Subject: New Story: More Than... [1 of 2]
From: [email-masked] (Sandra Guzdek)
Date: Tue, 10 Aug 1993 18:30:00 GMT
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative

I will be going on vacation tomorrow through the 19th of August.  If you 
send me any comments/questions/replies... that is why I won't get right 
back to you.  Actually, if you'd hold off on sending me anything til 
after that time.. damn stupid to post the day before I'm going, ain't 
it?  (Gee, this sort of coincides with the the reposting of 
"Qlue", doesn't it!)  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
      <Author's note: This story was begun in January of 1993, and
      while it might seem that some scenes (most notably the first
      scene between Deanna and Beverly) were lifted out of sixth
      season episodes, they were not.  Most of this story was
      written between January and March, before episodes like
      "Second Chances" had even aired.  Just so you know, it's
      taken me this long to finish the razafrazin thing. :)  Also, the
      stardate that pops up somewhere along the line... it's
      completely and utterly random. Last but not least... many thanks 
      to Kathy and Kellie (and all others) for their valuable help!!! 
      -- sg>

-----cut here-------
                    More Than Meets the Eye
			    Part 1
                    by Sandra Guzdek, 1993

      Beverly looked out of the viewport and into the field of rubber-
banding stars, and sighed a little more audibly than she would have liked. 
She found herself thinking of her Trillian beloved, Odan, every now and
again, since he, or rather, it, was the only being she had even dared to let
get close to her since Jack died.  Part of her wished she had never learned
of his true nature, a being made up of two separate beings, one unable to
live without the other.  Part of her wished Odan was here right now,
holding her in comforting warmth...
      She heard the gentle clearing of a throat, to indicate a presence
behind her.  Somewhat embarrassedly, she turned with a smile to see
Deanna Troi and her shining black eyes.
      "Hello, Beverly,"  she said politely.  "I could read you from three
decks away."  Betazoid humour.  Beverly smiled.
      "I'll bet you can tell me exactly what the matter is,"  the red-headed
doctor said, with a modicum of sarcasm, as she sat down.
      Deanna nodded, her soft, black curls following the gentle motion of
her head.  "I know it's got to be Odan again.  He's the only one beside Jack
that you ever brood for."
      Beverly felt that comforting hand that Deanna was always so eager
to offer graze her shoulders for an understanding hug.  "At least Odan is
far away, and not on board as a constant reminder of what was and cannot
be again."  
      She had often thought of the pain Deanna must suffer, seeing Will
Riker every day of her life and knowing what could not be between them. 
Deanna was quick to offer the old "we're just friends, and we like it that
way" story, but with each glance at the dashing commander, a little piece of
her must shrivel and die.
      There was really no point to hanging around and being down about
the unchangeable, so with a deep breath and a radiant smile, Beverly stood
back up and suggested that the two of them go to the holodeck for perhaps
a walk in Hyde Park, or a swim off the diamond dust beaches of Seyana
Three, or maybe even a simple horseback ride.  Being the highest ranking
female officers on the flagship of the Federation rarely left them time for
such things.

                              ***

      "I am getting weary,"  began the captain,  "of the Enterprise being
used as some sort of -- intergalactic shuttling service."  He set down the
computer padd and engaged the eyes of his first officer.  "What I want to
do is take this ship and hide in some distant star system, exploring to my
heart's content, and only poke my head into Star Fleet Command as little as
possible."
      Will Riker was surprised at this, coming from Jean-Luc Picard, of all
people.  Seeing this surprise elicited a smile on the latter's face.  "You've
got to understand, our mission is to seek out new life, new civilizations,
and we end up picking up passengers like some sort of -- mass transit
system."
      At this, Will out and out laughed, rising from his seat in the
captain's ready room.  "Come on, Sir.  Time to welcome aboard our latest
fare."  Picard smiled at this quip, as the two of them left the ready room for
transporter room three.
      On their way back to Earth for a conference celebrating the diversity
of the Federation's allies, the Enterprise had already made three stops to
pick up various officials and their entourages, including, for example, those
from Vulcan and the Klingon home planet.  One of the more exotic had
been a feline humanoid, a Catian, covered head to toe to tail in short, silky
white hair and bewitching, almond-shaped yellow eyes.  She had a name
that Riker had not been able to pronounce, multisyllabic and intricate, and
she had the sleek grace of a dancer with every step she took.
      "Energize,"  said the captain, and on the transporter pad materialized
who they assumed was the ambassador.  The ambassador appeared to be a
humanoid male; his skin was like opalescent marble, his eyes were
lavender and shone like multifaceted gems, and his curly hair was like
thick cornsilk, so blond almost to be white, kept from his face by a thin
black satin ribbon.  His features were strong, prominent, as if of some
aristocratic blood flowed in his veins.  His long black tunic was threaded
with gold, and its hem swept elegantly along the floor.  Watching this
creature smile was like watching granite ripple.
      "Bon jour, Captain Picard, Commander Riker,"  said he, tipping his
head to each respectively, descending from the transporter pad so rapidly
that he seemed to float down.  At their surprised looks, he continued, 
"That *is* a common Earth greeting, is it not?  Hailing from your native
France, Captain?"
      The officers looked to one another.  They did not realize that he had
gotten the chance to review their personnel files, and they felt a little
embarrassed for not being equally prepared.  The blond ambassador smiled
again, taking their hands in turn; his grip was firm and his skin not at all
warm.  Silently, Will Riker got the creeps.
      "You are most kind, Ambassador,"  said Picard.  "I wish I could
know as much about your people -- the Federation has so little information
on them.  I only know that they are long-lived."
      The smirk that flashed across the Ambassador's face was so quick it
was barely perceptible.  "I must say, I much rather prefer the clothing of
your twentieth century earth than...  *this*."  He indicated the elaborate
tunic, and winked.  "You wouldn't happen to have a decent pair of
bluejeans, would you?"  Riker and Picard smiled, pretending they knew
what he was talking about.   Turning serious, the ambassador added,  "Our
kind have a great dislike of radiant light.  We are a nocturnal race."
      "We will keep that in mind as we assign you your quarters,
Ambassador."  The three of them made for the door, to leave the
transporter room.  Picard continued,  "You are welcome to use any of the
ship's facilities.  Might I suggest a drink down in the Ten Forward lounge
until your quarters are assigned?"
      "Sounds...  divine."
      "Very well, Ambassador."  Picard made to shake his hand again, and
this time, his eye caught the shimmer of light on the visitor's fingernails. 
They were so very smooth, not unlike glass.
      The blond man nodded in acknowledgment, then walked a few
paces before turning back to them.  "Please,"  he said kindly,  "call me
Augustin."

                              ***

      Beverly wrinkled her fine brow.  "Deanna,"  she said quietly.  "Have
you ever had the feeling you were being watched?"
      A soft smile spread across the counselor's pretty mouth.  "Could it
be the blond man at the bar?"  she asked.  Slowly, Beverly turned, and
could not help but gasp.  His gaze was fixed on Beverly as if there were a
physical bond.
      "Heavens.  Who is he?"  she said, in a tone barely above a thought. 
Her eyes were hopelessly engaged, commanded by some intangible power. 
Deanna looked to the stranger that held her friend so spellbound, and then
to Beverly again.  She placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder and shook
firmly, saying her name softly.
      Beverly turned back sharply, bewilderment apparent.
      "Are you all right?"  asked Deanna.
      Pale and obviously shaken, Beverly began in a low voice,  "Tell me... 
is he still there?  Is he coming nearer?"
      Deanna nodded.  Suddenly, those coal black eyes narrowed to slits
as a strange sensation like probing needles poked the inside of her brain. 
She shook her head as the feeling stretched into the depths of her psyche.
      "Which is it, yes or -- *Deanna*! What's the matter?"  
      As fast as it had begun, it was gone, and Deanna blinked the
residual effect away.  "I'm fine.  I think, however, that I will go back to my
quarters.  I'm feeling a bit...  well, my head was spinning... "
      "You're going to sick bay."  Beverly grabbed her forearm;  Deanna
recovered it with a scolding glance.
      "*No*,"  she said firmly; then, a little more kindly,  "it's nothing a
cup of hot chocolate and a good night's sleep won't fix.  It's been a busy
day together, you and I; I will certainly give you a call if it happens again."
      As Deanna made to leave, Bev took her forearm again and held it
fast.  Desperately, Bev whispered,  "Please, don't leave me here alone."
      "You are not here alone."  Her glance indicated his close  proximity. 
"I will talk to you soon."
      Deanna turned and left, and as she passed the attractive, pale blond
man, their eyes met for a split second.  Deanna's mind leapt out forcefully
to try to get some clue about this stranger, but he was curiously blank,
perhaps even impenetrable.  Those eyes, though; something in those violet
pools sent shivers up her spine.  Whether that was good or bad, Deanna
could not decide.  
      As she boarded the nearest turbolift, she found herself murmuring a
reverent prayer to her Betazoid gods to keep her friend safe from any
harm.  When she thought about it, she had no idea why she had done it.

                              ***

      _Be strong, Beverly,_ thought the doctor, as the man came even
closer, fixing her chin into the stubborn position of a secure woman.  This
defiant chin was soon seduced down, however, by the smooth, rich timbre
of this man's voice.  "I hope you do forgive me for intruding on your
solitude...  I do feel as if I know you, Doctor...  Beverly."
      Then astonishment swept over her face, as her head swirled in
disbelief.  It couldn't be, it just couldn't be.  Tentatively, she asked, 
"Odan?"
      His quizzical look told her at once she had just made a total idiot of
herself.  _Great first impression, Bev,_  she thought harshly.
      He smiled; almost, Beverly thought, as if he had heard her scolding
herself.  He settled himself into one of Ten-Forward's always comfortable
chairs and introduced himself: his name was Augustin, and he was an
ambassador, en route to the conference/celebration on Earth.  She was
reminded at once of the other ambassador in her life.
      "As soon as I saw you, I had to tell you,"  he began,  "that you bear a
striking resemblance to someone I knew on Earth, many years ago."
      She gazed upon him with bleary, worshipful eyes.  Something about
this man was at the same time settling and yet wild.  She felt an instant
attraction hit her low in her chest, overpowering any frightened or worried
feeling she had only moments ago with Deanna present.  Suddenly, as if he
had kicked her in the shin, she straightened out of her daze and spoke in
an unsteady voice.
      "I...  I'm Beverly...  *Doctor* Beverly Crusher.  I'm the Chief Medical
Officer of this ship."  
      It was almost painful to hear her trip so obviously over such simple
words.  Awkwardly she extended a hand for him to shake, which of course
he did not.  Instead he touched his lips to the back of her hand.
      She blushed furiously, at the same time trying and failing hopelessly
to cover it up.  "It is a...  pleasure to meet you, Ambassador."
      He let one of his wide, enchanting smiles unfold, meant undoubtedly
to capture her trust, her heart and her soul.  "Please, Doctor Crusher.  You
may call me Augustin."
      She smiled, a real, heartfelt smile.  He was beautiful, charming... 
_No wonder the man is an ambassador,_  she thought tangentially.  _He's
got me acting like a silly schoolgirl.  Wonder what he does at the
bargaining table._  She took in a deep breath, and wondered if it was too
late to begin again.
      In a decidedly more calm and sure tone, she said,  "You may call me
Beverly...  Augustin."
      At that moment, the pin on his chest squawked out his name,
startling the both of them.  He tapped it lightly, and he seemed delighted
as he was informed that his quarters were secured and ready, if he cared to
go to them.  She suddenly realized that she did not want him to leave her
side so soon after meeting him.  Her warm hand found its way to his, and
she heard herself say to him,  "Let *me* show you to your quarters.  I'd
like the opportunity to talk some more with you."  She smiled yet again.
      As she said it she wondered where inside of her it was coming from. 
From this brief encounter she felt as if she had known him for...  well,
forever, inexplicably.  She had a real thing for falling hard for men like this,
it seemed, she mused to herself.
      The walk was silent, but not uncomfortably so.  Upon getting to the
room, he turned to her and engaged her eyes.  God in Heaven, were they
endless.  They were incredible, shining like the sun, yet as cool and clear as
the twin moons of Mirixia.  Pools of shimmering silk; she was drowning in
them, and didn't care.
      "D-- do you like your quarters?"  she managed in a small voice,
forcibly breaking herself from the bond.  At once he looked like he
regretted something, and walked to the painting that hung on his wall,
something magical and surreal by Marc Chagall.  
      "They will do very nicely.  I thank you, and your wonderful ship. 
The comforts here are more than adequate.  Some of the places I've been... 
I can't recall the last time I slept in a comfortable bed."
      She noticed the strange luster of his skin, pale and shimmering, and
reached out to touch his hand.  When he turned to her, looking surprised,
she drew it back as if his very skin had burned her.  "You move...  so
quickly,"  she said, the words escaping her before she could choose better
ones.
      A smile slid over his features.  "That is in my nature."  
      "To move so quickly?"
      Augustin turned to her again, gesturing noncommittally.  "I know
that down in Engineering right now, there is a conversation, or rather an
argument, about how precisely the dilithium crystals should be aligned,
and..."
      "And?"  she asked, hopefully.
      His voice dropped down so low she could barely discern it.  "I can
hear your heart beating in your throat."
      She looked aside.
      "Please.  Don't be afraid of me.  I want to know I have your trust
before I presume to touch your hand again.  I do not take what I am not
offered."
      Trying to convince him with a smile, she was taken aback by the
intense, overwhelming gaze he met her eyes with, like the one she had
encountered in Ten-Forward and again only moments ago.  
      "Augustin, you have it."  She lifted her chin.  He came nearer to her,
and her heart began to race that much faster.  _I don't know why, but you
have it._
      She felt the cool lips on her cheek, full and sensual, and she
shuddered, feeling her knees buckle with desire.  His arm found her waist
to support her.  As her head began to spin, her eyes closed as he nuzzled
into the crook of her neck.
      ThisismadthisiscrazyIdon'tevenknowhim
      Beverly was no longer afraid.

                              ***

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 46717.3.  The Enterprise picked up its most
recently boarded delegation today, and despite the varied races on board, it
is surprisingly quiet.  Hopefully, it will stay that way, as the Enterprise is
one week away from its destination of Earth.

                              ***

      She could hear the alarm ringing but she could not make a move to
quiet it.  _0600 already?_  she thought blankly.  Her head was pounding
and her limbs were leaden.  When the energy finally did come to her, she
voiced a command to silence the noise and staggered over to the bathroom
to splash some cool water on her face.
      _*Beverly*,_  she thought, examining the dark circles around her
eyes and the pasty pallor of her skin,  _You have a senior officers' meeting
in *one* hour.  Get a grip._  She also reminded herself that she was no
longer eighteen, and that nights like the one before, and the one before
*that*, with Augustin would definitely have to be less frequent.  Yet she
smiled at the thought of him.  He was so romantic, a true gentleman, so
very intelligent, attending and meeting her every need, sweet and tender
and seductive with a voice to match.  Again, she told herself to get a grip.
      Beverly climbed into the shower, standing under the steady pulse a
little longer than usual, and washing her hair thoroughly, something which
always seemed to revitalize her.  When she got out, there was a slightly
rosier glow to her, but she felt just as drained.  As a doctor it was silly of
her to ignore such fatigue, but she really did believe it would pass, chalked
up to nothing more than another late night.  After all, how many of *those*
had she had since her Academy days?
      She pulled her copper hair back with a brush, chuckling to herself. 
Even her hair had lost its will to live.

                              ***

      Around the broad, dark table in the observation lounge, the
Enterprise's senior crew members were gathered: Picard, Riker, Data, Worf,
Geordi and Troi.  It was near to 7 am, and one seat was conspicuously
empty.  Deanna threw a worried look to Riker, which was intercepted by
the captain.
      "Counselor,"  began Picard,  "is there something wrong?"
      Troi had her mouth opened to reply when the door slid aside and
the weary-looking doctor entered.  Beverly smiled, or at least tried to smile,
but it obviously pained her.  "Am I late?"  she queried, as she sank to her
seat.
      "No, Doctor, you aren't,"  answered Picard.  As he looked at her
longer, he noticed the exhaustion evident on her face and in her
movements.  "Beverly, are you all right?"
      She nodded.  "I'll be just fine.  Let's get started, shall we?"
      Geordi began, clearing his throat, and spoke of new warp drive
modifications that would allow the Enterprise to more efficiently maintain
the speed of warp 4 it currently was running at.  Worf spoke of a possible
security breach of Federation technology by one of the delegations, and that
the main suspects, the Ferengi, were under close surveillance.  "Nothing to
be alarmed over,"  Worf said in conclusion, and his word was as good as
gold-pressed latinum.
      Deanna was beginning a report on the steadily rising levels of
uneasiness on board the ship since the last delegation had been picked up,
when she was interrupted by a dull thud.  All heads turned to see that
Beverly was now face down on the glassy jet surface, auburn locks splayed
around her.
      Deanna was the quickest to respond, jumping to her feet
immediately.  With Geordi's assistance, she pulled the doctor back into an
upright position.  Beverly's head lolled lifelessly to the back of the chair.  In
that same instant, Picard was by her side as well, worry evident in every
line in his face.
      The captain gently slapped her cheek, calling her name.  Into his
comm pin, Riker barked for a medical unit.  Picard gestured that Worf
should help him to stretch her flat upon the table, so that the blood might
get to her head again.  After they did, a moment or so later, she began to
come around, eyes fluttering opened.
      She grabbed for the captain's hand and held it fast.  His blue eyes
looked warmly to her, and he said in a comforting tone,  "You'll be just
fine."
      "What happened?"  she queried, still a bit foggy.
      "You passed out,"  said Picard.  
      Riker offered,  "Don't worry, a medical unit will be here shortly."
      Her confusion gave way to anger.  "*Passed out*?  What do you
mean, I passed out?"
      "It may have to do with the fact that your body temperature is
slightly lower than normal,"  offered Geordi.
      Minutes later, Doctor Selar confirmed this, that not only was her
blood temperature down, but her blood pressure was dangerously low, and
her red blood cell count, anemic.
      Nurse Ogawa furrowed her brow and shook her tricorder, as if this
would solve the inconsistency she was reading.  "Doctor Crusher, have you
had any recent, profusely bleeding wounds?"
      "Of course not,"  Beverly replied, her brain starting to fade again. 
"Why?"
      "According to this, your blood *volume* has dropped significantly
from normal."
      "I think I would know if I bled *that* much,"  Beverly said
defensively, as if the nurse had been questioning her superior's judgment. 
Ogawa smiled softly.
      Deanna, however, said, more to herself than anyone else,  "Then
where did it go?"
      Beverly sat up defiantly.  "Let's get down to sick bay, and to the
bottom of this.  Doctor, get me the antigrav gurney."  Dizziness overcame
her, however, and she passed out again, luckily caught by the captain's
quick arm.  He helped Selar put Beverly on the gurney.
      To the Vulcan, Picard said,  "Let me know when I can come and see
her."
      Selar gave him a curt nod.  "Aye, Sir."

                              ***

      Picard sat at the desk in his ready room some hours later, head
cradled in a hand as he stared blankly at Beverly's medical history.  The
"intoxication" they had all suffered from the Tsiolkovsky virus.  A cut arm
here, a broken leg there.  That coma induced by Jev.  The last really major
physical medical trauma she had gone through was childbirth, for crying
out loud.  And now this.  He sighed roughly, running his hand back along
the smooth skin of his scalp.  He would probably feel one-hundred percent
better if he knew what caused it.  Or, if it would affect any other of his
crew.  He couldn't let word of this mysterious affliction get out -- with all
of the different delegations on board, it wouldn't take long for accusations
to start flying.
      He very nearly jumped when his door chime sounded.  He hardly
recognized his own voice as he said,  "Come."
      Picard had expected to see anyone else but Lieutenant Worf.  "Mr.
Worf,"  he said, turning the computer screen off.  "Any news?"
      Worf straightened ever-so-slightly.  "Sir.  We have another... 
problem."
      "Another problem?"  Picard echoed, resting his head to the back of
the chair.
      "I have tried my best to keep any attention from being drawn to this
situation, as it may alarm the remainder of our...  guests, unnecessarily," 
began Worf.  "You see, Sir, Klingon delegate T'aklar has been found
murdered in his quarters."
      This is much, much more than Picard had expected to hear, and his
utter surprise crept into his voice when he spoke.  "*Murdered*,
Lieutenant?"
      Worf took several steps closer to the captain's desk.  "The severe
gash to his neck would suggest that the wound was *not* self-inflicted,"  he
said in a low rumble.
      "Oh, I don't doubt your judgment."
      The Klingon nodded modestly in appreciation.
      "Do you have any clues, any ideas as to who perpetrated this terrible
crime?"  asked Picard.
      "My security team is currently making a search of the quarters.  We
have turned up nothing...  yet."
      Picard nodded thoughtfully.  "Well, I thank you for your discretion." 
He straightened in his chair, looked to the black computer terminal, and
added as an afterthought,  "What about Beverly?  That's *not* a natural
illness."
      Worf knit his generous brow.  "I had not thought of a connection
between the two.  Do you think it's possible?"
      Picard thought for a moment, looked to the blank terminal and saw
his reflection in the jet surface, before a smile crept across his face. 
"Probably just my mind getting suspicious on me.  Seeing things that aren't
there."
      "However, Sir, as Security Chief, it is my *duty* to be suspicious.  I
will not rule out the possibility,"  said Worf.  "I must return to T'aklar's
quarters and ensure the investigation is going smoothly."  He paused for a
moment before adding,  "Ensure that T'aklar is transported directly to the
morgue."
      A new chill climbed the length of Picard's spine.  "By all means,
Lieutenant."
      As the doors closed behind Worf, Picard's comm pin sounded.  It
was Doctor Selar's voice.
      "Beverly Crusher is conscious and stabilized.  You can see her at
your convenience, Sir."
      "Thank you, Doctor,"  he said curtly.  "Picard out."

                              ***

      He stood before the turbolift doors, a dozen red roses in hand for
Beverly.  He did not realize he had taken so much from her the night
before, and scolded himself for being so careless.  He studied the roses,
inwardly laughing at the backwards folklore about his kind and the blooms
of the Mother.  These flowers flourished in his grasp, flourished just as he
always had.  Humans, always fearing what they do not understand.
      The doors parted with that noise that never ceased to grate on his
nerves.  To his surprise, the small compartment of the turbolift was already
occupied with none other than the captain of this vessel himself.
      The thoughts that filled the captain's mind when he saw who was
about to join him in the turbolift were a mixed bag: he tried to be cordial to
Augustin, yet felt intruded upon in his turbolift ride to see his CMO.  He
relived the moment of first greeting the ambassador in the transporter
room, his cool manner and skin that unnerved the captain so.  Perhaps it
would have been a wise idea, Augustin thought, to reveal his telepathic
powers, to put them on equal ground, so they could be duly warned about
which thoughts they should guard...
      He grinned.  It was much more fun when they *didn't* know.
      The doors closed, trapping them in the small space alone, as the
turbolift whirred towards its destination.  Augustin told it to go to sick bay.
      The captain looked to him briefly with undisguised surprise.  "Sick
bay, Ambassador?"
      He said to Picard,  "I am going to visit a sick friend.  I believe you
are close to her as well."
      It was obvious to even the most recently arrived passengers aboard
the Enterprise that Jean-Luc and Beverly were close friends, but it was as
plain as the nose on Picard's face that he had no idea of the relationship
she and Augustin had begun.
      "And of whom do you speak?"  the captain asked.
      "Doctor Crusher, Captain."
      Finally he put two and two together, the ambassador's statement and
the flowers that he carried.  Augustin found Picard's expression to be
priceless, and a twinge of protective jealousy did not go unnoticed.
      Picard said,  "I was not aware that the two of you were...
acquainted."
      The fact that Augustin stood some four inches over Picard rattled the
captain just a little, that much was obvious to the ambassador.  In the best
interpret-this-statement-as-you-will tone the captain would hear since
meeting William T. Riker, Augustin said,  "We are."
      Picard seemed to be very grateful for the end of the turbolift ride,
and he muttered a very curt,  "Excuse me,"  as he exited.  In a blink the
ambassador was flanking him.  Picard was strong willed, proud, even
stubborn.  More like Augustin than the captain would care to admit.
      As they came into sick bay, they could see Beverly sitting up in her
bed, looking intently at the doctor that was running a test beside her.  Even
in her weakness she looked like an angel, and when her eyes met
Augustin's, she radiated.  The captain smiled to see his friend so obviously
happy.
      Augustin went to her side and kissed her cheek, and presented her
with the roses.  "They are lovely, Augustin.  Thank you so much,"  she said
in a frailer tone than Picard was used to hearing.  She would be just fine,
thankfully.
      "It was nothing, ma chere,"  said Augustin.  Picard took notice that
he was using the French language again.  The ambassador's eyes met the
captain's for one brief moment, before looking to Beverly again.
      "How are you feeling?"  asked Picard in a neutral tone, coming to
stand beside the ambassador.
      "I'm doing fine.  I should be out of here in a couple of hours."
      "Do we know how this happened?"  Picard asked.  He wanted to ask
so many more questions, but the ambassador's presence somehow stopped
him.  Augustin felt a surge of distrust towards himself coming from the
captain.
      "I don't have the slightest,"  she replied.  He didn't have to be
telepathic to see she honestly didn't.  "The rest of the staff are working on
it."
      "You had better take it easy.  We want you back as CMO as soon as
humanly possible."

                              ***

      It was some minutes before they noticed the ambassador had gone. 
Picard and Beverly shared a look to communicate their bewilderment.
      She said to him lightly,  "I guess it *can* be said that you do frighten
off my suitors,"  as she smiled, bringing the flowers to her face to take in
the sweet scent.
      Picard smiled, but felt deep down inside there was something much
more to this than that.

                 ***SECURITY CHIEF'S REPORT***
                          1800 hours

      The quarters were sparse and cold; Spartan, in fact.  Worf looked
around approvingly, taking in all he could in one, long, steady glance.  The
medical team was about to take the body of the honoured Klingon
diplomat to the morgue, and now it was his duty to look for any last signs
of evidence, motives, anything for a lead.  Leads had never been so scarce. 
T'aklar had had the quarters to himself, and the rooms to either side were
both occupied by the other Klingons.  _So much for the "annoyed
neighbour" theory,_  he joked lamely to himself.
      Worf went over to where the body was.  The picture of the body as
it was found would remain all too vivid in Worf's mind for years to come:
he was on his back, arms and legs fixed into a position that suggested
wildly flailing limbs at the moment of death, fingers digging into the floor,
head arched back at an uncomfortable angle.  The neck wound hung
opened, tendons and muscle visible, major blood vessels slashed agape,
draining out the last of his lifeblood.  Worf undid the front of T'aklar's
vest, to search the clothing up and down.  He then searched the man's
sash.  He had composed the body again (as much as a body in that state
could be composed) when he noticed a brooch on the diplomat's tunic.  He
scowled and wondered if what he was suspecting could be at all possible.

                              ***

      "I feel so honoured, getting so much of the captain's time,"  Beverly
said, as Jean-Luc Picard brought the crowning glory of a delicious dinner,
chocolate raspberry mousse with whipped cream topped with delicate dark
choclate shavings, to the table.  "You're going to pack 20 pounds on me
singlehandedly."
      "It's all good for you,"  he said with a wink, as he took his seat once
again across from her.  "And don't you worry.  The Ambassador will like
you regardless."
      She smiled shyly, and he noticed that she had recovered enough to
be able to blush quite feverishly.  She shrugged.  "I appreciate your sense
of humour about this,"  she said, swiping off the top of the whipped cream
with a finger, then licking it clean.  "I'm no spring chicken...  but he makes
me feel like I am.  Not everyone would understand."
      "I do.  And if you're happy...  that's what matters."
      She silently mouthed the words "thank you", with a smile, before she
dug in with her spoon, and brought the concoction to her lips for a taste. 
"Mmmm.  You should have been a cook, Jean-Luc."
      Her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail and she was as plain-
looking and pale as a Victorian aristocrat, her creamy skin devoid of any
artificial cosmetics, her pretty greenish eyes wide and glossy with the touch
of love beneath slim reddish brows.  The captain thought for one brief
moment how very privileged Augustin was, and he smiled.
      His happy state of mind lasted until Lieutenant Worf paged him on
his comm pin.

                              ***

      Deanna Troi slipped into a silken nightgown and pulled a hairbrush
through her thick curly hair.  She had spoken to Beverly since her collapse
in the observation lounge, and was glad to hear that she felt so much
better.  She had even offered to make the recovering doctor a late dinner,
only to discover that the captain had beaten her to the punch.
      Deanna had not realized how tired she was until she yawned so
wide that her eyes teared up, even at this early hour.  She slipped beneath
her sheets and snuggled up to the warmth there.  It could never hurt to get
extra sleep, for on some missions sleep was a precious commodity.
      It seemed that as soon as her eyes closed, she was standing in the
dampness after a light summer rain.  She noticed she was wearing an old
style dress, with a tight bodice, lace, and a bustle in the back.  Her hair was
pulled up at the crown, and fell in ringlets around her shoulders.  She
stood on one side of the street, and looked across to the other side.  On
both sides, there were imposing houses engulfed in foliage and some were
surrounded by bleak looking wrought iron fences.  Deanna walked along
the street, looking to each house as she passed it, amazed by the greenness
of everything and by the beautiful individuality of each house.  It even
seemed as if she could smell the air, that distinct smell of fresh air that was
only found planetside, heavy with the scent of bougainvillea and other
tropical flowers.
      Suddenly there was a voice beside her.  It was Will Riker, and she
could feel his arm slip around her waist.  Strangely, he was dressed in his
Star Fleet uniform.  Will smiled down to her with such adoration that her
eyes misted over.  He spoke to her, murmuring words of love into her ear,
which she was all too eager to receive.  Finally, her imzadi was hers and
hers alone.  He began to kiss her with such a deep passion that she began
to lose her head, until she realized, remembered, that they were in the
middle of the street, in a strange city, and it had begun to rain again,
flattening her curls against her face and neck.  She began to protest, and
pushed away, when she noticed that it was no longer Will whose arms she
was in, but the ambassador, Augustin.  He was not holding her in the
ardor of passion, but more with the grip of a vise on her upper arms.  She
felt afraid.  She looked down and noticed her clothing had become stained
and torn with wear, and she could feel the stones of the road beneath her
bare feet.  The city around her had disintegrated to one of poverty and
disrepair.
      Beside him was a young blonde child in a velvet dress, her golden
curls looking positively silky framing her round, ruddy face.  Despite the
rain, she was immaculately clean and dry.  She smiled prettily, looked up
to Augustin, and said plainly, innocently,  "Can we take from her, father?  I
am so very *hungry*..."
      Deanna woke with a start at the dream's sudden, inexplicable turn of
events.  She had had the dream with only Will the night before, and had
not thought anything of it, because she and Beverly had just been
discussing their love lives, during their mini-vacation in the holodeck.  But
Augustin?  And this... child...
      She discovered that nearly an hour had passed since she had laid
down to sleep, which puzzled her.  She blinked the sleep out of her eyes,
and ordered the replicator to make her a cup of soothing cocoa.  As she
stood to get it, she felt a wave of dizziness overcome her.  She hadn't
realized she was tired to the point of passing out.  Slowly she went to the
replicator, got her hot chocolate, and made for her bed.
      As Deanna laid back down to sleep, she had the passing thought of
the similarity between this... and something... something she just couldn't
put her finger on...

                       ***2100 hours***

      "So I see the motive.  But I don't understand who knew, and why
they would kill him because of it."
      "You're right.  The connection is weak."
      Worf looked to Picard and then back to the brooch.  The gemstones
of the brooch had been peppered with information dots, which had on
them the breached Federation information Worf had been concerned about
only that morning.
      "If someone were to kill him because of this brooch, I see no sense in
leaving it with the body,"  commented Picard.  "I can only wonder if he has
been killed for the sole purpose of being exposed.  Can it be that one of his
own delegation has done this?"
      Worf seemed to mull this over for a moment.  Honestly, anything
was possible, and he told the captain his opinion.  "Do you recall," 
continued Worf,  "if T'aklar has been wearing this all along?  Or is it a
recent acquisition?"
      "I can't say that I do remember.  I guess it is about time we brought
in the rest of the Klingon delegation."  
      "What puzzles me the most, Sir, is that no one was recorded entering
or leaving the room all day.  He attended breakfast with his delegates,
returned to his quarters...  and was found dead later that afternoon."
      Picard did not look happy.  Worf was almost sorry he had even
made the statement.  He hoped this would not take long to solve.  His
instincts told him otherwise.

                              ***

      Selar scowled, an unusual thing for Vulcans to do.  What she was
seeing just did not make sense.  She checked the tricorder again, against
her own vital stats, and the tricorder was right on the money.
      "Doctor Ste-Germain, could you please come here with your
tricorder?"
      The doctor came towards her from across the morgue, adjusting her
lab coat.  She walked toward the lifeless form of the Klingon that Selar was
completing an autopsy on.  "Yes, Doctor?"
      "I think my tricorder is malfunctioning.  Please tell me if what you
read on yours is the same as mine."
      Ste-Germain pushed her thick blonde braid behind her shoulder and
did the appropriate scan.  She then saw exactly what Selar had seen, looked
to her colleague then back to her tricorder.  "Is this what you had
detected?"
      Selar gave her a curt nod.
      "Something is very wrong here.  We had better inform the captain."

                              ***

      Kordrin lifted his upper lip into a sneer.  He was a large,
proportionally well-built Klingon male, towering over Worf by almost ten
centimeters.  He had an unusually convoluted forehead, intimidating and
immediately commanding respect.  "We demand that this death be
avenged.  Who is the murderer?  The Klingon High Council will demand
retribution!  How could something like this have happened on the flagship
of the mighty Federation?"  The last sentence came across as being more
than a little sarcastic.
      Worf came close to the Klingon delegate and said in a tremendously
patient tone,  "I am doing all I can to ensure that this crime does not go
unpunished."
      "We are certainly fortunate that Gowron did not join us for this trip. 
It would be Gowron in the morgue right now, and not T'aklar."  This came
from the other Klingon in the room, the final of the delegates, Etah, tall and
roughly featured, with long, intricately braided blonde-brown hair and a
figure that confirmed all too strongly that she was indeed of the female
gender.
      Picard's voice seemed a whisper in comparison to the booming
Klingons'.  "You will all be the first to know anything that we might
discover."
      Etah spoke up.  "If you do discover the identity of the perpetrator,
we insist that you allow us to return the kleon to the Klingon home world
for appropriate prosecution."  She was rather articulate, not something
Klingons were always noted for.  Picard was duly impressed.  
      "Hopefully this will be solved before we reach Earth, and at that
time this criminal will be turned over to the Federation for prosecution.  I
*will* make your request known, however."  Picard tried to reassure her
with a smile.  Her reaction was sour.
      "Doctor Selar to Captain Picard."
      "I'm here, Doctor.  What is it?"  The Klingons pricked up their ears
as well.
      "Permission to speak freely about my Klingon patient."
      "Permission is granted, Doctor."
      "I believe I have an interesting piece of news for you, Sir.  There is a
significant amount of blood that is not accounted for.  I have taken into
consideration the amount of blood at the scene and there is just too much
that is missing."
      Picard scowled, something he did not like to do in front of non-
Terran delegations.  He declined asking the doctor if she was sure, because
she wouldn't have bothered him if she wasn't.  "What could have caused
this?"
      "Unknown.  I will let you know if I discover anything."
      A sick feeling settled in the pit of Picard's stomach.  Missing blood. 
This seemed too similar to Beverly's condition to be a coincidence.  "Thank
you very much, Doctor.  Lieutenant Worf is on his way to the morgue to
speak to you."
      With that, the door closed behind Worf.

                       ***2300 hours***

      Picard sat in his quarters, unwinding with his flute, trying diligently
to master Debussy's Syrinx.  This was a sure sign that he was going to be
interrupted, he thought wryly.  He needed desperately to forget everything
that had happened, Beverly's illness, now the murder.  As captain, he was
the sounding board for every major problem on the ship.  Yet forgetting
them was all too difficult, and it showed in the playing of the instrument. 
Already tonight he had received a message from Worf, regarding the
body...  
      He shuddered at the thought of the report.  Almost fifty percent of
the blood was unaccountable.  He couldn't help but feel terribly worried
for Beverly, that she was fortunate to survive, and perhaps the perpetrator
would come back to finish her off...?  He put the flute down.  It wouldn't
do to start thinking like that.  The guard he had put on post outside her
door would suffice, other than taking up post at her door himself.
      He heard his door chime sound, and he wondered who it could be. 
He called the lights up and said,  "Come."
      It was Guinan.  He couldn't have been more surprised if it were the
body of T'aklar himself reanimated, and it was all too evident on his face. 
Guinan offered him a sweet, understanding smile.  "Captain,"  she said.  "I
know it's a little unusual for me to visit you in your quarters, but there's
something that...  I don't know.  Something just isn't sitting right with me."
      What she was saying made perfect sense to him.  "Please come in," 
he said, moving aside to let her in.  She came in, long robe sweeping
behind her.
      "There's something I must tell you."
      "Let me make you some tea.  I'll bet you haven't had a good cup of
Darjeeling in a long time."
      She looked to him with chestnut brown eyes.  "Captain...  Jean-Luc. 
This is not about tea.  This *feels* much more important than that."
      At once her solemnity became a dark cloud.  "Guinan.  Very rarely
have I seen you this serious.  I did not intend to make light of this.  Please,
sit down."  He offered her a chair, which she declined.  Instead, she stood
there, hands clasped in front.  She, always the pillar of strength.
      "Let me try to explain what I'm feeling.  There is a...  presence on
board this vessel.  Or, rather, two prescences, equally dominant, yet
somehow familiar, that work both with and against each other, as an
immutable pair.  I feel drawn to both, yet I cannot pinpoint who or where
they are coming from."
      Picard mulled this over.  "What does this mean to me, and my ship?"
      Guinan looked away to the viewport.  "I cannot discern whether they
are... good, or evil.  They could be one, the other, or both.  I just thought
you would like to be aware of this.  In case you would like to make any
necessary preparations."
      Picard knew what she meant.  Someone on board was not what they
appeared, someone with a very powerful mind.  Two someones.  And that
Picard should not let up his guard for a moment.  He nodded in
understanding.  "As always, I appreciate any insight you can give me."
      She bowed her head in an almost reverence.  "Anything, anytime."
      As she left, he stood there, pondering her words.  He didn't have
much time to do that though, because he got a buzz from Beverly Crusher.
      "Yes, Beverly...  what is it?"  he asked, concerned still for her health.
      In the background, she could hear muffled noises that sounded like
sobbing.  It was getting awfully late, he was downright sleepy. 
Nonetheless, he always had time for her.
      "Captain...  I've got Troi here, and she's *not* happy."
      "I can hear that.  Can you tell me what's wrong?"
      He heard Beverly let out a long sigh.  "I don't think I can talk about
this over the comm system.  Could you please come to my quarters?"
      Reluctantly, he agreed.
      Minutes later, Picard sat between the two ladies, both dressed in
their nightwear.  Troi's eyes were red, both from crying and fatigue. 
Beverly was weary as well, and the fact that she had only been in sick bay
with a life-threatening condition that morning was all too clear.
      "Deanna,"  coaxed Beverly,  "tell the captain what you told me, about
the dreams you're having."
      Deanna shook her head; whether or not that meant an affirmative
was beyond knowing.  "I can't sleep,"  she said,  "because I can't get her
face out of my mind."  Tears came streaming out of her coal black eyes. 
"The little girl, with an angel's face and a devil's mind."
      Jean-Luc turned to look at Beverly.
      "She keeps talking about a little girl with blonde hair and a velvet
dress,"  explained Beverly.
      "I close my eyes, and her face is there, almost as if I'm fully awake,
and staring right at her.  I can't tear myself away from her gaze,"  Deanna
elaborated as best she could.  "I'm going to go crazy."
      Beverly rose quietly to her feet, her nightgown swaying around her
knees.  "I'm going to get some beta-wave inducers.  She can stay here
tonight."  Picard gave her a slight nod.  Her eye movement indicated he
should follow her.
      "So,"  he said quietly,  "what's the matter with her?  Can you guess,
Beverly?"
      Beverly made another sighing noise.  "I don't know.  Obviously she's
having a terrible nightmare.  I'm not a mental health expert; I'm afraid
that's Troi's expertise."
      Picard's eyes were beginning to droop.  Bev smiled, getting the beta-
wave inducers out of the bathroom drawer, obviously there for her own
use in nights gone by.  "All I can do is try to alleviate the physical
problems."
      Within a couple of minutes, Troi was fast asleep beneath heaps of
blankets on Beverly's sofa.  Beverly yawned.
      Jean-Luc conceded.  "Let's get to bed."
      Beverly raised a singular auburn eyebrow.  
      "Good*night*, Jean-Luc,"  she said, a smile touching the side of her
mouth as she escorted him to the door.

<end, Part 1>

Copyright 1993 by Sandra Guzdek. All rights reserved, and all disclaimers
apply in triplicate.
---
Sandra Guzdek                              email:[email-masked]
         3rd of 7, JuKeSaJaMeLiCa * Young one of the SFLAaE/BS
            VP in Charge of Life Drawing/Model Recruitment
 Minister/Undersecretary/Whatever/Lady High Muckety-Muck of Art, HRH Janis I
        "You're just being weird, and that results in creativity."

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From: [email-masked] (Sandra Guzdek)
Subject: New story: More Than... [2 of 2]
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<See Part 1 for appropriate remarks. -- sg>
-----cut here-------
                    More Than Meets the Eye
                           Part 2
                    by Sandra Guzdek, 1993

                              ***

      Svyrk hit the chime on his superior's door, then thought how
illogical it was for her not to answer.  "Saraj, it is time for the captain's
breakfast.  Are you prepared?"
      The tall Vulcan placed his slender hands together palm to palm,
waiting for Saraj to answer.  He thought for a moment, then thought the
next logical step was to enter he quarters to see if she was in good health.
      "Computer, emergency override, code alpha-one-gamma, Delegate
Svyrk."  The doors parted, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
      Until he saw Saraj cowering in the corner of her quarters, looking
more frightened than any humanoid had a right to look.  Her straight, dark
hair was disarrayed, and her ascending eyebrows were raised as far as they
could go without jumping off of her forehead.  The sinew of her neck was
standing out, ready to snap, and her eyes were bulging in terror.  She held
a bed sheet fast in her claw-like hand, gripping it like a lifeline.
      Saraj saw Svyrk, and did something that no Vulcan had ever heard
another do...
      Scream like bloody murder.

                              ***

      Troi woke, the disorienting feeling of having no idea where she was
surrounding her consciousness.  She blinked once, then twice, and realized
it was Beverly's quarters.  Troi had no idea how she had come to be there. 
She called for the doctor.
      Instead the redheaded friend she expected to see, she saw Augustin. 
She suppressed the intense urge to scream, and where this urge came from
she could not say.  He smiled and said to her,  "Hello, sleepy one."
      "What are you doing here?  Where is Beverly?"
      Suddenly she heard a voice in her mind.  At first she didn't even
notice that she wasn't hearing it with her ears.  Then she knew all at once
why she wanted to scream.
      <<She's not here right now.>>
      At her look, he said aloud,  "Oh, yes, I have telepathic abilities. 
Does that frighten you?"
      <<It doesn't surprise me,>>  she thought, carefully protecting her
mind as if it were the only thing she truly owned.
      "It doesn't?"
      "Where's Beverly?"  she repeated.
      "She went down to sick bay for a checkup.  Are you all right?"  As
he came closer, she visibly recoiled from him.  He seemed to have
anticipated her move; he smiled, and sat on the chair across from Deanna. 
He looked at her as if he were looking *through* her, and that sent another
round of chills up the back of her neck.
      Deanna heard his voice again, speaking softly.  His gaze made Troi
think of a feline about to bear down on its prey.  He was trying very hard
to convince her that he would cause her no harm, yet she felt down to the
pit of her soul that he could do nothing else.  "You're having a dream,
about a young blonde girl."
      Now she did not know what to think or say, for this was something
she thought she had closely guarded from him.  She was going to ask him
how he knew, but that was a pointless question.  His telepathic powers far
surpassed any she had ever encountered.
      "Tell me about the dream."
      Deanna looked to him with a sidelong glance, still unwilling, unable
to trust him.  He continued,  "I know she is an angel in appearance only... 
with the heart and soul of something truly evil.  A child with a
dangerously adult mind."
      Deanna's look softened, and she drew the blanket around her.  "I
hope you will understand when I tell you that there is much about you I
do not know, and therefore I cannot trust you.  Yet, I don't understand..."
      "I know of who you dream.  She was one of my kind...  my
daughter.  She tried to kill me, more than once..."  He looked almost
nostalgic, which she found unusual considering.  "The others killed her in
the worst way...  exposure to direct sunlight.  It eats away at my kind like
the strongest acid."  He stopped for a moment to think, then added,  "She
should have never been."
      Deanna felt the loss, yet in contradiction felt the intense hatred
seething for this child coming from him.  She sighed.  "I don't understand
why I am dreaming something from your life."
      <<I believe there is another of my kind on this ship, one that I
cannot read or feel.  I think you are intercepting visions meant for me.>> 
The turn back to the internal dialogue seemed almost intimate, and while it
made Deanna feel somewhat uncomfortable, the fear of him still sitting low
in her gut, she was beginning to see why Beverly was so attracted to him.
      He turned to her, and she became lost in his violet eyes, like the
deepest of the seas on Seyana Three, with the very diamond dust dancing
on the rims of his irises.  She reached out to touch him, and gasped at the
feel of his skin, so smooth and unyielding to the soft pressure of her
fingers.  His glossy fingernails stroked her cheek, as he smiled so slowly
she couldn't recall seeing his facial muscles move at all.  <<Deanna.>> 
This hummed through her head as his cool lips touched to hers for an
otherworldly kiss.
      When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.  Deanna blinked a
couple of times.  As she tried desperately to overcome her sleepy stupor,
Beverly returned from sick bay. She had retured to make sure Deanna was
doing all right; she misinterpreted the look of confusion on Deanna's face
for one of just not knowing how she had come to be in someone else's
quarters.  "Glad to see you're awake, Deanna.  How are you feeling?"  The
doctor herself looked much better than she had.
      Deanna sat there, deep in thought.  Suddenly she turned to the
doctor and asked,  "Have you seen Augustin today?"
      Bev shook her head, wondering where the question had come from. 
"Not yet today."  She smiled, thinking fondly of him.  "Our presence is
required, however, for a breakfast meeting..."  she began with mock
stiffness, then softened as she added, "and I think he'll be there."
      Deanna was perplexed.  She could not help but wonder if she had
dreamed the whole thing.
      She hoped not.

                              ***

      Captain Picard, clad in his dress uniform, made for the state
breakfast he'd had Riker arrange, a smile on his face.  That in itself was
strange, because he really had nothing to smile about, what with an
unsolved murder on his hands and only three days until the arrival on
Earth, in which time he really needed to present something, *anything*, to
his superiors.  But Beverly was well again, and the delegations at the
breakfast were looking forward to meeting for something a little less
stressful.  Food.
      As he exited the turbolift, he was waylaid by the good Doctor
Crusher.  "Bad news, Jean-Luc."
      He stopped dead in his tracks.  "That is not something I want to hear
right now."
      "I just thought you should be warned, if the Klingons and the
Vulcans start going after each other...  or *you*...  with their grapefruit
spoons, you'll know why."  Her tone dropped yet again, as if it were
possible.  "One of the Vulcan delegates, Saraj, was found by her associate,
Svyrk, nearly dead of fright."
      "What is this, the Orient Express?"  His impatience was unseemly,
and he immediately cleared his throat and murmured an apology.  "How is
Saraj?"
      "In a deep coma.  One of those Vulcan self-healing trances.  I have
advised the other Vulcans not to attempt anything like a mind meld to
further her healing.  From what Svyrk tells us, she was found in pretty bad
emotional shape.  And...  missing quite a bit of blood."
      Picard sighed, thankful that the corridor was empty save for the two
of them.  "Not again."
      Beverly, still looking a little careworn, continued.  "The Klingons are
convinced the Vulcans are behind the murder of T'aklar, convinced that
one of them are Romulan confederates.  They are not afraid to voice their
opinions.  And, to make things worse, the Vulcans are accusing the
Klingons of being illogical barbarians, going after one of their delegates
with Klingon scare tactics and torture.  Of course they don't show any
anger or displeasure, but their usual icy looks have grown even icier."  She
paused a moment.  "Let's just say it is not a pretty picture in that
stateroom.  Luckily, they're not sharing a table,"  she added, trying
unsuccessfully to be funny.
      Picard looked to her, as if to garner some bravery from her consoling
look.  "Good luck, Sir,"  she said, reminding him of his duty, as, for some
reason, she took his hand and squeezed it for a moment before releasing it
again.
      Imagine his surprise when they entered the stateroom to find
everything calm, as the delegates looked to him with respect, standing
upon seeing him.  
      "Captain.  Doctor.  Good morning,"  said Etah, bowing her head. 
They all sat again, as their breakfasts were served.  Where was the chaos
and mayhem Beverly had warned him of?
      The two officers stood frozen at the entrance like deer in the grasp of
headlights, and looked to each other briefly for explanations that were not
to be found.  Beverly turned back to the room with a pasted-on smile, as
the captain spoke.
      "Good morning to all of you.  I'm glad to see you have all made it
here."  He instantly regretted his words, remembering T'aklar and Saraj. 
Inexplicably, a low laughter rumbled throughout the room.  What the hell
was going on?
      Riker, who had found a seat beside the bewitching Catian for the
express purpose of flirting shamelessly with her, saw the captain's
bewilderment and felt obligated to explain.  Without words he indicated
that he should like to speak with his commanding officer.  "Excuse me,
Tabby..."
      She purred in response.  "Take your time, Rrrrikerrrrr."
      He still hadn't mastered her name, and had taken to shortening it
considerably; he loved what she did to his.  He edged his way slowly
across the room, stopped occasionally for a quick conversation.  By the time
he got to the captain's table, he found the captain deep into his Eggs
Benedict, still looking for all the world more confused than he had the right
to.  "Sir,"  said Riker upon approaching,  "I think we should speak."
      The captain, in the middle of a chew, looked up, swallowed, and
said, touching a napkin to his mouth,  "I should say so.  Excuse me, will
you all?"  He rose from his table, nodding politely to all.  The doctor shot
him a questioning look from next to the captain, to which Picard nodded. 
He, Crusher and Riker made for a corner of the room where no one would
think to disturb them.
      "I suppose you had heard of the Klingon and Vulcan rift,"  began
Riker.
      Beverly nodded.  "He thinks I'm a liar now, for sure."
      Riker smiled.  "It was really quite incredible."
      "What are you talking about?"  Picard was becoming ever more
impatient.  "*What* was incredible?"
      "Ambassador Augustin.  He took the Klingons and the Vulcans
aside, and when they broke to be seated, the Vulcans and the Klingons
were behaving like old friends.  Amazing.  Augustin has the reputation of
being a very persuasive mediator...  I just had no idea how persuasive."
      They could see Augustin speaking with Etah, and for all the world
Picard would swear to the fact that he saw the Klingon female...  smile. 
Beverly spotted him, smiled, and excused herself, her desire to be near him
almost tangible.
      When he was sure Beverly was out of earshot, he commented to his
companion,  "A little too quickly reconciled for my liking."  He suddenly
remembered Guinan's cryptic words and wondered if this is what she had
been on to.  On that thread, who was the other of the two minds she could
sense?  And which was this, the good or the evil?  Was there even a good
one?
      He thought further.  If the Vulcans were responsible for the death of
T'aklar, and the Klingons retaliated on Saraj, how did Beverly fit in to all of
this?  And, the blood.  What about the blood?
      "Sir?"
      Riker interrupted Picard's train of thought, when he felt he had been
on the verge of something.  He was a little more than perturbed at this, and
when Riker saw this in his eyes, he visibly shrunk away.  Now, that train
of thought was irrevocably derailed.  Damn.  He didn't want to give any of
these suspicions away to Beverly, either, being as close to him as she was. 
He was going to have to be very careful.
      "Picard to Mr. Data."
      A disembodied voice filled the air.  "Data here, Sir."
      "Please, find out as much as you can about Ambassador Augustin. 
Where he's from, where he's been.  Something we should have done from
the start."
      "Acknowledged.  Data out."
      "What's this all about, Captain?"
      Picard smiled and hoped it was convincing.  "You know me, Will.  I
don't like leaving any stone unturned."  That seemed to satisfy him. 
Eventually, he would let Will in on it.  But for now...  "Now, I'd like to get
back to that breakfast.  It isn't every day we get fresh brewed coffee."

                              ***

      Blackness filled the room, and the figure at the door squinted,
wondering what was wrong with the lights in her room.  "Hello?"  She
stepped forward unsurely, the light from the hallway providing the only
illumination.  She gasped audibly when that was snatched from her as well,
and she stood there in the total void as the doors closed behind her.  
      "Lights up, computer!"  she yelled, feeling her neck pulse and the
adrenaline hot in her veins.
      She heard a guttural laugh come from the depths of her quarters,
and she stiffened.  Then a motion caught the corner of her eye; she thought
she saw a figure pass her line of vision.  She then realized in horror that
she did not *see* a figure, but rather felt the air move as someone passed
her by.  She felt something graze past the hem of her pants.
      "Who's there?"  her voice asked in a breathless whisper, fists
clenched.
      She felt a chill pass down to the core of her when she felt soft fingers
on her cheek.  She heard a voice in her head, a sultry voice she couldn't
quite tell if she was hearing with her ears or something that was going
directly into her brain.  It repeated her name again and again; it lulled her
until she sagged into the arms of her intruder.  A gentle web of steel held
fast her mind, and she could do nothing against it, limbs powerless.  Quick
hands brought the closure of her uniform open and pushed its halves away
from her neck, exposing her.  She felt a cool mouth on the flesh between
her neck and shoulder, and inside she screamed and kicked as the skin was
broken.  She dared not even open her eyes for the horror she might see.
      Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt a soft mane of hair
brush against the exposed flesh of her shoulder, every nerve ending
memorizing the sensation.
      Finally she mustered the will from somewhere deep inside her to
utter the sound she did, and with the power of that sound came the power
to open her eyes...
      And she was alone.  She blinked crazily against the sight she knew
could not possibly be seeing: the lights were up at full power, and she was
alone.
      Yet the mark on her shoulder was all too real.
      As she fled from the room for sick bay, not even stopping to arrange
her uniform, she did not see the figure huddled in her bathroom.
      She did not see this figure abandon her place in the bathroom and
slip out unnoticed from the officer's room.
      _I shall have to be more careful,_  she thought.

                              ***

      Guinan watched as Augustin entered Ten Forward.  She watched as
he stopped, looked around, approaching the bar.  She felt the needles prick
up the back of her neck.  She knew, and had already, before he had gotten
near this deck, put all of her mind-guards in place.
      Augustin turned his eyes to Guinan slowly, with a smile that drove
the needles further into her.  She stiffened, placing her hands palm down
on the bar.  He came closer to her, and he spoke to her.
      "I know you."
      "It's a possibility,"  Guinan replied coolly.  "I know many.  What can
I get for you?"
      He shook his head.  "I have no need for anything at this time."
      "What brings you here, then?"
      He smiled.
      "The doctor,"  Guinan supplied for herself.  "Tell me, who is your
counterpart on this ship?"
      She was almost glad to see his brow wrinkle.  "I am alone."
      "And may I ask...  who is 'Maharet'?"  Guinan queried.
      He was clearly taken aback by this.  "I see much of Maharet in
Beverly.  Maharet is...  one of my mothers."
      _His 'kind',_  she smirked.  She knew all too much about his kind,
and even more specifically, about him.  She knew now of what she had felt,
that she had shared with Picard.  Guinan was thoughtful.  "You are alone
in your delegation, you say.  But I can feel two of you."
      Finally Augustin smiled.  "You feel something I do not.  You are
Betazoid."
      Guinan shook her head.  "I am Guinan."
      What Guinan said to him next confirmed a suspicion he'd had for
days.  She said it especially to allay his fears.
      "I remember 1984."
      Beverly could not have come at a more inopportune time.  For both
of them.
      "Hello, Guinan,"  she said, her smile flashing bright beneath her
tawny lips.  Guinan turned to look at the friendly doctor, and Guinan
noted with amusement that she had The Look, the distinct look of someone
far too happy to not be in love.  And he looked far too uncomfortable to
have only her on his mind.  She wondered what it was he was thinking of.
      "Hello, Doctor.  Having dinner here tonight?"
      She wouldn't have asked if Beverly was not wearing one of her
favourite outfits, a pale green, off the shoulder top with matching pants. 
Her hair was swept up in one of Mott's finest creations, a braided twist
that made her hair look like spun silk.  The slight tinge of pink that flushed
her cheeks served as an answer.  _She must be in love,_  thought Guinan. 
_Beverly's not a blusher._
      She said nothing to Beverly of what she knew of Augustin, because
she knew the doctor was in no danger.  Nor was the Enterprise.  Five
hundred years ago, maybe, but not now.  The sly devil, up to his old tricks
once again.  Known by this name now, too; stealing the name of a brother
that had been long dead.  His old name had become too notorious, she
supposed.  Guinan smiled, and she placed a finger over her lips, as if to
say,  _I will say nothing._
      It seemed as if Augustin actually smiled.
      "Doctor Ste-Germain to Doctor Crusher,"  came the unwanted
summon over the comm system.  Guinan thought she saw the unshakable
ambassador visibly stiffen.
      Beverly was not amused at having her leisure time cut into yet
again, and her tone of voice conveyed that all too well.  "Crusher here,
what is it?"
      "It's Deanna Troi, Doctor.  She's not feeling well, and...  well, I think
this is something you had best handle yourself."
      Beverly felt that wintry chill creep up her spine.  She knew this was
not going to be a good night at all.

                              ***

      Data cocked his head as he filtered through the information at
breakneck speed.  He had run across a correlation that had to have been
much more than a coincidence.  Surely this was something that Captain
Picard would be interested in.
      In moments, he was before the captain's door, and he thought for a
nanosecond, as he pressed the door chime, that perhaps this was not the
right time of day to share this information.  _But the captain said to tell
him as soon as I found anything,_  thought the android.  _That would
certainly infer now._
      When the captain opened his door with one eye sealed with sleep
and looking a little tousled, Data reconsidered.  _Perhaps I was in error._
      "Mr. Data,"  said Picard, grasping at the door for a little balance,  "is
this part of some conspiracy to deprive me of my sleep?"
      "Not that I am aware of, Sir.  I shall complete a report and present it
to you in the morning.  Good night, Sir."
      However, Data had learned to expect that the captain's curiosity
often won over everything else, so he did not leave at once, as Captain
Picard would more likely than not ask him what he had found regardless
of the hour.  After ten seconds, Data thought maybe his assumption had
been wrong, and began to turn away, when he heard the captain sigh.
      "It's been a long night, but I *am* anxious to hear what you have
found.  Please come in."
      Data made a small android smirk and came into the room, what he
had learned to be the appropriate facial expression for satisfaction.
      "Lights up, computer.  Mr. Data, let's have it.  If I don't get a good
night's sleep soon, I will be useless at this conference."
      Data knit his brow, and shrugged.  "Very well.  I started with the
very first time the Federation had used the Ambassador's services.  It was
one-hundred fifty years ago."
      "That long, and this is the first I've heard of him?"  Picard mused.
      Data continued.  "Augustin has served the Federation with much
decoration, yet, there are periods of up to twenty years where he just... 
disappears."
      "Disappears, you say.  Could be a hibernation period, not too
unusual, in long-lived races.  What race is he, anyhow?  Do we have
anything on his people?"
      "I do not even have a name for his kind.  I have noticed that he does
exhibit some of the same sensitivities as Guinan.  Recall his great ability at
reconciling the Vulcans and the Klingons.  Could it be he is of her kind?"
      Picard shook his head.  "I don't believe Guinan's and Augustin's
people are related at all.  There's something more to his diplomatic skill
than meets the eye; there's a lot we don't know about him.  After all, there
is that mention he made of his people and their abhorrence of radiant light. 
Have you ever heard of a humanoid species that can survive without
sunlight?"  He tried to put his foggy thoughts together.  "I find that hard to
believe.  And the French.  I must admit, I was a little impressed at his
knowing the language when he first came aboard, but I've since heard him
say French words as an initial reaction.  That's usually reserved for
someone native to the language."
      Data had taken a second to formulate a theory on humanoid life
without radiant light, but when he saw the annoyed look on his captain's
face he quickly abandoned it to continue his explanation.  "I have also
discovered that there were instances of unexplained illnesses on planets,
starbases, and/or starships he was either about to visit or while he was
already there.  All of these illnesses were characterized by a loss of blood
that could not be explained."
      "Just like here."  Picard sighed.
      "Especially since, in reviewing some of the more recent illnesses in
our own sick bay, some of them were accompanied by a small loss of blood
that had until now been deemed tricorder malfunctions."
      Picard blinked his dry, tired eyes, determined to continue.  "There is
no evidence of any wounds.  Except of course for T'aklar, which seems to
have been intentional.  Could it be that Augustin is carrying some sort of
virus that our biofilters cannot detect?"
      "A possibility.  That would not explain the incidence of illness that
occurs *before* he arrives, however."
      It occurred to Data that the captain had mentioned it had been 'a
long night'.  Data had not considered to ask what else had occurred that
evening to qualify this as 'a long night', so he did.
      Captain Picard smiled the weary smile of a leader who had done too
much in one day to care about decorum.  "It's Counselor Troi.  She ended
up in sick bay, and it was discovered that she, too, is missing some blood." 
The captain said to Data as the android made for the door,  "And Deanna's
seems to be worse, because she appears to be having hallucinations.  She
insists that there is a mark on her neck, when there is none."
      As Data was about to leave, Picard had one last thought,
remembering what Guinan said.  "Check the personnel roster for any new
crew, that might correlate some of the other illnesses.  I have a suspicion
that there is another of Augustin's kind on board, that we are not aware
of."
      "Yes Sir."
      Since Data did not require sleep of any kind, he got on it right away.

                              ***

      "Sir, I believe I have a lead on T'aklar's murder."
      Picard looked up from his console with a fair amount of surprise. 
"That is something I have been looking forward to hearing this entire trip. 
We are, after all, inching ever closer to Earth."
      Worf's proud smiles were few and far between, and it was always a
pleasure to the captain to have evoked one.  "A couple of Ferengi who
were prowling the halls for 'clients' remembered seeing a young human
woman in the corridor around the time of T'aklar's death."
      Picard drew his brows together.  Finally he said,  "A human woman? 
Was there a description of this woman?"
      "The Ferengi have tried to describe her, but details are eluding them. 
They do know for sure that she is of medium build and quite light-skinned. 
In fact, they seem to recall her skin being almost...  pearly."
      For the first time, Picard felt confident that they would be able to
solve this mystery.  "That bit of information is quite insightful."
      Worf let out a pent-up breath.  "I'm not sure I understand."
      "Allow me to explain.  It seems Ambassador Augustin is not all he
appears to be."

                              ***

      Deanna stared at herself as she thought of a couple of lines to an old
Earth song she had heard once, long ago: _I fear the strange and lonely
looks the mirror's sending me these days._  
      It had taken a great deal of courage for her to go back to her room
after the violation she had been subjected to, real or imagined.  Will Riker
had been a good enough friend to offer to walk her back from sick bay and
spend the evening with her, sacrificing his own plans with the Catian he
called Tabby.  He had even stayed in her room last night, slept on the
opposite side of the bed as she, holding her only as she needed to be held
and not to satisfy some lecherous pleasure.
      But now he had gone on to duty, and she stood in front of her
mirror, examining the bags beneath her eyes, and the smooth, unblemished
flesh of her neck that she would have sworn to seeing a wound on.  She
wanted to get out of her room as quickly as she could and stay in some
populated place where no one could hurt her.  However she could not tear
her gaze away from her own reflection.  She knew something was terribly
wrong, yet the things that were happening to her made her distrustful of
her senses.  If she was a crew member, she would have recommended a
talk with the ship's counselor.  She laughed for what it was worth.  
      Deanna was then startled from her reverie by a comm page.
      "Dr. Crusher to Counselor Troi."
      "Troi here."
      "Deanna, Vulcan delegate Saraj came out of her coma late last night. 
If you're feeling up to it, I think it would be a good idea for you to talk to
her."
      A sense of relief washed over her.  This was the room filled with
people that she had wanted.  The safety of numbers. 
      "I'll be there soon.  Troi out."
      When Deanna got to sick bay, she was hardly prepared to see the
Vulcan look as composed as she did, her glossy black hair smoothed down
to meet her jawline.  She was rather young, thought Deanna, to have such
advanced control after such a horrible assault. 
      "I am Counselor Deanna Troi,"  she said, approaching the woman. 
"How are you?"
      Coolly, Saraj said,  "I am in acceptable health."
      "I am glad to hear that,"  Deanna returned, secretly wishing to hear
her say that she felt better, or she felt fine, or she felt anything at all.  "Can
you tell me anything about your attack?  Do you know who your assailant
was?"
      "Counselor, I do not know."  For a moment, she almost seemed
wistful.  "I entered my quarters, and the lights did not come up as I
requested.  Since they appeared to be malfunctioning, I turned back for the
door when... "
      Deanna began to tremble as the Vulcan's crisp, distant voice faded to
the back of her consciousness, hearing the woman describe to her her own
experience.  Suddenly Deanna was back in her room, surrounded by pitch
black and the charged electricity of fear all around her as she felt the
nearness of her intruder, as she felt lips hungrily lock on to her shoulder. 
Man or woman?  Had it even been human at all?
      Deanna heard her title among the stream of words and snapped
back to the present, to reality.  "Counselor, I can see that you seem to be
uncomfortable hearing the details you yourself asked for.  Shall I stop?  Is
there something wrong?"
      Folding her hands together to stop their quivering, Deanna said,  "I'll
be fine.  You have, however, just described to me the manner in which I
myself was just attacked last night."
      The Vulcan's brow folded just a little in concern.  "I am sorry to hear
that.  I would not wish such an invasion on my worst enemy."
      "Thank you."  Deanna tried to smile, but could not convince herself
to do it.  "I appreciate your time."

                              ***

      "Five."
      Data referred to the personnel records of five crew members who
had been transferred to the Enterprise within the past four months.  "I
narrowed the search based on prior assignments and shore leave taken, in
relation to the sites where there were suspicious deaths and/or illnesses. 
With those parameters, I arrived at these five.  I believe these five can
further be narrowed down."
      Worf, who stood behind the android at his station on the bridge,
asked,  "What about the ambassadors and delegates on board?"
      "I did a separate search on all of them, and except for Ambassador
Augustin, their paths have not crossed any of the sites at the times under
question."
      "Let me see them."
      The first image came up on to the screen.  "This one is a Mizarian
female.  I believe she can be ruled out because her people are a completely
peaceful and non-partisan race."
      "I agree.  Continue."
      Data nodded briefly at his words, bringing up the two at once.  "If
we accept what the Ferengi told us as fact, then these two men must also
be ruled out."
      Worf made a noise that sounded oddly like a sigh.  "It is unfortunate
that *they* are our best lead."
      Another screen of two came up, this time two human women of
similar colouring and build.  "These are the remaining choices."
      Worf bent closer to look at the record of one of the two women, a
medical lieutenant with long, wavy blonde hair, the other, with short, thick,
blonde hair.  Strange, the lieutenant's service record seemed terribly spare
in comparison to the other woman's, who was a mere ensign.
      "I also have an interesting report from Deep Space Nine.  Chief of
Security Odo did some investigating after my initial inquiry, and has
discovered that the murder victim had a... well, a few 'skeletons in her
closet' was the phrase he used.  As the victim was relatively new to the
station, no one knew her well enough to know of her questionable past and
criminal dealings."
      "Apparently, someone did."
      "It is also worth noting that neither the Ambassador nor any one of
the five crew members were on or near the station at the time of this
particular murder. As a matter of fact, Augustin arrived several days
afterwards."
      "That's officially,"  Worf said, thinking once again to the lieutenant's
short service record.  "Out in that part of the galaxy, many things are done
*un*officially."
      Worf knew exactly where to start now, and straightened up, but not
before taking note of the fact that the lieutenant was presently on duty in
sick bay.  "It would have taken me weeks to complete this search.  Batlh
Daqawlu'taH."
      The android knew that his taking up of a particularly time-
consuming search was often interpreted by others as a personal favour, so
he was not unaccustomed to hearing words of thanks for what Data
considered to be part of his duty.  Rather than explain this time and time
again, Data had instead made ready an appropriate response.
      "You are welcome, Worf."

                              ***

      That voice.  The moment he heard that voice, the pieces fell into
place.  The reason Guinan sensed a prescence, when he himself did not. 
The visions haunting Deanna.  The attacks and yes, the death, that the
captain and his senior staff could not, despite their efforts, adequately veil
their thoughts of, and the reason that he had been thought of as a possible
suspect.
      Logically, he concluded, it could have been no one else but Her.
      Augustin took a step off the turbolift on deck seven and walked
casually towards sick bay, or at least he hoped his walk would pass as
casual to the human eye.  He'd already assured that Beverly would be
occupied in preparing a final 'dinner for two', before he had to depart the
Enterprise for the conference on Earth.
      He stopped suddenly, having second thoughts.  He even disliked the
idea of going into sick bay again; the notion of being too near those
advanced machines was increasingly unnerving.  Immediately he
admonished himself for his selfishness.  Without a confrontation now, she
would never stop this madness.  
      As the doors slid aside, he could see the blonde mane lying against
her back as she bent over a console.  _Forever the lover of science,_  he
thought.  Fortunately, sick bay was empty save for her and a pair of
sleeping patients.
      "At long last, Mother,"  he said to her, his voice quiet and smooth.
      The blonde woman turned in a snap, frustration evident in every
line of her face.
      Augustin realized with some dismay that this was not Her.
      "*Excuse* me?" she said, anger evident as she slapped down her
tricorder.  "Do I know you, or is this just my unlucky day?"
      Apparently, this was not her first interruption.
      "I thought you were someone else,"  Augustin said, knowing that his
apology sounded cliche.  "I am terribly sorry."
      She smiled as she realized her impatience.  This pretty young
woman did bear a remarkable resemblance to Her; even the voice was
uncannily similar.  Augustin thought that it was possible that she was a
distant relative, in more ways than she could ever imagine.
      "I'm sorry to snap at you, but when you're trying to get some
research done that you're already behind on... First I'm grilled by the Chief
of Security about a murder... now you think I'm your mother."  She sighed. 
"It's just been one of those days, you know?"
      So he had not been alone in his line of reasoning.  The Klingon,
whose thoughts were a little harder to read, had been following the same
path.
      He bowed at the waist and smiled.  "Thank you for your
understanding."
      As he walked away, he had the feeling that it was indeed she that
must be on board.  Letting the Klingon in on it would compromise himself. 
He must find her on his own; he would just have to resort to more primal
means to do it.
      But first... on to other loose ends.

                              ***

      Cursing to himself the whole way, Worf walked briskly towards the
shuttle bay where the other woman, the ensign, was on duty.  Not missing
a step, Worf glanced down to the notes he had made on the padd in his
hand to remind himself of her name.  Ensign Lioncourt. 
      He approached the shuttle bay with some sense of finality.  He had a
strange suspicion that whatever was going to happen next would yield
results and end this case.  All that was needed was confirmation from the
Ferengi... something he should have done before charging down to sick
bay.
      Worf walked into the shuttle bay and to his shock found it deserted. 
That is to say, the shuttle itself was gone, as well as any personnel that
were assigned to be down there.  Worf's brow curled in confusion.  This
was not right.
      "Computer, where is Ensign Lioncourt?"
      "There is no one assigned to the Enterprise with that name."
      "Confirm this, computer.  I have seen her records myself.  I repeat,
the name is Ensign Lioncourt."
      The computer stood by what it had said already.
      "Is there any ensign in Star Fleet with the name Lioncourt?"  he
asked, at wit's end.
      "There currently is no one in Star Fleet on active duty with the
surname of Lioncourt."
      Worf was bewildered.  "Can you at least confirm that the shuttlecraft
Wiles has left the Enterprise without authorization?"
      The computer spoke after a moment.  "There is no record of any
shuttle called Wiles ever being on board the Enterprise."
      Something was up.  He had to speak with a real person.  Or at the
very least, an android.
      "Worf to Commander Data."
      "Data here."
      "Commander, I am getting information from the computer that there
is no one stationed on the Enterprise by the name of Ensign Lioncourt,
when you and I reviewed her records only this afternoon.  And someone
has taken the Wiles, yet the computer has no record of this shuttle ever
existing."
      Data was silent.  "Lieutenant, I can find no record of this Ensign
anywhere in my databanks, and I do not recall any such meeting with you
this morning.  Furthermore, I do not recall there ever being a shuttle by
that name on board this ship. I am sorry I cannot be of more assistance."
      Frustration crept into his voice as he said,  "Worf out."
      There was no way a crew member and a shuttle could disappear
without the knowledge of *someone*.  Yet, if Data didn't remember it...
      He would alert his security crew.  This sounded like a case of
computer tampering, Data included.
      At that moment, a young man in operations yellow came into the
shuttle bay carrying a padd.  Upon seeing Worf, he straightened.  "I'm
sorry, Sir.  I did not see you in here before."
      "At ease, Lieutenant.  I was not here before."  Worf thought for a
moment that he looked familiar, and realized that he was one of the young
men, a lieutenant junior-grade, from the group of five he had been shown
by Data, which Data had no memory of.
      "What is your field of expertise?" 
      "I've been working in Engineering since I was an ensign."
      "You were once assigned to the Echelon, were you not?"  Worf
asked.
      "Yes, Sir, I was."
      "There was another ensign, a woman with the last name of
Lioncourt, who also worked in Engineering on the Echelon at the same
time.  Do you remember her at all?"
      The young man really thought about it hard.  "No, I knew everyone;
the Echelon's a small ship.  She definitely was not there."
      Worf felt even more annoyed and disheartened.  "Thank you."
      With that, Worf left the shuttle bay, and made for the bridge, to alert
the captain with what he found.
      Worf wondered, however, how he was going to explain to the
captain that his suspect had disappeared without a trace.  The computer
tampering could be justified as the work of an industrious ensign, but how
could he explain the lack of memories about this woman?

                              ***

      He was late.  It wasn't like him to be late.
      Beverly paced a little before coming to rest on the sofa on the
quarters of Augustin's room.  He had asked her to put together one last
dinner for them while he took care of some business, and that had been
finished long ago.  Now it was up to him to come back to his quarters to
share in it.
      She asked for the time... he was fifteen minutes late.  Her stomach
told her she was hungry, and she hoped he was too.  Then Beverly's brow
folded in confusion.  For a moment she had the oddest feeling that she had
never seen him eat.  Sure, his food always disappeared from his plate, but
not once could she recall him putting a fork or a spoon to his mouth.  "Oh,
Beverly,"  she muttered to herself, lying back into the sofa, "you're being a
little silly now.  Where else would the food go?"
      As she stretched back into the couch, she closed her eyes and drew
in a long breath.  When she opened them again, her eye was caught by a
folded piece of paper lying on the table beside the sofa, one that she was
sure was not there before.  "Computer, time,"  she asked, wondering how
much later Augustin was than before.  To her shock, a half-hour had
passed since she had last asked, time she could not recall passing.  _Ah
well,_  she thought,  _must have dozed off._  She wondered if it was a note
from him that she had missed earlier, explaining his tardiness.  Without a
thought, she opened it, and was immediately sorry she had.

           My dear L.,
              I'm terribly sorry things had to end this way,
           but you know I don't like being caught.  This
           time, our reunion was not meant to be.  And
           don't chastise me for what I have done.  You've
           done it yourself.  Each and every one of the
           beings I killed was dishonest and criminal to the
           bone and deserved the death they asked for (see?
           I am becoming more like you want me to be,
           every year!), and the ones I did not kill, I assured
           they would not remember.  I cannot help it if I
           still feel the hunger.  I am not as strong as you.
                 I am sorry about the Vulcan and the
           Counselor; the Vulcan, I had no idea my powers
           would not effect her memory, and the
           Counselor... well, I couldn't help myself in going
           back for more.  She's a beautiful young mortal,
           isn't she?
              On to my next journey,
              G.

      Each and every limb of her body was racked with tremors.  _I can't
believe it,_  she thought.  _Augustin is a murderer._
      She heard the door open and panic set in to the core of her.  Her
adrenaline surged and she leapt from the sofa, fight or flight response
taking over.  "Stay back,"  she hissed, assuming a combat stance.
      His forehead creased ever so slightly with concern.  "Beverly, what is
it?"
      Her exit to the door was blocked, and she was about to call out for
help when she felt him clamp a hand over her mouth.  She didn't
remember seeing him move towards her, nor did she see him take the note
from her clasp.
      Augustin's lavender eyes scanned over the text of the note.  "Mon
Dieu,"  he muttered, sighing.  At once he realized that Beverly was
moaning and struggling beneath his hand, needing the air he was
obstructing.  
      She coughed, dropping to the floor, one hand on her throat, the
other supporting her upright.  "You'll never get away with killing me, you
know..."  she gasped pitifully.  
      "Beverly, you must know that I will not ever hurt you.  I am sorry
about what just happened... sometimes I forget my own strength."
      She did not cease to shake.  "You know who the murderer is?  You
have to tell Worf, so he can--"
      Augustin shook his head, interrupting her.  "It is too late for that. 
Gabrielle is long gone, and when she doesn't want to be found, she won't
be found."
      "Wh-who is Gabrielle?"  she asked, her voice raspy.
      He crouched down beside her and smiled.  "She is my mother... and
my child."
      Bev whispered,  "I don't understand."
      "Have you ever, dear Beverly, heard of vampires?"
      Beverly's green eyes glazed over.  
      "You don't m-mean to say..."
      "I am loathe to tell you... but that's what I am, that's what Gabrielle
is.  I was made immortal over seven hundred years ago.  I made her
immortal not long afterwards.  That's why I could not tell that she was on
board this ship; I cannot read the ones I've created."  He seemed so very
calm, and quite introspective.  "She killed the Klingon. It must have been
her... it could have been no one else,"  Augustin continued.  "She's become
rather good with manipulating technology... which doesn't surprise me.  It
would seem her speed rivals your own Mr. Data's.  She can sneak in and
out of rooms without detection... probably how she left this note for me.  I
*am* sorry you had to see this."
      At once the scientist in her took over.  A vampire!  The stuff of
legends!
      "So, do you... really drink blood?  Do you turn into a bat, into
vapour?"
      His throaty laugh was sinister, yet sexy.  "I don't need to anymore...
but sometimes I cannot help myself, like with you."
      The missing blood.  Of course.  "Did you *mean* to almost
completely drain me of blood?"  she asked, half angry, half afraid.
      "Certainly not.  I adore you too much."  He looked down upon her,
light dancing in his eyes.  "And, I do not... transmutate.  As I am prone to
ask... do you?"
      Beverly actually cracked a smile before remembering her precarious
position.  This creature, this immortal creature, had the power of life and
death at his command, and had for hundreds of years.  He said he would
not hurt her, yet almost had strangled her without thought.  She gulped
down air for confidence before asking,  "Is Augustin really your name?  Or
is that something you made up to pull the wool over all of our eyes?  What
does 'L.' stand for?"
      "You have caught me there.  Augustin is the name of one of my
brothers, one who died many years ago."
      He was obviously not going to tell her, so she did not press.
      "How is it that Gabrielle can... do this, and not be caught?"
      "It is as I explained... and more.  She's always been good at blending
in.  If she doesn't want anyone to recognize her, she'll cut off her hair. 
That's why Mr. Worf and I were both fooled into thinking that young
doctor of yours, Ste-Germain, was suspect.  With the long hair and all..." 
He paused, seemingly in thought, looking away to the painting on the wall,
that glorious Chagall.  "Then it grows back anew each night, back to the
length it was shen she died. 
      "She finds someone immoral, lets them know she knows their secret,
and then kills them.  She can be rather vicious.  Then she leaves when she
believes herself about to be caught, removing all traces of herself, from
computers, from minds.  She's done it before, and she'll do it again; this
time with the Star Fleet organization, next time... who knows."
      Beverly remained level-headed enough to say,  "You realize that we
have to tell the captain about this... she must be caught."
      Augustin shook his head, looking remarkably grim, his pale face a
tragedy mask.  "No, we cannot.  Because if she goes, I must go too, for all
of my crimes, for who I am.  I will die, we will both die, in any prison on
earth.  Not a physical death, for we are immortal, so old that the sun
hardly hurts us anymore... but a death of who we are."  He paused to look
back to her, touching the place right over where his heart lie in his chest. 
"And now you know; I am not safe."
      Beverly scrambled away from him on the floor, backing up against
the couch.  "But... you said you wouldn't hurt me,"  she whispered.
      <<I know.>>  
      He came close to her in the blink of an eye, straddling her as he
placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her down, holding her still. 
Fixing upon her with that powerful gaze, he thought one word to her:
      <<Forget.>>
      Beverly's eyes rolled shut and she listed over to one side, as
Augustin placed his lips upon her cheek for a tender kiss, then moved to
her mouth for a more passionate one.
      As she opened her eyes, she had a smile on her lips.  "That was
nice,"  she said huskily,  "but I'm hungry for food right now."
      He stood so she could get up from the floor.
      "Please, serve away," he said to her in the most pleasant voice he
could muster.
      He refused to let his eyes tear up, for the blood-tears would ruin
everything he had just accomplished.  Instead, he took Gabrielle's note, tore
it into small pieces, and placed it into the disposal unit.
      He would miss this beautiful mortal so.

                              ***

      CAPTAIN'S LOG, SUPPLEMENTAL.  The Diversity Conference has
been a resounding success, and we are now on our way to the Io formation
to study the electromagnetic effect of the nearby electron storm on gaseous
material.  Deanna's attacker is still unknown, and T'aklar's murderer has,
according to Mr. Worf, disappeared without a trace.  He continues to look
for records of a woman that Star Fleet has never heard of; I trust him, and
have allowed him this leniency.  Ambassador Augustin has given Star Fleet
notice of his retirement, and has himself seemed to have disappeared.

                              ***

      Beverly looked out of the viewport as the green-blue planet Earth
got smaller and smaller to finally become one of a million twinkling lights. 
She pressed her hands against the glass that separated her from the void of
space.  _Goodbye._
      A voice embraced her, startling her momentarily, as she forgot she
was not alone in the room.  "I don't know why you are prolonging this for
yourself,"  came the serenity of Deanna Troi, who sat at the conference
room table, shrouded in shadow.
      "I'm glad you could stay with me, Deanna,"  Beverly sighed,
bringing her fingers down along to caress the glass.  "I think, if I look hard
enough, I can see him down there."
      "You'll see him again, Beverly, don't wor--"
      She turned to Troi, a frown settled firmly on the corners of her
mouth.  Solemnly, she said, her voice barely audible,  "No, Deanna.  I don't
think I ever will."

                              ***
                            The End

Many thanks and high praise to Anne Rice, whose vampire characters I have sort
of... borrowed.  She is the genius behind my second greatest passion.  
I bow to her the deepest of bows. 

Copyright 1993 by Sandra Guzdek. All rights reserved, and all disclaimers
apply in triplicate.
---
Sandra Guzdek                              email:[email-masked]
         3rd of 7, JuKeSaJaMeLiCa * Young one of the SFLAaE/BS
            VP in Charge of Life Drawing/Model Recruitment
 Minister/Undersecretary/Whatever/Lady High Muckety-Muck of Art, HRH Janis I
        "You're just being weird, and that results in creativity."