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STAR TREK: THE THIRD GENERATION on Shadowlands BBS Created and Edited by Rebecca J. Anderson Ver. 2.0 (93/01/01) EPISODE #8: "Captain's (Rotten) Holiday" -------------------------------------------------------------------- CHARACTERS: WRITTEN BY: Captain Jacqueline Picard..................Rebecca J. Anderson Commander Barnabas Cole....................Warren Postma Commander (Dr.) James N'Dok................Tim Ingram Commander (Dr.) Gwyn Davies................Rebecca J. Anderson Commander (Dr.) Gabriele Lestat............Lori Hewson Lt. Commander Nikctalos D'pyrann...........Geza A. R. Reilly Lt. Commander Mac Scott....................Dan McMillan Counsellor T'Pryn..........................Rebecca J. Anderson Centurion Salek............................Adam Gilchrist Lt. Maverint Slike.........................Steve Mahler Lt. Konnu..................................Russ Foubert Moriarty...................................Rebecca J. Anderson -------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Captain Jacqueline Picard "Two weeks of this?" said Jack at the end of her first day on Rhysa. "I don't think I can take it." She walked to the open window and sat down on the window- ledge, curling her sandalled feet beneath her. Wistfully she gazed out at the glittering stars and wondered what the _Enterprise_ was doing now. It wasn't really right of her to complain. The day on which she'd beamed down had been an uncommonly beautiful one, the welcoming committee had been most gracious, and the accomodations they'd assigned her were comfortable to say the least. But when she'd talked to the Recreational Advisor, the man had seemed stunned that she didn't want to do any of the things people normally did on Rhysa, and hadn't known what to do with her after that. She would have just spent the week exploring, but the Advisor had suggested she not do so alone. He'd offered to introduce her to some handsome young man, but Jack had recoiled for reasons which (although quite clear to her) she hadn't really been able to explain to the Advisor. No, if she were to find anyone to walk or ride or generally do things with, she'd have to find that person herself. Unfortunately, the prospect of finding the sort of someone she required in a place like this wasn't very good. They'd have too much sense to come here. "Am I really a horribly boring person?" murmured Jack, dropping her chin upon her folded arms. "Everybody else seems to be having fun." Maybe she was just antisocial. A cold person, not very likeable, perhaps. Snooty and aloof. Thinking herself too good to get involved with all the fun and frolic that was Rhysa. "Oh, but it's not that," said Jack in exasperation, uncurling herself and sliding off the window-seat. "It's not, it's not, it's not." _Then what is it?_ The Advisor's voice echoed in her mind, patient but incomprehending. "I want a real friend," Jack murmured. "Someone who understands me. Can you give me that?" Silence. "I didn't think so," said Jack. The end of the third day found Jack dressed in a long floral- print skirt and a boat-necked blouse the colour of her eyes, sitting in a chair by the edge of the dance floor and wondering for the thousandth time that week why she had let herself be bullied into coming here. She had spent two days in her hotel room reading, then finally gave in and attended a party in the hopes of finding someone--anyone--she could have an intelligent conversation with. So far it had been a disaster. Two Ferengi, one Cardassian, and four well-intentioned humans had tried to pick her up. At last a drunk Betazoid sat down and poured out his soul to her because, he said, she was the only one in the room who would listen. Jack had felt sorry for him, but he had not improved her evening. Now she was hiding in the shadows, watching other people dance. They weren't very good dancers. Jack had enough of her mother's talent to know. Why, oh why, had she let them talk her into this charade? She would have been happier on a Contemplate Preserve. So wrapped was she in morbid contemplation of her woes that she didn't even see the man coming up behind her. She only heard the voice, rich, deep, and strangely familiar: "Do you dance?" "No," said Jack, not looking at him. "Oh, good," said the man in what sounded like consummate relief, and folded himself into the chair beside her. Jack glanced at him in surprise, but he had seated himself beneath the canopy and his head and shoulders were lost in shadow. She could hear the smile in his voice as he went on: "When I saw you looking abjectly miserable at this scintillating party, I dared to hope you might be a kindred spirit. Believe me, I am desperate for a kindred spirit right now. I have no idea what I am doing here. This is a wretched place. I've never been so bored in all my life." "It's supposed to be impossible to be bored on Rhysa," said Jack. "Apparently," observed the man dryly, "we have achieved the impossible." Jack found herself smiling in spite of her resolve. "Apparently. Now, since you have gone to all this trouble to seek me out, may I dare to hope that you might be intending to offer some sort of intelligent conversation?" The man drew back in mock horror. "At a party? Are you mad?" "Yes." "Oh, good," he said, relaxing again. "So am I. All right, then, tell me something. Can God make a rock bigger than He can lift?" Jack was instantly exasperated. "You know, that is the most stupid question--" "Why?" he interrupted. "Why? Tell me why it's stupid. Is it just stupid because you can't answer it?" "No, it's stupid because nonsense is still nonsense when you talk it about God." "C. S. Lewis. But what do _you_ think?" "That is what I think." "You let other people tell you what to think?" "Only when they're right." "Ah, yes, but how do you know when they're right? Just personal preference, or logic?" "Not preference. Partly logic. Partly something else." "What else?" Jack opened her mouth to answer, then thought better of it. "First," she said, "where are you from?" "Don't change the subject." "No," said Jack, "this is important. Where are you from?" "Does it matter?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because of my 'something else.' I need to know if you've heard of it or not." The man's teeth flashed in the darkness. "What," he said, "this?" He pulled a padd out of the pocket of his loose black jacket and flicked it at her. Jack caught it and stared at the letters scrolling down the screen. "Oh," she said, and then laughed. It was a real laugh, the first truly joyful laugh she'd had in a long time. "Yes! Yes, oh, where did you get this? Do you know how hard they are to find?" "I programmed it myself," said the man, taking it back. "From a hard copy I managed to scrounge." "That must have been a lot of work. You could have--" "Yes, I know there are faster ways to do it. But it wasn't the speed that mattered to me." He slid the padd back into his pocket. "Well," said Jack. "Far be it from me to say that one cannot, after all, find _anything_ one pleases on Rhysa. Even, it seems, a good--if disappointingly insincere--debate." "Is it?" "Is what?" "Is it disappointing that I was insincere?" "Well, no, not if that means you're on my side." "Is it?" "What?" "Your side." Jack laughed again, this time with unreserved delight. "You are perfectly dreadful. Do you always insist that everyone qualify their terms?" "Only when it counts." "Oh, very well. No, it is not _my_ side, exactly; it is, rather, the side I happen to be on." "Good," said the man. He leaned back and motioned to the waiter. "Two iced teas," he said when the man had hurried over, order-padd in hand. "Medium sweet, chilled, lemon, no ice." The waiter nodded, vanished into the crowd and reappeared almost instantly with the drinks. Jack took hers from the proffered tray and gazed down at it with something like reverence. "How could you possibly know--" "Well," said the man with a grin that glittered even in the shadows where he sat, "if we agree on something as bizarre as the Bible, it seems only logical that we'd agree on something as mundane as iced tea." "I am now going to say something incredibly stupid," said Jack. "And what's that?" "What's your name?" The man laughed. "It does seem that we've come at all this a bit backwards, haven't we? I'm Gwyn Davies." "And what nationality might you be?" asked Jack with a grin. "I know, I know. Now what's _your_ name?" "Jacqueline Picard," said Jack, and they both laughed. "But you don't sound French," said Gwyn. "Nor you Welsh. But I'm only half French. My mother's background was either Scottish or Irish, I can never remember which." "Well, whatever you do, don't say that to an Irishman or a Scot." Jack smiled and sipped her drink. "But your name is familiar," said the man after a companionable pause. "You're in Starfleet, aren't you?" "Yes," said Jack, a little hesitantly. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to talk shop here. For some reason I can't even place where I've heard of you before, except that I knew you were in Starfleet. It's just that I'm in Starfleet too, you see. I'm a cyberneticist." "_That_ Gwyn Davies? I've read a couple of your papers. But I'd never seen you, of course. As a matter of fact," she amended, "I can't say I've seen you even now." "What? Oh." He grinned again, and moved his chair into the light. "Is that better?" he said. "I--" began Jack, but the easy comment died on her lips. Sitting there in the chair before her, dressed in a rumpled black suit with a plain grey tunic, was Moriarty. She almost got angry before she realized that this was not Moriarty after all, could not be. She had always wondered how Moriarty had managed to invent so singular a face for himself; now she knew. He must have scanned the active Starfleet personnel records and grabbed the first one he liked. Or... was it that simple? _It'll be all right,_ said Gabriele's voice in her mind. _I think he likes her._ _Jacqueline,_ said Moriarty's voice. _A beautiful name, don't you agree, Mr. Cole? A shame to have her called by anything else._ And then his strange remark as she was leaving the _Enterprise_. _It's ceased to be appropriate, shall we say that._ Gwyn. Gwyn Davies, Cyberneticist. Admiral Hethor's voice joined the chorus now: _One is... a Cyberneticist... You don't know him, and he's gone on holiday, so I can't properly introduce you._ _I want a real friend,_ said her own voice. _Someone who understands me._ What was going on? Moriarty had deliberately selected Gwyn's looks and even a good deal of his personality when he'd decided to take on a new persona. He must have searched the Starfleet records for someone Jack would respond well to, someone she might even find attractive, to make sure she'd be willing to keep him around. He couldn't have known then that Jack would ever meet Gwyn Davies--certainly not that his alter ego would actually join the crew of the _Enterprise_. _'Ceased to be appropriate'--well, I should think so!_ thought Jack indignantly. _No wonder he decided to change when he got those crew profiles from Admiral Hethor!_ Of course, it could be another cyberneticist they'd be getting on the _Enterprise_, not Gwyn at all. But how many other cyberneticists from Starbase 643 were on holiday at the moment? Another thought occurred to Jack then, and she nearly choked on her drink. Had Admiral Hethor planned this? Had he sent them both to Rhysa, hoping they'd meet? He must have known Gwyn's philosophical bent as well or even better than he did Jack's: surely it was no coincidence that he'd forced them both to go on holiday, to the same place, at the same time. Was this the Admiral's attempt at making up for what he'd put her through? This was all crazy. Utterly, completely crazy. "Jacqueline," said Gwyn, frowning, "are you all right?" "I--I'm fine." She forced herself to look at him, and to smile. "Just--you surprised me. Never mind." Gwyn regarded her shrewdly for a moment. Then he said, "I'm a fool. You're the new Captain of the _Enterprise_. You're Jean-Luc Picard's daughter." "Yes," said Jack shakily. "And you're about to join my crew." "I'm what?" It was Gwyn's turn to be shocked. "What did you say?" "You mean Admiral Hethor didn't tell you?" Colour flooded into her face. "Oh, no, maybe it isn't you after all. Are there any other cyberneticists from your lab who are on holiday right now?" "No." Jack relaxed. "Then it _must_ be you. I wonder why he didn't tell you?" "It must," said Gwyn, recovering himself with obvious difficulty, "be the Caitian sense of humor." It was long past midnight. The glow-globes in the square began to dim, and the dancers ceased their movement; partygoers lurched out of the taverns and wandered back toward their room. Two Ferengi, arm in arm, stopped in the archway of their hotel and favored the neighbourhood with a garbled rendition of "Melor Famagal" in two-part not-quite-harmony. "Shut up!" yelled someone from an upper room, and lobbed a boot at Daimon Prak. He staggered aside just in time to keep it from hitting him in the face. "Ssssss," said his companion, revealing a row of jagged teeth in the moonlight. "Not... very friendly." He picked Prak up, dusted him off, and the two of them continued on their weaving way. "I'll kill him tomorrow," mumbled Prak. "I'll remember his voice." "That would be unprofitable," suggested the other Ferengi. "If we bide our time, we might be able to blackmail him." The Daimon made an assenting gurgle. "That would," continued his friend silkily, "be a most satisfactory bonus to our original plan." "I don' know about this, Vog," slurred Prak. "If the Federation finds out--" "But they won't find out," Vog insisted. In the half-light his eyes glittered clear and bright; he did not seem quite so drunk after all. "We play our cards right, my friend Daimon, and we will turn this holiday into a very... profitable venture." "She is a handsome woman," said Prak dreamily. "It might be hard to give her up when the ransom comes in." "By then, my dear Prak," Vog said, "we may well have found a way to keep both of our prizes. Leave it all to me. Captain Jacqueline Picard of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ will soon be in our hands--and a pretty price she'll fetch, too." He rubbed his hands together in undisguised delight. "Wha' abt' th' ssybrnnsst?" mumbled Prak, his head drooping forward onto his chest. Vog looked at him and realized that he might have to carry the Daimon up to his room. "What was that?" he asked, and then realized what the other Ferengi had been trying to say. "Oh, the cyberneticist. Yes... he may be difficult. Well, if he interferes, we can always hold him for ransom too. Nothing like upping the stakes, don't you agree, friend Prak?" There was no answer. Vog looked down at his newly-won accomplice with undisguised disgust, then prodded the slumped figure with a booted toe. Yes, there could be no mistake about it. Daimon Prak was asleep. From: Captain Jacqueline Picard "So," said Gwyn. "Tell me about yourself." The two of them were leaning over the edge of the topmost balcony of one of Rhysa's many scenic towers, gazing down at the creamy-white buildings and immaculate streets of the city far below. Beyond the city walls the hills of Rhysa rolled, green and golden in the sunlight, graced with a host of blossoming trees whose heady, redolent perfume captivated Jack with every breath. She almost began to feel that maybe this place wasn't so bad after all. "What?" she murmured, hardly hearing. "Oh. Sorry. What did you want to know?" "You might as well start with your childhood, I suppose. Your family. What was it like growing up with Jean-Luc Picard?" Jack gave a little, distracted smile. "Never a dull moment. He was a driven man, a man who always had to be doing something, learning something." "Well, that was one of the things that made him great." "I suppose so. But he was my father, after all: I never really thought of him as being that special. I remember him as compassionate, but reserved. Sometimes it seemed we couldn't talk at all. Still, I wanted very much to make him proud of me. Which was what made it so hard when our philosophies finally came into conflict." "What did your mother think?" "She wasn't very happy with me either." She looked down at her folded arms. "I guess I wasn't liberal enough to please my parents." "Funny," said Gwyn. "It doesn't often work out that way." "No. But you know, I loved them all the same. Even though there came a time when we no longer understood each other, when the simplest communication was painful, I still loved them. It was...very hard for me when they died." "They never changed their minds," said Gwyn. It was more statement than question. "No. Not that I know of, anyway. There was one conversation we had where I almost thought my father was beginning to understand, but the moment just--" she spread her hands helplessly--"slipped away." Gwyn was silent. "What about you?" she asked. He turned around and put his back to the wall, crossing his long legs and gazing at the tower's blank face. "I suppose I had a much easier time of it. My parents were simple people--I don't mean stupid, but uncomplicated. When I decided to become a cyberneticist, my parents were surprised, and I think perhaps even disappointed, but they didn't try to stop me." "Did they think that cybernetics was too much like playing God?" "That was exactly how they felt. I had the opposite problem with my parents that you did with yours, you see. I thought their ideas were pretty quaint. It took me a good many years to see the sense in it, and by then I was already Chief Cyberneticist and my parents, like yours, were dead." "And now?" "Some cyberneticists play God. I just worship Him." He grinned at her; she smiled back. "So, what else do you do besides cybernetics?" she asked. "Don't have time for much else, I'm afraid. As I'm sure you know, Starfleet tends to devour one's leisure time. I play a bit of cello, though. And I'm not above a scene or two on the holodecks now and then. You?" Jack looked blank. "I don't think--" Her brow furrowed. "You know, I don't seem to do much at all outside of Starfleet. Especially since I've been Captain, it's just been one thing after another. I used to ride a little; my father taught me. And my mother was a dancer as well as a doctor, so I know a bit about that too. But lately--" "Have you got many friends on the _Enterprise_?" "A few, I suppose. The bartender down in Ten-Forward is an old friend of the family, but to be quite frank, Guinan makes me nervous. My First Officer is an old acquaintance, too--a really fine officer, but very melancholy and sometimes even bitter about what happened to him. He was in an accident, you see." "Transporter accident. Yes, I heard about that. It was a miracle he survived." "I think sometimes he wishes he hadn't." Jack flicked a bit of loose stone over the edge of the wall and watched it tumble out of sight. "And then there's our Counsellor, but I'm just getting to know her. And Moriarty, if you can count the ship's computer, but I'm just getting to know him too, and now I find that he's not who I thought he was." Gwyn stared at her. "You're friends with the ship's computer?" "He's sentient. It's a long story, but you'll probably find out a lot more by talking to him yourself." He raised his eyebrows. "I'll have to take your word for it, then, but you'll have to pardon me if I say that sounds far too weird to be true." "Believe me," said Jack with a short laugh, "it's both weird _and_ true. Oh, you'll enjoy the _Enterprise_, Gwyn Davies. The strangest crew in all of Starfleet." "I thought that was traditional," said Gwyn. "There they are," hissed Vog to his companion, who winced and put a hand to his bulbous head. "Don't do that," Prak whimpered. "It echoes in my brain." Vog was unsympathetic. "I warned you not to try and outdrink a Pacifican. See? There, at the top of the tower. Hurry!" Together the Ferengi clambered up the spiral stair toward their goal. Vog, his beady eyes bright, kept his hand close to his chest as if clutching some small and delicate object, while Prak just mumbled and held his aching head. "Here, Daimon," panted Vog when they had reached the balcony level. "Take this." He pressed a skinjector into Prak's hand. "Be careful with it, and don't use it until I tell you." He glanced out onto the balcony, then smiled and rubbed his bony hands together. "Yessss... very good. Very good indeed. There is no one here to interfere, and no one to see us leave. Now, my Daimon, follow me. I will do the talking." Prak nodded, and the Ferengi shuffled out onto the terrace. The humans, who had been talking quietly, turned and regarded them with surprise. "Greetings, fellow tourists," said Vog, spreading out his hands ingratiatingly. "Is the view not beautiful here?" "It is," said the red-haired woman. Vog looked her up and down and decided that she was indeed attractive--except for those ridiculous and wasteful clothes. He smiled at her, but not too broadly, since he knew a full display of jagged Ferengi teeth was not often appreciated by humans. "My friend and I have been exploring this restful planet since we came here," he said, "and we have found many hidden beauties which the brochures do not advertise. We would be most pleased to show them to you." "For a price, of course," said the man, thin lips curling in amusement. Vog did not like the look in those narrow dark eyes. This one could pose a problem, if not carefully watched. "Of course there would be a price, dear sir," he said. "But we are always prepared to bargain." He allowed himself a millisecond to glance at Prak, who was insinuating himself between the humans and the balcony. Yes, the plan was going well. "Shall we say... fifty credits per day?" "I don't think we're interested, thank you," said the Picard woman politely. "After all," added the man, scratching idly at his close- trimmed beard, "we can always do our own exploring." "Oh, but I must insist," said Vog. At that prearranged signal, Prak pressed the skinjector against the woman's bare arm. There was a hissing sound, and she cried out. The man whirled and made a grab for Prak, but Vog darted forward and pressed his own skinjector against the back of the man's neck. "There," panted Vog. "What have you done?" demanded Jacqueline Picard, holding her wounded arm. "You have now been infected with Ferengal flu," Vog told her. "Unless you follow us, quietly, now, you will die within twenty-four hours. We are the only ones who know where the antidote is." "There's no reason we should go with you," snapped the cyberneticist. "There are doctors on Rhysa--" "Gwyn," said the woman quietly, "I've heard of this virus. No independent research has yet discovered a way to neutralize it, and the Ferengi have always refused to release the formula for the antidote. They will only administer the cure to the patient themselves--for an exorbitant price." The man's jaw tightened. "Trust the Ferengi to turn a deadly disease into a profit." "Of course," said Vog. "It is one of our most lucrative ventures. Now, will you come with us, or will you die?" "It would seem," said the man, "that we have no choice." From: Captain Jacqueline Picard Jack stumbled along the dark forest path, her head reeling, sweat pouring from her brow. Her whole body quaked with fever, and she could barely see straight. How long had they walked, how far had they come, and where were they going? She had no idea. All she could think of was how much she just wanted to lie down by the side of the trail and die. Ahead of her Gwyn plodded resolutely, but she could see the sheen of sweat on his face in the twilight between the trees. He was as sick as she was--maybe sicker. Yet he kept on, as must she if they wanted to live. The Ferengi led the way, alternately skulking and capering down the path toward their unknown destination. They chattered excitedly to each other in their own language, no doubt boasting of their great achievement in capturing two such valuable officers of the Federation. They had discovered only a few minutes ago that Gwyn was not merely a garden-variety cyberneticist, but indeed the Chief Cyberneticist of Starbase 643, and this had sent them into paroxysms of glee at their good fortune. Jack wished she could be half so happy. "You must wear blindfolds now," smirked the Ferengi Jack had automatically termed One, since he seemed to be the leader. Of course they hadn't given their names: they weren't as stupid as they looked. "Blindfolds!" snapped Gwyn. "We can hardly see even now, and you want us to wear--" "But you have no choice," Ferengi Two reminded him with a glittering grin. "Do not fear; we will not allow you to be harmed. We will lead you." "Joy," commented Gwyn dryly. But he did bend down and allow Ferengi One to bind a strip of dark cloth over his eyes. "You too," said Ferengi One to Jack. She obeyed. When she straightened up she could see nothing but blackness, and her dizziness increased. One of the Ferengi took her arm, and they headed slowly down what seemed to be a slope. Distantly she heard the hollow dripping of water on stone, increasing in volume as they headed--was it eastward?--away from the path. Ferns and long grass brushed against Jack's bare legs, and she felt warm moisture seeping into her sandals from the rain-soaked ground. They walked in this way for a moment, and then her foot came down on something hard and rough. The dripping was very loud now. "Turn on the light," hissed the Ferengi on Jack's arm. There was a click, then a hum, and they moved forward into deeper darkness. After that there was no telling where they went. The journey took them up and down, left and right, sometimes in circles it seemed. Jack stumbled many times on the rough path, stubbing her toes so hard that she was sure they had started to bleed, but the Ferengi forced her on. "Hurry, hurry," he said in his whining, sibilant voice. "Or the antidote will do you no good." "How long?" called the other Ferengi from some distance ahead. "Close now," said Jack's captor cryptically. Hours--or perhaps just long minutes--passed. Then they made a sudden sharp turn, and Jack was pushed forward into a large open space. Her feet skidded on the wet, slimy ground; she lost her balance and sat down hard. "Take off blindfold now," said one of the Ferengi, and ripped the cloth from her eyes. Jack blinked, and looked around her with bleary eyes. In her condition it was hard to tell, but they seemed to be in an underground cave of some sort. Gwyn was standing with his back to her, while Ferengi Two leaped up and down trying to reach his blindfold. "Bend down, you fool," snapped Ferengi One. Gwyn bent, and Ferengi Two undid the knot. "You've got us where you want us," said Gwyn wearily. "So where is this antidote you promised?" "Not yet," said Ferengi One. He scurried over to the corner and returned with a length of silvery rope. "Primitive," he said, "but effective. Hold out your hands." Within a few moments, Gwyn and Jack were sitting on the floor with their hands tied securely behind them and their legs bound at the ankles. There would be no escaping now, Jack knew, and her heart sank at the thought. "Now," cackled Ferengi One, rubbing his bony hands together. "The antidote." He beckoned to his companion, who dutifully trotted over with a shiny black case in one hand. Opening the case, One produced a hypo and pressed it against Jack's neck. There was a hiss, and instantly she began to feel better. Another hiss, and Gwyn received the antidote; she heard his sigh of relief. "Good, good," said Two admiringly. "The plan has gone just as you said!" "Of course," One replied. "Now all we have to do is deliver our ransom demands." "They will not be able to trace them to us?" asked Two. "I have worked out an elaborate system with many secure contacts," said One. "No one will know where the demands are coming from. Nor will any scanners be able to find our captives here, for the rocks are laced with boranium cyclide." "But they'll know we're not offworld," said Gwyn. "And they'll know you're missing, too." "Not at all," Ferengi One sneered. "Do you think us so short-sighted? My friend and I departed Rhysa on a Ferengi cruiser some hours ago. You and Captain Picard were recorded as having left this morning. You sent no forwarding address because you wished to be alone, but rumour has it you embarked on a pleasure cruise of the system. It's all in the Rhysan computer system now, I assure you. And there's no one to say differently." "Our baggage--" "--has been forwarded to the _Enterprise_," said Ferengi Two, and giggled. "Be sure, we have thought of everything." "I'll bet," said Jack. "Please make yourselves comfortable," One told them slyly. "We will not be far away--ever." They gathered up their small pile of equipment and left the room, tittering to themselves. Jack waited until their laughter had faded into the silence, then let out a long sigh. "Well," she said to the silent Gwyn. "Some holiday this is turning out to be." From: Captain Jacqueline Picard Five long hours had passed in the damp darkness of the cave, while Jack and Gwyn sat motionless, waiting for their captors to return. Earlier they had heard the Ferengi chattering, but now they seemed to have moved further down the tunnel, leaving their prisoners alone. The burning dizziness of Ferengal flu had now subsided from their bodies, but their present situation was no more pleasant. The slow dripping of water from the ceiling of the cave echoed in Jack's ears until she felt she could no longer stand it. She moved her head restlessly. "Ow," she said. "Ow ow ow ow ow!" "What is it?" asked Gwyn, a little irritably. She winced. "This clip in my hair--I must have knocked it when we were running. It pulls--ow!" She glanced over her shoulder, trying to see her bound hands. "It's going to drive me absolutely mad, and I can't do a thing about it. Unless you--" "My hands are no more free than yours." "No, but you could reach it with your teeth. It's spring- loaded; you'd just have to bite down on the top, and the teeth would open." She shuffled closer and turned her back to him so that he could see how it worked. "See?" "This is absurd," said Gwyn, but he bent over without hesitation and in a moment the pull on her hair was gone. "Uh oo I oo ith ih ow?" he asked politely. "Just clip it to my sleeve." "Ith ih ige un uf ohs eely ooilliain arrhy ames." He released the clip gingerly, leaving it dangling from her shoulder. "Bleah." "What did you say?" "I said," Gwyn told her, "that this is like one of those really humiliating party games. Are we going to bob for apples next?" Jack started to laugh and found, not with any particular surprise, that she couldn't stop. At last Gwyn knocked his head against hers so hard that her skull rang like a bell and said sharply, "Get a hold of yourself!" "Sorry," she panted. She bent her head forward, pressing her face against her knees. "But this--this is mad, Gwyn. This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation on the most luxurious resort planet in Federation space, and here I am being held for ransom in some slimy cave heaven-knows-where, I'm so tired I could just fall over and die, and hungry--words don't begin to describe how hungry I am--" "You don't need to describe it, thank you very much," said Gwyn drily. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't complain when you're just as badly off." "Worse," said Gwyn. "Worse?" "Much worse. I have to go to the bathroom--" Jack started laughing again until the tears streamed down her face, while Gwyn regarded her with an expression of injured dignity. "It's all very well for you," he said. "No, no, sorry," she gasped when she could put words together again. "This is just--it's madness, absolute madness. It couldn't be worse. I mean, what else can you do but laugh?" "There has to be a way to get these ropes off," said Gwyn grimly. He started backing up toward the wall. "If I can rub them on something, a sharp stone--" "There is not one stone in this entire cave which is not entirely coated with slimy moss," Jack said. "You won't do it that way." "If we had Admiral Hethor here--" Jack spluttered. "Stop making me laugh! Can you imagine?" "I wish _I_ were Caitian," said Gwyn. "Wonderful sharp teeth." He leaned his head back against the wall. "There has to be something we can do. I'm going insane just sitting here." "Wait," said Jack suddenly. "That silver clip of mine." "Please don't tell me you want me to put it back in your hair, because I'm not going to do it." "No, of course not, don't be ridiculous. But it's metal, you see, brittle metal, and if we could break it open, we might be able to find a sharp edge--" Gwyn shuffled over to her with astonishing rapidity for someone whose hands and feet were tied. "Here we go again," he said, and closed his teeth around the top of the clip. Dropping it on the floor, he brought his heel down on it hard, but it remained intact. Further attempts were equally unsuccessful. "Here," said Jack. She used her foot to push the clip up against the wall of the cave, then lashed out at it with both feet as hard as she could. There was a sudden metallic ping, and the clip shattered. Gwyn shuffled over to inspect the fragments. "Anything that looks sharp?" He squinted down at the wreckage. "Hard to say. Maybe by touch--" Turning his back on the remains of the clip, he used his bound hands to feel the broken pieces. "No," he murmured, "no, no, no--ow!" "Found one?" asked Jack. "I'll say I found one. I think I'm bleeding." He grunted, shifting the fragment in his hand. "I don't know about this, but turn around and I'll have a go at your hands." "Just don't cut my fingers off," said Jack. The two of them shuffled around until they were back to back. "I can make no such promise," said Gwyn. "I can't see what I'm doing." With painstaking slowness he began to saw at the rope that bound Jack's hands. Seconds stretched into minutes, then into what seemed hours, while Gwyn continued his difficult task. Then... "Got it," he muttered. "At least, I think so. Give it a good hard pull." Jack brought her hands together, then pulled them apart sharply. The rope at her wrists slackened. "Yes!" she exulted. In a moment she had untied her wrists, and turned around quickly to free Gwyn's hands as well. Then both of them set to work on the ropes that bound their ankles. "That's all very well," said Gwyn when the two of them were free, and could stretch their cramped limbs for the first time in five hours, "but how are we to get out of here? You can bet these tunnels are as dark as the innards of a Cirellian fangbeast, and we've got no light at all." "No light, no weapons, and no idea of which way to go to get out," agreed Jack. "But what choice do we have? We can't stay here." "True." Gwyn moved to the mouth of the cave, peered both ways down the tunnel. Jack started to say something, but he held up a hand for silence. "I don't see a light," he told her a moment later, "and I don't hear them either. Maybe they've gone to sleep: it must be night by now." "Maybe," said Jack dubiously. "Well, there's nothing for it. Here." He extended his hand to her. "Can you remember any of the turnings we took to get here?" "The last few--I think." She took his hand, and the two of them moved cautiously out into the tunnel. "All right then," said Gwyn. "We'll move slowly, and I'll feel ahead with my foot so we don't fall into anything nasty. Which way, Captain?" "Right," said Jack. "Right it is," said Gwyn, and the two of them shuffled off into the darkness. From: Commander (Dr.) Gwyn Davies Night had fallen on Rhysa, and now the cave was not only dark and damp, but cold. As Gwyn and Jack inched along the slimy floor, blindly feeling ahead for any obstacle or sudden drop, he could feel her hand shaking in his. Almost without thinking he took off his jacket and handed it back to her. She didn't refuse it. They had come perhaps a quarter of a kilometre since they had first left their prison an hour ago: their progress had been that painstakingly slow. Gwyn wasn't easily alarmed, but right now every nerve in his body was shrilling at him. What with the deathly blackness, and the strong possibility of getting lost or falling down a hole somewhere, the journey toward the outside world had taken on the unpleasant quality of a fever dream. This certainly wasn't turning out to be the sort of indolent, luxurious holiday Rhysa was famed for, thought Gwyn with a grimace. Not that he'd really wanted that anyway, but he could have done without this particular brand of excitement. Mind you, even this situation had its advantages. He glanced back at Jacqueline, but couldn't even discern her shape in the absolute darkness. The only way to tell she was there was the pressure of her hand in his and the faint sound of her breathing behind him. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. "I'm fine," she said. "Just--a little tired." "Then you're doing a good deal better than I am," he said, "because I'm scared nigh out of my wits." The admission startled her: he could hear her sharp intake of breath. Then she let it go in a laugh that was half sigh, and said "Me, too." "Do you hear anything from the Ferengi?" "No, but I keep thinking that any moment--" "I know. That's exactly what I'm thinking." He felt ahead with his foot. The ground seemed firm. He took another step. "But we can't move any faster, not without breaking our necks." "There don't seem to be very many other tunnels in here," observed Jack. "The path is more or less straightforward, for all that it winds around." "Probably carved by an underground river," said Gwyn. "That would explain the boranium cyclide deposits in the rock." "It was a very clever idea, I must admit. The Ferengi plan, I mean." "For all we know it may still be a very clever idea," Gwyn said dryly. "We're not anywhere near the outside yet--" A shriek echoed in the darkness, cutting off his words. Jack gripped his arm convulsively. "Oh no," she breathed. "They've found out." "It'll take them a while to catch up to us, though. Come on. If we can find a hole in the wall, anything--" They loped along the tunnel as quickly as they dared-- certainly faster than was safe, but hopefully not fast enough to carry them right over the brink of any sudden drop. Gwyn struck his arms against the walls of the tunnel on both sides, blindly searching for some place of refuge. Suddenly his arm struck empty air, and his flailing hands found the shape of a narrow crack in the rock, just barely deep enough to hold the two of them. The crack was diagonal, its mouth facing away from the approaching Ferengi; it just might hide them--as long as their captors didn't look too closely. "In here," he hissed, grabbing Jack by the arm. She gave a startled exclamation as he pulled her into the alcove with him. "I beg your pardon," he said, "but I assume you prefer this to the alternative?" "Immeasurably," said Jack in a peculiar flat voice, and they fell silent, waiting for the Ferengi to catch up to them. It did not take long. "Idiot!" came a sibilant voice from the darkness. "Fool! To let them get away--" "_I_ let them get away?" said the second voice. "What did I have to do with it? This is _your_ plan, Vog. And I think I've had enough of your attitude. I may be a Daimon on holiday, but I am still a Daimon, and deserving of your respect!" Gwyn could feel the muscles of Jack's stomach tighten suddenly against his forearm; she was trying desperately not to laugh. "Of course, Daimon Prak," said Vog in conciliatory tones. "Of course you are. I was speaking to myself, dear friend. I was saying to myself, 'Idiot! Fool!'" _Right_, thought Gwyn, _and I believe you too._ But Prak seemed placated: he said in a calmer voice, "They can't have gotten far, not without light. And they might make a wrong turning at the junction--" "If they do, we'll be collecting them in pieces," said Vog. "That's a thirty-metre drop. No, we must catch them before they go that far. Follow me!" A blinding light slashed the darkness and glided on up the tunnel as Vog and Prak passed the alcove where Gwyn and Jack were hidden and scurried on. "Come on," whispered Jack a moment later. She slipped out of the crack and began to move forward, drawing him with her. "What are we doing?" asked Gwyn, startled. "We've got to see where they go, which way they turn. I was watching the light as they passed: the path is clear, so we can move quickly. We'll just have to hope they don't turn around." There was no time for argument. He took her hand again, and together they headed for the light. From: Captain Jacqueline Picard "Wait!" said Prak suddenly. Vog, who was carrying the lamp, stopped in his tracks and turned back to face his partner in crime. "What is it, Daimon?" he asked. "What if they didn't come this way at all? Have you thought of that? They could have turned the wrong way out of the cave, and then--" "They would have gone straight past our cave," Vog said with the air of a Ferengi whose patience has been sorely tried. "You would have seen them, or heard them, easily." "Um," said Prak sagely. "Perhaps... not?" Vog's voice rose, took on a menacing tone. "Are you trying to tell me, dear friend Prak, that you were _not_ watching the entrance of the cave? That you were _not_ listening?" "Well... they were tied, were they not? And you were sure they could not escape..." Prak spread out his hands in a lame, pleading gesture. "I was very tired, friend Vog." Vog gave an incoherent shriek. "Tired! I'll show you tired, you cretin! If they've fallen down the pit, do you have any idea how much profit we will lose?" "I don't believe this," murmured Gwyn in Jack's ear. "They're actually going to turn around and come back." "Then let's move quickly," said Jack, "before they see us. We've got to head back to that side tunnel we passed a minute ago. Perhaps they won't see us if we lie flat--" "Maybe, maybe not," said Gwyn. "But I have a better idea. Consider this..." He pressed his mouth closer to her ear and whispered his plan in slurred, barely audible syllables. Jack didn't catch all of it--her brain was whirling for some inexplicable reason, and her heart had begun to gallop--but she understood enough to know what she must do. She breathed her agreement, and they crept back down the tunnel, just ahead of the searching eye of the Ferengi's powerful light. The tunnel was just around the bend, and it was, as Gwyn had suggested, the perfect spot for what he had in mind. The light would not pick them out unless the Ferengi deliberately turned and looked--and they had already searched that corridor on the way up, so to do so again would be most unlikely. They could wait in the shadows, and then-- There was a grunt, a thump, and the light flew out of Vog's hands. Prak, who had been leading the way, whirled and drew his weapon--a nasty-looking disruptor--but too late. Jacqueline tackled him at the knees, and the gun went flying. He was much stronger than she had expected, and he fought with surprising vigor. Nevertheless, when her fingers found the soft spot at the back of his bulbous skull he went limp, shuddering. All she had to do was press a little harder, and she could kill him. She wouldn't, of course, but he had no way of knowing that. "All right," said Gwyn's voice in the darkness. "That's enough. Jacqueline, have you got him?" "Yes," she said. "Ha ha," Vog said brightly. "You are very clever. Well, you can let us go now; the joke is over." "Joke?" said Gwyn. "Yes! Oh, yes, did you not know? We were hired, my friend Prak and I, to play a joke on yourself and your lovely companion. We were told you found your holiday on Rhysa tedious, and that could not be permitted. So we were told to come up with an exciting adventure for you to participate in. You would never have been harmed, certainly not. It was all for pretend, from the very beginning. Ah ha ha." Vog was trying terribly hard to be jovial, and he nearly succeeded until a choking sound signaled that Gwyn had tightened his grip on the Ferengi's neck. "I think not, somehow," he said. "Oh, look: a stun phaser. For us, I presume, if we got out of hand? How nice. Are you sure you wouldn't like to try it first?" There was a flash of light, and Vog went down with a grunt. "Oh, no, no," whined Prak, "those things give me the worst headaches, you can't imagine--" Szzzzt. "You very nearly got me with that thing," said Jack as the two of them hurried up the tunnel. "Did you get his disruptor? I couldn't find it." "Neither could I," said Gwyn, switching the light up higher and playing it along the walls and ceiling of the cave, revealing black rock laced with the glittering green and gold of boranium cyclide. "I'm afraid we'll have to take the chance that they'll find it and come after us when they wake up. I've got the stun phaser, but I wouldn't trust it for more than close range. Plus, it's a Ferengi phaser, and you never quite know how these things might be rigged--" "Do you hear something?" said Jack abruptly. "Yes. You." "No. Listen." They stopped, and spent a moment in silence. Distantly, the sound of wind rustling through leaves and grass could be heard above the dull plopping of water that echoed constantly in the cave. "We're almost there," said Gwyn. "Come on." From: Captain Jacqueline Picard It was night when Jack and Gwyn emerged blinking from the damp darkness of the cave: the silver globe that was Rhysa's chief moon swung low above the trees, and the sky was crowded with stars. Together the escaped prisoners hurried down the path away from their prison, neither one sure of which direction they were going, nor particularly caring, for that matter. Jack was exhausted. Yet if they stopped, she knew, Prak and Vog would find them. The stun phaser they had used on the Ferengi was not particularly powerful: they would waken within a few minutes, and the chase would be on. And the Ferengi had the advantage: they knew the terrain, for one thing, and for another they probably had some sort of tricorder with them. "Maybe a search party will find us," she said breathlessly to Gwyn, but he shook his dark head. "We haven't been gone long enough. One day isn't going to make anybody on Rhysa suspicious. Plus, the Ferengi told them we were offworld, remember?" Jack sighed. "Yes, of course." "I know what you're wondering: did they have a tricorder, or not? I'd vote "no": at least I didn't feel one on Vog when I grabbed him. And they're going to have a hard enough time finding their way out of that cave without a light; it would be insane for them to try and go back down the tunnel to their hideout and retrieve their supplies from there." All the while as he was speaking he played the powerful beam of the lamp he held over the leaves and trunks ahead, as though searching for something. "What--" she began, and Gwyn said "There." To the left of the path, well off in the brush, part of a rock face leaped into view. Keeping the light steady, he turned from the path and headed for it. Jack followed, a little hesitantly. "Are you looking for more boranium cyclide?" she asked. "Because unless we find it, those rocks won't hide us." "If they have a tricorder, you mean." "If. Yes." "I don't care any more," said Gwyn flatly. "Well, not at present. I thought I saw a gap in those rocks that might be some sort of small cave. And if it is, I'm going to sleep in it." "I can't argue with the sentiment," said Jack, "though I would if I had two brain cells to rub together." "If you've got one, you're doing better than those Ferengi," muttered Gwyn, brushing wet bushes aside and plunging deeper into the undergrowth. They reached the rock face quickly, but Gwyn's "cave" turned out to be an irregular fissure in the stone about a metre wide and only slightly more than that high. Even a Ferengi would have found it uncomfortable: humanly speaking, it was impossible. "So much for that," said Jack. "Well, if it rains, at least we can keep our heads dry. Or our feet, whichever you prefer." Gwyn bent on hands and knees and peered into the little gap, shining the light ahead of him. "Funny, it's deeper than it looks." He moved forward, nearly scraping his head against the ceiling of the fissure. "There's a bend--" All at once there was a slithering sound of gravel, and Gwyn gave a strangled exclamation. Jack lunged for his fast- disappearing ankles, but her weariness had made her slow, and she just missed him. Heart pounding, she dropped to her knees and shouted, "Gwyn? _Gwyn?_" There was a long, awful silence. Then: "Ow," drifted up his deep, slurring voice from somewhere--it seemed a long way away. "That _really_ hurt." "Where are you?" "I fell into-- somewhere. The light's gone out. Just a second." There was a soft click, and the back of the fissure gleamed suddenly golden. "Actually, it's rather roomy in here. The floor is half sand and half--what is this stuff? Feathers?" "If something lives there-- Gwyn, come out." "Lazarus, come forth," murmured Gwyn absently. "No, there aren't any dangerous predators on Rhysa, remember? That's one of the things that makes it such a marvellously boring place to be. You might as well come in. There's no boranium cyclide that I can see, but it looks stout enough." "I can certainly come in, but can we get out?" "I don't see why not. It's not slimy in here like that other rotten cave. Here, I'll try." There was a scraping sound, followed by a grunt, and Gwyn's face appeared unexpectedly from the darkness. "Yes, no problem. Come in. Watch your step. Well, just come in legs first, and I'll catch you." "In a skirt? I think not." "Oh." For the first time, Gwyn sounded embarrassed. "Um. Well, then come in frontways and I'll do the best I can." Jack took a deep breath and crawled into the cave. The floor sloped downward, then dropped away suddenly, and she choked off a scream as she found herself falling forward into empty space. Then strong arms caught her, swung her around, and deposited her lightly on the floor of the high-vaulting cave. "Are you all right?" asked Gwyn. "Aside from having scraped my knees bloody, fine." Jack winced as she flexed her joints. "If I were a child, I'd be enjoying this. Since I'm not--" "Ergo, you are not a child," observed Gwyn. "That's about the highest level of logic I can manage at the moment." He folded himself up--at least that was how it looked: Jack had never noticed how tall he was before--into a sitting position, then stretched out on the floor with a little sigh. "Sand is terrible to sleep on," he said drowsily, "but it's better than rock. Or take some of these feather things. There's a pile--" and in another moment, to Jack's intense envy, he was asleep. From: Captain Jacqueline Picard Jack awoke first, forcing aching muscles to work, pulling herself up out of the sand. With bleary eyes she gazed around the semi-darkness of the cave. Golden light filtered in from above: it must be morning. Moving her head restlessly from side to side to relieve the crick in her neck, she caught sight of Gwyn, still asleep on the far side of the cave. He lay on his back, face turned toward her, arm outstretched and hand half-curled as if beckoning. His sleep-rumpled hair, walnut-coloured and lightly streaked with silver, had fallen across one eye, and his thin lips were parted, showing a glimmer of white teeth amidst the shadow-darkness of beard and mustache. Most people looked like children in sleep, but Gwyn slept the way he moved--like a panther. Even motionless, there was a dangerous, silky physicality to him. Watching him, Jack felt a chill run through her. Yet she trusted him, now more than ever. Most men she knew, were they thrown together with any reasonably attractive woman under such circumstances, might have made some attempt at seduction. But Gwyn had kept a respectful distance all night. And it hadn't just been that he was exhausted: just a couple of hours ago, as she drifted out of sleep for the first time, she heard him stirring and knew he was awake, had even sensed his eyes on her, but just as she was sure he would move or speak, he turned over and went back to sleep. Of course, she thought with a sudden and inexplicable pang, that could just be that he didn't find her attractive. But if she understood him as well as she thought she did, that wouldn't be the thing that was holding him back. The same force that drove her, drove him also, and held them apart in certain ways even as it bound them together in others. She made herself stop looking at him--it wasn't easy-- and turned to gaze up at the source of the light flooding into the cave. There had to be a hole in the roof, or something-- Or not. Jack stopped and simply stared, her mouth open. Clinging to the roof was the strangest creature she had ever seen, shining with soft golden light. So it hadn't been sunshine after all. Looking at it, Jack wasn't sure whether it was an animal, or a bird, or what. Its body was almost perfectly round, covered with soft, iridescent feathers--or perhaps clumps of fur--identical to the ones that littered the floor. The head (assuming the thing had a head) wasn't visible, but four long, slender arms, white as a Victorian lady's, extended along the ceiling to each side. Slender fingers tipped with round adhesive pads clung to the crevices of the roof, holding the creature fast while it slept. All in all, Jack thought, it resembled an unusually large and beautiful tarantula. Until a round head shot out unexpectedly from the centre of the mass, blinking at her, and she gasped. The animal had a face like a waifish child, short-muzzled and big-eyed. Feathery whiskers twitched to either side of its pink and mobile snout as it gazed at her, apparently as startled as she was. "Gwyn," hissed Jack, keeping her eyes on the creature. "Wake up." The man stirred, murmured something unintelligible, and sat up, wiping sleep from his eyes. "It's not--" he began, then caught sight of the strange animal and stopped. "What in the name of all the saints is that?" "I was hoping you could tell me." The animal swung its head around on its short, telescoping neck and peered at Gwyn with an anxious expression. A short, musical twitter arose from its throat. Immediately three more heads shot out of the central mass, tiny copies of the first, twittering in reply. "Great Scott," said Gwyn blankly. "Either this animal operates on the four-heads-are-better-than-one policy, or we've stumbled into its nursery." "I think the latter," said Jack as one ball of fluff slowly detatched itself from the central mass, extended eight skinny arms identical to its parent's, and scuttled off along the wall toward the exit. "This I've got to see," said Gwyn. Swiftly he strode the length of the cavern, hauled himself up to the gap in the wall, and fielded the little creature before it could escape. The mother let out a trilling cry of dismay, but did not move to intervene. "Ow!" said Gwyn. "It's hot." Quickly he released the fluffball, who promptly scurried back along the ceiling to its mother. "Hot?" asked Jack, surprised. "Well, if I'd held it any longer it would have burned me. I really don't think I want to touch the parent." Gwyn dropped back down to the floor of the cave, wiping his hands on his dusty trousers. "I thought the light was just phosphorescence, but the heat seems to suggest otherwise." Jack bent and picked up one of the "feathers" from the floor. Like a bird's feather, it had a hollow rachis, but the rachis terminated in an unusual follicle-like root. She slipped it into the pocket of her skirt for future investigation. "We can ask the Rhysans about it when we get back," she said. "Is it morning yet, do you think?" "Don't know. Just a moment." Gwyn hauled himself up the wall and disappeared into the passageway. A moment later she heard his voice, thin and hollow-sounding, from outside: "It's not only morning, Jacqueline, it looks like about noon. We're lucky the Ferengi haven't found us." "Noon?" Jack was startled enough to be angry. "It can't possibly be noon. We only slept a few hours." "Yes, but what time was it when we left the cave? For all we know it could have been near dawn when we got in here. I don't have a chronometer and neither do you. However..." His lean, corded hand appeared unexpectedly from the crevice, waving the now-familiar infopadd. "We can always do our morning devotions. Where are you at the moment?" Jack smiled in spite of herself. "Second Thessalonians." "Oh, that's a shame." "Why, where are you?" The hand withdrew, and Gwyn's face appeared in its stead-- upside down. The mouth smiled, but the eyes met hers with startling candour. "Song of Solomon," he said. Jack turned away abruptly, but not before he'd seen her blush. "I'm just going to look around a bit," said Gwyn. "Call me if you need a hand up." He disappeared again. Jack wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, but not from cold. Maybe being around Gwyn Davies wasn't quite as safe as she'd thought. According to Gwyn there was no sign of the Ferengi anywhere, and Jack dared to hope that there wouldn't be again. Well-rested but still weak with hunger, they left the cave and its intriguing occupant behind and journeyed on in what they hoped was the right direction. Yet after an hour or so it became clear that the path they trod was taking them deeper into the forest, not out of it. Jack sat down by the side of the trail, once more exhausted. "The Ferengi aren't the problem any more," she said. "I'm half starting to wish they'd find us." "Be careful what you wish for," said Gwyn. "I thought I heard something a couple of minutes ago." He was silent a moment. "There it is again. Do you hear it?" Jack shook her head. "Perhaps I'm imagining it, then." He dug his hands into his pockets, his face set. "At this point paranoia is starting to seem like a natural response." "We've got to find help somehow." "Indeed, but *how* is the question. Anything which might alert rescuers will also alert the Ferengi--if they're following us, that is. It's no good setting a fire: even if we could get it started in all this damp, the canopy would hold in the smoke." "We could set the stun phaser to overload." "That might help--if the Rhysans do routine scans of this area they'd detect the energy flare and investigate. But it would also leave us defenseless." "Do we have a better idea?" demanded Jack. Gwyn's mouth twisted. "You have a point. Very well." He unhooked the phaser from his belt and ran a thumb along its side, turning it to the highest setting. Carefully he placed it on the ground. "Come on!" he said, and dashed off into the trees. Jack leaped to her feet and whirled to follow. The blast came unexpectedly, too soon. The heat struck her from behind like a solid wall, and a shard of hot metal tore into her shoulder. Gwyn caught her, pulled her down, and she screamed. He gave a startled exclamation and pulled back his hand: the palm was slick with blood. Hers. "Jacqueline," he whispered. "I didn't know it would overload so fast--" She could not reply. Whimpering, she pressed her hands against her breast and stared at him in an agony of pain. Bright sparks fired her vision; she crumpled against him, slid to the ground; she heard him cry her name once more, and then the world turned over and faded entirely to black. From: Commander (Dr.) Gwyn Davies Evening had fallen on Rhysa, and the damp, shadow-choked forest had taken on a distinct chill. Gwyn sat shivering by Jack's side, absently rubbing his arms for warmth. He had done everything within his power to keep his wounded companion warm, but pain and loss of blood had sent her into shock. If the Rhysans didn't find them soon, she might very well die. If only he could start a fire! But he had nothing to light it with, and every piece of wood he found was either green or wet anyway. He no longer worried about being found by the Ferengi: by now they had probably given up and redirected their efforts into getting off-world before they were arrested. All he had to worry about was keeping Jack alive. Her face, what little he could see of it beneath her tangled hair, was ghastly white, the skin tightly stretched over the fine bones like paper over a kite frame. Her eyes were closed, and through her parted lips the breath came in ragged gasps. Gwyn watched her long enough to know he'd watched her long enough. Despair swelling within him, he pressed his face against his drawn-up knees and prayed. How long he prayed, or even what he prayed, he didn't know, but all at once a sudden crunching in the underbrush made his head snap up, his eyes narrow in the keen suspicious look he used as a mask for fear. He'd been hearing that sound all day, as if someone--or something--were following them. "Who's there?" he demanded. A soft, melancholy twittering was the only response. Gwyn relaxed. Just some animal, that was all. Some silly beast blundering around in the twilight, not meaning any harm. Then he saw the light. "You say it did what?" the doctor demanded. Gwyn stared at his own lined, blue-shadowed face in the mirror and ran a hand over his eyes. "Just what I told you. It curled up beside her and kept her warm. The kittens--whatever you call them--lined up on one side of her, and the mother--parent, anyway--on the other side, and stayed there for hours. They disappeared just before you found us." "Look," said the doctor compassionately, "you've been ill, and you hadn't eaten for a couple of days--it's not surprising that you'd start imagining things. If you get some rest--" "Imagining--" Gwyn was speechless. He swung his legs around and slid off the table, staring at the young doctor. "Ask her when she wakes up, then. We found the creature--what did you call it?" "That _mythical_ creature," said the doctor with unnecessary emphasis, "is called a feyralen." "Very well, we found a mythical feyralen with three mythical offspring in a mythical cave in which we mythically slept all night before I mythically made a mythtake and set off a mythical explosion which just mythed me, but failed quite spectacularly to myth Captain Picard." He paused for breath. "And then, yes indeed, this mythical creature saved her life." "Well, she's alive, anyway," the doctor conceded. "And once she's slept for a day or so she'll be well on her way to a full recovery. Now I suggest, Dr. Davies, that you follow her example and get some sleep yourself?" He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully and indicated the door with a sweeping gesture. "I'll do that," said Gwyn. "After I eat a horse or two." He cast a glance back at Jacqueline, who lay motionless upon the central table, and started to leave the room. The doctor, seemingly anxious to rid himself of this dangerous madman who believed in benevolent feyralens, accompanied him all the way to the outer door of the complex. "You can visit her tomorrow," said the doctor patiently. "Late in the afternoon, I should think. Good night, Dr. Davies. Sleep well." He pulled the door shut behind him: it shut with an audible and very official click. Gwyn stood staring at the door a moment, then shrugged and headed back to his hotel. From: Captain Jacqueline Picard "You know," said Jack thoughtfully, her fork poised over the small mountain of pasta on her plate, "I really thought I was going to die." "Considering the state you were in, I marvel that you were able to think at all," said Gwyn. "Could you pass the parmesan--or whatever that is by your elbow?" Jack handed the jar to him. "No, I'm serious. In fact, I was *sure* I was going to die." "Mm. It must have been a strange feeling." "Strange doesn't begin to describe it. I wasn't afraid, not really. I mean, I knew where I was going. But I felt ashamed. There's a lot I haven't done, haven't said, that I should have. I've tried to be the perfect Starfleet officer, but now I'm not so sure that's a good thing to be." "Why not?" Jack leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Because Starfleet, to use a familiar metaphor, is a whitewashed tomb." "Oh, unspeakable blasphemy," said Gwyn serenely, twining spaghetti around his fork. "Yes, yes, I know that's no surprise to you. But there are a lot of people who wouldn't be so happy to hear me say it." "I'm glad to hear you say it," said Gwyn, "because I've been thinking the same for a long, long time. But what do you intend to do about it?" "I don't know. I think I'm going to have to reassess my reasons for being in Starfleet, and what I want to accomplish while I'm there. I was raised to think of Starfleet as a philosophy, a way of life. I abandoned a big part of that years ago, but maybe it's time I let go of the rest." "You mean quit?" "No, no. I just mean learning to see it as what it is: just a job. I happen to be Captain of the _Enterprise_. In some ways that's a twenty-four hour responsibility and that's not going to change. But it's not everything I am, and it's time I started taking more care about the _real_ business of life. Do you know what I mean?" "Yeah." He was silent a moment, sipping his tea. Then abruptly he asked, "So what _is_ the real business of life?" "Philippians 1:20, 21. Look it up." "I don't need to," said Gwyn. Jack smiled and began to eat her spaghetti. "Jacqueline." She looked up. "I'm very glad you're alive," said Gwyn. "The _Enterprise_ *what*?" Jack could scarcely believe her ears. She sat down hard on the edge of her bed with one shoe still in hand, the business of packing momentarily forgotten. "What do you mean, it's at Starbase 822? That's right near the Cardassian border!" "It gets better," said Gwyn. "Apparently it arrived in pieces. Not," he amended hastily as the colour drained from Jack's face, "destroyed. But they had to separate the saucer section from the engineering section. The one arrived about a week later than the other." "What in space were they doing?" "You sound like Admiral Hethor. Oh, you mean like 'what on earth', very clever. Well, it sounds like they tried a G-Warp test and it didn't come off quite right. Threw them right into the middle of Cardassian space, and crippled the ship. But everybody's alive, and those that aren't well at the moment, soon will be." "Dear heavens." Jack realized that she was still holding the sandal. She tossed it into the suitcase and stood up to snap the lid shut. "So who's going to pick us up?" "Well, that's the fun part. After the technicians at Starbase 822 finish helping them make the major repairs, they'll have to go straight back to Starbase 643 for an overhaul of the G-Warp systems. That should take them another week. Good morning, by the way. Did I say that? I had breakfast at my hotel, but we could get something down on the street if you haven't eaten yet." "So are you trying to tell me that we're stuck here for another whole week?" "Well, we could probably get a ride out to Starbase 643, but there's nothing for us to do there except unpack and sit around." Jack looked at him steadfastly. Then she picked up her suitcase, opened it, turned it upside down and dumped her belongings all over the floor. "Have you ever been horseback riding?" she asked.