XXXVI

"You deserve this plague!"

"I'm sure he's still alive. Lore is too stubborn to die."

Data looked up with a start, his expression a mix of outrage and embarrassment, but Troi did not appear put off. How could she, when she already knew what he was feeling?

"Survival is not always in our own hands, Counselor. It is very likely that Lore's stubbornness will not help him." Data replied. He was sure to keep his voice even, almost monotone, like the days before his emotion chip. But it felt strange to force such a thing, as if he were mocking his former self.

Troi sighed, for the most difficult thing about being an empath among humans was the need to constantly pretend she was not one. She would have to ask questions to which she already knew the answers, and feign belief when the answers were lies. No one wished to be an open book. "You're worried about Lore. I can understand if that isn't pleasant."

"It is not." Data retorted, yanking a section of isolinear cable from the open console with more force than necessary.

Troi was silent. It was so rare to see Data exhibit physical manifestations of his feelings, but frustration was one of the most potent of emotions. She thought it best to change the subject. "Have you and Beverly decided?"

Right on cue, Beverly Crusher came to the opposite side the bio-bed with a hypospray vial in her hand. She looked over the bed, now scattered with the various engineering components that had been used to modify the sickbay computer for their task, and sighed. "I still don't like this, Data. You know why."

Data nodded somberly, for he truly did understand her objections. As a doctor, it was her duty and oath to do no harm, but he could see another side to the argument as well. "If Reed succeeds in killing Lore, his men will no longer have a reason to hold us here and the hostages will no longer have value. Considering the risks involved, I do not believe it would be in their best interest to return the hostages. They will kill them."

Troi had to agree. Not because her empathic abilities told her so, but because her own sense of logic did. "He's right. They would have to lower their shields to transport the hostages over, and that crew is on edge already. I don't think they will risk it."

Crusher nodded, for she already knew that, and handed Data the vial. He inserted it into the side of the modified bio-bed computer and waited.

"What is it?" Troi asked.

Data was somber. "In order for the crew to be incapacitated, we had to isolate a disease that would not only affect every species aboard, but which they would not be able to cure by their own means." He glanced wearily at Crusher. "Smallpox."

Troi was not familiar with it.

"It was a highly infectious disease on Earth centuries ago. Through inoculations, it was eradicated in the second half of the twentieth century, so…" She shook her head, "they should have no idea what's hitting them."

Data felt a pang of guilt pressed against him like a closing wall, but he knew this was their only option. Reed had been too smart, too thorough. They had nothing else. "There is one human aboard, however, and since all people born on Earth are still inoculated with the smallpox vaccine, there is a possibility that one member of Reed's crew will go unaffected."

Troi tried to ignore the frustration and guilt that raged through her old friend, for it would do him no good to have it advertised. "But the Bolians will remain unaffected? After all, that is the purpose of their implants, isn't it?"

"No." Crusher folded her arms across her chest. "Smallpox has an incubation period of twelve days in humans, and since we don't have that kind of time we've made some genetic modifications to the virus. The Bolian implants contain all the information for making the smallpox anti-body, but anti-bodies in large amounts are basically no better than the virus itself. If we can override the restrictions in the implants, we can use the anti-body genetic code to recreate the virus itself. Since the Bolians will be the source of the virus, their anti-bodies will not keep them from becoming ill."

Data pressed his combadge. "Data to bridge. Captain, we are prepared to emit the signal in the lowest band range. Their shields should not be able to filter it." He forced his voice to be calm, but it was too much. His fear for Lore, his anger at feeling that fear, and now the possibility that he may directly be responsible for deaths; it was all becoming too much.

"Understood. Proceed."Picard replied.

"I hope this works." Crusher said, "I hope they don't try to hold out too long. If they do, there won't be any helping them."

Troi looked at both of them, "How long before they begin feeling the effects?"

Data spoke first, "The first symptoms should appear within an hour, with the contagious stage following almost immediately. The final stages of infection will culminate in three to four hours without treatment. At that stage, the fatality rate among humans is thirty-five percent. But, among non-humans, perhaps higher." His voice was calm, pleasantly mellow as if he were discussing the program at a symphony. Troi stared at him, for he had deactivated his emotion chip.

)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

On the dim, mismatched bridge of Reed's ship, Andrew Conner sat on the small flight of steps on the port side and rubbed at his weary eyes. It had been more than fourteen hours since Reed and the others had set out to kill the android, and he had been awake for at least twenty hours before that. How long did it take to kill a machine, anyway? Thinking on it now, he stretched his neck to look at the console screen nearby. Reed had still sent no communication, which was troubling him. Perhaps the android had won after all. Perhaps Reed and Buel and Klar had met their ends just like Reed's wife.

Conner shuddered. He wished Buel had never told him the whole damned story! He had seen enough photos and holodeck simulations to imagine how terrifying it must have been to be so close to a Borg, and because of this little insight he found himself rooting for Reed's successs.

But not like this.He used his toe to nudge the small pile of tricorders at his feet. They were among the items he had taken from the Bolian's medical kits before handing them over. Conner knew he was probably going to get flack for that, but if Reed got his revenge maybe he would go back to the way he had been. The guy had always been a little stoic, but things had gotten out of hand recently. After the accident at the Corona Six station—if those damned scientists had just left when they were supposed to!—things had taken a bad turn. Had he really intended to destroy the Enterprise just to get to one person? Just to get to one machine? Conner grunted and kicked at the little devices until they scattered. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to be part of any of it! The money was enticing—more than enticing—but he was no longer sure if he could go through with everything Reed wanted. Despite what he had told Reed, he had no intention of executing the Bolians. But how could he avoid it? Reed had been explicit about the fate of the hostages.

As if things weren't bad enough, he could swear he was coming down with something.

He pulled himself to his feet, unusually weary at the task, and headed toward the door. If the Bolians had finished treating their injured, he saw no reason to let them keep the medical kits any longer.

"Tolen," Conner called to the Farian crewman up ahead, "tell Brishek I want to send another coded message to Reed. Have him meet me on the bridge."

The crewman stopped and leaned against the bulked. He only looked up when Conner reached his side. "Eh…yeah. I think he's still in the brig. I'll…tell him."

Conner stopped and looked down at the man, for the corridors were so dark it was often hard to see much of anything, but when the man looked up his face glistened with perspiration and his skin had taken on the grayish-white hue of cheap paper. "What's wrong with you? You look like you're gonna die."

Tolen frowned and pulled his rifle strap more firmly over his shoulder. "I'm fine! I'm just…I must have picked up something from that last station."

Conner took a step back, but was not too alarmed. Farians had a bizarre penchant for becoming ill, as their bodies did not permanently retain anti-body DNA like most other species. He rolled his eyes, "Go and sleep. To hell with this 'stay awake' order. You just came off the watch, right?"

Tolen nodded and braced his hand on the wall, "Yeah, I just left the brig. The Bolians are mostly asleep."

"I'd do the same if I were you."

Tolen nodded and turned away, "Right….Think I'll get something to eat first."

Conner watched as the man stumbled off at a snail's pace. As if they didn't have enough problems, now all the Farians were probably going to fall ill. He couldn't understand why Reed hired them anyway. It was like getting paper dolls to fill the role of statues. He made his way to the brig without encountering another soul.

"Lower the force field." He said the moment his feet cleared the door. "I want to get those med kits back before they start getting clever."

When there was not an immediate rush to fill his order, he looked to the control station across the room. Seated at the desk, with his head resting in his crossed arms, was Brishek. No one could mistake such a beastly, disheveled frame.

"Brishek!" Conner shouted. When the man did not move, he stormed across the room and shoved his head brutally. "Are you asleep? You must be out of your m―" Conner pulled his hand back, for the force of his assault only made the wheeled chair move away from the desk. Brishek slid away with it and tumbled to the side. He fell on the floor in a heap, his wide eyes starring up.

"Ah!" Conner jumped back and the blood drained from his face. Brishek's clammy, sweat soaked face was even more grotesque than usual, for his leathery brown skin was covered with inflamed pea-size pustules. Conner reached down to check his pulse, but pulled back instinctively. The man was dead. There was no question of it. "What the hell is this!"

A painful moan drew his eyes to the holding cell, where only more horror awaited him. The Bolians were scattered in bizarre contortions, as if they had grown so exhausted that they no longer had the strength to arrange themselves comfortably. A few lay on their sides on the floor, their arms flung out over their heads as if they had been crawling. Still others rested against the far wall with their heads flopped against the shoulders of their neighbors. Their chests heaved for frantic, shallow breaths, but Conner could barely notice that beyond the inflamed red blisters that covered each of them. Against their blue skin and bald heads, the marks looked even more brutal.

He backed toward the door as panic began to consume him. He searched for solutions and could not even identify the problem. "You! Frill! What's wrong with you? What's going on?"

From his place in the corner Captain Frill only barely opened his eyes. "I don't…know." He breathed. "It happened so…eh…fast!"

Conner shook his head and looked down at Brishek again. He could swear he had seen this before, but not in person. No, that would have been seared into his mind. It must have been photos, or a holonovel―"No. You're doctors. Youdid this! Is this how you plan to escape, Frill? Huh? Poison us all so we'll cave to the Enterprise!"

Frill groaned and turned his face into the corner. "You fools! You're the ones who ransacked a medicalvessel! What did youopen? What…what vials did yousmash when you were robbing us?" With his last ounce of strength, he turned his eyes on Conner and gritted his bright white teeth, "You…traitor!Treacherous human! You turn your back on your own kind! You deserve this…this plague!"

Conner struggled to breathe as he watched Frill lay his head against the wall and close his eyes. No, no!He needed the doctors. He needed them to do something! "Frill! Wakeup! I―I have most of your equipment. You can use it to find out what this is. Frill? Frill!"

The Captain breathed, but he did not move. It was too late for that.

"No!" Conner rushed to the wall and pressed the comm, his sweaty fingers sliding around the button, "All hands! The brig is under strict quarantine! Repeat, no oneenter the brig!" He let his hand fall, and for nearly a minute he listened only to the panic of his own breathing. The fatigue and worry that he had kept at bay for days crashed down on him all at once, and he felt suddenly as if he would no longer be able to even stand. Panicked, he dropped his phaser and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows to examine them. There were no red marks, but that could change.

The comm beeped, startling him out of his skin. It wasn't like him to be like this. He had always been so calm, so collected. That was why Reed had taken him on, despite the fact that he was human. But this wasn't a battle with armed soldiers or agents from the Orion syndicate. There was no one to target here. There was nothing his speed or his phaser could do for him.

He pressed the comm.

"Conner! What's this quarantine? What's going on down there?"

"Just stay away from here! The Bolians have done something. Poisoned themselves, I don't know. Brishek is dead and Tol―" His throat closed like a vice and he felt truly as if he would be sick. He knelt down and retrieved his phaser. "Find Tolen! Now!"

)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

"Captain." Worf said from his place at tactical. It was the first voice to dent the silence in nearly an hour. "I am reading forty-one life signs aboard Reed's vessel. Down from forty-two."

Troi glanced at Data for any reaction, but his emotion chip remained inactive.

Picard nodded somberly, "Any way to tell whom, Commander?"

Worf tried the console, but there was no luck, "No, sir. The interference from their shields is blocking a more detailed scan."

Troi shook her head. She did not have the ambiguity that they did. "I'm sensing a great deal of hostility and panic, Captain. Far greater than before. I think it's working."

"Do you believe they will call us for help?" Picard asked, though he already thought he knew the answer.

Troi shook her head, "I'm not sure."

"All right." He leaned back in his seat, "Hail them."

"Channel open, Sir." Worf said.

Picard considered for a second, for even though they held the upper hand now it was still a negotiation. The tables could turn on a dime. "Crew of the pirate vessel," Picard said slowly, "We would like to discuss your options at this time. Please respond."

Silence followed as they watched the vessel hang in front of them.

"Pirate vessel, please respond or ―"

"Or what!"Came the frantic reply. The starscape vanished from the screen, replaced by the dim interior of some control room. But the room could hardly be seen beyond the angry face that starred back at him. The man, human by all appearances, hovered close to the screen as if he leaning over it. "What, Picard! You'll unleash the black plague? Or how about the ebola virus? Don't deny this is your doing!"

Picard stood and smoothed the front of his uniform. Calm was going to win this. It was a weapon the hostage takers no longer had. "If you require medical assistance, I'm sure we can make some arrangement."

"Damn Starfleet!"The man slammed his fists on the console and trembled, his young face looking old for all that strained behind it. "Damned self-righteous hypocrites! This is biological warfare, Picard. You―you can't do this!"

The man was truly afraid, and Picard did not need Troi to tell him that. As he examined his close face, he saw no red marks. Still, he knew the man had reason to be afraid. "Have you noticed, Mr. Conner, that you are not ill? I'm sure you're your shipmates will find that very interesting. It will certainly seem odd to them that you and only you are unaffected."

Conner's eyes flamed wide, "You think you're going to frame me! Don't! Don't push me, Starfleet! I have twenty-three reasons why you had better send a cure over here and do it now!"

Picard was nonplussed, "No. By our count, you have forty-one reasons."

"Agh!"The man reached off screen and grabbed something. A moment later, he held a phaser toward the screen, "I swear, Iswear! I will start executing those prisoners if you don't fix this now!"

Picard hesitated. He had expected anger, manipulation, but this man was nearly beside himself with fear, and fear made people irrational. Still, he couldn't let the façade drop. He had to maintain that they were as heartless and cold as this man believed them to be. "We infected the Bolians with the same illness, Mr. Conner. Now, we would liketo get them back, but if you want to make that difficult I suppose we can manage without them. And you. How long will you be able to operate that vessel once every member of your crew is dead?" Picard bristled inside, and hoped he never had to see a playback of what he had just done.

Conner dropped his head into his hands and pulled at his short brown hair. "Half. Send over enough cure doses for my crew, and I'll give you half of the Bolian hostages."

Troi shifted in her seat, just enough to make Picard notice her.

He got the signal, "I don't think so."

Conner closed his eyes and pressed his clenched fist under his nose, "How do I know you won't just leave us to die as soon as you have the Bolians? I want the cure first."

Picard pursed his lips. How many times had he been in this bargaining situation? It was never easy. It required at least one of the parties to be honest. "You have more reason to trust us than we have to trust you. You will allow us to transport all of the hostages, or there is no deal."

"I want the cure at the same time. No tricks, Picard! Through the same transporter beam!"

Picard glanced down at Troi, and the small close of her eyes indicated that he could move forward. He turned back to the screen. "Prepare the hostages. You have five minutes." He gave Worf the cut-off signal.

"I don't sense any deception, Captain." Troi said at once, for she could hardly believe it herself.

Riker seemed unconvinced. "After all this effort, I should think they would still try something to keep us here. I don't like it. It feels like they're caving too easily."

"Not they, just him. I couldn't be sure before, but now I'm convinced that this man who seems to be running the ship right now, he never had any intention of harming the hostages. He would have found some way to get them to us when they were no longer needed." She glanced at Data, who had turned in his seat to face them.

"I believe my plan was in error." Data said in a low voice, "The death on Reed's ship could have been avoided."

Troi felt Data's regret like a knot in her stomach. She had to tell him to stop suddenly reactivating his emotion chip around her. "You don't know that, Data. Just because he had no intent doesn't mean the others didn't. Reed certainly had the intent."

Data only nodded and stood, "Captain, permission to assist Dr. Crusher?"

Picard nodded.

Data escaped to the turbo-lift as quickly as decorum could carry him, and frowned painfully the moment the doors closed. Why he had reactivated his emotion chip, he could not be sure, but he knew it had something to do with regret. He had promised himself a long time ago that he would only deactivate his emotion chip for emergencies, when others were relying on his unwaveringly cool head, but he had collapsed under the strain. He knew his decision had been logical, the best course of action when few others had been available, but it wasn't really that which had thrown him. It was Lore. Troi had been right, and still was. He was afraid that his brother had already been killed.

When he entered sickbay, Dr. Crusher was placing the last of the filled hyposprays into a small crate and sealing the box. She looked up at Data, "I'm including instructions and I hope they're still level headed enough to follow them."

Data picked up the crate before Crusher could struggle under it, and placed it in the middle of the floor. "Data to transporter room one. You may proceed."

Crusher rushed to a side table that was also covered with rows of prepared hyposprays. She took two in her hand, as did the half dozen nurses standing by. Data hesitated before taking two as well.

"Will you do a favor for me, Data?" Crusher asked as she continued to watch the medical crate.

"Yes, Doctor." He replied.

"Don't make yourself feel bad about this. They didn't leave us many options."

"I will attempt to remind myself of that, Doctor." He assured her, "But I have found that my emotional states do not always respond to logic."

"Yeah." Crusher sighed and smiled at him, "Neither do mine."