(Bring it)

"Festa Sem – attaché to the Volln'm ambassador," Christine Vale said.

Troi studied the picture on screen. It was a generic shot, lifted from the dead man's diplomatic identification chip. Sem wasn't smiling when the image was taken. His hair, an unremarkable sandy blond, was neither long nor short, and nothing in particular about his features stood out. He had been tall and bulky, and – presumably – strong, but seeing the picture didn't change anything for Troi. The picture meant nothing. It was the man's agony and confusion as he lay dying that had imprinted on her.

"He came aboard at Starbase 313 from the Fleur-de-lys."

Vale turned to Riker, who had arrived at the meeting invigorated after his long sleep and shower.

The Enterprise's senior staff had gathered in the conference room. The counselor had been greeted with concern by her male colleagues. Chief engineer Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge had risen; Data had asked her how she was. The doctor, however, had raised an eyebrow when Troi glanced at her. Deanna looked away quickly.

"I remember him," Riker said. "Quiet. Unassuming. He was traveling alone – said the ambassador had gone on ahead of him."

"However, Owat Djon – the Volln'm ambassador – claims it is impossible that this man was Festa Sem," Vale said, bringing up a picture of a different man. This one was shorter and older. Much older. "The ambassador says the real Festa Sem was part of his diplomatic core until his death six months ago. Mr Sem, who lived to an advanced age of 107, died of untreated liver disease on Volln'm."

"Then who is the dead man? And how did he get on my ship?" Picard asked.

"The identification chip he carried is Sem's, although the personal information tags have been altered. The ambassador said his office was breached in a data heist not long after Sem's death. The information could have been stolen then."

"Standards sound a bit lax on Volln'm, don't they?" Riker said.

Picard turned to Doctor Crusher. "Can we know if the man found in the shaft was from Volln'm?"

"He's human," Crusher replied. "Volln'm was settled by Terrans late in the 21st century. It was one of the first planets to undergo Terra forming. It maintains close ties with Earth and has a virtually homogeneous genetic make up, making it difficult to determine if he was from Volln'm, from Earth or from any of the other planets in the system with a shared earth heritage. We can put his age between 45 and 53 and about the only thing he shared in common with the real Festa Sem was damage to his liver – the kind caused by habitual long-term consumption of alcohol."

Riker flicked the picture back to the imposter. "Have we had any luck establishing what did kill him?" How the man died was more important, for the moment, than who he was.

Crusher smiled at the first officer. "You're going to like this one. Venom."

"What – like from a snake bite?"

"Exactly like a snake bite – the inland taipan or fierce snake, as it was also known, to be precise, which in itself is unusual since the Terran inland taipan is commonly thought to be extinct."

Disbelief flooded Vale's face. "Doctor, should we be warning crew members to be on the lookout for a marauding serpent?"

The doctor's smile widened.

"Let me put you ophidiophobs out of your misery. Mr Sem, or whoever he was, was killed by a lethal dose of artificially concentrated reptile venom. Whoever made it used real snake venom but quadrupled its potency. And it wasn't injected into his tissue. It was sealed in a synthetic pouch which was then planted subcutaneously under his left armpit."

Picard looked relieved. "It would have been impossible to smuggle a live snake on board."

"You can't fool the computer," Crusher said dryly.

"So ... did the pouch leak?" LaForge asked.

"I don't believe so," Crusher said. "I think the pouch was designed to dissolve in a human body after fifty hours. However, when I found the pouch, it was still intact. I estimate it had about ten more hours to go."

"If it hadn't dissolved, how was venom released?" Riker asked. "Why did he die when he did?"

"I think an abrupt movement caused it to rupture prematurely."

"An abrupt movement such as striking something with considerable force?" Vale asked.

"That would do it."

Troi twisted in her chair next to Riker. And he thought he was so lucky.

"If the doctor's theory is correct," Data said, "the pouch must have been inserted before Mr Sem beamed aboard the Enterprise."

Picard stroked his chin. "But not much sooner. Have the passengers he came aboard with been questioned?"

"Sem was traveling alone," Vale replied. "He joined the Fleur-de-lys at the last minute. No one admits knowing him or even talking to him for any length of time. His credentials were authorized, so his story was accepted."

"Then who stuffed him in the tube?" Riker asked. "And why? I doubt it was any crew member. And how likely is it that a corpse would remain undetected?"

"Not long enough for the murderer to slip away at the next destination," La Forge said.

"We can not rule out the possibility he climbed into the shaft himself," Data said. "The counselor's blood was detected at the scene, as were bloody prints belonging to the dead man. Detailed forensic scene analysis is yet to turn up evidence of a third person – unless the counselor is able to confirm the presence of another person?"

Her colleagues turned to her. Troi mulled the question with a poker face, but gave Crusher a sideward glance.

"I sensed only this Sem. There's no one on board who I shouldn't have been able to sense – but I can't categorically say a third or even a fourth person wasn't involved. I have no way of knowing how long I was unconscious."

Riker did not miss her slight hesitation or the look she gave the doctor, but he did not draw attention to it.

"Didn't you say he was wedged tightly into the space, Christine?" he asked, "as though he had been jammed in? Seems unlikely he got himself into that position without a helping hand."

Vale nodded. "Those were my thoughts, as well, sir."

"That may be so, Commander, but nothing corroborates the possibility of a third person yet," Data said.

Picard leaned forward with a glint in his eye. "Beyond speculation, people, we need a plan."

So much for their peaceful mission to Ark11.

"Mr Sem is our top priority for the moment. We need to know why he attacked Counselor Troi and why he was murdered – if indeed, this was murder. Data, I want you to focus on identifying the debris you found yesterday. That, in turn, may answer our questions about the Bounty."

"On the topic of the debris, Captain," Data said, "my analysis has determined the explosion was an internal one."

"Caused by?"

"Perhaps something the ship was carrying exploded accidentally," La Forge mused. "Do we know what was being transported on the Bounty?"

"I expect that information today," Data said.

La Forge's face lit up. "Say, do we know how old the Bounty is? It's rare, but some old transporters used to have tritium rigged auto-destruct mechanisms – the tritium reaction could be more accurately controlled than other options at the time, making it the ideal element for the initial self-destruct functions of early spacecraft."

Data shook his head. "I am sorry, Commander. The Bounty was commissioned twenty-nine years ago, well beyond the age when tritium was a regular component on starships."

The information about the Bounty was useful but moved them no closer to solving the more pressing issue of what to do about the morgue's newly acquired dead body. Picard marshaled his troops and set about organizing practical measures for dealing with the problem.

"Vale, continue your investigation into Festa Sem's death. I think it's time to conduct more thorough interviews with the guests he came aboard with."

"Aye, sir. I have already requested a manifest from Captain Kogaru on the Fleur-de-lys," Vale said.

"Good. Number One, perhaps you could see to Mr Sem's personal belongings?"

"I'll have my medical staff research the venom," Crusher said. "It may turn out to be one of the more fruitful avenues to explore. If there are any inland taipan snakes still alive, they shouldn't be hard to trace."

"Good thinking," Picard agreed. "Counselor, your insights will be invaluable with passenger interviews. As soon as you're cleared by the doctor I'd like you to join Vale's team."

Troi kept her face still, giving nothing more than a quick nod to the captain.

"Captain, what do you want us to tell the passengers?" Vale asked. "We can't exactly conduct an investigation in secret. People are going to start asking questions."

"We can't afford subtlety in this investigation or invite accusations of a cover up. Let it be known he died from a lethal dose of a toxic substance that was likely delivered before he joined the Enterprise. There's no need to say anymore."

"Just to conclude, then," Riker said, "there may or may not be a murderer on the loose. We have no idea who our dead man is, where he's from, what he was doing, who killed him or how he got stuck in an access tube on our ship. Have I left anything out?"

"Why he was killed?" La Forge suggested.

"Why snake venom?" Crusher added.

Troi coughed. "Or why he hit me?"

She felt Riker's attention and almost regretted speaking. She had been determined to talk with him the night before; now their roles were reversed. He would know soon enough; she just needed time to collect her thoughts.

"Clearly our guest had something to hide. Whatever he was concealing, it was worth the risk of attacking a senior Starfleet officer."

"What could have been that important?" Vale mused.

The faces around the table were thoughtful. Picard let out a soft 'hmm'. Riker had his chin in his hand; Troi stared at her hands in her lap.

The discovery of the body had overshadowed her role in the events of the night before, for which she was thankful. As much as she had gone over what happened, there were holes in her memory that she struggled to fill. What was she doing on that deck? What made her get out of bed?

She had been careful to maintain a calm face during the meeting to mask her frustration, and not just because of the lost memories. Crusher had been looking at her intently, so she knew this was one thing she couldn't keep secret. Not that she was going to let it stay secret. Until she had discussed it with the doctor, though, she would stay quiet.

The meeting closed. If the senior staff were daunted by the number of unanswered questions they were dealing with, no one let on. Instead, they finalized their individual responsibilities, and prepared to get on with the job.

"A word, Deanna?" Crusher caught up with the counselor as she exited behind the others.


The dead man traveled light.

It hadn't taken Riker long to go through his possessions. The Festa Sem imposter had stored a single bag at the bottom of a cupboard. He'd removed several spare changes of clothes and undergarments, and put them, folded, on shelves above the bag. The bed had been made – Riker was amused to find nightwear tucked under a pillow. A brush, razor and toothbrush were set up on a vanity in the bathroom. The only thing out-of-kilter was a half-used bottle of some sort of hygiene spray, and its cap which sat on the bench next to the bottle. Riker pulled a face when he checked the label of the Shinox 'body odor neutralizing adhesive gas'. His tricorder told him the smelly stuff was a Volln'm product.

Nothing the dead man owned said much about him, although his apparent need for neatness made Riker think the man must have been a fastidious character.

Riker went back to the cupboard to take another look at the clothes.

Plain gray pants and tunics – they didn't seem out-of-character for someone masquerading as a diplomat's assistant.

It didn't make sense. Sem had been hiding something – there was no other reason for him to attack Deanna. But whatever it was, it wasn't in his room. The man had hardly been on the ship and he hadn't come aboard with anything else. His transfer to the Enterprise had been unplanned. Until they knew what he was doing on the other ship, they would simply be guessing.

Riker picked up a pair of trousers again, shaking them out in frustration. Their construction and design were standard – not Riker's preference in fashion, but serviceable, none-the-less. There was evidence of a small tear and repair along the inner waist hem. He assumed the garment chip had been removed, and confirmed it when he ran a tricorder over the patch. If the chip had been there, the tricorder would have beeped and given Riker a reading on where the garment originated, instructions on caring for it and what it was made of.

Actually, the tricorder could do the last two things without the chip. But it couldn't tell him where the pants were made.

He was about to toss them on the floor when his gaze fell on almost invisible seams on one side – a cunningly constructed pocket.

The first pair of pants didn't yield anything, neither did the second pair, but in the third pair his luck turned.

His fingers clasped something tiny.

His curiosity dissolved into disgust when he examined the object in the palm of his hand. He mastered his desire to drop it. Instead, he tapped his comm unit.

"Yes, Commander?" responded the doctor.

"Beverly, did Sem have any piercings?"

"He had an earring in his right ear lobe."

"Anything else?" Riker asked, waiting as the doctor consulted her notes.

"Actually, yes. In the center of his tongue, of all places – no ornament, just a hole."

Riker stared distastefully at the tiny object in his hand. "Do you have any idea what he would have put through his tongue?"

"It depends. There are any number of ornamental tongue piece styles. Come on, Will – what have you got there? Spit it out," she teased.

"I can assure you, whatever I have, it's not in my mouth. It looks like a tiny barbell."

Crusher's laughter crackled through the unit.

"Does this tell us anymore about Sem?" Riker asked. "Maybe where he's from?"

"It could do," was all the doctor would say.


Troi was looking forward to a drink in Ten Forward. Beverly had declared her fit for duty the day before, immediately after the senior staff meeting – despite the impairment she was still suffering after the attack – and she had jumped into the investigation.

"You're not going to go all defensively aggressive on us again, are you?" the doctor had asked as they had made their way to the turbolift.

Troi had rewarded her with a pained smile. "This time I'm just going to grin and bear it. It'll be an opportunity to practice some of my under-developed human traits. I am impressed you could tell, however."

"I was waiting for you to tell me."

It felt like one of those occasions when the doctor might be a smidgen irritated. Troi willed herself to be calm. She closed her eyes and started a breathing exercise to regain control of herself. Beverly let her collect her thoughts.

"Honestly, Beverly, I just didn't notice last night."

Beverly looked skeptical.

"No, really. It's not like last time. Last time I lost everything totally. Gods, it was awful," she said, dredging up the painful memory.

"And this time?"

"I don't think I noticed because last night I could still sense Will. I still can, in fact. I couldn't do that last time. I was probably too dazed to think about anyone else last night. It wasn't until this morning when I was waiting for Will to wake up that I thought about how 'quiet' it was. The last sense I remember was my attacker dying."

The doctor hadn't lost her dubious face, but she seemed to accept Troi's explanation.

"Come back with me to sickbay and we'll do a couple of tests. Unless I find something untoward, I don't see why I shouldn't recommend you get back to work."

"I intend to tell the captain," Troi said. "I wanted to have it checked out by you first – I mean, that I can still feel Will makes me confident this is only temporary. Who knows? Things could be back to normal in a couple of hours."

"I'm sure you're right, Deanna. The stress of experiencing the man's death and the concussion have most likely had an adverse affect on your neurophysiology. Let me be the first to say how relieved I am with the way you are taking it."

Troi raised her hand to mock swat Crusher.

In sickbay the doctor hadn't found anything in her scans to alarm her. She put Troi's diminished empathic ability down to the knock she had received and told Troi to check in with her at the end of the day to see if the condition had worn off.

Captain Picard had been informed that while the counselor was without one of her usual abilities, she was still capable of working (and was particularly keen to do something, considering her involvement in the activities of the previous night).

Like Crusher, Picard received with relief the news the counselor considered herself as well as to be expected and keen to get on with it.

"If you must know, it's a dream come true," Troi informed her incredulous superior. "Ever since last time I've been nursing a little wounded pride. And shame. The whole loss-of-sense thing got me thinking more about what it would be like to live like that permanently. At first the idea was totally inconceivable. Then I started to develop a few theories on how full humans do it."

"So, what did you come up with?" Picard asked with interest.

"Well, this is just a theory – and a not unbiased one, at that." Troi smiled. "Humans, I think, have superior imaginations to Betazoids – I'd never admit that to my mother, mind you." She cast a quick look around, as if fearful the Betazoid ambassador would magically beam in. "Humans need to use their imagination to understand and empathize with others. Maybe it's too late for me. I might be too set in my ways – too reliant on my empathic sense – but at least I have the chance to get some real practice."

She had meant every word of it, but using cues which once she might have overlooked, she got the feeling he wasn't entirely convinced.

Whatever his feelings, he had promised her his support and wished her well. The loss was inconvenient, considering the need the crew had at the moment for a reliable assessment of their guests, but the condition was highly likely to correct itself in a day or two, and in the meantime, Troi could learn something useful about herself. It wasn't like anyone was getting off the ship anytime soon.

She had thrown herself into the investigation. News about the death had spread quickly, but Troi noted with surprise, nobody – guests or crew – seemed perturbed.

She had sat in on all of Vale's interviews, taking an observant role. She was convinced none of the passengers had known the dead man. One by one Vale had called in the Fleur-de-lys guests and gone through the basics. Troi had studied all their faces. She had watched their postures, their movements. It was like one of the poker games the officers liked to play. No one had met the man prior to joining the small transporter; no one knew what had kept him from traveling with the ambassador. He hadn't talked about any other kind of work he was involved in. No one could remember anything specific about him while they were on the Fleur-de-lys.

However, no one had seemed in the least bit concerned for the man, which Troi found odd. Surely, the stranger's plight should have touched off a moderate level of compassion. But being heartless wasn't a crime, and she had to remember that she was just going by what she thought people were feeling.

"Thank you, Dr Montgomery, that should be all. We'll contact you if we want to ask anything else," Vale said after a nod from Troi.

The enthusiastic little man left the room with a bow and florid sweep of a hand.

Troi waited until the door was shut. "Did anything about him strike you as odd?"

Vale looked up in surprise. "I let him go ... I thought you signaled me to let him go?"

Troi hurried to assure the lieutenant. "If he was lying he was very convincing ... I just thought he was a little strange. Perhaps just too accommodating."

"He was odd," Vale said, "but I don't suppose that makes him our prime suspect."

"No," Troi agreed.

The security officer sighed. "So, really, we're still nowhere. It's almost obscene that a man operating under an alias could get himself onto Starfleet's best known vessel, attracting no notice from anyone, and manage to get himself killed shortly after, leaving no clues."

Troi could only agree with her. This was her first real opportunity to work with Vale. The woman had only recently transferred to the Enterprise, and while she had an easy manner and friendliness about her, Troi thought she detected an inner steeliness.

What would it be like if I was in her position, she wondered. Joining a new crew, younger than the other officers she was dealing with, without the background to understand some of the nuanced conversations they had, the in-jokes. Add to that, this embarrassing breach of the ship's security standards. Vale wasn't giving any sign the pressure was getting to her.

"The other passengers may have nothing to do with it, but we have to talk to them. If only to work out they have no useful information to give us," Troi said, hoping to encourage Vale. "Is that all of them?"

"Not quite – we still have to talk to the woman that Commander Riker is interested in, and the large guy that heads the party she came with. They seem inseparable."

Troi threw a sharp glance at Vale.

"The woman and the large guy, I meant," Vale said.

Troi knew the security chief was wondering if she had said something wrong. Maybe human intuition wasn't so hard after all.

"So I presumed," Troi answered blandly. "So, who is this woman?"

"She's with Dr Montgomery's party – academics heading to one of the gala ceremonies. She's been quite a hit with the crew, actually." Vale rolled her eyes. "Apparently she disabled the safety on a holosuite and proceeded to run a millennial-era concert. I heard Dr Crusher had to deal with several cases of tinnitus the following morning. She was not happy."

Beverly didn't mention it to me, Troi thought. "She organized a concert?"

"Yeah, one concert and she's got the lower decks eating out of her hands – La Forge told me she's been running workshops all day."

"What kind of workshops?"

Vale shrugged. "Something to do with music. I saw Commander Riker heading somewhere with his trombone last night."

Troi yawned, stretching. "So, is this woman going to grace us with her presence today?"

"I had them both paged ten minutes ago." As Vale spoke the doorbell chimed.

The man entered first, casting a look about the room, which set Troi on edge.

"Are we in the right place?" he asked.

A short brunette stepped out from behind him. "Do you want to talk to us together? Or should I wait outside?" She was polite, matter-of-fact. Troi didn't observe any signs of unease from her.

Troi took in her slim build and glossy hair, parted in the center of her head. Her attire screamed her interests – she was wearing pants made out of denim, a fabric popular in the 20th and 21st centuries. While the pants looked snug on her hips, the bottoms were full and fell to the floor. Bright pink toenails poked out beneath the hems; she had on a type of open-toed sandal or high heel, also pink. She wore a fitted black t-shirt (of old-fashioned manufacturing style). There was pink writing across her chest. Troi pondered what 'little baby nothing' meant.

"If you could just wait outside, Miss," Vale paused to check her padd, "Lark, we'll be with you soon."

"Just Lark is fine."

The exchange had given the man time to settle.

There was nothing historic about his garb – a plain old black, knee-length tunic and gray pants. The man, Sudamen, had trimmed his beard and mustache, but Troi itched to neaten the black curls around his ears.

He answered their questions with care, not rushing his responses. No, he and his team had nothing to do with the ambassador's attaché. He did not know if they had embarked first, or if the man had gotten on board first. They had run into him after they beamed over. He had not seen the man other than on the tour and at Ten Forward. They had not chatted. He had never seen the man before – he stared sincerely at Troi as he said it – and wasn't it terrible, what had happened to him?

This was the most concern anyone they had spoken to showed for the dead man.

Her lack of empathic ability started to grate on Troi. Here was one case where she wanted her natural sense to reveal what the man wasn't saying. With nothing stronger to go on, she let Vale end the interview.

In contrast, Lark was all openness. She didn't rush her answers; but nor did she pause to frame her responses. Her version of events was consistent with Sudamen and Dr Montgomery's.

Troi was left unsatisfied after talking to the men, but she found herself believing the woman.

"You're free to go," Vale said to her. "If you think of anything which could be useful, anything that you remember, don't hesitate to contact either myself or Counselor Troi."

Vale and Troi swapped a look when the room was empty.

"I'm thinking the man's hiding something," Vale said.

Troi nodded. "That was my impression, also. When he walked in, he seemed especially nervous. It might be time to do some digging into his background."

Her working day had ended at that point, with no sign her sense was returning. The previous evening – on her first day back at work after the attack – she had not been eager to face more people in the ship's popular off-duty hang out. She had gone straight to her room to catch up on some of the sleep she had lost. No one had visited her in the evening. Remembering the last time she had lost her empathy, she wasn't surprised.

Her colleagues, she guessed, would be waiting to see how she was coping.

That morning she had woken alert and rested, but her empathy was still AWOL.

She didn't like the feeling, which was similar to vertigo and one she was tiring of. If the worry – that dreadful thought she might never sense again – was bothering her, she was practiced enough in the art of self-deception not to acknowledge it. But after a further day of emptiness, interviews, and regularly scheduled clinical duties, she felt the need for a little syntheholic commiseration.

This evening she would deal with her friends face on. Besides, something was up with the crew. People were walking through the ship with a spring in their step; they gave bright greetings; there were smiles. If she had been able to sense it, she would have drawn strength from it.

Oh, well. If she wasn't able to benefit in that manner, at least being around happy people would be pleasant.


Snakes on a Plane (Bring It), by Cobra Starship

A/N: Inland taipan numbers remain, happily, healthy ... at least for the time being.