" 'Connections'?" Data tilted his head. "Ah. You refer to acquaintances, a.s.sociates, business partners-"

"Can we trust him?" Worf asked impatiently.

"I think so, sir," Wesley said, "but it might be a good idea if I spoke with him before he sees you."

"That is an excellent suggestion," Data said. "You might negate some of his xenophobic tendencies."

"It would help more if we brought along a lot of gold," Wesley suggested.

The turbolift stopped. The trio walked down a corridor and entered the transporter room. While the technician on duty produced phasers, night-vision goggles and money pouches, Wesley retrieved the mace from cargo bay two. After it materialized on the transporter stage, he picked it up and handed it to Worf. "I told Anit I was buying it as a gift for a warrior," Wesley told the Klingon. "He'll be pleased to see you carrying it, sir."

Worf nodded as he hefted the mace. "Useful," he said in satisfaction. Wesley recognized that as the highest praise a Klingon could give a weapon. Worf used it to gesture at the transporter stage. "You will go first, Cadet," he said.

The coffee was vile. Tired as he was, Geordi chuckled when he recalled the trouble he'd had programming the replicator to make this slop. The replicator computer was designed to cater to its users' pleasures, and the machine had had trouble believing that anyone would want a drink that tasted like-like- Pond sc.u.m? Geordi wondered. Reactor coolant? Tribble squeezings? Geordi had never managed to identify the coffee's precise flavor, but it fit an old Starfleet tradition. When engineers needed to work long hours, they punched themselves awake with bad coffee.

Well, human engineers, he conceded, looking at Gakor. The Tellarite engineer sat at the high bay's main computer station, his hands folded across his potbelly and his head tilted back as he caught a quick nap. Mercifully, Tellarites did not snore.

Geordi felt awake as he finished his coffee. "La Forge to bridge," he said. "We're ready to test the new detector now."

"Understood," Riker said. "Proceed."

Geordi woke Gakor. The Tellarite sat up and scanned the computer display. "All readings are normal," he told Geordi.

"Okay," Geordi said. "Computer, activate detection sequence."

"Activating," the computer said.

Geordi sat down. His whole body felt sore, and not just from lack of sleep. He and Gakor had crawled through what seemed endless kilometers of accessways and Jeffries tubes as they made the rounds of the mooring-point stations, adjusting circuits and changing modules. Geordi hoped that the test worked; he didn't want to have to repeat that tour and put everything back the way it had been.

Gakor laughed and slapped his clawlike hands on his knees. "It works!"

"Son of a gun," Geordi said, trying to sound surprised. The detector was getting a neutrino flux, exactly as predicted. "Engineering to bridge. Can you give me the location of the Ferengi ship?"

A woman's voice answered. "One-seven-two mark thirty-eight, range one hundred kilometers."

"That matches our readings," Geordi said as he looked at the computer display. "Say ... we're getting a second reading, from a power source on the planet's surface."

Riker's voice spoke. "Is that at bearing two-zero mark one-oh-seven?"

"Yes, sir," Geordi said, studying the data. The neutrino flux was barely one percent that of the ship's output. "It's not powerful enough to be a s.p.a.cecraft power plant, though. I'd say it's a primary generator for a fixed installation."

"That's what it is," Riker said. "Well done. Geordi, what sort of range does this detector have?"

"Not much," Geordi said reluctantly. He didn't like to admit it, but the new detector wasn't going to live up to his expectations. "Ten, maybe fifteen light-hours. Maybe I can improve that a bit, but we're up against a fundamental limit here. We use gravity waves and they drop off by the inverse-square law."

"d.a.m.n," Riker muttered. "I was hoping we could use it to scan Weber 512."

"That's almost a light-year away," Geordi said. "Detecting an operating power plant at the edge of the Megaran system is the best I can do."

"We can still use it. Hook your detector into the sensor network, then tie it into the fire control system."

"Aye-aye, sir," Geordi said, as Riker closed the channel. He went back to the food replicator. It looked like he was going to need more coffee.

Chudak dreamed. He was happy; he had all the wealth a Ferengi could want, with more on the way. Even now the most beautiful woman in the galaxy was entering his bedroom to tell him of new profits. He leered at her as she approached his bed and leaned over him. Tall, delicate, and seductive, she smiled as she touched a hand to Chudak's shoulder- Chudak grunted as Verden shook him awake. "You are well?" the pagus asked.

"Yes-" Chudak felt a tumult of emotion as the immediate past flooded back. The sleazy debtor had shot him-the pagus must have connections with somebody else, if he had a phaser-he was beset by treachery- Chudak looked at Verden's hand as the pagus released his shoulder. Now that he examined it closely, he realized that the Megaran's sixth finger looked deformed. There was a ridge at its base, and its brown color was far too even. It was clearly artificial, which could mean only one thing. "You're a Carda.s.sian," Chudak said.

"Correct."

Chudak growled. His private negotiations with the repulsive creatures had been maddening. They had demanded secrecy and a.s.surances of secrecy at every step; they had not even allowed Chudak to tell his senior officers that the Carda.s.sians were involved here. That secrecy had complicated the operation-and now this- Chudak felt fear. He had always expected the Carda.s.sians to double-cross him. He had made preparations, of course-and here he was in the one situation for which he had never prepared. Well, his only hope was to brazen it out. "Why wasn't I told your people would have agents here?" Chudak demanded.

"You do not need to know the reason," Verden said. "What matters is that I command here."

"My contract-" Chudak began.

"I now invoke paragraph twenty of your contract," Verden said. "I speak of the real contract, not the one you signed with Gatyn. And I remind you of paragraph twelve. Should the Federation learn of our presence, you forfeit any profits you might make."

The bed creaked as Chudak sat up in anger. "You would not dare break our contract!"

"I speak of keeping it," Verden said. He stepped away from the bed-a very good bed, Chudak noted, and placed in one of the castle's more splendid rooms. To an experienced negotiator such as Chudak, this attention to his comfort suggested that Verden did, indeed, want to maintain the contract. And now that the situation had changed a bit, perhaps Chudak could put himself in a more advantageous position.

Chudak lay down again and pillowed the back of his head on his hands. "Let's speak of keeping the contract, Verden. Of course, having the Enterprise hovering above us makes secrecy difficult, and you know how difficulties increase my expenses-"

"You will do as I say," Verden said. "You will help me to destroy the Enterprise."

Chudak grunted. "That's risky. My crew will demand hazard pay-"

Verden's face twitched in irritation, a sight that pleased Chudak. That's one thing I have in common with that fur-headed Federation amba.s.sador, he thought in grudging respect. Offenhouse may be two lobes short of a full brain, but we both know how to put an opponent off balance. "I have no time to waste in negotiation," the Carda.s.sian said. "Name your price."

"One billion credits," Chudak said.

"The destruction of a Federation starship is worth that price," Verden said. "We have a deal. This is what you will do. You will return to your ship. You will contact the Enterprise and soothe them."

"Soothe them?" Chudak repeated. "They're already suspicious. What's happened to Picard and Offenhouse?"

"You will tell them that the humans have escaped after offending the natives," Verden said. "You will negotiate a rescue and ransom, but you will see to it that the negotiations are long and unsuccessful. While you distract the humans, a warship will arrive and destroy the Enterprise."

Chudak smiled in satisfaction. "Put that billion credits in writing and we have a deal. And-will that warship of yours arrive any time soon?"

Verden looked at him in suspicion. "You do not need to know."

Chudak laughed. "I'm only looking for a spare hour or so. This is the Vo Gatyn's bedroom, isn't it?"

"Correct," Verden said. "What of it?"

The Ferengi Daimon laughed again. "It seems a shame to kick such a beautiful lady out of her quarters. Send her in."

Chapter Eleven.

SOME INSTINCT woke Anit in the time before the dawn. Thieves, he thought, reaching for his dagger. Since the arrival of the rateyes, the number of thieves and bandits in the world had grown like flies on a dung heap, and they were as bold and greedy as a tax collector. The outworlders had left their gold all across the city, and now the city's thieves would come looking for that gold.

Anit slid out of bed; Molokan muttered in her sleep but did not wake. Anit went to the opening between the building's two rooms and stood behind the blanket that covered the doorway. The gold was in the living room, buried under the floor; he would kill the burglars when they came through the doorway to look for it.

He heard noises in the shop. Yes, someone was stumbling around in the dark. Then-"Kardel Anit?"a flat, familiar voice asked.

One of the outworlders, Anit thought. He felt uncertain. The Prophet had warned against outworlders, and there was no reason to trust them-especially not when they came sneaking in in the middle of the night ... yet their gold was good.

"Kardel Anit?" the voice repeated. "I need help."

Anit came to a decision. "Enter," he said while Molokan and several of the children stirred. He took a step back from the doorway and placed his hand on the gla.s.sfire's k.n.o.b.

The outworlder entered the home-room. As he came through the doorway, Anit turned on the gla.s.sfire, and its glare blinded the alien. It was the pink one, not the green one, and he was alone. A money pouch hung at his side. "My help you asked," Anit said.

"Yes, sir." He glanced at Anit's dagger, then looked into Anit's eyes. "The rateyes have abducted my ship-leader."

Anit puzzled over the alien's words. Did he mean his ship-leader had taken the rateyes? No, surely he had the words reversed. "More speak," Anit said, while Molokan and the children gaped in fright at the outworlder.

The outworlder obeyed. "We don't know where ship-leader Picard is, or how to find him here. I hoped you might help us."

"Help I might," Anit said. In truth he had no idea of what he might do, but this was a chance to get more gold. "Much risk I would take. Much gold to me must you give."

The outworlder held out his pouch to Anit. "Is this enough?"

One-handed, Anit gestured to Molokan with his dagger. She took the bag, opened it and dug into it. "Gold," she said, wide-eyed. "Three klets it weighs. Three!"

That much gold would feed his family for a year. "A deal we have," Anit told the outworlder. He glanced at his family, then stepped through the doorway into his shop. The young outworlder followed him. "Alone do you come?"

"My friends are waiting for me to call them." The outworlder touched an ornament on his chest. "Officer Worf, Officer Data, he'll help us. Come on down."

Light shimmered and two outworlders appeared in the room. Anit took their arrival in stride. Everyone knew that the rateyes traveled like this, and he had lost his awe of miracles after the first dozen times he saw a gla.s.sfire dispel the night. His children claimed this was not a true miracle, but how could you trust the things they learned in the rateyes' school?

Anit studied the newcomers. One was gold instead of pink, and had yellow eyes. The other was the color of a person, but had a ridged, half-bald scalp. He carried the mace that Anit had sold the first outworlder. The three outworlders spoke rapidly among themselves, and then the pink one vanished in a shimmer of light. As he did so, Molokan waddled into the shop and stood blocking the door. She held a carving knife, and Anit knew she would use it if she thought the outworlders might harm the children.

The one with the mace looked at Anit. "How shall we find our ship-leader?"

Anit sighed; he'd been afraid someone would ask that. "Disguises you need," he said. He took them into the shop, where he picked through a heap of clothing. Within moments the three men were clad in alt-robes. Ferengi law banned the old garment, but with the city in a ferment after the riots that law would go unenforced. The hoods would hide those alien faces, and the long sleeves would hide their deformed five-fingered hands.

The one called Worf looked at Anit with wary eyes. "After we find our ship-leader," he said, "you will receive ten more bags of gold."

Anit felt his lips tighten. A canny one this creature is, he thought. He had planned to lead the outworlders on a long and harmless march outside the city, avoiding danger and running them around until they gave up. But this reward changed everything. It meant decent food for his family, warm clothes, heat in the winter.

And if he died, or if the outworlders betrayed him? Anit shrugged inwardly. His death would free Molokan to find a new husband, someone who could give her and the children a better life. Children and honorable women were still highly regarded by people, despite the rateyes' efforts to treat them like merchandise.

And now a soldier again I will be, he thought. A mercenary for my family. Honorable a mercenary is not, but long gone my honor is. "With me now you will come," Anit told the outworlders. He led them out the front door, into an empty square touched by the dawn's first gray light. Molokan did not risk bad luck by saying farewell; after all these years she remained a soldier's wife.

"... stack of pancakes, smothered in maple syrup," the amba.s.sador was saying. He sat on the hut's floor with his back against the stone wall. By Picard's estimate the sun had been up for an hour, and light came through c.h.i.n.ks in the walls. "With bacon and orange juice. And a side order of toast, with-"

"Mr. Amba.s.sador," Picard said, "if I may be frank, you were less annoying while you slept." While not racked with hunger pangs, the captain felt in distinct need of a meal.

Offenhouse chuckled. "Sorry, Picard, but being a pain in the b.u.t.t takes constant practice, especially if I want to stay ahead of Chudak. Did you see how he acted with all those gals at the castle? It takes talent to get turned down by so many women, so fast."

"He excelled at that," Picard agreed, glad that Offenhouse had turned the subject away from food. He sat down alongside the door. "I have always wondered why Ferengi males are so fascinated by non-Ferengi women. They seem rather mismatched."

"No more than humans and Vulcans," Offenhouse said. "Or humans and Klingons, humans and Romulans, humans and Betazoids, humans and Bajorans-oh, never mind." He rubbed the black stubble on his chin. "You're serious?"

"Certainly. I wanted to ask you-" Picard stopped and stifled a yawn. A restless night had left him fatigued. "Excuse me. The Ferengi are one of the most mysterious races in the galaxy, yet you have made some remarkable deductions about them."

"I like to call them 'guesses,' " Offenhouse said. "That reminds me I could be wrong; I don't have enough facts to support all of my ideas. But if you want my best guess as to why they like alien women, it's simple. What do you look for in a woman?"

"In a word? Companionship," the captain said.

"Same here," Offenhouse said. "Everyone needs someone they can share their feelings and dreams with. We're what biology makes us, so we look for that someone in a lover. But the Ferengi-does the phrase 'battle of the s.e.xes' mean anything to you?"

The captain smiled despite himself. "I do believe I've heard the term somewhere."

"Well, I figure that on Ferengal it's open warfare," Offenhouse said. "The Ferengi act as if they have two separate societies, one male and one female, and the only thing they have in common is the little matter of producing children. The separation may be so extreme that the women won't even raise the boys-they give them to their fathers, who take their sons into-into the family business-"

This is no time for him to have a problem, Picard thought, hearing the man's voice catch. "It doesn't sound emotionally satisfying."

"It wouldn't be," Offenhouse said. "Maybe that's why Ferengi men are so outgoing with alien females. Ferengi men and women don't get any companionship from one another, so they look for it in aliens."

Picard nodded thoughtfully. "I see. I had wondered if it was the same cause which attracts humans to aliens."

"No. Ferengi are lonely, but humans just like the exotic. Look at Shrev and Peter-I mean Wesley."

He needs to talk, Picard thought. Something in the man was pressuring him to raise his past. Picard decided he would have to risk an explosion. "Wesley Crusher is much like your son, isn't he?"

Offenhouse sighed. "In more ways than I can describe."

"For the little it's worth," Picard said, "your son's death had meaning. He helped to destroy Khan Singh's empire-"

"I know that," Offenhouse said. "And I know how little it was worth."

Picard was baffled. The destruction of the Great Khanate had started the process that led to Earth's unification and the abolition of war. "I don't understand."

The amba.s.sador sat in silence for a long moment. "Let me tell you something that isn't in the history books," he said at last. "Do you know where Khan's superrace came from?"

"That's hard to answer," Picard said. "Their progenitors were an international group of scientists; they had labs in Haiti and Pakistan during the nineteen-sixties and seventies-"

"They also had a lab in Chad," Offenhouse said, "and headquarters in North Yemen. They worked in the poorest countries on Earth because it was easy to bribe officials into silence and hire human guinea pigs-"

Picard felt a chill. "How do you know?"