics in return for his wife became an ongoing slavery to blackmail. But he wanted his wife back that badly."

Gwaheer shook his head, thinking about the convoluted details of it all. "His assignment to the *Rampage* was no coincidence. The *Rampage* would be the ship traveling closest to the *Enterprise*'s assigned tour of duty, so it was the one Lonan chose. Dwo planted suggestions in the minds of key personnel at Starfleet Command and created Gammin as an officer. He didn't really have the experience for a post like ship's counselor. When we finally extradited him, he had already given up Starfleet and any hope of getting his wife back. Due to the nature of Lonan's enlistment of him, and our empathy for anyone who's suffered because of the Borg, we gave his wife back and let him go home after he testified against Lonan."

"How wonderful," Deanna exclaimed.

Gwaheer raised an ear quizzically. "I thought you never liked the man."

"He was behaving badly under bad circumstances. You can't blame him for trying so hard to get his wife back, even if his efforts were misguided."

"Why would Lonan want to recruit an offworlder to do what another telepath could do?" Beverly asked. "She risked a lot to do that."

"Who else would be so open to blackmail? There are no Ryxi survivors of the Borg, and she couldn't bribe that many people; Zora and Dwo were all she could afford. In addition to being expensive, Dwo was also demanding promotions. She could only do so much internal manipulation without prompting suspicion. And she believed that if an offworld telepath altered Dwo's memories, the Ryxi telepaths wouldn't be able to tell he'd been altered. More misunderstandings by a non-telepath -- although we do recognize the work of a Ryxi from that of a non-Ryxi, we still recognize something's been done. It may take more examination, but we do."

"So Gammin was in it, and Zora, and Dwo," Picard said. "And they did all that damage."

"There were a few others like Lonan, only less motivated. One can't actively oppose the status quo without making a few enemies." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. They were too true to be anything but bitter. Enemies, made in pursuit of furthering the madness of his secret project.

"I still do not believe how quickly the entire situation blew itself out of proportion. How Lonan managed to spread such random rumors, and finally make one stick -- one that made them put you on trial." Jean-Luc looked up. Guinan came and placed their plates before them one by one, giving Gwaheer a needed respite from the explanations.

There were so many things he wished he could tell them. So many things he hated carrying alone. He glanced at Zakhad, the only one who knew, the only one who could ever know, the seriousness and scope what he planned to do next.

It was a good thing that Lonan was out of the way now.

"Jean-Luc, I have an offer to make you -- actually, both of you," he said, glancing at Beverly with a smile. "One I hope you won't refuse."

Jean-Luc stared at him, then looked up again as Guinan returned to pour wine in their glasses. He waited until she left. "What offer is this?"

"After many months of limbo, I've finally been reassigned. *Kreh'talliath na lei'sonn.* To you, the Delta Quadrant. I've finally argued them into beginning a survey of the area, after so many centuries of avoiding it. I've finally swayed them to begin the long journey home."

"Home?" Deanna echoed.

"It was our home, centuries ago. Our territory. Though our homeworld is no longer there, we still look back to the memories now distant. We still sing about it. One of the few songs that we consider unalterable is about it." Gwaheer hummed a few bars, then sang quietly:

*When the evening falls and the daylight is fading,
from within me calls - could it be I am sleeping?
For a moment I stray, then it holds me completely
close to home - I cannot say
close to home - feeling so far away.

As I walk in the room, there before me a shadow
from another world, where no other can follow.
Carry me to my own, to where I can cross over
close to home - I cannot say
close to home - feeling so far away.

Forever searching, never right,
I am lost in oceans of night.
Forever hoping I can find memories,
Those memories I left behind.

Even though I leave will I go on believing
that this time is real - am I lost in this feeling?
Like a child passing through, never knowing the reason.
I am home - I know the way.
I am home - feeling oh, so far away.*

In the pause that followed, as he tried to recover from the added melancholy of the song, Zakhad picked up where he'd left off. "It was written by one of the original refugees who came to Tannick. We did not understand the Borg's motives at the time. We thought they tried to destroy us, and we spent a century in panicked flight through the stars, searching desperately. We had no transwarp then to shorten the journey. We sang that song, over and over, when we could not find other words to express our sorrows. For months after landfall, the refugees sang the song, because it expressed what they were still unable to sing in their own words. We were home, but we were not home."

"Complete healing can only happen after we Ryxi face our past," Gwaheer said. "No matter how unpleasant. We have not returned to the Delta Quadrant. Facing the tragedy of our past, rather than singing sad songs once a year on a holiday, for which our children are forgetting the reason, will help us prepare for the future."

"Congratulations on your assignment," Picard said. "But. . . I'm a little confused. You're not offering me your old job, are you?"

Gwaheer grinned. "Actually, I am -- but not in Observations. This new assignment will be a massive undertaking. Before, it was a few ships, a few planets, a few space stations, and a small unit. Now I am overseeing the initial stages of observation of a vast reach of space. We know little about what the area is like now. The Borg are based there. Because of all this, I find that the rehabilitation services I've started have become too much. The program has grown, and deserves the undivided attention of capable people. I think you and Beverly would be perfect. You have an in-depth understanding of how drones recover and would look out for their best interests, and Beverly's skills would enable her to oversee the medical portion of it."

He let them think about it while he ate, ignoring their astonished stares. Deanna was staring at him, he realized, and he looked up as he pulled his fork out of his mouth.

"You took my suggestion," she exclaimed.

"It was a good one. Are you unhappy that you'll be able to see them more often?"

She grabbed his ear, pulled him closer, and kissed his cheek. <I love you, 'hiri.>

"You honestly want me -- us -- to oversee that project?"

The use of the word 'project' brought Gwaheer's attention to bear on Jean-Luc. But he didn't mean Project Moriarty, of course. He'd chosen to forget that. "I do. You've spoken of your weariness of dealing in the shades of grey that Starfleet's ethics seem to have acquired. Now that a treaty has been struck and trade negotiations are under way, no one would have an official complaint in either the Federation or the Conglomerate. And in such a position, it would present no great difficulty if you wished to marry one of your co-workers -- unlike Starfleet."

He watched his friends' shock turn into enthusiasm, as he guessed it might. He only wished his own new position brought him as much enthusiasm.

No one could know the real reason he'd practically begged for the Delta Quadrant. A new challenge, he had announced to the sub-council. A new frontier, since it'd been so long since they had left their home. If only that were the real reason.

Project Moriarty meant confronting the Borg where they lived, in their territory. It meant beginning now to map the Delta Quadrant's inhabitants, so that later, as the virtual Collective grew and fooled the hive mind into thinking they had more forces at their disposal, a concerted effort could be made to tear the Borg apart. Gwaheer was about to begin laying the ground work for the final phases. It would take that long, that beginning now was so necessary.

His earlier dark mood returned in force. The food he ate dutifully tasted like dirt. Ashes. Here he was, on the verge of the future, but feeling as though he alone pushed the galaxy around on its axis. As if from a distance, he heard Jean-Luc promising to consider the offer and Beverly chiding him in excited tones -- of course it was just what they'd been looking for, a new challenge. . . .

And Gwaheer blessed his poker face, that he'd developed early on in this grand charade he'd made for himself. This life of walking around with a careful mask of pleasantness in place. This life of carrying Project Moriarty, the salvation of the galaxy, on his back. *Tkretsch!*

<You're sinking again.> Deanna was looking at him, her own fork halfway to her mouth. As he smiled for her, he felt a slight lifting of spirits, but the weight of secrecy still lurked beneath. He made a better effort. Today was the pivotal day. New assignment, new beginnings for Jean-Luc and Beverly, new promise of the furtherance of Project Moriarty. But still he felt the drag of darkness at his tail. It would not be enough.

Zakhad's foot closed on his tail. "I have a poem for you, *zel'Gwahiri.*"

"You wrote a poem?" The surprise was nearly enough. Nearly. Zakhad, writing poetry? Poems were like songs, but Ryxi saw no reason to distinguish -- they sang regardless.

"I found a poem, in one of those old books you're always reading when you've sunk so deep in your cares and worries that you need the distraction. It fit so well for today that I memorized it. I even researched a few of the terms and pronunciations so I wouldn't make mistakes."

Well, there it was. She'd predicted his mood accurately and come up with an antidote. Preventative medicine from his favorite doctor. Smiling affectionately, he said, "How could I resist, if you've gone to so much trouble? Give us the poem, *khadlon.* I'll drink a toast to it."

She straightened, adjusted her wings slightly, and rested her hands before her on the edge of the table.

"It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me."

She paused and looked at him pointedly.

<'Khad, this had better improve.> He wished she could hear the thought.

She continued, in full, well-rehearsed tones. She thought this was important enough that she'd rehearsed it well. She didn't stumble over any of the unusual words.

"I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea, I am becoming a name
For always roaming with a hungry heart;
Much have I seen and known, - cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breath were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought."

Jean-Luc and Beverly were listening, enraptured by the words, forks forgotten on the edges of their plates. Deanna gaped openly. Gwaheer allowed tears to trickle down, unimpeded, slow and steady, dripping from the sides of his jaw. Zakhad was singing his feelings for him, without singing, without giving away the reality of the source of his anguish. She had no idea what the poem was really about, and neither did Gwaheer, but she was right -- it sounded chords in his soul. It was, at this moment, about his feelings.

And she continued, turning to look at Jean-Luc.

"This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle -
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine."

<Zakhad, oh lovely one, you slay me by degrees. . . .>

"There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me-
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads - you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,"

Zakhad paused again, and looked around the table into their eyes, one by one. She held out a hand to Beverly; the doctor took it. Her other hand she offered Gwaheer, who couldn't refuse it. Deanna took his other hand, and reached for Jean-Luc's, and the captain, caught up in the moment as they all were, took hers and Beverly's at the same time.

"'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The surrounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew."

She gripped Gwaheer's hand tighter, and gazed into his eyes still brimming with tears. Her voice took on a note of triumph.

"Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are:
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

Songs, raging joy and optimism, boiled up unexpectedly. She'd broken through it. She always did that for him. Zakhad, the salvation of his sanity, had pushed back the darkness for another day. And Deanna, on his other hand, in his other heart, rushed in to fill him with happiness -- she didn't understand the darkness in him, but she was glad it was gone again. She would know why it came, soon. He could tell her after she resigned and came to live with him on Tannick. She would know, and she and Zakhad could teach his soul to sing again, together.

Letting go of his wives' hands, ignoring still the tears on his face, Gwaheer grabbed his wine glass and raised it. "To strive!"

Zakhad held hers up without hesitation. "To seek!"

Deanna caught up her glass and lifted it. "To find!"

Beverly lifted hers. "And not to yield," she said uncertainly, glancing at Picard. She'd left him without a toast.

Smiling, the light of love in his eyes as he looked at Beverly, he raised his glass and said, "To synergy."

As one, they tilted their glasses, and the five came together, sending a single, ringing note through Ten Forward. Gwaheer caught the note and hummed it, to set it in his memory.

It sounded like the beginning of a long, joyful song.




 

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