Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: The Next Generation and The Pretender. I write these stories for my own amusement and make no profit from them.

Act II

Scene 1

With a scream of frustration, Miss Parker gave chase. She hadn't stopped to consider what would happen if she were caught pulling a gun on a "Starfleet officer." She had seen him walking past the Jeffries tube she, Sydney, and Broots had been imprisoned in, and all she could see was herself forcing him to get her off this awful ship. Her two colleagues pelted after her, complaining as usual.

Ahead, Jarod slipped through a door. Before it could close, her hand caught it and forced it open. Behind her Broots stumbled into her, forcing her into the tiny white room. The door slid closed after Sydney. "Jarod—"

"Miss Parker!" he shot at her with a raised eyebrow, and she realized they were not alone, even as Sydney's hand closed around hers and forced her gun to her side.

The small child who had been alone in the strangely small room before four running adults had invaded gave her a sober and strangely evaluating look. Its face was deformed, rounded lumps splitting its forehead.

It's another alien! she realized with a chill.

"Krantregk, this is my friend Miss Parker," Jarod said with that dark side-glance that was as good as a smirk. "At least she was my friend until she joined the Dark Side."

"The Dark Side of what?" the child asked.

"That's a good question. What is your dark side, Miss Parker?"

She glowered at him.

"Why is she dressed like that?"

"I think she's been spending a little too much time on the holodeck. There's a simulation she likes, called The Centre, but its problem is that it doesn't look anything like real life. One moment of real life, Krantregk, is worth thirty years of simulations."

"You're speaking metaphorically," the child said, far too knowingly for a little kid. "But this is my deck. Will you tell me more later, Commander Jarod?"

"If I can."

The doors of the little room opened, and the child stepped out. Miss Parker could have hit herself. An elevator, of course. She glared at the man in blue uniform trying to enter.

"Taken! Wait for the next one."

Startled, he stepped back, and the doors closed. Miss Parker raised her gun again.

"So, Captain Picard, nice place you've got here."

"I'm not Picard. You might not have noticed, but I've got hair."

"Well, then, Commander Jarod Westmore, it's time to go home."

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. How did he managed to look so amused?

"I can't do that, Miss Parker."

"You can if you don't want a hole in your foot."

"No, I can't. I don't have the recall device. Did you happen to bring it?"

She glared at Broots, who was trying to make himself very small next to Sydney, as if Jarod were the one with the gun and might eat him besides. "Apparently not."

Jarod grinned. Miss Parker wanted to hit him with the gun.

"Why do you relish getting me into these situations, Jarod?"

"For the same reason you enjoy thinking about shooting me, Miss Parker. You weren't supposed to be here in the first place. How did you get here?"

She gestured at Broots. "Wonderbread here has more brains than you give him credit for."

Broots' eyes brightened. Then the doors swooshed open again, and his jaw dropped. "The bridge."

Jarod stepped out, and his three pursuers automatically stepped out after him. With a sinking feeling, Miss Parker knew that once again he had managed to put her at the disadvantage, without even doing anything. All the people in the rounded room were staring at her and her gun.

"Commander Westmore!" a bald man in red and black snapped in some kind of accent, "what is this? What is that?"

A man with strangely gold skin took a step toward her. "Captain, that appears to be a projectile weapon much in use in the twentieth century. I am unsure of the particular make—"

Miss Parker grabbed Jarod and pressed the gun to his back. "The kind of gun is irrelevant! What is important is that I will kill him if one of you so much as blinks."

"Why should our blinking cause you to kill him?" the gold-skinned man queried, perfectly calm.

"Despite Miss Parker's anachronistic choice of weapon," Jarod said, "she is correct about its destructive capabilities. Captain Picard, this is Miss Parker and her colleagues, Sydney and Broots. As you can see, they are not Starfleet personnel, but they do work with the project I am investigating. They have been tracking me for several years."

"How did you get on my ship?" the bald captain barked.

"That does not matter," Miss Parker barked back. "What matters is how we're going to get off." She caught a movement to her left and shot a glare at the only person there she recognized, a large figure in black and yellow. "Don't you move, Turtle-Head, or I'll kill him."

Suddenly Broots laughed. "Westmore! I get it!"

Jarod glanced back over his shoulder. "Good, isn't it?"

Without warning the elevator doors swooshed open. Miss Parker had only time to catch a glimpse of a blue uniform and a pair of impossibly pointed ears and to hear Jarod shout something that sounded like, "Velan totsuky!" before a brown hand fell on her shoulder and everything went blank.

Scene 2

Jarod caught Miss Parker's gun as she fell, leaving her to be caught by the Vulcan medical officer whose quick reflexes and to'tsu'k'hy, the Vulcan nerve pinch, had saved him. "Thank you, Doctor V'Lan."

"I am glad to be of service, Commander, and that I happened to have an errand on the bridge. The situation seems to have been tense."

Jarod set the safety and removed the clip. "Just for a moment. Lieutenant Worf, your assistance, please."

Worf relieved V'Lan of his burden. "This woman is like a Klingon," he said with something like approval.

Broots gave a sudden snort or laughter. "Yeah, she is. I never thought of that."

Worf glared at him. "A dishonorable Klingon! To shoot a man in the back—"

"Actually, she mostly just wants to shoot him in the foot, or so she says."

"Broots," Sydney whispered, "perhaps you ought not to talk anymore just now."

With a gulp, Broots closed his mouth. Jarod restrained another grin.

"Let them experience a starship brig, Mr. Worf. Captain Picard, you'll be wanting explanations."

"I certainly will be."

Worf and another security officer ushered Broots and Sydney onto the elevator along with Miss Parker's still-limp body. Jarod quirked an eyebrow after them. Broots looked absolutely excited to be taken into custody by Worf, but Sydney gave Jarod one of those familiar exasperated-but-patient looks.

In the captain's ready room, Jarod activated his jamming device and looked at Picard and Riker. "I'm sorry that I can't tell you a great deal, Captain, Commander, but I will disclose some information. I used to work with these three operatives. We worked for what I later discovered to be Section 31, a top-secret and sometime-rogue section of Starfleet Intelligence. Few people know it exists, and even fewer people believe it. When I discovered that its existence and goals violated the tenets of the Federation, I got out and went to work for its rival branch within Starfleet Intelligence. Our main goal is to oppose and take down Section 31."

"And Section 31 is running the Savant Project?" Picard asked.

"Yes, sir. However, you don't just leave Section 31. For the last two and a half years, these operatives have been tasked with finding me and bringing me back. If they can, they will hold me captive and force me to participate in their projects."

"You seemed to be quite familiar with them," Riker said.

"I am. As I said, I worked with them before I learned the truth about Section 31. The woman is dangerous, but conflicted. The two men…they are more dangerous than they look. They know me better than anyone in the universe, and they have nearly captured me countless times. I had no idea they had actually found me this time."

"Do you think they know about your mission?" Picard asked.

"I doubt it. Section 31 operates on a principle of not letting the left hand know what the right is doing. These three are trackers, not mission agents."

Riker crossed his arms. "How did they get aboard?"

Jarod spread out his hands. "My fault. I developed a transportation device with a built-in cloak. I thought I had disabled it before my escape, but Broots—the small man—is a technological genius. If anyone could figure it out, he could."

"A cloak?" Riker glanced at Picard. "What sort of cloak?"

"A fairly average sensor cloak, though in conjunction with the beaming technology, it works the cloak into the person being beamed. A personal shield. It does fade after about a week."

"You developed this?" Picard repeated.

"Yes, Captain. All it took was a little reading on the Romulan cloaking device and advanced transporter technology." Online technical journals by avid science fiction fans, he thought, restraining a grin. Invaluable.

Riker pursued his original thought. "And this cloak—does it involve any psychic phenomena at all?"

Jarod blinked at him. "No, Commander. Why?"

"Deanna's ghosts," Picard said slowly.

"Ghosts?"

"Counselor Troi has been sensing echoes of these people. She ought to have felt their presence the moment they came aboard, but they were…cloaked."

"Odd," Jarod said carefully. "An unintended repercussion, perhaps."

Riker cocked an eyebrow at him.

"She needs to know about this." Picard tapped his communicator. "Picard to Counselor Troi."

After a moment a groggy voice responded. "Troi here, Captain."

"Deanna, when you are able, go to the brig and interview the three prisoners you'll find there."

"Prisoners, Captain?"

"Your ghosts, Counselor. Perhaps you ought to start trusting your feelings again."

Jarod imagined the meeting between Parker, Broots, Sydney, and Deanna Troi. He restrained another smile. Sydney would be so fascinated… He almost wished he could be there. He shook it off.

"It is imperative that the operation goes as planned tonight. If I get the information I need, I will be able to proceed with the second part."

"Second part?" Riker said sharply.

Scene 3

Miss Parker came slowly out of a deep darkness, light and voices intruding.

"I can't believe I just met Captain Picard!" Broots? Was that Broots? "We—we actually held up the bridge! And got taken prisoner by Worf!"

"Broots, bring yourself to reality," came Sydney's slow voice. "This is not a game. No matter whom we have been taken prisoner by, we have been taken prisoner. Is Miss Parker alright after whatever that…person did to her?"

"Oh, yeah. She'll be fine. She'll come out of it any time. It's nothing like the Vulcan death grip, which," he chuckled, "as we all know, doesn't exist."

"She's out of it," Miss Parker said. She tried to say it coldly, but it came out in a pathetically weak voice. Sydney and Broots moved to her side as she tried to sit up.

"How do you feel, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked.

"Like I've been run over by a semi. What happened? That wasn't a Klingon, unless bat ears accompany turtle heads."

Broots chuckled again. "No, that was the Vulcan nerve pinch. A flow of energy interrupts the electrical signals in your…" He trailed off as she tried to glare at him.

"Where are we?" She squinted around at the bright, grey room.

"Uh—the Enterprise brig. You did try to hold up the bridge, you know."

"Great. This fabulous spaceship everyone's fanatical about, and we get stuck in Jeffries tubes and the brig. Not a very good jail cell. They just leave the doors open?"

She got up and went to the large open space in the wall. Lights lined it. She shook her head in contempt and stepped through it.

Tried to step through it and found herself lying on the floor with Broots' "Miss Parker, stop!" ringing in her ears. He and Sydney helped her up and back to the bunk she had been lying on.

"It's a forcefield, Miss Parker. You can't just go through it." Broots touched the invisible wall, and it shimmered and rang with an electric sound.

"I hate this ship," Parker said between her teeth.

Broots was backing away from the wall. "Uh—uh—she's coming. Sydney, Deanna Troi is coming." He glanced at Sydney. "The empath!" he hissed.

Sydney rose. "Oh." He stepped forward as if the beautiful woman coming toward their cell were his subject of study instead of the other way around. "How do you do?" he said before she could say anything. "My name is Sydney."

"Hello, Sydney," she answered with an accent as exotic as her looks. "My name is Deanna Troi. I'm the ship's counselor."

Sydney broke into a smile. "Really? I'm a psychiatrist, too."

"Syd, would you shut up?" Miss Parker got up to stand across the doorway from Deanna Troi, hands on hips. The shorter woman's dark eyes took her in completely, from head to toe and, Miss Parker could almost imagine, from outer image to inner soul. She tried on a smile. "I'm Miss Parker. Why are we here?"

"I understand you tried to take a Starfleet officer hostage."

"No, we were trying to do you people a favor. Look, you've got a dangerous lunatic running around your ship!"

"You don't really believe that, Miss Parker."

Miss Parker recoiled a little. "What?"

"You don't believe Commander Westmore is a dangerous lunatic, nor a criminal, nor anything else you may come up with to try to get me on your side. You know very well he is doing what is right, which makes what you're doing wrong, as much as you try to convince yourself otherwise."

"Uh—Miss Parker," Broots whispered, "don't try to lie to her, OK?"

Miss Parker turned around and snarled in his ear, "I thought you said she was like Angelo."

"No, I said she wasn't like Angelo."

Miss Parker stalked away and sat down, crossing her arms and legs and glaring at Deanna. The counselor turned to Broots.

"What's your name?"

"Um—um—Broots, Counselor Troi."

"Don't be nervous, Mr. Broots. I'm not going to hurt you. You seem to know a lot about me."

"Well—" he squeaked, "I'm—uh—a big fan of Star—of starships and their crews and especially this ship. A big fan. It's kind of—you know—a dream come true to be here."

"In the brig?"

"Well, it's a nice brig. And, uh—talking to you is a—uh, great honor." He laughed self-consciously.

"If that is so, why did you sneak aboard this ship to take one of our officers hostage?"

"Well—uh, that was an accident, and he's not really one of your officers."

"He's on loan, yes, but that is beside the point."

"No—I mean—"

"Broots, stop talking." Miss Parker rose and came to stare down her nose at Deanna Troi. "You will not learn anything from us."

The counselor did not seem easily intimidated. There was also anger at the back of her dark eyes. "On the contrary, Miss Parker, I have already learned a great deal from you."

Sydney leaned forward. "I would be interested to know what you have learned and how, Counselor. Broots has told me about your abilities, but I'm not sure I completely understand them."

Deanna gave him a long look. "I can feel you, Doctor Sydney, and a person's feelings tell a lot about him. It is a very rare person who will act against his emotions."

"Jarod does. Sometimes. When it really matters."

"Jarod does what is right, despite his feelings, doesn't he, Doctor?"

"Yes, he does, Counselor."

"But you three are the opposite. You carry out your jobs despite the sense that what you're doing isn't quite right."

"What we do, Counselor Troi, we do for the good of society."

She shook her head, dark curls bobbing. "No, Doctor. You try to convince yourself of that, and you bury the truth. But you all operate out of very confused motives. Miss Parker is driven by anger, Mr. Broots by fear, and you by…intellectual curiosity? And guilt, too. But even now you're not so much listening to me as investigating me. Is that what you did to Jarod, Doctor Sydney?"

Miss Parker elbowed up to the forcefield. "You leave Sydney alone. Syd, don't play her mind games."

"I know all about mind games, Miss Parker," he said quietly.

"Why are you so angry, Miss Parker?" Deanna asked.

Into Miss Parker's mind flashed all the reasons she had to be angry. Her mother's death, leaving her alone as a child without guidance. Finding out so late her mother had been murdered by someone within the Centre, all for trying to help little children… Timmy and Jarod. Jarod! The Centre dragging her back into fieldwork after she had advanced out of it. Chasing Jarod fruitlessly for two years, with him continually taunting her with his clues and his revelations. Oh, she had plenty to be angry about. "I'm stuck in your brig!" she snapped. "What do you expect?"

She felt Sydney and Broots staring at her, and she walked away from them. Broots' liquid nicotine patch was wearing off.

Scene 4

Once again Deanna sat in Picard's ready room with him and Riker. "Well, Captain, they are definitely the ghosts I felt. I should have recognized them as real intruders instead of echoes!"

Picard shook his head. "Don't blame yourself, Counselor. Strange things have been happening in this area of space. Unfortunately, we'll have to be here a while longer than anticipated. How was your meeting with the prisoners?"

"Interesting. I could feel them each clearly, and I was even able to interpret quite a bit of what I felt. They're all very intriguing people. Three very strange types to put together into a manhunting team, but they have worked themselves into a great deal of respect and even care for each other. The woman, Miss Parker, was very protective of the other two, though she tried to hide it. She is the leader of the team, a very aggressive woman ready to push over anything in her way."

"Worf did say she was like a Klingon," Riker said.

"Did he? That's very insightful. She is. But despite their aggressive nature, most Klingons don't operate on anger and fear all the time. Miss Parker does. She is deeply, intensely angry about something that happened a long time ago, and it has developed into a hard shell that hides a small, hurt thing inside. Much of her aggression is directed at Commander Westmore. I would say she has misdirected all her rage on to him. Perhaps he has a capacity to reach inside her that she resents.

"Her partner Broots is both terrified of her and fascinated by her, perhaps even attracted to her. His motivations are complex. He is terrified of the repercussions that leaving his job would entail, and he's genuinely interested in his work. Plus they need him, and there's nothing so heady as being needed, for some people. He's fascinated with Jarod, and tracking him is like a great game which he really doesn't want to think about very deeply. He also knows a great deal about this ship, Captain, and he's as interested in it as Jarod is, in much the same way, with a child's delight in a wonderful toy. That puzzles me the most.

"And Doctor Sydney the psychiatrist—"

"Psychiatrist?" Riker interrupted. "That's a strange person to set on the track of an intelligence operative."

Deanna grinned at him. "It's a very logical person, Will, particularly when the psychiatrist knows the operative as well as Sydney knows Jarod. He is the most interesting of all of them because his motives are so obscure. He is a scientist, an intellectual studier. He tried to study me while I was studying him. He probably learned nearly as much as I did. His emotions about Jarod are very complex. He feels guilt for some past association, something he did to Jarod. He feels pride whenever his team fails to capture Jarod—pride in Jarod's ability to escape them. He is overwhelmingly fascinated by Jarod's mind and abilities—what psychological professional wouldn't be?" She laughed quietly. "And then there's part of him that longs equally to have Jarod near him and to see Jarod escape for good. He hides far away inside him a deep love for Jarod, hides it so well he fools himself into thinking he can't feel it—like a Vulcan, perhaps. He thinks he wants what is best for Jarod, but he's no longer sure what that is."

"Do you think we could turn him?" Riker asked eagerly. "Maybe a double agent, working against them from the inside?"

"I don't know, Will. He has quite a loyalty to his work. He loves and hates his work at the same time. I don't know if he could bring himself to give it up. Anyway, he is the enemy. You see, he's the one Jarod is afraid of. Jarod loves him and hates him; he leans on him and pushes him away. If Jarod went back to this organization he told you about, it would be for Sydney, and he would hate himself when he did. Sydney is dangerous because he is temptation. It's only a guess, but I think Jarod came to the organization very young, perhaps at a time of personal loss, and Sydney was his trainer and mentor. Then when he found out what the organization stood for, he felt betrayed by a friend and father-figure. He is angry, but he still needs Sydney, as we all need our fathers even if they let us down. There's more—there's much more between them, but I don't know what it is."

"Counselor, do you think this is what you sensed Commander Westmore withholding from us?" asked Picard.

"Some of it. Until these three showed up, it was irrelevant to his work here."

"Well, it looks like we've stumbled into a much bigger situation than anticipated. Can we hold these three until the Commander's mission is accomplished without alerting their superiors to their disappearance?"

"We're going to have to try," Riker said grimly. "I for one can't wait to get them off this ship and into Intelligence custody, but it can't happen until Westmore is done. Nothing can look unusual, especially not to his suspects."

"The first operation is tonight," Picard said. "If it goes well, the next will be in only a few days' time. Then we can put this all behind us."

Deanna wondered. Could you be emotionally connected to the inner soul of a man like Jarod and then simply put it all behind you?

Scene 5

Nurse Onatah was sleeping the serene sleep of the just—undeserved, in her case, though she wouldn't have believed it. She was dreaming of promotions and exciting new opportunities. She had no idea that her life was about to turn upside down, that she would never again receive anything like a promotion…

A hand clapping down over her mouth jolted her awake. She screamed, but no sound came. She couldn't move, couldn't resist the two dark figures who lifted her up out of her bed. She struggled, but her motions were as gagged as her voice. Terror crowded her in the dark room, her safe quarters on the Enterprise.

"Marzat, beam us aboard," a quiet—and strangely familiar—voice said. She must have passed out during the beaming, because everything was dark for a long time.

"Time to wake up, Nurse!" boomed an unbearably chipper, deep voice in her ears. The darkness was yanked away with the cloth bag pulled off her head.

She was sitting in a shuttlecraft, an unfamiliar one, completely immobile, bound with a forcefield to her chair. The terror hadn't gone with the darkness.

"Good morning, Nurse Onatah." A tall man stood in front of her. She couldn't identify him for a moment, not with fear dimming her eyes. But then—

"Oh, excuse me. Let me remove your gag so you can talk."

"You're that—that astrophysicist!" she gasped.

"Actually, I'm not really an astrophysicist. I represent a more lucrative trade." He leaned down, smiling into her face. The smile wasn't echoed in his dark eyes. His eyes hated her. "Isn't that right, Marzat?"

The pilot leaned back out of his chair. "Right you are, Jarod!" His skin was bright green.

"Ah, do you begin to guess? Let's see if you've guessed right. I am a dealer in sentience, Nurse Onatah. You see, the Orion Syndicate—oh, that's caught your attention now, hasn't it? The Orion Syndicate doesn't only deal in flesh. It also deals in minds. Valuable minds, like yours. Your Qinar frontal lobes alone—" he put out his hand to the raised ridges over her eyes "—could get me a small fortune. But let's not be mercenary. Contained within the whole package of your highly functioning self, those frontal lobes could do a great deal of good for the well-being of many people."

"Well-being?" she spat. "Since when does the Orion Syndicate care about the well being of anything but its purse?"

"Well, it depends on how you look at it, Nurse Onatah. If the Syndicate is happy, its people are happy. The richer it is, the better the overall economy. The wealth will trickle down; everyone will benefit from a thriving society."

"Everyone except the people whose backs it is built on!" she cried.

His long face loomed down at her again, his eyes dark slits. "Exactly. Isn't it amazing how logical it can be made to seem when you're not the one in captivity? Aren't you a participant in a slave trade of minds, Nurse Onatah? You should understand how it works. You have something in that head of yours that others need. I feel justified in taking it, because it will benefit my society. Isn't that what you told yourself? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few? Well, now you are the few."

"No—no!" she cried, trying to hold on to what she had been told. "That's not how it was! We're trying to save lives!"

"By destroying others?" His voice had risen to a roar, chilling her. "By destroying the lives of children, the most precious thing you have? Did you ever see that child, that little boy, Krantregk, when you studied him? Did you see him as a set of lobes inside a shell? Or did you ever think to see him as a child who needs his parents, needs to love and be loved? Did you think about the effects on a child of being raised without parents and knowledge of who he is? No! All you thought about was an isolated brain in a package of bone. Well, you're going to learn firsthand what that is like."

Inside her wild fear, it almost occurred to her to wonder why this man was so angry, what it was that raged so violently beneath his saturnine face.

"Jarod, we're approaching the coordinates," the Orion pilot broke in.

"Take a look at your new home, Nurse," Jarod said, suddenly calm, moving aside so she could see the ship out of the viewscreen. I already have a buyer lined up. Contact him, Marzat."

In a moment another green face appeared on the screen. "Jarod, my friend! Do you have the goods?"

"I do, Uehar. Have a look."

"Oh, a Qinar. Good catch, Jarod. Good catch."

"Thank you. We'll be ready to beam aboard in a few minutes."

The green face disappeared. Jarod turned back to Onatah with a smile, dark and menacing. "Do you have any family? Parents, brothers, sisters—a lover? I'll send them your goodbyes, when I tell them how you died in a shuttle accident."

"No, Jarod!" she screamed. "Don't do this! Jarod, please! Think what you'll do to my parents!"

"Did you think what you would do to Krantregk's parents?"

"You're right, Jarod! I didn't think! I didn't think about that at all! But I'm thinking now! Jarod—Jarod—don't sell me to the Orion Syndicate! Please—I'll do whatever you want!"

"Tell me who recruited you," he snapped at her. "Was it the Vulcan Sirok?"

"Yes, it was," she sobbed. "Two years ago, soon after I came aboard. I wanted to do something significant for the Federation, and just being a nurse wasn't enough. I though if a Vulcan was involved, there couldn't be anything wrong with it."

"You thought that, did you," he said softly, like a growl. "Well, you were wrong. Logic can be a weapon as well as a tool. And now you will pay for your illogical judgment."

"No—no! Jarod, I'll help you! I'll tell you whatever you want to know!"

"Where do you keep the information you collect? How do you report it to your superiors? What codes and communications channels do you use?"

Sobbing, she told him everything she knew, which was little enough and, she feared, not enough to satisfy him. But when she was done, he sat down in the seat next to her and stared at her.

"It never ceases to amaze me," he said, his voice calm, "how people can do so much wrong for a cause they believe is right. But listen to me, Nurse Onatah. Nothing is more significant than helping hurting individuals at their weakest time. You should never have given that up."

This from the man who wanted to sell her? "What—what are you going to do with me?" she gasped.

To her surprise, he grinned. "Turn you over to Starfleet Intelligence, of course. You didn't really think I'd made a deal with Orion slavers, did you?" He stood up. "Computer, end program."

All the breath left her lungs as pilot, shuttle, Orion ship, and her own restraints disappeared and around her appeared the familiar grid of the holodeck.

Jarod leaned down close to her. "You never left the Enterprise. Surprise!"

Scene 6

Worf and Riker came onto the holodeck, and Jarod handed Nurse Onatah over to Worf. "Lock her up, Mr. Worf. Make sure she's completely alone so she has space to rethink her life."

"Yes, sir." Worf touched his communicator. "Two to beam directly to the brig."

"Very ingenious, Commander," Riker said. "Very unorthodox."

Westmore flashed him a smile. "I've never been orthodox, Commander. I must say, having a holodeck at my disposal puts a whole new spin on things. I very much appreciate your and Captain Picard's willingness to go along with this."

"Your orders from Headquarters gave us very little choice. You really know Admiral Zeubin? How's that beagle of his doing?"

"The one that died last month or the new one his daughter gave him, Commander?" Jarod asked softly.

"Oh, the dead one, naturally," Riker grinned.

"He's at dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Not where he eats but where he is eaten."

Riker frowned. "Julius Caesar?"

"Hamlet. Admiral Zeubin's favorite. He would think the quotation macabre but appropriate. Excuse me, Commander. It is time for me to deal with Sirok."

Riker looked after him as he strode from the empty holodeck. He was almost beginning to like the man. What he had had to say to the nurse had been something that might have come from Captain Picard's mouth, or Beverly's, or Riker's own, only it had had not only total conviction in it but the even greater force of total emotional involvement. The man had felt deeply every word he said, just as Deanna insisted. So why did Riker still get a funny feeling about him? It was a pity Admiral Zeubin was out of communication with anything Federation at the moment. A strict rest leave, his doctor said. Riker was inclined to think it was more along the lines of a secret mission. It sure would be good to talk to him about his prodigy Jarod Westmore.

Scene 7

Jarod slipped into the Vulcan's quarters. He had monitored the teacher's movements and knew when he would be taking the small amount of sleep he required.

"Sirok," he hissed in Vulcan. "Sirok, wake up."

The Vulcan was instantly awake, sitting up, his nearly-blond hair gleaming in the pale candle light. "Who are you? What are you doing in my quarters?"

Jarod's back was to the candle light, his lean length and Vulcan-like haircut all that could be seen from Sirok's position. "Your position has been compromised, Sirok," he said in the language of a superior to an inferior, language that automatically stiffened the Vulcan into an attitude of proper respect. "Onatah has been found out."

"Onatah? What do you mean? Who are you?"

Jarod leaned in close. "She is being taken to the brig as we speak," he said in his crispest Vulcan. "They are bringing in special interrogators, including some of our people, who will be able to get beneath her Qinar surface."

"Our people?" Now Sirok recognized him. "Commander Westmore? You are not Vulcan."

"I play many roles," Jarod said mysteriously. "I am whatever I want to be. And in this case, I am here to tell you that you have compromised your mission."

Sirok scrambled off his bed and activated the lights. He stared at Jarod with the intimidatingly level gaze only Vulcans can give. Jarod, who in that moment was Vulcan, gave him the same stare back.

"What mission are you speaking of?"

Jarod raised an eyebrow and said quietly the few identifying words Onatah had told him. For a moment he was afraid she had lied to him, for Sirok only stared at him. But then Sirok pursed his lips with what might have been a sigh in anyone but a Vulcan.

"Who are you, sir?"

"I am the man who has been sent here to see that you and Onatah are doing your jobs properly. They always send out observers, Sirok, who rarely ever need to identify themselves to the field agents. I ought not to have done so, but you are now in danger. Your choice of Onatah was…unwise."

"Has she said anything?"

"Very little, other than her indiscreet comments to Doctor Crusher, which landed you both in this mess. I have promised Captain Picard that I would attempt to discover everything I could about her mission, which has given me an opportunity to cover up as much as possible, but I do not think it will be enough. What error in logic led you to Onatah as a candidate for this job?"

"I can see no error, sir. She was a perfect candidate, precisely as we were taught."

"Perfect, Sirok? Logic teaches that perfection is unattainable. Has living among so many Humans made you arrogant, Sirok? Logic lies in humility. Arrogance blinds, and you have been blind. Has it occurred to you that her perfection might have been intended?"

"Intended…" Sirok repeated. "You think she was planted to expose me?"

"What do you think?" Jarod said viciously. "You have compromised the entire project. There are already elements within the organization who are questioning the logic of the project—"

As he had hoped, this got a rise out of the Vulcan. "Questioning the logic, sir? It is logic rather than sentiment which drives the Savant Project. It has been refreshing to find Humans who will put aside their weak emotion and act on logic. Admiral Joda herself recruited me through a faultless use of logic. Now the Humans are rejecting it again?"

"It is the Vulcans who are questioning the logic of members like you, Sirok. Is it logical for Section 31 to draw attention to itself by depriving parents of their children? Is it logical to oppose the course of nature by taking children from parents? Is it logical to create an intellectual force that will one day turn against you when it realizes it has been exploited? The day always comes when slaves turn on their masters, and you will have given the slaves their greatest weapon, intellectual development. Is it logical to see only the short-term benefits and ignore the long-term risks?

"However, I have not come here to debate your faulty logic with you. I have a chance for you to escape, because, despite everything, you are a good operative. You will receive a message tomorrow that your mother is dying and requires your presence as her heir. You will leave immediately and report to Section 31 headquarters. I will cover up your involvement, but you must arrive and be ready to face your judgment before interrogators can get information out of Onatah. Otherwise you and all you know will be lost.

"Tonight you must make a complete deposition to me. I want to know everything—I mean everything. Onatah might have learned form you, whether you know it or not. Not only everything you told her but everything you did not tell her. Remember that she is Qinar, and the Qinar have mental abilities they do not tell even other Federation members about. Sit down and begin."

Jarod rejoiced to find that, while Sirok was a Vulcan and an excellent teacher and intelligence operative, he was also rather stupid. Underneath his Vulcan control, he was frightened. He was not used to being frightened, and it confused him. He knew more than Jarod had imagined, more than he even he was aware of, and he told it all to Jarod. Jarod filed everything away in his photographic memory and knew he would be able to extrapolate much more than Sirok was aware he was telling. The one missing piece was where the already kidnapped children were being held, the one piece Jarod needed most to learn. Needed? Yes, needed, both for the children and for himself. If he could not save them, it had all been pointless.

Krantregk came into his mind. No, not completely pointless. The boy was safe. He would be happy and healthy. He would never be another Jarod. When Jarod finally fell, exhausted, into bed, it was that knowledge that let him go to sleep. Sirok had given him the information he needed to be able to find out where the children were. He would rescue them, too.

Scene 8

Five highly-placed Federation officials received five nearly identical messages at the same moment. Each message was from a Section 31 field agent who identified himself as a double agent for Starfleet Intelligence and offered to not turn them over to Intelligence if they would pay him a large amount of gold-pressed latinum. The messages contained enough evidence that they knew it was more than a mere bluff. Each one made preparations to meet the agent at a certain location in five days' time. Each one made preparations to kill him.

Scene 9

"In five days the Savant Project officials will arrive," Jarod told the senior officers. "Data and Geordi, we have that long to prepare the ship's cloak. I already have the holodeck prepared. Worf, we'll go over security arrangements later. Beverly, what is the status of the drug?"

"It will take four days to synthesize, but it will be ready, Jarod," she smiled.

"Good. Deanna, will you be ready to stand by in case your expertise is needed?"

"To be honest, Jarod, the most I can say is 'I think so.' I'm doing much better, but I'm still going through strange spells."

Jarod frowned. Angelo's presence was still neatly jamming Deanna's empathic abilities. He was having the time of his life, but he would have to stay away from the holodeck. "I trust you, Deanna. I believe you'll be fine. Any questions?"

"About the Vulcan teacher Sirok," Riker said. "How are you tracking him?"

Jarod smiled. "He ate his tracking device. We had a little soup together before he left. You know, clear plomeek broth is not as bad as the actual soup. Anyway, I am receiving all his information, and the recordings will go straight to Starfleet Intelligence. I want to reiterate how much I appreciate all you have done. Normally my missions don't require me to make so much use of others' personnel. I am glad you've been able to join me. This mission will not destroy Section 31—they're too good for that—but it will strike a death blow to the Savant Project, which is what is important to me just now."

"We're with you on that," Geordi said.

As Jarod and the senior officers left the room, Picard reflected on how well Jarod dealt with the crew and how instinctually they responded to him. He had been aboard not even three weeks, and he had a connection to each officer in a way Picard had never seen in anyone but Deanna. Deanna could feel with each of the others, but in some way Jarod seemed to be able to become them. Even Data, which was more than Deanna could do. It was what made him such a good intelligence officer, but nom d'un nom— Picard shook his head. The Federation had missed out on a fine starship captain.

Scene 10

Jarod had not seen the three prisoners in the brig since Worf had led them away. He didn't want to be distracted. But now it was just waiting, and he was already distracted. If they hadn't been there, he would have enjoyed his time working on the cloak with Geordi, talking to Guinan, or taking in a few Sherlock Holmes mysteries with data, but their presence ate at him. What would he gain by talking to them? They could not speak freely, in this place where they shared the same secret, and he could not ask them for information about his family. He had not intended for them to be here and had nothing to tell them. He didn't want to see them. But he went down to see them.

They didn't need to be bored in there. He had seen to it that they had books, music, intellectual stimulation. Sydney and Broots, at least, were occupying their time trying to learn 3-D chess. But of course Miss Parker was bored and seething.

"Jarod, you—" she swore at him.

"Now, Miss Parker, mind your language. You're talking to a Starfleet officer."

"It—it looks good," Broots offered from the safety of the back of the cell. "The uniform."

"It is a good uniform, isn't it? As for you, how does it feel to be part of Section 31."

Broots bristled. "I'm not Section 31!" Then he considered. "Gosh, maybe I am."

"Section 31?" Miss Parker said between her teeth, barely holding onto her temper.

"The Centre, Miss Parker," Jarod answered. "Just another name for the same old thing. Ruining people's lives for the sake of profit, politics, science, or whatever you need to call on to justify it. I didn't expect to find it here, but I did. I guess people are the same wherever you go, no matter what kind of people they are."

"You're enjoying yourself here, Jarod, whatever sort of people you have found, aren't you?" Sydney asked.

"Why, yes, Sydney. I'm sorry I can't say the same for you, but that's not my fault."

"Actually, Jarod, both Broots and I are enjoying ourselves highly."

Jarod leaned against the opposite wall and crossed his arms, grinning. "I suppose you would be, wouldn't you? There's plenty for you to study here, Sydney, even in a brig."

"There certainly is, not the least of which is Deanna Troi. She has visited three times."

"Has she? Interesting. What do you think?"

"She's angry with us, Jarod. On your behalf, I should think. But she is very interested in us as well."

"Just what I need," Miss Parker muttered. "Two shrinks following me around. I wish you would tell her to leave us alone."

Jarod shook his head. "Far be it from me to tell a scientist who she may study, Miss Parker. You could learn a lot from her, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "No, thank you. I'll learn what I want, when I want."

"Don't limit yourself, Parker. You owe yourself more than that."

She came close to the forcefield. "Jarod, listen to me. Get me out of here! I'm going insane."

Jarod stepped up to the forcefield too, so that no more than a few inches of what looked like empty space separated them. "You don't like being confined any more than I do," he said softly. "I've put myself in your place, too, you know. I've been you. I've felt what you feel. You hate being trapped. You hate being impotent. It tears away all your defenses. Now put yourself in my place. Freedom means even more to me than it does to you. You will not have me. And for the moment you're going to stay trapped. Experience what you're trying to do to me. So you may as well take advantage of it as Sydney does. You won't stop me."

Miss Parker raised her hand and put it against the forcefield so that it buzzed and rang. "Jarod, I'll kill you."

"No, you won't." He turned and went out.

Scene 11

Now only one day was left, one day until the second sting operation that would allow Starfleet Intelligence to demolish the Savant Project. Jarod has prepared the complete report with all evidence, as he usually did. This time it would not be going in a manila envelope but by subspace communications. It was timed to go out automatically when he went to meet the Section 31 leaders. Starfleet Intelligence, of course, knew nothing of his existence and the mission he had created for himself. But they would know all about the Savant Project when they received his report, and from then on it would be their responsibility. Section 31 would continue, of course. There were enough of those people in Starfleet. But Starfleet would not allow the kidnapping of its children to continue. It was still run by more decent people than he had ever thought could exist in one place.

After the Centre, he ought to have been stripped of all belief in the positive side of human nature. After all, his whole childhood had been spent investigating murders, assassinations, bombings, epidemics, piracy. There had been no investigation of things like family life, friendship, random acts of kindness. But somehow he had clung to the belief that these things must exist. When he stepped into the mind of the assassin of a great civil rights leader, he also stepped into the mind of the civil rights leader himself and learned about what drove him. He stepped into the minds of policemen, politicians, and doctors, learning about their passion for justice. And when he escaped, he sought those things automatically. He found both sides of life, both exploiters of the helpless and defenders of the helpless. His first Pretend—it had been instinctual. He had witnessed a man give up his life to save a stranger from a mugging, and without thinking he had gone after the criminal who took that innocent, courageous life. He had gone after him his own way, becoming a police officer, finding that the talents Sydney had developed in him worked perfectly in the real world.

He did have to admit that Sydney had been a large part of it. Sydney, who lived a double life within himself, had trained him in right and wrong. Sydney, who could close his eyes to the fact that his work exploited the powerless and yet believe passionately that his Centre existed for the good of society.

When had Jarod realized that what they were doing to him was wrong? He had always questioned, always pushed the boundaries of what was allowed, always known his life was different than other children's, but for a very long time it never occurred to him that what the Centre did was purely wrong. That would have been admitting that what Sydney did was wrong. From a very young age Sydney ran him through simulations of disasters, murders, kidnappings, things, Jarod knew now, no child should have to experience, much less to the level of emotional involvement he had experienced them. And he had not questioned whether it was right for the Centre—for Sydney to subject him to them, other than in his occasional childish fits of pique and stubbornness. In a way he had been innocent, taking part in horrors yet innocent. His innocence and trust in Sydney had died when he actually began to apply his considerable brain powers to the possible results of his simulations, when he learned that innocent people were dying because of them. But how long had it taken? When had it sunk in? When had he truly realized all they had taken from him?

"Jarod Westmore."

He jerked, awoke from his reverie. He was in Engineering, finishing the last touches to the Enterprise's cloak. Geordi had been astonished at his level of technical knowledge in the technology. He had joked that he liked to read technical journals. Well, he did.

Now he turned to see Riker standing there with Worf and another gold-uniformed security officer. And at the look in Riker's eye, his heart—his whole being—sank.

"Jarod Westmore, will you come with me, please?"

"Hey, Commander," Geordi protested. "What's this? Commander Westmore and I still have a couple hours of work."

"Stop your work, Geordi. Mister Westmore has some questions to answer—in the brig."

"The brig? But—"

"Geordi, don't stop working," Jarod said urgently.

Worf was taking his arm and saying uncomfortably. "Please come with us."

"Geordi, you have to finish it!" They were pulling him out of the room. "Everything depends on it, Geordi!"

His brain was buzzing when the brig forcefield sprang into place behind him. "Please—" he said, though something was choking him, "please—you can't do this! Let me complete my mission!"

"Your mission?" Riker snapped. "You have no mission. Starfleet Intelligence has never even heard of you."

"Of course they haven't! Do you think they admit the existence of their top-secret operatives to just anyone?"

"Captain Picard is not just anyone, Westmore! I suspected you from the first, and he gave me clearance to do some checking up on you. There is no record of your existence in the Federation. You are not a Starfleet officer, which makes wearing that uniform a legal offense. Conveniently, none of the people who signed your 'orders' have been available to confirm them…except that Admiral Zeubin returned early from his 'rest leave' and says he has never heard of you. You have forged Starfleet Intelligence documents and sent a Starfleet ship on a wild goose chase!"

"No!" Jarod shouted. "The Savant Project is real! You have to believe me! Real children are being ripped from their families, and no one is doing anything to stop it! Please! We have to stop it!"

"You are no longer doing anything on this ship except sitting in this brig until we can turn you over to Starfleet Security."

Riker turned and stalked away. Jarod shouted after him, "Riker, look at the evidence! Examine Onatah! You can't just turn your back on this!"

Riker was gone. Jarod stumbled back, down onto the floor against the wall. No! You have to find them! The children! The children are still missing! You have to find them! Dear God, I have to find them. He put his head into his hands.