"Too bad we didn't find anything," one of the men said. "The whole thing was a waste of time."

The team's leader, a medical orderly, nodded ruefully. "All of our sensor contacts were either interference artifacts or false alarms. They've got some kind of swamp-ape down there that reads a lot like a person-and hides a lot better. Right, Wes?"

"It kept me busy," Wesley said.

"You'll want to get cleaned up now," Picard said, noting the young man's att.i.tude. He did not seem dejected by his "failure" to rescue any Megarans, or by the rest of the team's low spirits. "Well done, Wesley."

"Thank you, sir," Wesley said. As he left he seemed puzzled by Picard's praise. He will understand, Picard a.s.sured himself, thinking of the new maturity he had just seen in the cadet. He would have liked to have said something about it to Wesley, but the best thing he could do for the cadet was to let Wesley make this discovery for himself.

Worf beamed up a moment later. He had stayed on the surface after the rest of his away team returned, and Picard thought he had been savoring the battlefield. If so, the Klingon had earned that, and Picard thought he looked satisfied. "Your report, Mr. Worf?" Picard asked.

"No Carda.s.sians survived, sir," Worf said.

"Can you offer any evidence of this?" Picard asked. The Carda.s.sians had proven themselves canny and determined opponents, and he did not want to underestimate them.

"The ones we fought did not try to escape," Worf said. "Instead they fought to the death."

"That's typical of the Carda.s.sians, Captain," De Shay said. He had served as weapons officer aboard another starship, and he had fought in the Carda.s.sian War. "They're calculating devils. They would have tried to escape if they thought they had a chance to continue the fight later. When they go down fighting like that, it means they know everything is over for them."

"I see," Picard said. "Well, Mr. Worf, now that we've disposed of all our enemies-"

The door hissed open and Offenhouse looked into the transporter room. "Hey, Picard, you busy? I need you at cargo bay two."

Holding back a sigh, Picard joined Offenhouse in the corridor. "Is there a problem, Mr. Amba.s.sador?" he asked.

"No, we're just going to take the Ferengi off your hands." Offenhouse looked at the captain as they walked down the corridor. "Picard, keeping the Ferengi alive was the right thing to do."

Picard felt an eyebrow rise. "What caused you to change your mind?"

"Mainly it was Odovil," the amba.s.sador said. "She can be persuasive. But I also realized something. The Megarans still need to see that justice is done. Killing the Ferengi looked like the best way to do that-but I've thought of something better."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "I trust it's something legal."

"It is, according to your ship's computer," Offenhouse said. "Gatyn is still in the sickbay-Crusher won't send her home; she's afraid the Megarans will lynch her. Anyway, I had a long talk with Gatyn about her Ferengi contract, and it turns out that, technically, the Ferengi are working for her."

"Is that important?" Picard asked.

Offenhouse nodded. "Very important. Worf did us all a big favor when he saved Gatyn's neck."

There was a momentary pause. "You're being very mysterious," Picard said in exasperation.

The amba.s.sador showed a wicked grin. "I thought you liked mysteries."

Picard sighed. "Only in my spare time, Mr. Amba.s.sador. I would appreciate an explanation."

"Well, the Megaran economy is a lopsided mess," he said. "Everything is geared toward building starships, while providing the people with the bare essentials of life. We have to reorganize the factories and the economy so people get what they need. The Ferengi understand the technology involved here, so we can use them as advisors, to convert old factories to new production and to design new plants and services. Gatyn is going to set herself up as a consultant, hiring out Ferengi services."

"Gatyn has formally accepted the Federation's presence on Megara?" Picard asked.

"She's planning to do that at a public ceremony in a few days," Offenhouse said. "Technically she's the only government Megara has, but now that the Ferengi are gone her position is shaky. She needs a Federation alliance to help prop her up, and Megara needs her to keep things stable. She may have been a Ferengi puppet," he added with a shrug, "but she never was a wholehearted quisling. We can work with her-and she knows she needs us to help straighten out the mess down there."

They entered a turbolift, and the amba.s.sador directed it to cargo bay two. "Tell me something," Picard said as the lift slid along the Shaft. "You may have Odovil Pardi and the Vo Gatyn on your side, but they're special cases. Given the xenophobia of the Megarans, do you think they'll accept Federation aid?"

"Things will be a bit rough at first," Offenhouse admitted. "But we've got our foot in the door, which is always the toughest part when you're doing business. Your people are responsible for that," he added. "You've handled everything right."

"Getting rid of the Ferengi was bound to make a favorable impression," Picard said.

"It's more than that," Offenhouse said. "Everything we've done here has made a good impression on the Megarans, whether it's the away teams buying things for a fair price, or Worf beaming back to rescue what's-his-name, or you towing that Carda.s.sian kamikaze away from the planet. It all adds up."

The turbolift came to a halt and released its pa.s.sengers near the entrance to cargo bay two. Four members of Worf's security department stood guard in the corridor outside the bay's ma.s.sive sliding doors. "Fetch Chudak," Offenhouse told the senior guard.

Picard nodded to the woman, who spoke into the intercom. A small secondary door opened a moment later, and Chudak stepped into the corridor. His clothing was soiled and scorched, and dust streaked his hairless scalp, but he maintained his innate dignity as he looked up at Offenhouse. "Oh, it's you, you hairy horror. What in h.e.l.l do you want?"

"I want to talk about that contract you signed with the Vo Gatyn," Offenhouse said. "It seems the whole thing is still perfectly legal, ironclad and valid-"

"Of course!" Chudak sneered. "Are you looking for some loophole to prosecute me, bug-eyes? That contract made everything I did on Megara legal."

"I know," the amba.s.sador said. "In fact, I want to see you fulfill your contract."

Chudak looked puzzled. "What trick is this, you blunt-tooth freak?"

"It's no trick," Offenhouse said. "Listen up, b.u.t.thead-"

" 'b.u.t.thead'?" Chudak demanded. "Do you expect me to b.u.t.t heads with you? Is this some perverted human s.e.x-ritual?"

"Listen," Offenhouse snarled. He grabbed Chudak by his tattered lapels, picked him up and shoved him against the corridor bulkhead. "You signed a contract to industrialize Megara. The Megarans are waiting for you to finish your work. They want you to get down there and-"

"Are you insane?" Chudak demanded. Picard saw him squirm in fright as Offenhouse held him against the wall. "Those filthy debtors will kill us!"

"Guess again." Offenhouse released Chudak and let him drop to the deck. "You'll have guards to make sure n.o.body harms a hair on your head-as long as you're working for us. And, if you decide you don't like the arrangement, you'll be free to leave."

"We will?" Chudak asked suspiciously.

"Sure!" Offenhouse said. "Of course, once you quit we'll withdraw your guards, but maybe you won't mind being alone and unarmed on Megara while you wait for a ride home-"

"Picard!" Chudak said. "I demand asylum for my crew and myself. You must grant it."

"I must?" Picard asked. Despite himself he felt a slight increase in his respect for Chudak; the man had thought of his crew's safety before his own. "On what grounds do you request asylum?"

"On-on-on whatever grounds will keep us alive!" the Daimon sputtered.

"You'll have to do better than that," Offenhouse said. "The Megarans will take every possible step to keep you alive. Your only reason for requesting asylum is to break your contract-"

"-and we can't grant asylum merely to allow you to escape a legal obligation," Picard finished.

Chudak glared at Picard. "We've already fulfilled our contract."

"Then where are the hospitals, the houses, the libraries, the universities, the ma.s.s-transit networks, the munic.i.p.al water systems?" Offenhouse snickered at the Daimon. "You can't claim that you've finished your work just because you've built a few shipyards here. When the Vo Gatyn talks to you later, she'll-"

"The Vo Gatyn?" Chudak repeated in a fading voice. The color drained from his face.

Offenhouse beamed at Chudak. "She's your boss."

"You can't do this!" Chudak squeaked. The Daimon's obvious terror astonished Picard. He actually cowered against the cargo-bay door. "Gatyn is insane! She'll kill me!"

"No, she won't," Offenhouse said with a smile. He patted Chudak on the head. "Don't worry, little fellow. She's looking forward to working with you for a looong time."

Geordi was having a drink with Worf in the Ten-Forward lounge when Riker strode up to their table. "Okay, mister," Riker said to Worf, his arms crossed over his chest, "explain."

Geordi's VISOR showed him that the Klingon was genuinely puzzled; his bioelectric fields rippled in confusion. "Sir?" Worf asked, setting his gla.s.s of prune juice down on the table.

"I've talked to Data," Riker said. "He heard you laugh, mister. It's not much of a laugh, from what he says, but it is a laugh. What brought this on?"

"It was Megara," the Klingon said.

"You found something funny down there?" Riker asked in an incredulous voice.

Worf nodded. "It was something Commander Data said."

"Data finally told an effective joke?" Riker asked. Geordi watched the man's bioelectric field intensify with his disbelief. "Data? What did he say?"

"It happened moments before we rescued the captain," Worf said, picking up his gla.s.s. "The tactical situation was not good. The odds did not favor us. Victory appeared uncertain." Worf paused to take a slow, maddeningly deliberate sip of prune juice.

"Okay, so things were black and getting darker," Riker said impatiently. "What in h.e.l.l did Data say?"

Worf toyed with his gla.s.s. " 'Things have never been better.' "

"That made you laugh?" Enterprise's first officer demanded. "That? Worf, you hardly even smiled when you saw that movie. I said the exact same words to you on the bridge, and you barely growled at them. So why did you laugh on Megara?"

"I cannot explain, sir," Worf said, and sipped more prune juice. "You had to be there."

He's got a pretty good sense of timing, Geordi thought as Riker neared the boiling point. "Commander, we're both on duty in a few minutes," Geordi said, getting up. "We'd better go."

Riker left the Ten-Forward lounge with Geordi. "It isn't fair," Riker complained, once they were out in the corridor. "I bent over backward to find a way to make Worf laugh, and Data finally made him crack. Data!"

"Look on the bright side," Geordi consoled him. "The real joke is on Worf."

"Oh, really?" Riker asked sourly. "How's that?"

"You know how Data is always looking for advice on how to become human, develop emotions, and all that?" Geordi watched Riker nod. "Well, now that Worf has started laughing, Data is spending every free moment he has studying him to learn how Worf did it. Data won't leave him alone, and it's driving Worf nuts."

The corridor boomed with Riker's sudden laughter.

Wesley rarely drank synthehol; by his reckoning, this was only the third time in his life that he'd ever had any. It was part of the celebration. The relief workers had found over a hundred people who had been injured when the Carda.s.sians blew up their base; sensor scans said that they had found every single survivor, and the word from sickbay was that the workers had saved at least a score of Megarans from otherwise certain death. After they had returned to the Enterprise, Wesley and the rest of the workers had congregated in Ten-Forward, to rehash their adventures and congratulate one another on their accomplishments.

Wesley would have liked to spend a little time alone, to unravel what the captain had said to him ... or the way he had said it, he reflected. It was good to have the captain's approval again, but he wished he knew what the man had seen that mattered so much.

Wesley saw Shrev enter the lounge. He excused himself from the group and went to join her. "I hear that Mr. Worf gave you a commendation for original thinking," he said quietly. "Congratulations,"

"Thank you," she said, and looked him over. He had bathed and changed his uniform, but he knew he still looked a bit ragged. "I believe you have been busy, yourself."

"It's been a long day," Wesley agreed. They ordered snacks at the bar-a bowl of nectar for Shrev, a milk shake for Wesley-and sat down at a table. Wesley had a difficult time persuading Shrev to tell him about her experience. He decided that this went beyond modesty; Zhuiks saw nothing wrong with a little justified boasting, but she seemed troubled. "I guess that being in a firefight is a lot rougher than a knife duel," he said.

"Yes, in ways I had not imagined." Shrev toyed with her spatula as she stared down at her nectar. Wesley noted that she had fixed neither her eyes nor her antennae on him. "It was all remote, distant. My actions led to the deaths of many people, and I never knew their names or saw their faces."

And now she feels guilty, Wesley realized. "It's strange," Wesley said. "The most upsetting thing a human can do is kill someone you know. We fight our wars at a distance; a human soldier hardly ever sees his enemy when he kills him. The way our minds work, keeping a distance between ourselves and a victim keeps us from feeling guilty. It makes killing a lot easier."

"I have heard of this," Shrev whispered.

Wesley nodded. "And I guess you know our wars are a lot bloodier than yours ever were. Maybe humans would be better off if we were a bit more like Zhuiks."

"That is an interesting thought," Shrev said, raising her head slightly to look at Wesley. He thought she had taken some solace from his words. "I have talked much of what I have done and felt, without doing you the courtesy of hearing your story."

"I haven't really done much," Wesley said. "Most of my search zone was a swamp. The ship's sensors thought they'd spotted some people down there, but I didn't find anyone."

"So your efforts were wasted?" Shrev asked in sympathy.

"I wouldn't say that," Wesley said. "Someone could have been down there, and someone had to check it out. That was me."

"I am delighted that you took pleasure in your task," Shrev said.

"I did," Wesley said, and meant it. He talked with Shrev as they ate their snacks, but the feeling of satisfaction remained with him when he finally left Ten-Forward. He had spent endless hours slogging through a swamp, several times holding his tricorder and medical kit above his head to keep them safe while he sank chest-deep in green water and chased after swamp-apes that might have been terrified Megarans. He was worn out, he stank, and he had not felt this good since ... since the incident at the Academy, he decided.

Wesley thought he understood the reason-and the reason Captain Picard had shown approval even though he had accomplished nothing. After Josh died I had all these heroic fantasies about how I'd make up for what I did, he thought. Save the ship, rescue the captain, win a battle-do one big thing to balance the books. But it doesn't work that way, does it? Redemption would only come through a lifetime of small acts-doing his duty, telling the truth, obeying orders and playing straight with everyone.

He realized he had been doing that all along, without a second thought, and the captain had understood that before he had. Wesley decided that he had made a good start on making amends for his mistakes.

It was unseemly for a warrior to skulk, to glance over his shoulder and peek around corners ... but it was unacceptable for a Federation officer to a.s.sa.s.sinate a superior, and Data's persistent questions about humor inspired heartwarming thoughts about knives in the dark and accidents with airlocks. Worf knew it was better to avoid the android.

Worf sighed. If only Data would develop the emotion of discouragement ...

Alexander sat at the table, doing his homework as Worf entered their quarters. He stood up, but instead of delivering one of those embarra.s.sing human hugs the boy gave a proper bow of respect to his father. Worf felt vaguely disappointed. "I heard that you won a battle today, Father," Alexander said.

"A small battle," Worf said.

"Did you kill all of your enemies?"

Worf shook his head. "There was no need to kill."

Alexander scowled. "Not even once?"

"No," Worf said.

Alexander growled at that and returned his attention to his homework. Somehow disgruntled, Worf took his bat'telh sword from its wall mount, sat down with it and began to hone its edges. He thought about humor, and laughter. He reasoned that it was like needlepoint, or cooking, or swimming-useful talents in other people, but not worth developing in himself. Childish, really. He would gladly leave this undignified humor-stuff to Data ... although it had been interesting to needle Riker with it ... and it was important to Alexander.

From time to time Worf heard his son growl as he battled an especially tough question. Alexander is in one of his moods, Worf a.s.sured himself. This mood caused him to act, well, Klingonese, but in an exaggerated style. That would stop when the boy's mood pa.s.sed-which was not a displeasing notion. Alexander should act like Alexander, Worf thought. Troi had said so on several occasions, but until now Worf had never understood that. He wondered how he could tell that to the boy.