Ezri nodded in approval. “Looks like we have ourselves a rescue team.”

The whir of computer circuits, the thrum of impulse engines and the patterns of blinking lights had a tempo Shar found comforting. From time to time, when his head spun with worries and have-to’s, Shar found refuge in working a spacecraft. Performing routine physical tasks helped him wrestle down the mounting anxieties that sometimes beset him. Most of the time, a spacecraft followed predictable patterns. Shar enjoyed the orderliness of it all, finding it comforting when the world around him refused to conform. His peace would dissipate shortly.

Though the Tin-Mal quarantine zone was in the opposite hemisphere, once Shar had locked in the navigational data and checked weather conditions (storms directly to the east of Ezri’s location), the Sagan’sETA was only twenty minutes. A massive force field surrounding Tin-Mal combined with the curve of the planet made it impossible for Shar to transport Ezri to the Saganfrom where they launched. Rather than track along the surface, Shar launched Saganout of the atmosphere and into an arc that would take them to Dax in minutes instead of hours.

Few words passed between him and Keren; he was grateful for the quiet. He had a feeling he’d be in a siege of words from Lieutenant Dax soon enough.

A signal from his console alerted him that Saganwas approaching Ezri’s location.

“Saganto Lieutenant Dax. We are within transporter range.”

The comm system crackled with static. “Stand by,Sagan. Prepare to beam up wounded Yrythny.”Shar blinked. Saganwas a decent-size shuttlecraft, but Dax had to know the ship couldn’t handle too many casualties.

“Coming through the cloud deck a hundred kilometers out, sir. I’ll have you on visual in five, four, three, two—on screen.” The companel monitor on Shar’s console lit up, but billowing smoke in the twilight obscured the view. “Computer, increase magnification and activate beacons.” Shar swept the ocean with spotlights, finally finding small dark figures on a dock. He thought he could see Ezri waving. Several midsize marine shuttles loaded with Yrythny were skimming away from the disaster site. “Keren, inside the starboard passenger bench are emergency medical kits. Please retrieve them.” What had happened down there?

Clouds of fine ash hung on the wind. Coughing, Ezri raised her uniform sleeve, dank with smoke and Yrythny blood, to her mouth. She pillowed the head of a wounded Yrythny on her lap; he’d stopped moving a few minutes ago and she hoped the Saganhadn’t come too late to save him. Ensign Juarez had done what he could to stabilize his vitals, but the chemical burns to his lungs might have irreparably comprised his respiratory system. Waves heaved against the pier; the rotted wood platform groaned in response, swaying ever so slightly. Ezri envisioned the whole structure giving way, collapsing into the sea like most of the aquaculture village.

Her entire body, stiff with cold, ached. Over the last hour, she’d drawn on physical strength she didn’t know she had. At one point, Jeshoh had tied a line around her waist and sent her over the side to help a Yrythny with a broken arm into one of the rescue boats. Dangling in the air, she was tossed by the wind like a ball on a pendulum. She remembered digging injured people out from under collapsed cottages, putting out fires and helping Juarez transfuse Yrythny blood. Even with the lifeboats, Ezri knew many Yrythny that had survived the attack had perished in the water. She couldn’t think about her losses right now. She needed to assume command of the Sagan,deliver casualties to the proper medical facilities and figure out how to prevent her diplomatic mission from collapsing under the weight of suspicion.

When the shuttle spotlights finally appeared, the wait between transports felt unending, though she knew only seconds transpired between the time Jeshoh, Juarez and the five remaining wounded were beamed aboard. Her turn came. She blinked—it seemed once—and saw familiar environs, the shuttle’s interior; Jeshoh huddled with Keren, Shar had left the Saganon autopilot while he helped Juarez.

“It’s gonna be a tight fit, everyone, so hold on to whatever’s bolted down. Ensign ch’Thane, with me.” Soot-smudged and soaked, Ezri settled in front of the conn, ordering Shar into the co-pilot’s seat.

He complied without comment.

He’d damn well better follow orders without question,she thought. “Prepare to return to Luthia,” she said hoarsely and cleared her throat.

“Lieutenant, I’m sure I can manage if you want to go back and have a medical check.”

“You’ve managed quite enough for one day, Ensign,” Ezri snapped. I need tea, a hot bath and,with a sigh she thought, Julian.

*  *  *

“Tell Fazzle he’s getting what he wanted,” Prynn said, trying to stay pleasant. The brutish guard posted outside the Cheka suite had no response. She shuddered when she thought about Fazzle touching her. I don’t care how badly we need those codes, I am not sleeping with anyone to get them. Lieutenant Dax or Doctor Bashir should be doing this. They seem like the types who really get off on the “let’s pretend” stuff.

“Can you tell Fazzle I’m here?” she said, forcing a toothy grin. This crew is going to owe me…

The guard raised his wrist to his mouth and whispered something unintelligible into his comm unit. A moment later, the doors opened.

“I can go in?” Prynn said.

Before the guard could answer, a familiar howling echoed from within the suite. She peered around the guard to see inside. On two hands and knees, Fazzle ambled down the hall toward Prynn, squealing, “Oh yes oh yes oh yes oh yes,” as he approached.

Prynn gulped. How did I get into this?When her father approached her about a “special assignment,” Prynn thought maybe he would ask her to take the Defiantfor a shakedown before setting a course back to Vanìmel. Subjecting herself to Fazzle’s artistic whims? Not even on the list of possibilities. If that weird creature said or did anything untoward, Prynn would demand unlimited shore leave. It was only fair.

“Come, come,” Fazzle said, waving her in with one of his free arms. “My masterpiece is this way.”

She strolled down the hallway, subtly checking out whatever could be seen through the open doors. One of these rooms had to have a computer interface. She didn’t need the main computer itself, just a computer terminal. Her instructions were simple: find an interface, not in use, attach the encryption decoder/transmitter, known in Starfleet parlance as “the worm,” and get out. Not in a way that would make the Cheka suspicious, but swiftly enough that should her gadget be discovered, she might escape without having a link drawn between her and the transmitter. A hostage was the last thing her father needed right now. After passing more than a dozen doors and not glimpsing anything remotely resembling a computer, Prynn started to despair, worrying about what she might have to do in order to find a computer. Fazzle had stopped; she knew his workspace was close by—she was quickly running out of options.

“Hurry, hurry!” he squawked, patting the floor beside him. “Sit here. Quickly.”

As she approached, she began formulating several backup plans and then—there. She grinned. Over there. Beneath his tarp. Right in the middle of his artwork. The crazy creature had built his entire piece around a computer terminal. She could see from the wiring and sensors integrated into the various “sense peelings” that he intended this sculpture to be animated with lights or movement.

Prynn dropped down on the floor beside Fazzle and looked at him, but not “at” him. Over his shoulder, she had an excellent view of the computer. “What do you need me to do?” she said sweetly.