Qui’hibra’s stare still didn’t waver. “And as a result we can no longer approach the skymounts without losing an entire clan and its homes.”

“Let me convey my deepest regrets for the loss of life. If there is anything we can do to help—”

“The first thing you can do is to deliver those telepaths of yours to us for retribution.”

Riker took a step forward. “That’s not going to happen, Qui’hibra. I alone am responsible for what happens aboard this ship. And will vengeance accomplish anything? Will it help your people survive? Think about it. My people had the technology to scan through your hulls. Maybe we have technology that can protect you as well. For instance, do you have any sort of shield technology which can block transporters?”

Qui’hibra growled, but he seemed to be contemplating Riker’s words. “They have been able to compensate for our existing shielding methods. Our allies are already at work on devising alternatives. But even once we gain such shielding, the skymounts will still be able to flee from our attacks. The Hunt will end, the balance will be broken, and chaos will overtake us all.”

“With all respect to your beliefs, Elder…surely there are other species you can hunt. We’ve seen that you already do. And if necessary, you could travel in ships like ours. It would be an adjustment, I know, but—”

“Hrrha! You have not the slightest comprehension of what is at stake, do you? That will teach me to give an idiot like Se’hraqua the task of explaining it to you. But who knew a tiny pest like you could topple the whole balance?”Qui’hibra hissed to himself, thinking. “Then you should know. You will follow us, Riker, and we will show you the full magnitude of what you have wrought. I would not destroy you before you knew the full anguish of your guilt. You will follow, you will see, and you will know my horror and my sorrow—not merely for the Pa’haquel, but for all who live within the balance. And then you will either show me technical miracles to repair it all—or you will embrace your death in the knowledge that it is richly deserved.”

Deanna hated having to bring the latest news to Orilly Malar. The cadet was already devastated enough by her participation in the data theft, but before, her guilt had been mollified by the belief that at least she had helped save lives. Now she had to learn that the lives she had saved had in turn taken thousands of others using the knowledge she had helped give them. It was not something Deanna wanted to burden her with. But she was bound to find out, and Deanna wished to break it to her as gently as possible, and to be there to help her cope with it.

Indeed, the news hit the gentle Irriol hard. Even though Deanna strove to soften the blow as much as possible, Orilly swiftly broke down and curled herself up into a pineconelike ball, shuddering gently. If Deanna could have found a soft spot to stroke, she would have done so. As it was, she had to settle for projecting a soothing empathic aura. She had been afraid this would happen. Confinement to quarters was unduly arduous for one of Orilly’s gregarious species, and Deanna had urged Will not to impose it, but he had seen no other choice under the circumstances. He had granted her broad visitation rights, though, and Deanna had made a point of checking in on her two times a day. After this news, she decided, she would have to add another daily visit.

Finally Orilly reached a point where she was able to speak again, though she remained mostly curled up and her voice was muffled. “It has happened again. Once again I acted on impulse to help someone, and many more have paid the price for it. I curse everything I touch.”

“No, Malar. No one can predict the long-range consequences of their actions. All you can do is choose what seems right in a given situation.”

“But I did not even do that!”

“Yes, you did. You were motivated by compassion, by the desire to save lives.”

“At the cost of my duty, Counselor. My duty to my ship, to my crew. My duty to my people! After this they will never let me return to Lru-Irr,” she wailed. “I will never feel the embrace of the Whole again. I will be doomed to live as one forever.”

“I don’t believe that. If the rest of your people are anything like you, Malar, then they’re a kind and compassionate people. They will understand that you were controlled by an outside influence.”

“That does not matter. My people have few exiles to represent them offworld. Few commit crimes as hideous as mine. We must serve their interests perfectly if we ever wish to return home.”

Deanna frowned. “Perfection is an impossible standard. Malar, tell me—how many exiles do you know of that have been allowed to return home?”

A moment’s silence. “I do not remember. Very few.”

“Do you know of any for sure?”

“I am sure there have been some.”

She spoke carefully. “Has it ever occurred to you…that if you do serve your people that well offworld, and if there are so few of you to do it, that it’s in their best interest to keep you in exile indefinitely? How do you know they will ever let you return at all?” This could be a risky path to take—undermining her faith in the one thing that kept her going. But if that were a false hope, a fixation that kept her from finding other things to live for, it would be best to wean her from it.

“I have wondered that, yes,” Orilly said. “But they would not do that to a sister Irriol. They would not condemn one of their own to live in solitude any longer than she deserved. If they were capable of that, then they would be the ones in exile. No, Counselor—if I am doomed to exile forever, it will be my own fault.”

Deanna had her doubts. If they considered her a heinous enough criminal to exclude her from the gestalt at all, that implied they were able to see her as less than Irriol, not deserving of the compassion they would extend to others—much as cultures possessing capital punishment thought of those they executed. Orilly’s deep and instinctive need for the gestalt might be blinding her; the idea that it might be unattainable, that she might not be allowed to return home no matter what she did to earn it, would be too unbearable to contemplate. Many species had such irrational blind spots when it came to the pursuit of their instinctive needs and passions. (Which explained some of her mother’s choices in husbands, she thought wryly.)

But perhaps Orilly was right. As Deanna had just said, she had trouble believing that the race which had spawned this gentle soul could be prone to such callousness. Maybe they could be persuaded to let her rejoin them after all. Maybe, after what Orilly was going through now, they could be persuaded that she’d suffered long enough. Deanna would certainly do what she could to argue that case to them, she decided—even if it meant depriving Starfleet of a promising young scientist. For now, though, there was little more she could do to comfort the cadet. Orilly needed to work through her guilt and grief; Deanna simply had to make sure the process did not become self-destructive. The suicide rate among Irriol exiles was disquieting.

Deanna’s concerns about Tuvok were different. Although he was unlikely to become suicidal, his resistance to dealing with the personal consequences of his actions was troubling. It was not just a “Vulcan thing;” she understood that counseling Vulcans required a distinct approach, and she was trained in their therapeutic techniques. She also understood that Vulcans generally preferred to manage their psychological issues in private. This was not necessarily unhealthy, since Vulcans were well-trained in self-contemplation and behavior management. The goals they aspired to differed from the ones she valued, since rather than seeking to reconcile with their emotions, they sought to minimize them, to emphasize systemizing behavior over empathizing and approach a cognitive state that in most species would approximate high-function autism. (Indeed, she sometimes wondered if Surak might have had the Vulcan equivalent of Asperger’s syndrome, and turned it to his and his people’s advantage.) But it was not her place to reject the validity of that approach.