"I've been thinking about that," Deanna said vaguely. "Her biggest problem has been the Ferengi, and they're gone now."

"Yeah, they won't be around to give her another cram course at Imprint U.," he said. "Although-do imprinted lessons fade with time?"

"No," Deanna said. "They're permanent."

Offenhouse shook his head in bewilderment. "Then why would she think they'd do that to her a second time? It doesn't make any sense."

"Fears are seldom rational," Deanna said.

"No, but Odovil is," Offenhouse said. "If she's scared of something, it's real."

"Well, they wouldn't repeat a lesson," Deanna a.s.sured him. "That would cause some very confusing interference. You might call it a type of mental double vision, something which would make it impossible for the victim to function."

"Then maybe she's scared they'd give her a different lesson," Offenhouse mused. His scowl reflected the churning power of his thoughts. "Maybe they'd have a new job for her-G.o.d, yes. That's how they'd train astronauts."

"Astronauts?" Deanna asked, before she could place the archaic word. "Oh, you mean starcrew. But what does that have to do with Odovil?"

"Plenty," he said. "G.o.d, I'm an idiot. No wonder she's scared-of course they'd draft the brightest people. And ..." Suddenly oblivious to everything around him, Offenhouse got up and left the lounge.

Guinan watched him depart. "What got into him?" she wondered.

Deanna shook her head. "I don't know."

"Does it involve a certain Megaran?" Guinan asked.

"You might say that." His thoughts had been a confusing whirl ... but Odovil Pardi had featured prominently in them. "It would kill him to admit it, but he's attracted to Odovil Pardi, and it's not just s.e.xual. It's not surprising, either."

"Because he's lonely, and he has things in common with her?" Guinan asked. "That has a familiar sound."

"Doesn't it, though?" Deanna asked, smiling despite herself. She suddenly remembered her chocolate sundae. She carefully spooned up a taste of whipped cream and chocolate sauce. "My mother has a favorite saying: 'Men are so predictable, bless their weaselly little hearts.' But if anything comes of this, I think it could be good for both of them."

"Well, now, Counselor," Guinan said. "You really do have a way of finding answers, don't you?"

"A Carda.s.sian prisoner could prove useful," Picard said after Riker had described events on the surface. He leaned back in his bridge chair and stifled a yawn. Riker had called him back to the bridge just as he was crawling into bed. He consoled himself that it would not be much longer before he could rest. "Where is he?"

"He's in the brig," Riker said. "Worf is interrogating him now. We've got a security detail on Megara, stamping out some fires and looking for anything the Carda.s.sians may have left."

"While keeping their eyes open for more Carda.s.sians, I trust," Picard said.

"Yes, sir," Riker said. "There may be a few more wandering around down there. I'm convinced that the castle explosion was a diversion."

"Perhaps," Picard mused. "Once we had learned of their base's presence, it was no longer useful to them. Have you found anything yet?"

Riker shook his head. "With all the radiation, we couldn't even spot the ones who attacked Worf."

Data gave the helm instruments a puzzled look, then turned in his seal to look at Picard. "Captain, I have noted a development on the surface. Fifty-seven minutes ago there were six hundred and seventeen Ferengi on Megara. The number has dropped to five hundred and eighty-two."

"Some of them may be dying from injuries," Riker said. "Catching a brace of photon torpedoes is unhealthy."

"I do not believe this entirely relates to the battle," Data said. "There are Megarans in all of the locations where Ferengi have died. I conjecture that they are taking revenge."

"That seems almost inevitable," Riker said. "Captain, we'd better move before we have a blood-bath."

"I agree, Number One," Picard said. He spent a moment marshaling his thoughts. He had no love for the Ferengi, not since their wanton attack on the Stargazer ... but Federation law and morality alike demanded that he rescue them. "Clear out cargo bay two; we'll use it as a holding area. Ensign Novotny, take a security detail to cargo bay two and prepare to receive prisoners. Mr. Data, give Chief De Shay the coordinates of all the Ferengi you can locate. Inform Dr. Crusher that some of our prisoners may require medical attention."

"Sir," Data said, "if we are to hold the Ferengi as prisoners, regulations demand that we specify the charges on which they are detained."

"They've violated the Prime Directive," Riker said. "That's good enough for me."

Picard sighed. "The Prime Directive does not apply to non-Federation members," he said.

"We can't take them on as pa.s.sengers!" Riker protested.

"Ferengi pa.s.sengers would form an unacceptable security risk," Data said. He looked thoughtful. "Captain, as the Ferengi are in danger from the Megarans, I suggest that we take them into protective custody."

"Make it so," Picard said.

"And let's protect the daylights out of them," Riker added.

Picard handed command of the ship over to Riker and went to his quarters. He felt thoughts chase one another through his mind, as though he were a computer trapped in an endless programming loop. A few too many unpleasant experiences today, he told himself in deliberate understatement. He had risked the safety of his crew and ship; he had brought them within seconds of obliteration. It had been an unavoidable risk, taken to pull the Carda.s.sian warship away from Megara and save that planet, but it had still been a gamble. And now he had to rescue the Ferengi, the same creatures who had helped to devastate Megaran society.

Picard changed into his bedclothes and ordered a cup of Earl Grey tea from the replicator. As he sipped the steaming beverage, he found himself recalling the conversation he'd had with Offenhouse on the holodeck-not even a week ago? A conversation in which the amba.s.sador had criticized the design of the Enterprise for taking civilians into harm's way. Picard wondered if the man's criticisms had been justified. One reason civilians were here was to keep the ship's captain from taking undue risks that might jeopardize galactic peace. Perhaps that was nothing but a cynical exercise in social engineering, using people to accomplish a goal- No, Jean-Luc, Picard told himself. The goal was to help maintain the peace. The method was no secret, and the civilians on the Enterprise had freely chosen to accept the risks. This was nothing like Megara, where the Ferengi and Carda.s.sians had manipulated a world for a purpose its people would never know, a purpose that could only harm them.

And that purpose was an overture to war.

Picard climbed into bed and closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him. He reminded himself that the war had not yet begun. The Federation's diplomats would work to preserve the peace despite this provocation. Equally important, the Carda.s.sians' plan had failed, and the Federation would be on the alert. The Carda.s.sians were bold, but not reckless enough to attack a prepared enemy. The peace would hold a while longer.

That was enough to let the captain sleep.

He does not look defeated, Worf thought as he stared at the prisoner. The man on the other side of the forcefield sat on his bunk and ignored the Klingon. His shoulders retained a firm set, and his head did not droop. He had kept silent during the interrogation, revealing nothing. The only certainty was that a slow poison would deprive the Klingon of his prisoner in a few more hours.

The sight of the man filled Worf with melancholy. The Carda.s.sian presence on Megara meant that there would be another Carda.s.sian war ... and Worf did not want that. There is glory in combat, he thought, and I hunger for that ... but not for the danger it would bring to my son. When Alexander dies, let it be as a warrior, not a victim.

The man gave Worf a disdainful look. "What do you want of me now?" he demanded.

"Tell me why you would fight the Federation," Worf said. Tell me why you would endanger my son.

The prisoner laughed bitterly. "A Klingon must ask that?"

"We have reasons when we fight," Worf said. "What are yours? Has the Federation harmed you?"

"We must fight," the Carda.s.sian said. "We are alike in that, Klingon. War holds our peoples together."

"That is not true!" Worf said.

"It is," the prisoner said. "Our peoples are lone wolves, Klingon, yours and mine alike. We need war to hold us together. Without enemies to unite us, we would divide against one another. Is that good?"

Disgusted, Worf turned away without answering. War was good, but Klingons did not use it as a tool to hold society together. That was dishonorable ... even if combat seemed like the foundation of Klingon society, even if war seemed like the Klingon Empire's first answer to all its problems.

But we are not like the Carda.s.sians! he thought angrily. We do not make war for such cynical reasons. We avoid it when it is dishonorable! Yet even as Worf rea.s.sured himself, he felt uncertainty. There was just enough truth in the Carda.s.sian's words to sting.

Worf was about to enter the turbolift when he realized that he had let the prisoner distract him. I should wonder why he did not seem defeated, he thought in chagrin. He behaves as a man who expects to win. It must be that other Carda.s.sians survived the castle's destruction, to continue the battle for him. That is reasonable. But where would I look for them?

Worf thought that over as he went to the bridge. Carda.s.sians often took advantage of natural camouflage-or other forms of interference. The native cities were filled with crude electronic systems that degraded sensor readings. Perhaps the Carda.s.sians were hiding in one of the native cities-or many of them.

The turbolift deposited Worf on the bridge, where he took over his duties from one of his ensigns. A quick study of the security instruments revealed that everything was normal; the minor damage the Enterprise had sustained during the battle was already repaired. Cargo bay two was slowly filling with rescued Ferengi. On the surface, relief parties were still searching for injured survivors of the castle explosion.

Wesley Crusher had volunteered to join the relief effort. To Worf's annoyance, Picard had deliberately a.s.signed the young human to a group that operated in an area far from any likely danger. It baffled Worf that Picard would deny Wesley a chance to face danger and prove his honor ... wait. It could have had something to do with human empathy. It was no secret that Picard felt responsible for the death of Wesley's father, a Starfleet officer. Perhaps Picard now felt responsible for the dead man's son; a human would seek to preserve his son's life, just as a Klingon would raise his son to be a fierce warrior.

It was not the Klingon way to understand aliens and their feelings. Worf shook his head as if to clear it of such thoughts, but he could not entirely dismiss them.

Riker, who was in command at the moment, got out of his seat and walked around to Worf's station. "I hear you had an interesting time down there," Riker said.

Worf grunted. "It was diverting. I think more diversions await us."

"More Carda.s.sians?" Riker nodded. "I've had the same thought. It may be a while before we can look for them, though. The radiation and the native electronics are making a hash of sensor readings."

Worf grunted again. "They will have a second base, a fallback position. That should be easier to find."

"I've thought of that," Riker said. "We've scanned for signs of a second base, but we haven't found one." He smiled grimly. "Ensign Shrev can recognize Carda.s.sians, but we can't expect her to search the entire planet."

"There should be more efficient ways to find them," Worf said. "We are superior to them."

Riker looked surprised at Worf's vehemence. "I'm not going to disagree," the human said, "but you sound like you take this personally."

Worf scowled. "The Carda.s.sians lack honor."

Riker nodded, accepting that explanation. As Riker walked to the helm to confer with Data, Worf realized that this was a matter of honor. The prisoner had compared Worf's people to the Carda.s.sians, and there was just enough truth in that to sting.

We are not alike, Worf told himself. I shall prove it.

A voice spoke from nowhere. "Lieutenant Worf, report to transporter room three."

Worf growled at the computer's aggressively cheerful tone. "Why am I wanted?" he demanded.

"Amba.s.sador Offenhouse has requested that you accompany him to the surface," the machine answered.

Worf snarled at the computer. "It could be worse, Lieutenant," Riker called out as he went to the turbolift.

"How?" Worf rumbled.

Riker scratched his head. "Well, he could have asked for me instead."

Worf growled again and left the bridge.

Picard had fallen into a fitful sleep, and he did not feel unduly upset when the amba.s.sador's call summoned him to the planet. Picard made his way to the nearest transporter room, where he found Data waiting for him. "The amba.s.sador has requested my presence in Metari Leeg," the android explained as Picard checked out a phaser. "He also asked me to familiarize myself with all the available information on neural-imprinting techniques."

"Did he, now?" Picard asked as they stepped onto the transporter stage. The captain nodded to the duty technician, and in a matter of seconds they had materialized on the surface.

It was night, and brilliant aurorae flickered in the Megaran sky. The multicolored glow showed Picard that he and Data had landed in the heart of an industrial zone. Towering buildings rose all around them. Broad, paved avenues separated the structures. Several vehicles, including a large floating platform, cluttered the roadways as though abandoned. In the distance, Picard heard noises that might have been a riot, a celebration, or both.

Data scanned the area with his tricorder. "The amba.s.sador is inside the building to our left, sir," he reported. "He is in the company of Lieutenant Worf, but he is otherwise alone."

"I hope we're alone as well," Picard said, hearing the burr of a sonic stunner echo down the street. He looked at the looming bulk of a building. "These structures are far too large to be factories. What is your a.n.a.lysis, Mr. Data?"

"This is a shipyard, sir," Data said, consulting his tricorder. "I detect at least five starships which are ready for flight. Each is armed with ten phaser banks and carries shielding equivalent to that of a Constellation-cla.s.s starship. Their cargo bays have a volume of approximately two hundred thousand cubic meters. I would estimate their peak velocity at warp nine."

"Remarkable," Picard said. "A pirate could not ask for a better ship. It would appear your theory is correct, Mr. Data."

Data tilted his head. "This discovery does tend to support my hypothesis, sir."

Picard smiled at Data's caution. His smile faded as he saw a dead Ferengi. The man hung by his heels from a lamppost, and by all appearances he had not died quickly. Monstrous, Picard thought, looking away. The captain had known that the Megarans were taking revenge on their enemies, yet the reality still revolted him.

Picard and Data entered the training facility. It was a fairly small structure, a two-story rectangle with no windows. The tricorder led Data and Picard to a small room. The brightly lit room reminded Picard of a medical examination room, although at second glance he saw that the chamber did not hold enough equipment for that role. There were only a few chairs, a simple biomonitor, and a set of silvery helmets on a shelf. The walls were blank white plastic.

Offenhouse was in the room with Worf. The Klingon did not look as though he enjoyed the amba.s.sador's company. "Glad to see you, Picard," Offenhouse said cheerily. "Welcome to the party."

Worf turned his back on Offenhouse and reported to Picard. "The amba.s.sador insisted on coming here, sir," Worf said. "There has been no trouble. The rioters have avoided this building."

"Rioting's an outdoor sport," Offenhouse said. "We're safe as long as n.o.body spots us, and we couldn't wait for the riots to end before we examined this place."

"What is this place?" Picard asked.

"It is a training facility, sir," Worf said. "It is equipped with a large number of starship simulators."

"Sorta like Starfleet Academy," Offenhouse said. "Only I figure that this is the warp-speed version of the Academy."

Data was inspecting one of the metallic helmets. "This is a neural-imprint helmet," he said.

Offenhouse nodded. "That's why I asked you to brush up on the field, Data. The Ferengi used neural imprinting to teach adult Megarans how to read and write, and it figures they'd use the same technique for astronaut training. Can you tell exactly what it teaches?"

Data peered at the electrodes inside the helmet. "I believe I can access its software."

"Good," Offenhouse said. "I need to know-hey, stop!"

Data had placed the helmet over his head. Lights pulsed across its sh.e.l.l. "You are correct, Mr. Amba.s.sador," he said. "This unit-"

"Take it off!" the amba.s.sador said in horror.

Data removed the helmet. "As I was saying, this device is intended to imprint humanoid minds with instructions relating to the operation and maintenance of starships-"

"Data," Offenhouse said in a weak voice, "don't you know what a chance you just took?" He sank onto a chair as though his legs had turned to water.

" 'Chance'?" The android looked puzzled. "Ah. You refer to potential damage. You need not concern yourself, sir, as neural imprinting can have no effect upon my positronic brain."

"Mr. Data," Picard said, "just how extensive are its instructions?"

"The device can impart a variety of lessons," Data said. "The technical level is equivalent to that of an advanced course at Starfleet Academy. The list of specialties includes piloting, navigation and engineering. There are also numerous programs relating to combat, as well as to espionage, reconnaissance and the financial evaluation of targets."