“Energize,” Picard shouted. A moment later, he sat alone in the cockpit.

The ship he was approaching went into an evasive swoop, but Picard had no trouble staying on top of the other pilot. He stole a glance at the transporter’s energy indicator; there still wasn’t enough power in the unit for a beam‑out, though the system’s capacitors were slowly building up energy. If he could continue evading his opponents for perhaps another minute or two, he still had a chance to beam out to wherever Crusher had sent herself–but only if he avoided squandering the shuttle’s limited energy on the phasers.

Fortunately, there was an alternative to the phasers. As the shuttle came within meters of the nearest Chiarosan fighter, Picard touched a release toggle, then sent his vessel into a dive. The Keplerlurched slightly, and the light of a fiery explosion flooded the viewport.

At close quarters–and with no shields–a shuttlecraft log buoy made quite a projectile.

On the tactical display, only two hostile vessels remained. Both were maintaining the chase. Glancing at his console, Picard saw that the transporter was still steadily recharging. But it wasn’t quite ready yet.

Then he checked the transporter lock, only to discover that it wasn’t working properly.

Damn. Tetryons again.

Picard knew well that tetryon emissions were a byproduct of certain Romulan technologies. If there was a “smoking gun” pointing to Romulan involvement with the Army of Light, then this was it. And the presence of Romulans–and their cloaking devices–would account for the rebel base’s complete invisibility from the air.

Suddenly, one of the Chiarosan ships increased speed, approaching the Kepleron an intercept course. And there were no more log buoys left.

A green light winked on in the transporter‑power display. Relieved, Picard quickly compensated for the tetryons and locked the transporter onto the same coordinates Crusher had used.

Then, as he attempted to energize the transporter, every system in the Kepler’s cockpit went dead and dark.

Lack of time had forced Crusher to lock the Kepler’s transporter into the most easily detectable tetryon‑free area in the rebel base–which was, ironically, located at the center of a tetryon‑rich area. The eye of the storm,she thought as the transporter beam began disassembling her, molecule by molecule.

When the transporter’s shimmering light faded, Crusher found herself standing in a narrow, teal‑colored chamber. A sign on one of the bulkheads bore several characters of angular, alien script.

In the center of the chamber, two men and a woman, all wearing gray uniforms, busied themselves around what appeared to be a partially disassembled warp core.

ARomulan warp core,Crusher thought, just as the woman turned toward her, a disruptor in her hand.

At least two dozen pairs of iridescent Chiarosan eyes stared balefully from across the wide, branching corridor. Riker seriously doubted that he and his companions could survive a firefight against so many determined opponents.

The troopers were holding their fire, apparently awaiting orders from Grelun, who stood in their front ranks. The Chiarosan leader seemed to be staring intently at Zweller.

Riker heard Zweller hissing at Gomp, the Tellarite. “I thought Tellarites had keen noses! How could so many of them slip right past you?”

Gomp snorted unhappily, wiping his snout with one of the sleeves of his soiled uniform. “I’m a doctor, not a tricorder. Besides,” he snuffled, “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

“Disarm, or die,” Grelun said.

Riker stepped forward, his weapon lowered in what he hoped the Chiarosans would see as a nonthreatening gesture. He stopped beside Zweller and Gomp.

“Grelun,” Riker said calmly. “We have to talk.”

Grelun sneered. “Falhain should never have trusted you Federation folk. Particularly thatone.” He twirled one of his blades, then aimed its point straight at Zweller. “The man who tried to betray us to Ruardh.”

Riker heard surprised mutters among the Slaytonsurvivors, which receded slowly after Roget gave a terse order for silence. All eyes were upon Zweller now, and none looked very friendly.

Apparently oblivious to everyone in the chamber except for Grelun, Zweller was still holding his particle weapon, his arms at his sides. In a steely voice, Zweller said, “Not true, Grelun. I could have done a lot more than just tamper with your communications and security systems. I could have sabotaged the cloaking devices that keep this place hidden from your enemies. But I didn’tdo that.”

Cloaking devices.The words echoed in Riker’s mind. Looks like the Romulans have been stacking the deck, after all.He saw from Troi’s expression that she must have come to the same conclusion. But what,he wondered, did the Romulans have to gain?

Zweller continued: “And do you know why, Grelun? Because I believe in your cause. I want to help you stop the slaughter of your people.”

Grelun appeared unmoved. “You outworlders and your schemes. You plot and you plan. You manipulate us as though we were but pieces in a game. And who suffers? Those who dwell in the provinces you conquer.”

“We’ve never ‘conquered’ anyone, Grelun,” Riker said. “And I would like a chance to prove it to you.”

“How, human?” Grelun said.

“I offer you a neutral place to meet with us: aboard our starship, the Enterprise.There, you can learn more about our history.”

Grelun laughed, then said, “The writing of history is ever the privilege of the conqueror. Life here was far better, far simpler, before outworlders came among us. Then, only Ruardh and her death‑dealing minions stood against us.”

“What’s really bothering you, Grelun?” Zweller said. “Are you regretting Falhain’s decision to accept aid from the Romulans? Are you worried about what they’ll expect in return after the Federation leaves?”

Zweller had evidently touched a nerve; Grelun was baring the razor‑sharp points of his silvery teeth. One didn’t need to be a Betazoid to divine his emotional state.

“Get down!” Troi yelled.

Grelun raised his swords high and shouted, “Kill them all!” At least two dozen Chiarosan rebels advanced, amid an ear‑splitting, ululating cry that seemed to issue from a single gigantic throat. Gomp turned tail and ran as Riker and Zweller both made rolling dives to the stone floor, bringing their weapons up as they landed. Riker could already hear weapons discharges, even before Zweller began firing his disruptor at the oncoming soldiers.

Then Riker realized that he was hearing weapons fire coming from behindthe charging Chiarosans. He noticed the distinctive whooshing sound of a Starfleet compression phaser rifle, a weapon he’d not seen in the hands of Grelun’s troops.

The sound of phaser blasts grew louder and the Chiarosans’ united charge became a disorganized scatter. Grelun, his bare forearms badly burned by energy fire, fell back into his men. Chiarosans had begun dropping to the floor.

Moments later, none of the rebels was standing. Miraculously, none of the Starfleet contingent appeared seriously hurt. Near the chamber’s far wall, behind the stunned Chiarosans, stood Lieutenant Hawk, armed with a phaser rifle. Beside him was Admiral Batanides, who was holding a hand phaser.

Zweller smiled broadly as they approached. “Marta, I was expecting to see Johnny. What the hell are youdoing here?”

Her face was set into hard lines. “Saving your ass yet again, apparently.”

Riker noticed that something subtle had changed in the way the admiral carried herself. It was as though she had aged a decade since he’d seen her last on the Enterprise.

Zweller apparently sensed something, too. Anxiously, he asked, “How is Aubin?”