Author's Note: Unforgivably short update is unforgivable.

"Asylum?"

Now, Riker knew, he would have sounded incredulous. Picard sounded merely curious, perhaps with a hint of irritation. Irritation? People have died. But there was the trick of it: a Starfleet captain's trick of keeping calm in the face of whatever, even if that whatever was a dripping corpse hiding the shape of a planetary predator.

"You'll have to forgive me my confusion," Picard was saying, folding one hand easily inside the other and tucking them both intro the small of his back before taking the few available paces in the space before the force field. "But it's difficult amongst my species to take a request for asylum as genuine when it comes from someone who uses subterfuge as their primary method of communication."

Hutchens blinked slowly, his dead eyes tracking the captain as he moved back and forth. A frown grew in bloodied lines across his forehead.

"We…don't understand."

Picard tilted a look over one shoulder, stopping at Data's side.

"You don't look the same to all of us," he said, softly. "And the actions of those of you we met on the planet were hardly the actions of those seeking our help."

"The creature is touching the force field," said Data, quietly, and Hutchens appeared to look at him. The force field still looked serenely undisturbed.

"Those of us you met on the planet are the reason we are seeking asylum, Captain Picard," came the harsh voice, and despite herself Deanna swallowed back her revulsion. A long strip of Hutchens' skin was beginning to peel down from the side of his face, like aging wallpaper in the damp. The movements of the jaw beneath had evidently been the last straw for the abused flesh. She could feel, flaring against a background of her own disgust, Will Riker's anger burning away his sickness at the sight.

She laid a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. Picard was saying:

"Asylum is usually granted to those living under threat of harm from an oppressive regime. Perhaps you can tell me about what you are seeking our protection from?"

Again a lengthy pause as the image of Hutchens seemed to try and make the thoughts move through the decaying morass of the dead brain. The illusion was complete - and completely horrible, Riker added in the privacy of his own head.

"And perhaps," Picard added, the gentleness of his tone utterly negated by the coldness in his eyes, "you could present yourself in some other fashion."

The air in the corridor was still, broken only by the occasional hum of the force field. The form of Hutchens gave a choked inhalation, cut off sharply -

The force field shuddered, only once. Riker drew in a breath and held it.

"Data," said Picard calmly, his manner unchanged, his tone lifted slightly in question. The android at his side tilted his head.

"Sir? The creature has not moved, sir."

"Captain Picard," said the creature, matching Data's vocal inflection as precisely as the illusion matched his form, "we are not the enemy. It is others who dictate the things that we have done, and it is those others we seek protection from."

Picard looked into the creature's yellow eyes. It looked like Data and it sounded like Data, and all he could think of was that implacable arm throttling the life from one of his crew. Unease clutched at him. The healed sites of his recent injuries began to ache.

Almost for reassurance, he looked to the real Data, who was standing unawares close at his side. He remembered then that of course Data couldn't see what they could: that to him the creature remained just that. A creature.

"Well," said Riker, almost as an aside to Deanna, "it's a helluva thing to say, but I think I almost preferred the corpse. This…this is…"

"Creepier?"

"Creepier. Yeah."

Data looked in at the creature and frowned, just a little: Deanna started to describe it for him.

"Sentient, yes. And with a plea."

Picard considered more tea, dismissed the idea, and instead picked up the padd from his desk to look over the orders. On the screen, the admiral shifted in his seat.

"I wish you'd stay still, Jean-Luc."

Picard, a quirk of smile pulling at his lips, glanced his way.

"In truth, I don't feel in much of a sedentary mood, Admiral. There is a being inside my ship who has killed my crew and yet is asking for asylum, with several of its friends attached to my hull. On the planet, a colony of these beings is systematically trapping and slaughtering visitors, and yet I am not permitted to take punitive action." He pointedly brushed imaginary dust from his sleeves. "I think that warrants my standing up for a while."

Laughter from the comm. "Old Academy trick, isn't it? Hold a meeting standing up and it'll take half the time because everyone misses their comfy chairs?"

"No trick this time, at least not on my part," said Picard. "I needed to ask you something."

"Ask. There's no price for asking."

"If it transpires that I am left with no options, other than kill or be killed - " Picard laid his hand flat on the table to his left - "what would Starfleet have me do?"

"The creatures are sentient. Your primary mission stands." The admiral leant forward pointedly. "Captain."

"Then I request an ambassador. A mediator."

"You're stalling, Jean-Luc."

"I am emotionally compromised," said Picard, blandly. "I have seen my crew murdered in front of me. I myself was almost killed. I am not your man for this."

The admiral sighed.

"And yet you are the only man for this."

Picard did not react. Find out whether their barn's collapsed. And don't worry about getting crushed in the process.