Hi! I got kicked in the throat by this awful paraflu virus thing and I've only just today started to be able to sit up and read again. I've been going nuts listening to old stuff on ancient eight hour tapes taped back when there were tapes 'cause I couldn't get up to change disks. For not being an 'actual' flu this thing's been worse than most of the 'real' flus I've had and that's pretty awful. Still can't talk right, can only stand up for a short time without getting ridiculously dizzy, but I had to write something or scream (which I can't do due to laryngitis), so here's what I could do after working literally all day. :( It was supposed to be the start of Chapter Thirty but will have to settle for being Chapter Thirty until I can finish the rest, which is all patchy and scattered right now because I'm so tired everything blobs out like this blobby blob. Bleb. So, here it is, a short something to prove to myself that I'm still alive and that this awful energy-draining virus hasn't turned my aching brain to total mush. I hope. More on Data, Dr. Crusher, and Mikey's fate coming soon - 'specially if I finally get to get some actual sleep without coughing every three minutes! ...ow... Then, I'll get back to work on "Croaked" and see if I can finally finish "A Different Kind of Ace!" Only a couple more chapters to go on that one. What's left? A huge cake, angry genetic mutants, a space battle, angry genetic mutants, a huge cake... Stay Tuned, and thanks so much for your reviews! They've really helped me feel better! :)

Chapter Thirty

Silarra input the final codes, then stood and moved to the back of her small vessel, where there was more space to move around.

"One blink male, two blinks female, move eyes to the left or right to select holo-guise," she muttered to herself, just to make sure she had it straight. Taking a deep breath, she swung her arms to loosen up her back and shoulders, then blinked once, very deliberately moved her eyes to the right three times, and waited for the tickly static tingle as the hard-light holo-image coalesced around her.

"Why, hello Mr. Data," she said to the image looking back at her from the mirror, and stepped forward for a closer inspection. "Hmm…hard to tell he's a machine, even with those eyes… Computer, activate vocal modulator and synch with images."

The computer gave an acknowledging chirp, and Silarra spoke in Data's voice, the computer program ensuring every vocal intonation was an exact match with the recordings she'd made in the compound.

"Round the rugged rocks the ragged rascals ran," she pronounced, and smiled. "Perfect."

A few more eye flicks, another staticky tingle, and Picard had taken the android's place in the mirror.

"What a to-do to die today, at a minute or two to two," she said in the Starfleet captain's richly rounded tones. "A thing distinctly hard to say, but harder still to do. For they'll beat a tattoo, at twenty to two, a rat-tat-tat- tat-tat-tat- tat-tat-tattoo. And a dragon will come when he hears the drum, at a minute or two to two today, at a minute or two to two."

"What the hell is that nonsense?" a voice called out from the front of the ship. "Silarra! Silarra, I want to talk with you!"

The Suliban hissed angrily, made a quick gesture with her fingers, and the holo-guise dropped away, exposing her own stony features.

"What are you doing, calling me here," she demanded irritably, glaring at her caller's face on the main viewscreen. "I told you, Boss-man, you'll get my next report when I give it."

The white-clad figure on the screen was uncomfortably back-lit, making it impossible to clearly distinguish his features or much of anything about his hat and clothes apart from their (lack of) color. Silarra scowled and squinted against the light, knowing full well he did that on purpose – a tactic to disorient both 'friend' and 'foe.'

"Given the amount I'm paying for this job, I don't think these updates are an unreasonable demand," the Boss-man hissed, "especially when I find you in a ship, in orbit, practicing tongue twisters in some ridiculous accent!"

"I know it's hard, Boss, but if you can dredge up a little patience I'll give you an explanation for that," Silarra said. "Shut up and watch this."

With subtle, deftly coordinated movements of her eyes, eyelids, tongue, and hands, the expert chameleon ran through her newly programmed gallery of guises: the Starfleet officers, the archaeologists, the newly arrived Starfleet doctor, her pilot and nurse, and even the three children.

Before she'd made it half-way through her demonstration, the Boss-man was laughing and clapping like a child at a puppet show.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" he cheered. "Next, you'll be passing yourself off as one of their horses." His overlit shadow leaned closer to the screen, and his voice grew cold. "Oh, you do take your time Silarra. But this trick of yours had better pay off. I want the information I sent you for."

Angry frustration twisted inside her, and she snapped, "What the hell do you think I'm doing with these guises? Playing dress-up? I've gone to a lot of trouble to get these recordings! The equipment I use ain't exactly cheap, Boss, and it's hardly basic user interface. It's an art, doing what I do. An art, and a skill. Especially considering they've got that damn android."

"Don't vent your troubles to me," the Boss-man snarled. "Just get me what I want. The sooner the better. The market doesn't run on patience, my dear – and you are hardly my only asset in this matter."

"That a threat, Boss-man?"

"Just a fact," the Boss-man said coyly. "One of those hard, cold facets of life. I will have what's mine with or without you. It's only to your benefit to deliver…on my terms."

Silarra bared her teeth, her pebbly skin turning a vivid, angry green.

"Until our next communication, my dear chameleon," the Boss-man said, his oily voice dripping with menace. "Don't disappoint me."

The screen darkened, and Silarra slammed her fists against the arms of her chair.

"…washed out, back-lit bastard..." she snarled with bitter anger. "I tell him: contact me only through my personal comm unit. So he hacks my ship, like some stupid, schoolyard power play! Computer!" she snapped. "Run another spybug scan, as deep and thorough as possible. Search for bug programs and physical tracers, old and new, starting with the comm system. Encrypt the results under Code Sil1355 - you know the rest. I'll deal with the findings when I get back."

"Acknowledged," the computer chirped, and Silarra stalked to the transporter touch pad at the back of her little craft. She rechecked her emergency failsafes and procedures, then tapped in the planetary coordinates for the Starfleet runabout just outside the archaeologists' compound.

"One last detail…" she said, enduring the static tickle of a guise shift, "and energize!"

To Be Continued...

References include - TNG: Devil's Due; Red Dwarf: Legion (from which I pinched hard light holograms that can exist outside a hologrid); and a couple of vocal warm up exercises I remember from a public speaking class.

Until next time, thanks so much for your nudges and for your reviews! It means a lot to know you're enjoying my stories. Thanks! :D