4

"Stardate, supplemental…" Picard reported. "We have departed the generosity of Bespin for a brief charting of the local systems to choose our course of action. The brief liaison has been very beneficial for the crew, but we are also very concerned about our eventual return to our home galaxy. In the meantime, we have accepted a communiqué from the local resistance to the Empire in the area. They have offered their support and protection while we are away from home for as long as it may last."

Counselor Troi drifted through the corridor of her quarters looking for rest and sleep. She had enjoyed her immersion of the Bespin culture and Calrissian was very charming, but she was more interested right now in more familiar surroundings. Her lovely presence glided into her quarters and lightly yawned, but then her psychic senses went on alert. She felt she was being watched. Her eyes looked around her toward an armored stowaway hiding in her quarters. Her first instict was to call for help, but his reaction time was quicker and he tranquilized her with a dart from his wrist before she could make a noise.

"Sleep well, counselor…" Boba Fett caught her and hoisted her up over his shoulder. He had been hired to seize a potential padawan for Lord Vader and to disable a crew. He departed Deanna's quarters with her limp form over his left shoulder, checking the corridor briefly and then continuing on his way. His steps took him toward one of the transporter rooms. He used the Federation technology to set the coordinates for his ship attacked to the hull then took the remote off his belt to release his corbomite gas across the ship.

"Captain," Worf was at security. "Someone is activating a transporter signal to a ship locked to our hull."

"Over-ride it."

"They have somehow blocked our override." Worf smelled something. The golden yellow gas was coming from every vent, filling every corridor, choking the breaths of all the Federation crewmembers. Sustained by his own helmet, Boba Fett used their own technology to escape with Counselor Troi. The gas had an immediate effect to the nerves, creating convulsions, next constricting the lungs and absorbing oxygen from the blood of all it affected. It was once used as a form of germ warfare. Doctor Crusher fell in sickbay from the gas as Geordi tried to reach the main atmosphere controls. Riker started choking and wheezing from the gas. Worf crashed to the floor as Picard tried to rise from his seat, but instead crashed to the floor. Someone wanted the counselor and the ship, and Boba Fett and pulled off both jobs very easily. After dispatching several gas filled canisters across the ship and tampering with their systems, he made it to his ship with Counselor Troi with him. The gas would kill the Federation crew in thirty seconds. He detached his ship with its coordinates for the Empire to capture it and disregard of the bodies aboard it for the technology. He had overlooked one detail. One crewmember was not human.

"Accessing atmosphere controls now," Data started venting the ship from the helm. "Sensors indicate the gas resembles a form of Cardassian nerve gas; filling the ship with the antidote in gaseous form with moderate amounts of ozone."

"Thank you Mister Data…" Picard wheezed for air from the floor. As fast as the gas had filled the ship, it was going to take a while to fully purge it. Riker was clutching his chest as he started coughing up residue of the poison from his lungs. The antidote had a mint aftertaste to the olfactory senses. He helped Worf as best as he could and checked the ship for himself.

"Captain…" Riker felt his lungs about to explode. He hacked up some phlegm from his throat. "Sensors show a ship departing us…" He choked and hacked up more mucus rejecting the poison. "At high speed…"

"Course?" Picard tried to stand with his eyes watering. Data moved among them unaffected. He assisted Lt. Robinson to her seat and helped Picard to stand to his feet.

"Craft seems to be bearing a trajectory of 9.5." Riker continued giving sensor results while struggling to stand erect. "Back to the Death Star…."

"Captain," Data had turned to an adjacent terminal. "I checked the crew complement. Counselor Troi is not aboard ship. I believe she may have been abducted."

"Thank you, Data…" Picard covered his mouth as he coughed. "You have the bridge." He staggered for his ready room as Riker supported Robinson to the turbo-lift. Worf tried to stay at command, but eventually, Dr. Crusher came to him to inject him for better resistance to the long-lasting results to the gas. With her three assistants and several volunteers, nearly everyone was doctored and back to health with few lingering effects. Within thirty-minutes, Picard and his officers were planning their rescue attempt from the ready room.

"Captain…" Geordi was still coughing a bit. "Here's what I've come up with. We can't do a direct attack on the Death Star otherwise they'd just lock their tractor beams on us, so I developed an alternate stragedy: we pass by them at warp, transporting three crew members on to the station to rescue the Counselor and then beaming them back aboard from warp again during a separate pass."

"Transporting from warp…" Picard choked back a lingering tickle to his throat from the gas. "We'd have to time it pretty close."

"Well, with Data…" Geordi had already calculated the plan. "He leaves us with very little chance for error."

"I recommend Worf, Data and myself on this mission." Riker insisted. He seemed one of the few already completely free of the gas.

"One thing," Picard tried to defiantly clear his throat. "Why the counselor? What would they have to gain by capturing her? She's certainly not valuable as a hostage in a strategic tense."

"Captain," Data thought he had a theory. "As a Betazoid, Counselor Troi could be valuable to the Empire for her abilities as an empath. Perhaps, they see a chance of making a weapon out of her."

"But Deanna is not a warrior." Riker mentioned. "That alone could bide us time to reach her."

"I agree…" Picard leaned back holding his chest a bit. His lungs were still partially ablaze. "How long to make contact with the Death Star again?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Make it so."