Blood and Fire

Beverly sat alone in the darkness, legs folded beneath her, back pressed to the wall to give her strength. The last guard had left a short while ago and she was still trembling with pain and fatigue. The countless humiliations had made her numb to any but the worst verbal attacks, but her body still needed time to recover from the beatings and abuse. Time she wasn't permitted.

Before her, on the only piece of furniture in the tiny room, lay two items. She ran her fingers over the misshapen shelf she used as a table, memorizing it by touch before lifting the first item. It was cold and hard and felt good to the touch. It gave her strength to endure the pain.

She had only been in this place a few days, perhaps a week, when she found the item concealed in the thin pad that served as her mattress. She'd been listening, not sure if she was really hearing or only imagining the faint moans and wailing that never ceased in this place. Locked away in the silent darkness of this room she could only guess when the guards would come, bringing orders, or food, or pain.

She was kept isolated from the other prisoners, her cell an abandoned medical quarantine lab. The walls were thick and soundproof, keeping the other prisoners cries out, keeping her own screams in. Her imagination supplied the only noise when she was alone, playing back the atrocities she witnessed when she was allowed out to treat the injured or dying. As she worked, the sounds of fear and pain surrounded her, the crack of the whip made her flinch; the heavy tread of her captors’ footsteps made her tremble despite her firm resolve.

She understood why she was kept apart, that she was being punished not just for her defiance, but for that of the two other officers who were captured with her. As the ranking officer, she was the example. At first she had relied on her Starfleet training, but it did her little good here, and as the days passed, and her torment continued, she found that training being pushed aside, her primal need to survive taking over. No longer did she stifle her cries when she was tortured, only to be punished for her silence. Now she screamed or cried or begged when she was told to, humiliation meant nothing if it would stop the pain.

Her captors reveled in her debasement, delighting in breaking the "Federation Ice Princess." On her first night in this place they had marched her and her two companions through the facility, stopping to shove the shuttle pilot, Ensign Carla Wilkes into an over-crowded cell reeking of waste and sickness. Elizabeth Harris, Beverly's research assistant had been stripped and taken to the guard's quarters screaming and kicking as she was dragged away.

Beverly herself had been placed in a shower, fully clothed and "decontaminated" before being taken to her cell. The sting of the whip was the least of the punishments that awaited her that night.

As time passed, and the pain and degradation continued, she found herself questioning her deepest convictions. She had always believed that all life was sacred, that there was never justification for a sentient being to kill itself or another being. But when the guards finished with her and she lay curled in on herself, beyond the relief of tears or sleep, she found herself craving the oblivion that death offered. Theirs or hers, it didn't matter which.

The weakening of her core beliefs shook her. She had suffered before, had known more than her share of horror. Was the situation she was in now enough to force her to forsake everything? Unable to answer that question, she clung to her love for her friends and for Jean-Luc, fearing the depths to which she would sink if she didn't find some way to rescue her crewmates and get away from this place.

Then, one night, she tried to roll up the tattered mattress to serve as... what? Protection? A barrier? It would serve poorly for either, against the strength and the cruelty of the guards. But it had allowed her to discover the item.

With no light in the cell, Beverly used her hands and her mind to "see" the knife. It was long for a dagger, perhaps more of a ceremonial knife, and its blade was slender and serpent-like, with three curves and a double-sided blade tapering to a deadly point. She'd cut herself with it as she'd freed it from the mattress. The bitter salt of her own blood filled her mouth when she sucked the injured finger.

Often in the following days she wondered about the knife and its previous owner. How had this being managed to obtain such an item under the watchful eyes of the guards? More importantly, how could she now best use it to her advantage? It became her totem, a reminder of her own strength. Possessing it gave her the determination she needed to endure this existence until she was ready to escape. She had already resigned herself to the fact that Jean-Luc would not be rescuing her. It was up to her to free Elizabeth and Carla and get them home to the Enterprise.

* * * * *

Jean-Luc Picard received the report on a secure channel in his Ready Room. It took him less than fifteen minutes to review the materials in the eyes-only transmission from Starfleet. It took him more than twice that long to compose himself and call a senior staff meeting.

The meeting itself was brief. The Enterprise was still in the midst of a delicate mission - hosting the Guarrma/Fretlef peace negotiations and that mission must not be disrupted. Not for any reason, not even the capture of the woman he loved.

When he returned to the negotiations later that day, no one even suspected that a shuttle carrying three Enterprise crewmen had gone missing. The only change in routine was the presence of Lt. Commander Data at the scientific station on the bridge for all three duty watches.

* * * * *

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? She had lost all sense of time here. She worked when she was told. Ate when there was food. She clung to the black solitude of her filthy cell when it was permitted, thankful for every moment that some foul stinking creature wasn't hurting her. They didn't visit her cell as often now, having found more interesting ways to torture her during the daytime. Some nights she was left completely alone.

Despite what she'd endured, she'd been lucky so far, and she knew it. She hadn't had to earn her place by keeping the guards company. Elizabeth hadn't been so lucky. Beverly imagined she could still hear the girl's screams. The torture and groping was hard enough to endure; if they tried to rape her, she would kill herself, but she'd do her damnedest to take a few of them with her. That thought came without hesitation now. Thanks to the Katharians she was no longer a bitter enemy of death. She only hoped she could repay them with the kiss of her knife.

It was that thought that made her steal the lighter, the second of her two precious items. She'd palmed it when some careless guard had left it lying next to the body of one of the workers. It was tricky work securing it in a place she hoped they wouldn't find it, knowing that it amused them to grab at her breasts or her backside as she worked; struggling to keep the poor workers they'd beaten or worked nearly to death, alive. Or worse, patching up the women they'd amused themselves with.

She disciplined herself, keeping rigid control of her emotions as she worked, knowing that one slip, no matter how small, might place her on one of the sickbay beds. Like Elizabeth. Or worse.

* * * * *

As soon as the delegates beamed off the Enterprise, Picard was barking orders into his commbadge. Data had the coordinates for the last known location of the missing shuttle and they would start searching immediately.

As he rode alone to the bridge, he allowed himself a moment of remorse. If only the Enterprise hadn't been assigned to the peace negotiations. If only he had gone along in the shuttle. If only he hadn't let her go to that medical conference in the first place. If only they hadn't had that bitter argument.

If only... and then the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge and he pushed the fears and doubts aside. He had a job to do.

* * * * *

The dead and critically injured were treated the same. The bodies were burned. It was her job to dispose of them. Out of mercy, Beverly took it upon herself to kill those who were judged too infirm to be of use, making it as quick and painless as she was able.

The guards forbade her from using medicines for the task. She had to find other means to kill, or watch as the living were burned alive. The guards amused themselves by interfering - sometimes forbidding a gentle death, other times taunting her as she sat by the dying, trying to offer comfort as their lives drained away.

Her one comfort was the fact that the blood that now stained her hands and clothing seemed to protect her from the guards' unwanted touch. Only the boldest bothered to grope her now, and even they no longer threatened to take her to their bed.

It was bitter solace, but she accepted it, treasuring her knowledge of the hidden items even as she watched another being die.

* * * * *

The crew of the Enterprise was worried about their captain. He wore his fury like a vengeful god, driving himself and his crew unmercifully. The shuttle was tracked to a renegade trader, still in the process of stripping it bare. He refused to answer questions until the captain ordered Data to persuade him. Then he had plenty to say.

With the trader's information, they tracked the missing crewmen through a spaceport, back to a remote moon and finally a mining asteroid. Unfortunately it was located deep in Katharian territory.

The Katharians were a warlike race, with a tendency toward recreational cruelty. They had refused all friendly overtures made by Federation diplomats and had emphasized their refusal by destroying the messenger ship and torturing its crew. The sole surviving member had been found days later on a remote asteroid, half starved and suffering from exposure.

There had been reports that the Katharians had alliances with several races throughout the sector. These beings bought protection from the Katharians by supplying workers for the Katharian asteroid mines. It was a short, brutal existence, and the demand for new workers was high. To safeguard themselves, these allies had taken to kidnapping travelers. Until now they had remained in their own systems. If the missing Enterprise crew had been taken for the Katharian mines, several sectors away, it meant that travel in this entire quadrant was no longer safe.

But that was the least of Jean-Luc Picard's worries. In front of him was a PADD containing all the information Data had gathered about the Katharians. What little they knew about the beings did nothing to soothe him. Even the Klingons gave the Katharians a wide berth.

What chance would two ensigns and his CMO have against them?

What hope did he have that Beverly would survive?

* * * * *

She was relieved to see Elizabeth Harris walking with the other workers towards the mines. Beverly hadn't seen her since she had been taken from sickbay, and the doctor had feared the worst.

The pretty ensign was walking with her head bowed, shuffling along in her dirty clothing, reluctant to enter the mine, yet more afraid to refuse. Her long dark hair had been cut, leaving ragged clumps that stuck out at wild angles around her pale and dirty face. She risked a glance at the CMO, trying not to see the blood that stained her hands and clothing. The CMO smiled slightly, offering as much hope as she was able. Elizabeth looked at her for a moment, her eyes accusing, and then she deliberately looked away. Beverly swallowed hard, fighting the tightness in her throat. She knew the other prisoners resented her, thinking that she helped the Katharians willingly, but she hadn't expected Elizabeth to believe those lies.

She had hand picked Elizabeth for her research staff. The young woman was a bit naïve, and the slightest bit spoiled by her upbringing as the only child of two of the foremost scientists on the Gamma One colony. Beverly had heard her referred to as a Supernova by more than one envious junior officer. It was true that things seemed to come easily to Elizabeth, but her Academy record was enviable and she had proven to be a brilliant researcher. Taking her to the medical conference had been Beverly's way of thanking Elizabeth her for help in developing a treatment for the XeilIian croupe. If it hadn’t been too painful Beverly might have laughed at the irony.

Ensign Carla Wilkes was a different matter. She was a large woman, with sure, steady hands, and a desire to fly anything she could get those hands on. She'd been sent to bring the medical staff back from the conference when the Enterprise had been called away for the treaty negotiations. Beverly hadn't seen her since their capture but the image of Carla valiantly fighting off their attackers was still vivid.

It had been Carla's quick thinking that had prevented the guards from killing Beverly as punishment for their resistance. Carla had shielded Beverly's body with her own, telling the Katharians how valuable Beverly's medical talents were. She spoke simply and eloquently, never flinching at the weapons pointed at her head, refusing to move despite the threats until the Katharians had decided to let Beverly live. For her resistance, Carla had been whipped.

Beverly owed Carla her life and she was determined to repay her by getting the three of them out of here alive.

* * * * *

William Riker and Deanna Troi regarded each other grimly. They had seen Captain Picard determined, short-tempered, and even angry before. This time it was different. He had ordered the Enterprise closer to the Karthian border than any Federation ship had ventured in the last thirty years. The ship was at constant red alert status, and the captain had assigned himself, Data and Mills, the security chief, to a secret mission that he had coded as need to know only. Not even his First Officer had the proper authorization to access the mission materials.

The mission itself wasn't a secret to the senior officers. Picard had made no effort to hide his intentions to rescue Beverly and the other crewmembers. What concerned them was his seeming disregard for the safety of his ship and crew. As happy as they had been when the captain and Beverly had become lovers, they had also worried that the relationship would lead to a situation where the captain would put Beverly's welfare over that of his crew. That could not be tolerated.

It had barely been a year since the captain and the CMO had become lovers. In that time, they had been nearly inseparable. To everyone's surprise, there had been little friction between them, despite their stubbornness and strong-willed natures. The first real test of their relationship had come just over a month ago when Jean-Luc had been injured during an away mission. Beverly had ordered him back to the ship and Picard hadn't taken it very well. There had been a fight that was near legendary and a very uncomfortable week followed until he finally relented and apologized. They had been a bit cooler towards each other afterwards and then Beverly had left for the conference.

As soon as she'd left the ship, the captain went quiet. It was common for him to close himself off from his emotions. He'd done that for as long as Will and Deanna had known him, and they suspected it was a life long habit. When Beverly was here, she tempered his reserve, serving as something of an emotion barometer for the captain. Now she was missing, most likely in danger, and captain didn't seem able to cope. The question was what they could do about it.

The answer, when Deanna presented it, was not the relief Will had hoped for.

* * * * *

Deanna Troi had never been one to flaunt her heritage, yet she was one of the few remaining Betazed royals. She used that now to obtain some discreet transport and a crew of Torelli nomads. Her agent also placed some carefully tailored news about her in the Katharian territories, providing background for her cover story, that of a bored royal seeking adventure, and possibly a consort.

She knew it was a foolish and dangerous mission, but she also knew there would be no help from Starfleet. After Data had briefed the senior staff on the Katharians, she had returned to her office and done some more research. An hour later she stopped, too sickened by what she had read to continue. Medical reports of the few known survivors of Katharian attacks noted that they were particularly brutal to women. Deanna could not turn her back on her friend and crewmates, and she couldn't let her captain take the risk of going into Katharian territory. She would have to go, and quickly, before logic and reason stopped her.

Claiming a family emergency, she left the Enterprise and made her way to a remote outpost where that transport and her new crew were waiting. She immediately ordered the captain to set a course for the asteroid where Beverly and the other missing crewmembers were most likely being held. After having the captain make contact with the Katharians, she retired to her cabin to prepare.

Deanna caught sight of herself in a mirror, and paused a moment to consider the reflection. She wore a tight synthaskin jumpsuit, her hair gathered into a single thick braid. Around her upper arm was a gold band with the Fifth House symbol inlaid in black pearl. It would be her single concession to the role she was playing, but it made her miss Will Riker all the more, since he was the one who had given it to her.

Will had remained on the Enterprise, unwilling to allow Picard to remain without someone watching him. If he wasn't careful, the captain would either get himself killed or start a war. Will had no intention of letting either one happen.

Alone, Deanna pulled out the data PADD she had prepared, reviewing the proper manner of dealing with Katharians. She knew they admired strong women, and respected power. She would have to be fearless when she faced them, or she would become the fourth Enterprise crewmember to go missing in the Katharian mines.

* * * * *

There were murmurs among the workers about the arrival of an alien queen. Beverly paid them little heed, wondering why anyone would come to this place of their own choosing. She turned slowly back to the row of dying miners, hoping that at least some of them would already be dead. She'd had to kill seven of them yesterday, including Ensign Carla Wilkes.

The sepia-toned vision of brown-haired, brown-eyed Carla, lying pale and unmoving on the bed flashed into Beverly's mind, defying her efforts to stop it. Against the muted colors in her vision, she saw the brilliant scarlet ribbon of blood across Carla's throat and the luminous brown eyes that watched her even as their life flowed away. Beverly closed her eyes and swallowed hard willing her body not to betray her. She dared not show any weakness or the guards would use it against her. She dared not even think what new tortures awaited her. Turning back to the dying, she felt the eyes of the guards watching her. She looked down at her hands, seeing the many stains that covered them, imagining that she could tell Carla's blood from all the others.

There was a flare of anger, white hot, burning in her chest. She tried to breathe normally, to push the emotion away, to direct it. She had learned long ago that killing an enemy might be necessary. The bridge officers’ testing required simulations of it. None of it had prepared her for Carla. The woman hadn't been an enemy, and she hadn't been dying. There was no solace of relieving pain in her death. It had been yet another lesson from the Katharian guards. They had brought Carla in, dirty and a little battered but otherwise perfectly healthy. And they had given Beverly a choice - Carla's life or ten other prisoners. Beverly stood, held captive by the guards, their threats and demands filling her ears, hot tears filling her eyes.

Carla had made the choice for her. Far braver than Beverly would ever be, the young woman had taken Beverly's hand and had helped draw the knife across her own throat. There were no words between them, but Carla's eyes had held absolution. Beverly had watched them, seeing the courage, the strength and the devotion in those eyes; watching as it all bled away. In the darkness of her cell that night, she drew the knife out of its hiding place and raised it to her own throat. Only the memory of those eyes, stayed her hand.

Later, when the guards had her on her knees, their taunts and accusations filled her ears as their punishment devices marred her flesh. She knew then, in the moments of clarity bought with pain, that it was not Carla who had stopped her from killing herself, it was her own cowardice. Filled with self-loathing, she didn't cooperate, her refusal to cry or beg prolonging the punishment. In the morning when they brought her the instruments to heal herself, it took her far longer than usual to hide the marks.

For her defiance, they found new ways to torment her, taking Beverly out into the mines and letting her see the other prisoners’ reactions to her. Beverly's unmarked skin and clean clothes were all the evidence the prisoners needed to prove the stories that guards had told them - that she was a Kathatrian sympathizer. Everywhere she looked, their eyes accused her of willingly murdering injured prisoners. Even Elizabeth's eyes held accusation.

Her mind shied away from that thought, seeking something, anything else to occupy it. She thought of her items, and of going home. She would use the arrival of the alien queen to make her escape. She'd found out which cell Elizabeth was kept in and she watched each morning and evening when her young assistant was marched to and from the mines. She could tell by Elizabeth's posture and her expressionless face that she wouldn't last much longer. Beverly had been too late to save Carla. She wouldn't make that same mistake again.

Tonight, she decided. It would have to be tonight.

* * * * *

Deanna arrived well after the Katharian midday, according to her chronometer. Just in time to see the workers returned to their cells, perhaps even to be given a tour of the facility. She hoped it would give her the chance to scout the facility and find her friends.

Giving stern instructions, she directed her crew to prepare to rescue the missing women. She stood at least half a meter shorter than the men, but she read their emotions, and used that to gauge their responses. She appealed to their love for freedom, and justice, and then she paid them. One strip of gold-pressed latinum each, with the balance of payment to be distributed once they were safely out of Katharian territory.

It was a language they all understood.

* * * * *

Beverly had been taken back to her cell early, while the Katharians prepared for the queen's arrival. She used the confusion to palm a small medical tool. As soon as they left her, she was at the door, struggling to override the doorlock with the tool.

With a lot of sweat and struggling, she managed to trigger the mechanism and open the door. Taking up the knife, and concealing the lighter, she hurried down the corridor.

The first of the guards, she managed to subdue with a lucky kick. He went down hard, bumped his head, and didn't move again. The next guard was a little harder, but again she managed to knock him out, but not before taking some serious hits. She was breathing hard and her head was pounding in time with her heart.

Rounding the corner to Elizabeth's cell, she fumbled with the knife, switching it to the other hand so she could open the door. It was tricky work, and she could barely hold her hand steady enough to trigger the lock. She felt vulnerable and exposed with her back to the corridor. The sound of her own breathing made it hard to concentrate.

With a click, the lock opened, and she pulled at the door, desperate to free Elizabeth and get away before the guards she had fought were discovered. She stood in the doorway, framed by the light from the corridor, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the cell.

Eyes stared back at her, some in fear, others in hatred or accusation. She ignored them all, finding the brown eyes she sought. She moved forward quickly, the prisoners shrinking away from her as she moved. She grabbed Elizabeth's hand, desperate to be away from this place.

Elizabeth cried out and pulled her hand away. "Please don't hurt me."

Beverly stopped, the sound of rushing blood filling her ears. For just a second, she thought she might collapse. She loosened her grip a little. "I'm getting you out of here."

The others started towards her and Beverly dragged Elizabeth from the cell, slamming the door before the others could follow. Through the door she could hear their cries and curses, calling her murderer and sympathizer.

Desperate to be away, she propelled Elizabeth in front of her, gruffly ordering her to move. The younger woman hesitated just a moment, but moved when Beverly gave her a none too gentle push.

"Where are you taking me?" Her voice cracked with fear as she turned around, her eyes accusing, and Beverly felt sick. Elizabeth was truly afraid of her.

"The pits." Beverly whispered, straightening up, She hardened herself against the emotions that threatened to weaken her. There would be time enough for that later. "Move quickly and don't make a sound." She kept a grip on Elizabeth as they moved through the corridors. Clutched in her other sweaty, white-knuckled hand was the knife.

The pits were the worst of the cells, with no toilet facilities and no lighting. It was where the most recalcitrant prisoners were sent for punishment. Beverly had been sent there once, to heal a prisoner so he could be tortured again. The memory of the place made her feel ill.

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes for just a moment, but it was distraction enough that she didn't see the guard until it was almost too late.

* * * * *

"I want to see your workers. Now." Deanna Troi commanded imperiously, sweeping past the minor functionary who had been sent to greet her. She gestured, and two of her escorts took their place on either side of her, their hands resting on matching disruptors. The being took a step back and smiled nervously.

"Of course, Highness. But not here, so close to the rabble. In comfort. Refreshments have been prepared for you." He made the mistake of turning his back on her.

"A little higher, Crell. Better." She sneered in the being's face. The unfortunate being was dangling half a meter off the floor, held there by Crell while Deanna studied him. He was Bralgorian, one of the races that had allied with the Katharians. They were a spineless, untrustworthy species, likely to say anything to get what they wanted, then stab you in the back once they had it. This specimen was particularly repulsive, with his long greasy hair and pale orange skin. Deanna smiled nastily, trying to hide her amusement as he squirmed, his hooved feet dangling uselessly.

"Now," she continued, "I have no desire to remain in this place longer than necessary." She paused and primped her hair. "I am in need of workers. I will see what you have to offer. Immediately."

"As you wish, Highness."

"You may call me Imperiale," she corrected casually, before motioning her aide to put the Bralgorian down. He did so, none too gently, and the being wavered dangerously before regaining his balance.

"Th - this way, Imperiale."

She followed him down the dirty corridor, her cloak flowing behind her and her head held high, as befitting a daughter of the Fifth House.

* * * * *

"When you find her, don't kill her," the Katharian commanded. "I'm done playing games with this woman. Her death will serve to remind the others that no one may disobey me. But," he clenched his fist and pounded it into his other fist, "that will wait until tomorrow. I will not tolerate any disturbance while our visitor is here. Catch the human quickly and quietly, or you'll be beside her in the pits."

The guards saluted and quickly left. It would not do to invoke the Overseer's wrath. He had not been happy to hear that the human doctor had escaped, and that two of the guards had been injured or killed in the process.

Watching them go, the Overseer growled. He had suspected the human would be a problem. He thought the whip, and the guards' attentions had tamed her. Now it was clear that he had been too lenient with her. Her next punishment would not be so gentle, and he would administer it in full view of the other workers. Torturing her had been amusing, but she was becoming an inconvenience. Keeping her alive would serve no further purpose. It would not matter that the other prisoners learned that she was not a sympathizer. Her execution would remind them of their proper place.

He stalked back towards the reception area where he would host his visitor. He was looking forward to spending time with such a beautiful, powerful woman. It would be worth bartering a few of his workers to earn her favor, particularly if it brought him access to her ship. He was tired of being on this filthy asteroid where he had little chance to distinguish himself.

Smiling a little, he caught his reflection in a metal surface and stopped a moment to admire it. Soon, very soon, all the galaxy would know the terror of his magnificent face.

* * * * *

The lone guard was at her feet, barely conscious. She and Elizabeth had managed to knock him down, and he lay there, dazed. He didn't recognize the danger of the object in her hand.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth cried out, shocked as she watched the sinister blade of the knife flash downward, propelled with deadly accuracy by the doctor. It made one small sound as it pierced the guard's chest, and then there was silence and the stink of blood and anger.

Beverly wrenched the knife free and wiped it on the dead guard's clothing before moving onward. Her movement, like her eyes, was feral. She carried herself like a warrior. All the anger and pain of her captivity was trapped inside her, threatening to explode. She would make them pay for what they had done to her, to Elizabeth and to Carla. She would make them pay.

"Doctor!" Elizabeth demanded attention. She caught her superior officer's arm, flinching as Beverly swung to face her.

"We are getting out of here, Elizabeth. Now. And nothing will stop us. Understand?"

Elizabeth stepped back, eyes terrified and accusing. She eyed the bloody weapon, taking another step back. After a long moment she swallowed hard, then, without meeting Beverly's eyes, she nodded.

"Good." Beverly waved back at the guard. "Get his weapon. Use it."

Unsteadily, Elizabeth backed away, reaching down to get the disruptor. It was cold and heavy in her hand and she held it awkwardly. Clearly unwilling and unable to use it.

"Let's go," Beverly hissed, and then she was gone, leaving the young woman to follow.

* * * * *

The guards were closing in now. Deanna could feel their cruel hunger for suffering, just as she could feel the cold fury of her friend. It surprised her, and for a moment, she couldn't hold her facade. Crell noticed it, and grunted a warning. Someone was approaching.

"Imperiale, welcome." The Katharian approaching was an imposing figure. He wore the full body armor befitting his powerful status, and four lesser warriors surrounded him, weapons held in proper ceremonial fashion.

Deanna bestowed a tolerant smile upon him. Letting her eyes linger on his body. He was well muscled, and far less repellant than most of his species. His hair was close cropped and he wore the traditional metal headpiece, half crown, half helmet. His forearms were exposed, revealing a mass of tawny hair. Even his fingernails were clean, a rather rare occurrence for Katharians, she imagined.

"I am Gra, the Overseer of this place. Please allow me to see to your pleasure while you are here."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "I have need of workers, Gra. My pleasure is to view your...staff to make my selections."

"Of course, Imperiale. Perhaps some refreshment while I have the staff..." he quirked an ugly smile at the word, "assembled."

"I think not, Gra. My needs are immediate."

"I understand. However..."

She waved an impatient hand at him. "Suitable payment awaits, Gra. Including a handsome gift to thank you for your services. But I am not a patient woman." She reached one hand out and placed it on his chest, her voice and body projecting regal disdain. "I will see the workers. Now. And I will choose those I see fit to serve me."

"Within reason," Gra rumbled, not liking her casual dismissal of his authority.

"Naturally," she responded placidly, motioning him forward. "You may lead."

With a look of annoyance, Gra turned and led the group towards the workers' cells.

* * * * *

"You have the coordinates, Mr. Data?"

"Yes sir." The android replied. Beyond the captain, he caught the eyes of the first officer. "They are well within the Katharian territories."

"Understood." Picard turned towards Will Riker. "Commander Riker, may I speak to you in my Ready Room."

"Aye sir," Riker responded, following his captain into the room, steeling himself for the battle ahead.

Picard took a moment to look out at the stars before taking his seat and gesturing for Will to do the same.

"You object to my bringing the Enterprise this close to the Katharians." It was not a question.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Always, Number One."

Riker relaxed just a little. "Sir, I understand how you feel about losing... crewmembers. But our being here will not help them. If the Katharians realize why we're here, they may harm or even kill Beverly and the others."

"I know that, Will." Picard looked down at his desk with the manner of a man burdened with a secret. After a moment he looked up and met Will's eyes. "But if we're not here, Deanna might find herself in the mines with the others. She will need a diversion. We're it."

"You know?" Will was shocked.

"I'm not without my sources, Will," Picard replied simply, refusing to elaborate.

"Then you know about the plan.”

"Not all the details. But enough."

"Then you know the danger."

Picard looked squarely at Will Riker. "I know."

The silence stretched between them until Will turned away, temporarily defeated, and left the room.

* * * * *

She switched the knife from one hand to the other, wiping the sweat from her palm before picking up the disruptor from the fallen guard. She thumbed the power setting to maximum stun, testing the weapon for weight and balance.

It was time to make the riskiest move and she could feel her body tiring, her resolve flagging. She paused a moment to strengthen herself, to regain focus. When she opened her eyes again she was ready. She would get Elizabeth out of this place if she had to forfeit her own life to do it.

Straightening her shoulders, she turned towards the door to the pit and used the tool to open it. Inside she heard the prisoners gasp in fear.

"Come on," she called quietly. "The door's open. Hurry."

There was the sound of movement, but no one passed the threshold. Again she urged them, feeling the panic rise in her chest.

A young man, strong and muscular, limped slowly past her, watching her cautiously, expecting a trap. Once in the hallway he frowned, leaning slightly towards her, studying her face.

"You're the doctor," he said at last. You fixed Trisk so they could torture him again." His eyes accused her, and from within the cell came threatening rumbles.

"I am a prisoner, like the rest of you. I'm offering you the same chance for freedom as I have. The guards are coming. We must hurry or they'll have us all back in our cells before dinner. Are you with me?" She touched his arm lightly, just one fingertip making contact. "Please. Tell the others it's all right. We can't waste any more time."

He continued to frown, considering her, his face close enough for them to feel each other's breath. Beside her Elizabeth seemed to have stopped breathing. At last the man nodded.

"What is the plan?" he asked, motioning the others out of the cell.

"We need a ship. That's your job. Mine is to sabotage this place. No mine means no need for prisoners."

"That's rather ambitious for one battered group of slaves."

Beverly held up the lighter silently. "If we're caught, I'll set the kolvarite on fire. The whole place will go up in seconds."

"Too risky." He snarled. "What else?"

"Disruptor on overload. Not as spectacular, but effective."

"For a doctor, you're very quick to deal out death," he remarked grimly.

Her eyes held his for a moment, challenging. "I'm leaving. Anyone who doesn't want to join me may return to their cell. Now!"

They were eleven in all, two of them could barely walk, and the third seemed to have gone mad. Beverly left those three behind. She also ordered one more to stay, giving him the tool and orders to free as many prisoners as he could.

There was no reason for her to hide her escape now. Surely the Katharians knew by now. That left seven to find the armory or the control station. They needed access to the communications room and they needed weaponry to control or subdue their captors. As for herself, Beverly needed two more items - a small container of kolvarite, easy to carry yet powerful enough to blow the asteroid to dust if necessary, and vials of anesthezine gas.

This Katharian asteroid mine housed just under two hundred miners, thirty guards, and an administrative staff of twenty. There were already three guards down and two more missing. Gra knew this, but still he played the charming host for his visitor.

When her representative had contacted him suggesting an arrangement in which she would purchase a select number of servants for a handsome price, Gra's reaction had been to deny her. Let her find her own workers. Yet, something about her offer appealed to him, and when she sent an imprint of her royal crest, along with two strips of gold pressed latinum, he had reconsidered.

This woman controlled power he only dreamed of. Let her have her servants. He, in return, would find a way to have her. He used every trick in his arsenal to charm and seduce her, gratified when she responded by allowing him to touch her arm. It wouldn't be long, he gloated silently, before she and her power would be his. An imperial consort was indeed a worthy occupation for one such as he. He smiled at her, his most charming tooth filled smile, stretching his dark lips thinly over pointed gray teeth.

It was all Deanna could do not to shudder. She'd met too many of his type in her youth, ambitious men who loved their idea of her heritage and political power. They didn't bother to learn that Betazed royalty commanded little more power than the average citizen. Instead, they owned lots of property that had to be cared for and were given honorary diplomatic titles that required them to attend endless, boring receptions and civic functions. Deanna's mother carried such titles, but she actually enjoyed most of the duties, attacking them with the same amount of enthusiasm she applied to a gourmet meal. Yet even she knew she held those posts purely because of the governments tolerance, not because she was entitled to any real power. The few privileges her heritage did bring her were on outlying worlds, not her native Betazed.

Deanna allowed Gra to touch her arm again, concentrating on what she hoped were Beverly's emotions. There was a surge of triumph, tinted with grim resolve, and a certain amount of fatalism. It seemed like Beverly, yet there was something different that Deanna couldn't associate with her friend, a savage hatred so against the doctor's nature that Deanna decided she must be mistaken. She tried to focus, concentrating on the emotional signature of that one person, but Gra was talking again, and the fragile connection slipped away, leaving Deanna more uneasy than before.

* * * * *

Beverly was limping and bloody, the knife still clutched in her hand. Three of the seven were dead or dying. Beside her, Elizabeth cried silent tears and clutched her charred hand, in too much pain to do anything but follow Beverly's lead.

They moved quietly, each of them resigned to their fate. They were prepared to die here, but they intended to take as many of their captors with them as they could. The muscular young man who had challenged Beverly now deferred to her. He had seen her fight, and knew her skill was far superior to his own.

They had obtained the kolvarite, at the cost of two of their group. Beverly carried it now, along with vials of a gas that would render the Katharians, and many of the other non-Humans unconscious. They were headed toward the air filtration controls.

"Here's where I leave you." Beverly whispered to the young man. She still didn't know his name, and there wasn't time for pleasantries now. If they survived, she would ask him. "Take the others to the communications center. Get a message out on subspace frequency 0750. Be careful of the wording, the Katharians might intercept. Say that there's a plague aboard killing Katharians and that only humans should attempt contact. We can't risk attracting anyone who's sympathetic to the Katharians or we'll be back where we started."

"You really think that will work?"

"You have a better plan?"

They glared at each other for a few seconds, then the man lowered his gaze. "Whatever you say."

"Good." She offered him a grim smile. "Good luck."

She was gone before he could respond.

* * * * *

On the Katharian border, the Enterprise waited, its captain engaged in heated discussion with a government lackey.

"I don't care what their crimes are, no Federation vessel will be allowed in our territory." The aged Katharian was looking rather yellow in his anger.

"Representative Fru, I understand your position completely," Picard said, soothingly. As the Katharian became more agitated, the captain's manner was deliberately more placating. "It is my concern for the safety of your people that causes me to make this request."

"Feds are no threat to us," Fru sneered, his toad-like face twisting into a sneer. "We are warriors, after all."

"Exactly, Representative. Yet these criminals I speak of are cunning. They are changelings. They have the power to twist a being's very thoughts. They are wanted on seven worlds for their crimes."

"They will be no threat to us, Captain. Your request to travel through our space is denied." He made a derisive snorting sound. "I trust you will not bother me again with your petty problems."

Picard nodded once, lowering his eyes humbly. "As you wish."

As soon as Fru's image was off the viewscreen, Picard turned to Data. "Mr. Data, Number One, my ready room please." As soon as the three officers were in the private office, Picard continued, "Is the yacht ready?"

"Yes sir, Geordi removed all traces of Federation identification and modified the exterior to appear Yridian. He also adjusted the warp drive so it will appear to have been copied from Federation technology. The modifications will make the yacht more maneuverable without losing any of its speed.

"Sir." Will Riker interrupted, "you'll need a good pilot. Request permission..."

"Denied." Picard was emphatic. "Number One, I need you here to protect my ship."

"Commander Data is perfectly capable of taking care of the Enterprise."

"I agree, Number One, but I don't want anyone else involved. This is my mission. I won't have anyone else risk their career for this. Is that understood?"

Riker was reluctant, but finally agreed. "Yes, Sir."

Picard nodded, his eyes conveying far more than the simple gesture.

* * * * *

Deanna walked slowly, as if studying the ragged group of people before her. Already she had seen dozens of prisoners and still no sign of any of the missing Enterprise crew. She was starting to worry.

The momentary distraction allowed Gra to move closer. She could feel his impatience, his lust for power, his arrogance. It was a nauseating mix, and she almost missed the distant flash of triumph. Beverly.

Deanna could tell she was close. She looked around, trying to appear casual, and saw a flash of movement. She took a step forward and grabbed a handful of a workers hair. The woman flinched and took a step backward with Deanna following. It was all she needed to divert the attention of Gra and his guards. The only question now was how to let Beverly know she was here.

* * * * *

The Torellians waited impatiently for the signal. They had no love for the Katharians and welcomed the chance to battle them. This mine was a tempting morsel, located at such a convenient distance from the seat of Katharian government. It would not be long before they ceased following the lead of the woman who had hired them and followed their own destiny of conquering the Katharians.

An amber light on a secondary control panel lit up and the helmsman regarded it for a moment, allowing himself a smile before turning to the others. "Crell has given the signal."

"Alert the others, then we take the mine."

"But remember to safeguard the woman. We haven't been paid yet."

"Of course, the first officer grinned. By all means make sure the woman and her companions are freed."

The rest of the Torellians laughed, as each one took up their weapon and prepared to enter the mine.

* * * * *

At first Beverly didn't recognize the woman, the clothing and hairstyle were so different from Deanna's usual look. She barely glanced at her as she tried to conceal herself in the shadows. She didn't know what made her look again. The realization that her friend was here, and clearly not a prisoner was a shock. Her resolve faltered, and for just a moment, the enormity of what she had done, and what she was prepared to do left her weak.

Beverly felt eyes upon her, accusing, even though her eyes were closed. She had brought them to this, had cost three men their lives. She had been so sure there would be no rescue. Had she sacrificed so much for nothing?

Angry, she stopped the self doubts that filled her mind. Now was not the time to second-guess herself. They were not free yet. There would be time for regrets and recriminations later, when she and Elizabeth were safely away from this place.

The vial of kolvarite was in her pocket, along with the lighter. She felt the weight of them pressed against her thigh. Angel of mercy, harbinger of death. She was both and neither. Yet she would likely die as one of those now, her identity subsumed by what was necessary. As it was so often.

But was this necessary? She pressed herself back into the shadows and tried to calm her rapid breathing and frantic heartbeats. She couldn't reconcile Deanna's presence with her desperate plans for escape. What should she do? She couldn't risk getting caught, or letting Elizabeth be captured. Did she dare trust her fate to Deanna? She just didn't know.

The pain of it burned worse than the wound on her leg, but she disciplined herself against it and started moving again, slipping away from her friend. There were others counting on her, and she would not fail them. She had to do this herself.

* * * * *

Crell's communication badge vibrated silently against his chest signaling his men's readiness. He moved forward towards the woman, bowing his head in deference to her station.

"Imperiale, forgive me."

Deanna stepped back from the line of slaves and from Gra, grateful for the excuse. The waves of lust were threatening to drown her. "Yes, Crell?"

"There is a communication for you, Imperiale. A matter of some urgency."

Deanna frowned in annoyance, delaying as she tried to divine his purpose in getting her back to the ship. She sensed his urgency and his sincere concern. She turned to Gra. "I must deal with this. You understand," she told him, clearly not caring if he did or didn't. She turned back to him for a moment, touching his arm and leaning close to purr, "I will return shortly." Before Gra could respond, she motioned for Crell to precede her and she walked away.

Gra watched her walk away, smiling. His charm was obviously working. Soon he would have her, and her power. He looked back at the line of slaves, feeling benevolent, and motioned the guards to lead them away.

* * * * *

"What are you doing?" Deanna whispered as she strode down the corridor beside Crell.

"There is a communication for you. From someone named Picard."

Deanna frowned, sensing there was deception in his words, yet unable to determine the source. She hadn't told him, or any of the other Torellians who she really was. How would they know about her captain?

They reached a cross corridor and turned left, walking at a brisk pace. They were close to the docking ports now, but there were no guards about as there had been when she'd arrived.

Deanna was about to comment about the emptiness of the corridor when a flash of emotion, white-hot in its intensity, stopped her short.

Beverly.

She followed the source of the primal emotions to its source, moving faster as she got closer. She was running when she turned the next corner and saw her.

Beverly was standing over the body of a fallen guard, a flash of silver in her hand streaking down until it hit the guard with a sickening sound. The rest was silent, until she reached down and pulled hard withdrawing the blade from the still body. Without a sound she turned towards the new arrivals, her movements savage and efficient.

Deanna stopped, immobile against the torrent of emotion, the scene before her surreal. Her mind closed, shielding itself from the brutality of her friend's emotions.

"Beverly."

Deanna forced herself to move forward, every cell in her body protesting.

The blade glittered dull red in the harsh light of the corridor. Beverly gripped it tighter, watching the woman move closer.

"Put the knife down, Beverly."

"Who is that?" she countered, not lowering her defenses at all.

"His name is Crell, Beverly. He's with me. We came to rescue you." Deanna moved forward slowly, her hands open, palms out. "You're safe now. Come with us."

Beverly relaxed a little, the blade of the knife moving downward just a little. "The Enterprise is here?"

Deanna was almost close enough to touch her now. She reached out, trying to reassure her friend, pleased to feel more of the emotions she was used to feeling from Beverly.

"They're nearby. Where are the others?"

"Elizabeth is on her way to the communication center. Carla is dead."

Deanna looked down, tears stinging her eyes, the coldness of her friend overwhelming her. She didn't try to hide the moisture, hoping the sight of it would reach Beverly's deeply buried grief.

"I'm sorry."

Crell moved forward and Deanna felt Beverly tense, noting how the doctor's hand clutched the handle of the knife.

"Crell, we have to get to Elizabeth. Do you know where ..."

He nodded once and turned, leading them quickly and silently away from the body of the guard.

* * * * *

Elizabeth was breathing hard, her chest aching and her body covered in sweat. She had taken refuge in an air duct along with the others and they were trying to crawl through the cramped filthy metalwork without making any noise. The three of them had been cut off from the communication room by a group of 5 guards. They had no weapons left, and two of them were wounded.

Elizabeth fought back tears as her injured hand contacted the metal. She had little use of that arm, but couldn't crawl without it. She didn't dare hold back the others. They were depending on her. Just as she had depended on her superior officer to save her. She didn't intend to betray these men as Crusher had betrayed her. Unlike Crusher, she was no murderer. Hatred flared within her, distracting her for a moment, making her face hot.

Ahead she heard one of the men hiss a warning, and she lay flat, trying to control her breathing and the wild beating of her heart. She pushed away the sight of her superior officer driving the deadly knife deep into the heart of the Katharian guard. A wave of nausea made her swallow hard and she found herself wishing for oblivion.

Long minutes passed, and then there was a creaking sound of old metal giving. It shook the duct and rang through her head, making her want to scream. She bit down hard on her lower lip and concentrated on being silent.

"We're clear," the leader whispered.

The first man had to go past the opening, then let himself down backwards. It was a few seconds of vulnerability that had them all holding their breath. The second man went faster with help, and he covered them as Elizabeth eased herself down, trying to hold on with just one hand. Her training was propelling her movements, or perhaps her desperate need to survive - she wasn't sure which. She just knew that she didn't want to die here in this place where she had been betrayed.

She glanced around, taking in the small room. If their calculations were right, they should be next to the communications center. From beyond the wall they could hear voices. Checking their weapons, they gave each other one last look of encouragement, and moved forward.

* * * * *

Deanna moved down the corridor as carefully as she could. She found herself distracted by the foreign emotions emanating from her friend. The close proximity was making it difficult to think. Reluctantly she closed herself off, erecting mental barriers to keep Beverly's rage out of her head. She had already given up trying to sift though the other emotional patterns to find Elizabeth. She just didn't know the woman well enough to identify her emotions among so many others.

Crell was in the lead, motioning them to stop, then cautiously moving past the intersecting hallway. He took the disruptor from its holster and trained it into the distance, before signaling for them to follow.

Deanna made it safely across, then turned to see Beverly stop and turn towards the other hallway. A half second of hesitation, and she was gone, moving swiftly away from them before they could call her back.

The Torellian swore and moved forward, grabbing Deanna's wrist as he went. He wasn't about to let them get separated now. He'd only have to waste time looking for her again later.

It took all of Deanna's concentration to stay up with him. The corridor was poorly lit and the ground was rough, as if they were walking on the surface of the asteroid. The air was stale here, and it was hot.

Ahead, Beverly stopped suddenly, her head canted as she listened. It was all the time Crell needed to catch up to her.

"What do you think you're doing, woman?" he demanded. He had no desire to lose the generous payment Deanna had promised but he had no patience for foolishness.

Beverly jerked away from his touch, pulling her arm free of his grasp, the knife she carried flashing in the light as she raised it defensively. "Don't touch me."

Crell took a small step back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I won't," he assured her.

"We're near the communication center."

Crell looked at her suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"Doesn't matter." She fumbled in the folds of her clothing and pulled out the vial of kolvarite.

Crell took an involuntary step backward at the sight of the green-gold liquid. She had enough in that vial to blow them all to the hereafter.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded.

Deanna interrupted, "Beverly, what are you planning to do with that?"

"Elizabeth and the others were to get to the communication center. I'm to meet them there. If they didn't succeed in getting a message out, I'm supposed to destroy the mine. But..."

"Stupid woman!" Crell hissed, cutting off whatever Beverly was going to say next. "That much kolvarite will not just destroy the mine it'll blow this asteroid and everyone on it to the afterlife." Crell made a grab for the vial. Beverly moved it out of his reach and brought up the point of the knife.

"I know," she replied evenly.

"Beverly...." Deanna started to speak, but stopped when she heard the sound. It was a scream. "Elizabeth!" she gasped, moving fast in the direction of the sound.

* * * * *

They were pinned in, trapped in the small dirty storage room and rapidly running out of options. The guards simply had to wait until they were hungry or thirsty or until their weapons ran out of power. It would all be over soon. Elizabeth felt an odd kind of relief at the thought.

There was commotion in the corridor, shouting and the sound of weapons firing. Elizabeth felt herself begin to tremble. The harder she tried to control it, the worse her tremors became until she felt as if her teeth were about to rattle out of her head. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and her hand throbbed in time with the staccato sounds in the corridor. She didn't want to die.

Ashamed of herself, she pressed herself back into a corner and slid to the floor, her head on her knees. She didn't want to hear, she didn't want to see, and she didn't want to be here anymore. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was in Starfleet. She was a scientist. These things couldn't happen to her.

A touch sent her over the edge, and the screams that had threatened to escape for hours did so now. She was out of her mind, screaming nonsense until someone slapped her hard and the sudden pain stopped her.

Hands gripped her arms, and somehow she was on her feet, although still pressed against the wall. The support was reassuring and she managed to open her eyes.

"Listen to me. You are all right. Can you hear me? Do you understand? Elizabeth you are all right."

Before her was the face of what she feared most - the face of the woman she had once revered, and now hated. She had seen her, pampered by the guards, always clean and unmarked by the punishment devices. She had heard the stories of the people this great physician had killed.

Elizabeth pulled back hard and hit her head. For a moment she saw stars. When she could see clearly again, the face was gone, and in its place was the Counselor. Troi. She could trust her.

A spear of ice cold fear stabbed her. She had once trusted that other face. And she had been betrayed by it. What if... She looked around, and saw her in the distance, her back turned, hiding her deceitful face. Elizabeth felt a moment of pure anger, and the nightmare image of that gruesome knife appeared, hovering in the air before driving downward, striking down the angel of cruel mercies. Divine retribution.

As the vision faded, Elizabeth smiled and slid to the floor, senseless.

* * * * *

The Torellians made short work of the guards, using the chaos created by the escaped prisoners to their advantage. They lined up the Katharians and marched them into the pit, making sure Gra was the last to go.

The man went with the dazed manner of someone living through an experience he simply could not comprehend. Even as the door was closed and locked, he stood in the center of the room demanding to talk to the Imperiale. The Torellians ignored him as they went about freeing the rest of the prisoners.

He kept shouting until his voice had long gone hoarse. Not even the guards paid him any attention.

* * * * *

Crell sat in the tiny dining area of the Torellian ship watching as Beverly Crusher ate. She was wary of him, and watched him from under the ragged fringe of bangs that half hid her eyes. Once Beverly's wounds were tended, Deanna had insisted that she change out of her filthy clothes and shower before eating. While she was in the shower, the knife had disappeared. Beverly felt vulnerable without it.

The soup and soft bread were gone by the time Deanna returned from talking to Picard. She took a seat beside Beverly, careful not to get too close. Her friend was still skittish, and she didn't want to alarm her further. After Elizabeth collapsed, Crell had carried her back to the ship and placed her in the tiny infirmary area. Deanna had refused to let Beverly treat her, and the doctor had numbly agreed, haunted by the terror and condemnation she had seen in the young woman's eyes.

Now, clean and fed, Beverly seemed a bit more like her usual self. The weeks she'd spent in the mine had taken their toll, leaving her gaunt and haggard looking. Her eyes seemed even larger in her pale face, and her hands were in constant motion. She sat hunched in on herself, as if she were used to being hit.

Deanna quietly noted all of this, trying to project an air of safety and security. She had objected to Crell taking Beverly's knife, but the Torellian was adamant. Despite her training, part of Deanna agreed with  him. She knew that losing the weapon would be traumatic for Beverly, yet Deanna was more afraid of what might happen if the doctor was allowed to keep the deadly blade. Thankfully Beverly willingly surrendered the lighter and the vial of kolvarite.

The events of the last hours had caught up to her, and Deanna was exhausted. She wasn't ready or capable of dealing with Beverly or Elizabeth just yet. Instead, she busied herself with small things, recycling Beverly's ruined clothing and replicating a few necessities for her.

When Beverly had finished eating, Deanna cleared away the dishes, then returned to her seat and asked Crell to fill them in on what was happening. The Torellian was delighted, and he smiled a roguish smile that made him look like pictures of pirates Deanna had seen in holovids.

"I won't bore you with the long history of problems we Torellians have had with the Katharians. Many generations ago, they took lands that were ours and drove us to the stars. Since then, we have wandered, taking what we need to live while the Katharians have enjoyed the riches of our worlds."

"Now," he continued, "they are paying for their arrogance. We have the backing of other people who have been wronged by the Katharians. Our alliance is strong, but we play the weaklings, staging little skirmishes at the edges of the Katharian empire."

Crell sneered, "The Katharians think we are weak, but they are fools. In their arrogance, they've spread themselves and their troops too thin. That is where we come in. This mine is a prize we've been wanting for a very long time. Without it, the Katharians lose not just the resources of the mine, but the inviolability of their empire as well. We now have a foothold near one of their oldest planets. A place where the Katharians have taken their own people for granted long enough that they are more sympathetic to our ideas."

"How convenient for you that I needed a Torelli ship and crew."

Crell laughed, "Indeed, Imperiale. Indeed."

"So now what?" Deanna asked, feeling a bit foolish at being deceived so completely.

"Now we return you and your friends to your ship and you leave. This isn't a Federation matter. My men have already escorted your captain back to the Enterprise." He smiled. "He was not very happy."

Deanna nodded. During their brief subspace conversation, he'd made that fact very clear. She knew he understood the delicate situation they were in, and would do nothing to anger the Torellians. But that didn't mean he had to like the situation, and neither did she.

Beside her, Beverly was silent, one hand digging into the other, leaving scratches. Deanna saw this, yet said nothing, sending up a silent thanks for having her friend back. The Torelli could fight when forced, but they were nothing like the savage Katharians. Crell had assured her that the prisoners in the mine would be freed, and she knew he was telling her the truth.

* * * * *

They had been damned lucky and Jean-Luc Picard knew it. He accepted the return of his officers with heartfelt thanks, and took the Torellis’ advice to get out of the sector as soon as possible.

They were now headed to a nearby starbase for some R&R. It would give the crew a chance to relax, and him a chance to file all the reports that Starfleet would demand after hearing about this. It would also give Deanna and Dr. Timms some time to treat Beverly and Ensign Harris.

Initial reports on the Ensign's physical condition were good - except for her hand, her injuries had been minor. The hand would require microsurgery to repair damaged nerves, but the prognosis was good. She would be on medical leave for at least 2 weeks while she regained some of her lost body weight and spent time in counseling. Therapy for her hand would take a few weeks longer.

The reports on Beverly were both better and worse than Elizabeth's. Physically, Beverly had fewer injuries, but emotionally, she seemed to be even worse than the young researcher. Deanna had turned many of her duties over to the other counselors to devote her full attention to Beverly. The problem was that Beverly was refusing treatment.

* * * * *

"Tell me again," Deanna urged the angry woman standing at the far side of the room. Although Beverly's back was towards her, Deanna knew the expression that was on her face.

"Why?"

"Because you can't get back to work until I clear you. And I won't clear you until you talk to me."

"Who said I wanted to go back?"

There were a few beats of stunned silence before Deanna managed to ask, "Then what do you want to do?"

"I want off this ship."

"Why?"

"Because." Beverly turned towards her, angry and frustrated. "Because I don't want to be here any more. Because I'm tired of answering your questions. Because I've had enough of fighting battles I can't win. Just... because!" In frustration, Beverly turned to the viewport again, her fist striking the bulkhead over and over.

Deanna watched, letting her friend tire herself out before speaking again. "Have you been to Sickbay? Have you talked to Elizabeth."

"You know perfectly well that I haven't. Stop asking me pointless questions."

"Stop being a martyr." Deanna's tone was cold.

"Oh but why?" Beverly laughed, a self-mocking sound that hurt the ears. "It's a proud Howard tradition."

"Just like hiding? Like wallowing in self-pity? Like playing the pitiful wounded child?" Deanna rose slowly from the sofa, bone weary from these sessions and the emotional toll it was taking on her.

"Think what you like, Deanna. Nothing I can say or do will change anyone else's opinions of me."

"Especially not Elizabeth's," Deanna stated.

"Especially not Elizabeth's," Beverly repeated, with just the slightest catch in her voice.

Deanna moved closer, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder, and together they stood, looking out at the cold blackness of space and thinking of nothing.

* * * * *

It was late. Deanna had been gone for hours. Beverly had refused to let anyone else in. Now she stood, alone, still looking out the viewport and wishing for oblivion.

After a long time, she moved away, walking silently to the door and out into the bright corridor. After the darkness of her room, the brightness stung her eyes, making them water. She dashed the moisture away, impatient that it could be seen as a sign of weakness. She wouldn't allow that.

The route to Sickbay was short and automatic. She never once consciously decided to go there, but Deanna's words from earlier in the day drove her on. She had to see Elizabeth. She owed it to the young woman.

The night nurse nodded a greeting to her, but remained where she was, treating a young man for a nasty scrape. Beyond, in Beverly's office, sat the doctor on duty, eyes intent on the computer screen. Beverly moved to the right, out of her line of sight.

Elizabeth was in one of the private rooms where the doctor could monitor her full time. She'd been unable to sleep, and had refused to remain in her quarters alone. Beverly hesitated a moment before opening the door.

Elizabeth was awake, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She stared at Beverly, as if she didn't recognize her. Suddenly her expression changed from confusion into revulsion. She stood, backing away until she was pressed against the wall. Beverly could see her trembling.

"Leave me alone." Elizabeth whispered hoarsely. "Please. Don't hurt me."

Beverly took a step forward, wanting to comfort the frightened woman.

Elizabeth stopped her by bursting into tears. "Please, please don't kill me." She sobbed brokenly. "Please."

The nurse arrived, assessed the situation, and quickly turned to Beverly. "I'm sorry, Doctor. You need to leave."

Beverly hesitated, then took another step forward. "Elizabeth."

"Get away from me!" Elizabeth shrieked. "Murderer!"

"Doctor, please." The nurse was reluctant to give her boss orders.

Beverly stepped back, looking from one woman to the other, a feeling of unreality prickling at the edges of her mind. She felt disassociated from her surroundings, as if she were having a nightmare. Her face felt hot.

"Beverly." Coria was suddenly beside her, taking her arm and guiding her out of the room. Behind her, Beverly heard the hiss of a hypospray, and Elizabeth went silent. The quiet sent Beverly into a panic. She looked around wildly. Coria's hand felt cold and heavy, like the iron manacles she'd seen in the mine. She backed away, desperately trying to calm herself. She had to be calm. She had to keep her head. It was the only way to survive.

The door hissed open and Jean-Luc entered, clad in off duty clothing, his manner that of a man who'd been roused from a sound sleep. He took a few steps towards her, smiling gently.

Beverly backed away another step, and felt the edge of a biobed at her back. Nowhere to run. She took a shaky breath, fighting for calm.

"Beverly, it's late. Why don't you come with me?" Jean-Luc offered, taking another step forward. She watched him warily.

"Come on." He held out his hand and took another step, and another.

Beverly's heart beat wildly, but her mind seemed to calm. Survival mode. She reached out with one hand, letting him touch her.

Jean-Luc rewarded her with a bigger smile, but she could see the wariness, and the concern in his eyes. She caused everyone so much pain. The knowledge clamped down on her, making her want to cry. Instead, she took another step towards him. When they were face to face, she offered him a tiny smile.

"I'm all right," she told him, lying with a rock-steady voice. "You don't need to worry about me, Jean-Luc. Why don't you go back to bed. I can take care of myself."

As if to prove her words, she smiled again, then dropped his hand and moved away. She paused beside the table for just a moment. She touched the tricorder, the hypospray, the neural stimulator, and her hands began to shake. All these things, the instruments of healing, and she had perverted every one into instruments of death. Tears burning her eyes, she turned away, leaving Sickbay. Behind her the doors slid shut, closing on Jean-Luc, Sickbay, and her life as a doctor. The empty corridor stretched before her, a symbol of her future.

* * * * *

"There has to be something we can do," Picard insisted, the frown on his face deepening. He didn't blame the counselor for this situation, yet he couldn't stop himself from feeling as if she should be doing more.

"Captain," Deanna started speaking, then stopped, trying a new method. "There are limits to what anyone can do. Right now Beverly is struggling to come to terms with her captivity. Something happened to her on that asteroid, but she won't tell me what. And Elizabeth is too traumatized to be of any help."

"How is Ensign Harris?"

"Recovering slowly. Dr. Timms wants to keep her in Sickbay a little longer. Elizabeth is still having nightmares. Being in Sickbay seems to help. Her hand is much better. She'll have to continue with physical therapy for another week, but then she should be physically able to return to limited duty."

"Her other injuries?" Picard asked delicately, unwilling to say more.

"She was assaulted many times. Luckily, there were few serious physical injuries. The emotional impact was severe, but I am confident she will recover from that as well. In context of her captivity, the sexual assaults seem to have had less effect than whatever events are causing her to react so violently to Beverly."

"And you have no idea what that might be?" Picard asked anxiously. He had never seen Beverly like this before, despite the many tragedies she had endured. He didn't care to speculate about an event so terrible as to drive his friend nearly to madness.

"I have my suspicions, Sir. But what's important is getting Beverly to talk about what happened. We can't help her until she's at least willing to talk about it."

"She refuses to see me," Picard said, his tone plaintive.

"She lets me in, because she has to. But she doesn't talk. We spend hours just sitting in silence."

"She intends to leave, doesn't she?"

Deanna hesitated a moment, then slowly nodded her head. It was all the confirmation Jean-Luc Picard needed. He leaned forward and took Deanna's hand. "I never thanked you for what you did for Beverly and Elizabeth."

"It's not necessary, Sir. Beverly is my friend."

"She is my friend as well." Picard stood, sharply tugging the edge of his shirt into place. He took a few steps away, towards the portal, looking at the stars streaking past. Turning back towards Deanna, he continued, "As of 0800 hours tomorrow I am on leave. I have taken the liberty of making arrangements for a stay on Feiros Prime. Will you release Beverly into my care so she may accompany me?"

Deanna hesitated, then stood, reluctantly shaking her head. "I am sorry, Sir, but I do not believe it is in Beverly's best interest to be away from the Enterprise at this time. She has suffered a traumatic experience, and until I know more about what happened to her on that asteroid, I do not believe she should be out of my care." Deanna felt the captain's surge of disappointment and relief. "Sir, if I may offer an alternative?"

"Please, Counselor."

"I wish to try hypnotherapy, with Beverly's consent of course."

"And if she refuses?"

"Then I will order her to undergo a full battery of psychological testing."

"Isn't that a bit harsh, Deanna? You said yourself that Beverly had suffered a severe trauma."

"I know, sir. But given Beverly's psych profile, confrontation is often the only way to force her to deal with traumatic events." Deanna softened her tone. "You know better than anyone how good Beverly is at putting up a front."

Picard nodded, quoting one of her reports back at her. "She internalizes too much."

"We have to force her to deal with this before she has time to hide it away. It won't be easy." Deanna hesitated a moment, then added with painful honesty, "And it may prove damaging."

Picard accepted the counselor's warning. "Make it so."

It wasn't until the doors slid closed marking Deanna's retreat that Picard allowed himself a moment of unguarded emotion, revealing only to the solid blackness of space the fear that gripped him. Fear that this time he'd lost Beverly for good.

* * * * *

It took only two days for Deanna to declare hypnotherapy a failure. Beverly wasn't cooperating at all, even under the influence of the hypnosis and drugs. She had revealed some of what had happened during her captivity, but any mention of Elizabeth or Carla stopped the session cold. Either she wasn't ready, or wasn't capable of facing those events. Every day that passed with no progress made it less likely that Beverly would ever fully recover.

Reluctantly, Deanna decided to try confrontational therapy instead. She notified the captain and made arrangements that the new therapy would begin in the morning. She didn't get to keep that appointment.

The distress call came in just after the start of the third watch. A transport ship carrying mostly families bound for an agricultural colony on the outer rim of the Tranndix system had run into a meteor storm and sustained severe damage. The Enterprise was the largest ship to respond, and its crew found themselves coordinating the rescue efforts. Engineering was kept busy trying to repair the damage while Sickbay activated all crewmembers with medical training to assist in treating the wounded.

* * * * *

Beverly Crusher lay in the sofa in her quarters with her head turned away from the viewport. She had no desire to see the stars or the damaged ship. Her eyes were closed, but she could still see the red alert signal flashing. There was nowhere she could go to hide from the fact that she was not allowed to treat the wounded.

When the call went out for personnel to assist treating the wounded, she had considered going to the triage center in cargobay four. Surely there was enough work to be done that they would let her assist. She was halfway down the hall when the cold reality of her situation hit her. She was currently on medical leave, meaning that she was not authorized or allowed to serve any function on board the ship.

Mouth set in a grim line, she abruptly turned and went back to her quarters where she downed two glasses of Picard sherry before collapsing onto the couch. She lay there, fingernails digging into the skin of her hands until they bled. She didn't notice.

Restlessly she left the couch, unable to settle herself. She finally decided to try the arboretum. She often found peace among the exotic plants. Tonight she found it lonely. Ten-Forward was no better. There were only a few people there, all civilians, and Guinan was nowhere to be found.

She wandered randomly, mostly through the less-traveled decks, until she finally arrived at one of the smaller holodecks. It was used mostly for training and experiments, but there was no one using it now.

She didn't bother to access any of her usual programs. She wasn't in the mood for any of them now. The choices scrolled past as she idly tapped commands into the console. At length she accessed some of the training programs. Most of them she passed with barely a glance, but at last she found an old program of Worf's. She tapped a key to activate it and entered the room.

The surroundings were familiar - she'd seen this in Worf's calisthenics program. But this one was different, with less detail, and it was darker. Perfect. She ordered a weapon and spent a few minutes stretching and getting use to the weight of the batl'eth in her hands. She suffered a few scratches, and finally decided she wasn't in the mood for this kind of fight. Instead, she changed the Klingon weapon for a dagger. Better.

With a grim smile, she ordered the program to begin and took a defensive stance. The roar of a nearby enemy both startled and thrilled her.

* * * * *

Deanna Troi was worried. She'd tried to contact Beverly, to let her know she'd temporarily reinstated her status as medical personnel. Beverly hadn't answered, and a quick check revealed the doctor was on the holodeck. Focusing on the woman's emotions didn't make Deanna feel any better.

She explained the matter quickly to the captain in the privacy of his ready room. She was deeply concerned about Beverly, but felt it would be better for Picard to talk to her. Deanna didn't have to be an empath to know how Beverly felt about her these days.

Picard accepted Deanna's suggestion without hesitation. Beverly had been distant since she returned and he missed being with her. Exchanging a few words with Riker, Picard left the bridge, confident that the transport and its people were in good hands.

* * * * *

The setting had changed as the levels increased. The dense vegetation had changed to a open meadow, and then a rocky slope. Now she stood before two massive doors leading into a mammoth structure. Beverly hesitated, looking around her, every sense alert for the sound of the enemy. After catching her breath, she activated the door controls and watched carefully as they slid apart, revealing a dimly lit corridor stretching far into the distance.

She swallowed hard against a moment of panic. This was too much. She really should stop. A sound from behind convinced her otherwise. Racing into the building, she pounded the door control and watched as they slid slowly towards each other, closing out the daylight. From behind her came the sound of running feet.

* * * * *

He studied the display for a moment, curious what program Beverly might be running. He didn't like the answer. What was she doing running one of Worf's training exercises?

Opening the door, he entered, feeling a bit awkward about intruding. That was the problem with the holodeck. People were always wandering in and out when someone was trying to relax. It was rather annoying. But that didn't stop him from doing it.

On the ground in front of him was the body of a humanoid reptile. Its eyes were open but unseeing as it lay in a pool of blood. He swallowed hard and looked away. What was Beverly doing here?

A weapon lay on the ground stained a sickly red. He picked it up uneasily and cleaned it on nearby foliage before moving on. The trail of carnage pointed the way, and he moved on grimly, fearful of what horror he would find next.

He was glad to see the structure ahead. Surely Beverly was there. He didn't speculate about what she was doing here. He no longer wanted to know.

* * * * *

The footsteps were louder, the sound of hard soles on the metal floor. Beverly pressed herself back into the shadows and wiped the sweat from her forehead, oblivious to the smear of blood she left behind.

It was miserably hot here and the air was stale and foul smelling. She swallowed hard and tried to breathe through her mouth. She no longer thought about being on the holodeck. She no longer thought at all. It was pure survival instinct that drove her on. She no longer wanted to fight, or to kill. She just wanted to escape.

The footsteps were closer now, and oddly, she heard her name. Her panic increased. She couldn't let them catch her.

"Beverly."

She heard it clearer now, although distorted, as if echoing off the metal walls. It sounded a little like Jean-Luc. She slid to the right, making for the cross-corridor. She'd be exposed for only a few seconds, yet she couldn't bring herself to move just yet.

The footsteps came closer. The voice called her again.

Taking a breath, she dove for the other wall, shocked when she made it. Helplessly she curled into a ball and shook.

"Beverly."

The footsteps were running towards her now, the voice getting louder. She steeled herself, unable to find the strength to stand. Her fingers curved around the handle of her weapon, bracing it for the deathblow.

"Beverly?" A hand reached for her and she screamed, thrusting the knife up at an angle with deadly accuracy, the strength of her body behind it. She felt a moment of resistance, then her arm was grabbed and she was turned hard and slammed to the floor, a weight pressed along the length of her body.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

It took long painful seconds for her panic-filled brain to register the sight, sound and smell of the person lying on top of her.

"Jean-Luc?" she asked quietly, not quite able to believe what her senses were telling her.

"Yes, damn it. What are you trying to do, kill me?"

She couldn't answer, instead, she began to struggle for breath, her lungs fighting for air against the tightness of her chest. She gasped, then started to cough, which changed into choking. Desperately she tried to breathe, but the harder she tried, the worse it got.

"Beverly? What's wrong?" Jean-Luc moved off her, gently turning her and helping her to sit up. He could feel her struggling to catch her breath, her whole body trembling.

She grabbed his arms, clutching them as she fought to control herself. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks, yet she couldn't bring herself to let go of Jean-Luc long enough to wipe them away.

He held her tight, murmuring comfort and rocking her gently as he wiped away the tears and stroked her hair. He wasn't prepared for the creature that appeared brandishing a deadly looking weapon.

"End program!" he shouted. In his arms, Beverly started violently, then burrowed deeper into his embrace, sobbing. Around them, the surroundings gave way to the familiar yellow and black gridded room.

"It's all right," he assured her over and over. Still she clung to him, her breathing shaky and her hands digging into his arms. It took him a long time to calm her down. When she was finally breathing normally again, and her trembling and sobs had calmed, he helped her to her feet. Only then did he realize he was bleeding.

"Merde," he muttered, pressing his hand to the wounded forearm. It stung quite a bit but the damage was minimal, merely a scratch from the knife she'd been holding when he arrived.

The sight of the blood seemed to trigger something in Beverly. In a torrent, she began to speak, her voice high-pitched and almost child-like. She apologized over and over and then she told him everything that she'd told Deanna - about the beatings and abuse, about the torment of her captivity. And then she told him about the deaths.

She was so fragile in his arms, like porcelain, ready to crack with the slightest pressure. He inspected her face and hands, covered in blood and bruises. His heart ached for her. Shifting his hold on her, he tapped his commbadge and ordered the transporter chief to transport them both to Beverly's quarters.

The comforting surroundings of her quarters helped to calm her. Beverly stepped away from Jean-Luc, color rising on her cheeks, her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up?" he suggested. "I'll order some dinner. I don't know about you, but I'm famished." He ducked his head a bit trying to catch her eye.

She offered him a faint smile, still not really looking at him and moved away. After several minutes, he heard water running. Beverly always did prefer real water showers instead of sonics.

Jean-Luc found the medical kit and used it to clean and repair his wounded arm. When he was finished, he closed up the kit but left it out for when Beverly was out of the shower. Some of her cuts would need treatment.

Hearing the water stop, he hurried to get supper on the table, choosing light items that he knew Beverly liked. As a treat, he ordered her favorite desert - Torvian cloud cake, and set it on the side table for later. He had just placed the tea service when she emerged. She had taken the time to apply a little makeup, but it couldn't hide her injuries. Knowing better than to make an issue of them, he helped her treat them, then escorted her to the table.

She made a valiant effort to eat, but the portions she took were small, and the amount she consumed even smaller. Mostly she slid the food around on the plate, arranging it as if trying to cover how little she was eating. Jean-Luc watched it all, and didn't comment. Instead, he tried to keep the mostly one-sided conversation light. He spoke of upcoming social events scheduled, and of the latest ship's gossip. He even told her one of Will Riker's jokes. She smiled and laughed in all the right places. Jean-Luc didn't buy the act for one minute.

"Ready for dessert?" he asked, rising, and reaching out to take her plate. He asked permission with his eyes, but she didn't see it. She still wouldn't meet his gaze.

The cloud cake was a bit more successful than the dinner. It had been one of Beverly's weaknesses for years, and Jean-Luc had made it a point to always bring one when he visited Jack and Beverly's home. After Jack's death, he found other sweets to give her instead. Until now.

He watched the swirl of sugarfrost shift as he leaned closer to cut the cake, his breath making it move. He could feel Beverly's eyes watching him as he concentrated on keeping the sugarfrost smooth. That was the tricky part. Too much air at the wrong time and all of the sweet topping would end up on one side of the cake.

He managed to cut the cake and get it onto a plate without losing too much frosting. Beverly applauded, then took the piece he offered her. They ate in silence, although Jean-Luc did keep an eye on her plate, noticing that she ate barely half before starting to play. She was trying to make a little sugarfrost twister with her fork when he decided he had had enough.

She didn't protest when he took the plate away, merely set down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. He cleared the table quickly, but did leave the rest of the cake for later. His movements were quick and none too quiet as he shoved things into the recycler. Beverly flinched at the loud noises, but still wouldn't look at his face.

The last teacup slid from his hand and shattered on the floor. With it went Jean-Luc's composure. He swore, his fist striking the wall beside the recycler. Behind him Beverly gasped. He knew she was crying again without even looking. He could hear her ragged breathing. He couldn't do this again.

"Damn it!" he shouted, turning to her and grabbing her arms. He pulled her up out of her chair and into his embrace. Surprise broke through the sorrow on her face but didn't reach her eyes. He was so tired of this - so tired of sorrow and pain; the very fates conspiring against them. It had already cost them twenty-five years. How much more could they be expected to endure.

Defying the fates, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her hard. He held her tight against him and felt her respond, her arms against his back, her lips moving with his. He broke the kiss, moving his mouth up to kiss the tears away, then claimed her mouth again. His tongue explored her mouth, and she gladly exposed the sweet recesses to him.

As they kissed, their hands worked together, loosening clothing here, moving against bare flesh there, until they were both lost in their desire. As one they moved into the bedroom and made passionate desperate love. It was devastating in its intensity and left them both exhausted. Sleep claimed them both moments later as they lay in each others arms.

An hour later Beverly awoke, driven out of slumber by nightmares. She was in that fragile state, half sleeping, half awake when the full significance of her situation overwhelmed her.

Carefully, she slid out of bed and into her robe. The outer room beckoned and she went, touching nothing, just standing, staring out at the stars. She desperately wished she could lose herself in lovemaking again. For that too brief time, she had allowed herself to forget, but forgetting or denying would only make a bad situation worse. She would never use Jean-Luc that way. He deserved so much more.

A chill shook her. He did deserve more, so much more than what little she could offer. She was like the void beyond the window, unfathomably black and cold and deadly.

Deadly.

She might have laughed if her soul didn't ache so much already. The irony was too strong to resist, and she collapsed into the nearest chair, her legs no longer able to support her. She'd spent her entire life defying death - on Arvada, in Starfleet, as a doctor. She fancied herself a healer, yet she'd been on intimate terms with death for decades. For all those victories, for the people whose lives she prolonged, death demanded reparation, taking away those she loved. It was time she stopped pretending.

Who would trust her as a doctor after what she'd done in the Katharian mines? Who wanted a doctor that killed?

It was that question that made her decision. Dressing quickly, Beverly composed a brief message to Deanna and sent it before cowardice could make her rethink her actions. When it was gone, she sat back, tears wetting her lashes. She wiped them away angrily. No more crying.

* * * * *

Jean-Luc awoke alone, Beverly's side of the bed cold. He rose slowly with the beginnings of a headache throbbing at his temples. Not bothering to dress, he went into the outer room. Empty. The soggy remnants of the cake drew his attention for a moment and he drew a finger through the last of the sugarfrost. Most of it had dissipated, leaving a sticky film on the table. Traced into it were the words, "I will always love you."

He studied the message, sure that there was more to it than the words were saying. He noticed the scattered spots of moisture, the broken script. Then he noticed the knife. There was nothing unusual about it, but the sight of it made him uneasy. He returned to the bedroom, using sonics to get clean and dry fast before dressing. As soon as his uniform was secure, he left the cabin, tapping his commbadge as he walked.

"Computer, location of Dr. Crusher?"

"Dr. Crusher is in Sickbay."

The answer added to Picard's unease. He increased his pace, almost running down the empty corridor. It was three-quarters of the way through the third watch, the equivalent of early morning. Beverly was not known to be a morning person, and since Deanna hadn't released her yet, she was barred from serving as a doctor. The throbbing in his temples increased.

* * * * *

The night nurse pointed him towards one of the smaller biolabs. He entered quietly, not wanting to startle her, and spent a moment watching as she systematically disassembled a research project she'd been working on for the last seven months.

"Beverly?" He spoke softly, but she was startled anyway and the piece of equipment in her hand fell, shattering. A million glittering fragments scattered across her feet and the surrounding carpet.

She looked right into his eyes and swore.

"Let me help," he offered, reaching for the minivac. They cleaned in silence. When it was done, she stood up and removed another piece of equipment from her lab setup. Jean-Luc reached out and helped. Their eyes met, and then their hands.

"It's not over," he told her, his heart adding layers of meaning to the statement. He offered her all of his hope and dreams in a gentle smile.

"Did you hear anything I told you before?"

"I heard you." His smile faded.

She turned away, but her hand still held his. "I never should have loved you, Jean-Luc." Her voice lowered to a whisper as she quoted, "I have become death..."

"Stop it!" He pulled her back around to face him, taking her chin in his hand. Her blue eyes burned him with their pain. "You are not to blame for what happened in that mine. You survived. Elizabeth survived." His voice grew louder, "And because of you, those that died went gently. You cared for those people, you made their last moments gentle, not brutal and filled with fear." He caressed her face. "You showed them the mercy that the pirates that raided Arvada did not show to your family."

He watched as she fought the tears that filled her eyes. Once, long ago, a newlywed Jack had confided in his best friend, telling him about his bride's tortured dreams. More than ten years after pirates had raided Arvada, she still had nightmares about her parents' deaths. Jack had led a rather sheltered life on a peaceful colony world surrounded by extended family and friends. Beverly's dreams frightened him a little, leaving him unsure how to help her.

Jean-Luc had often used the advice he'd given Jack so many years ago. The Beverly he shared a friendship and then a bed with was less fragile, having seen many things, good and bad during her time in Starfleet, but there were still times when she was disturbingly vulnerable.

"What would those people have done without you, Beverly?"

The question broke her, and she fell into his arms sobbing, but this time he knew they were healing tears.

* * * * *

"You've got to talk to her, Beverly," Deanna insisted, resisting the urge to shout. Counseling Beverly was usually a trial, but the last three sessions had been worse than usual. If wellness were measured by how stubborn a person was, Beverly would be in perfect health. She was being particularly difficult today, and she had a tight rein on her emotions, so Deanna couldn't use that for help.

She knew that they were making progress, she knew that Beverly was starting to heal, but it didn't make it any easier to put up with the older woman's stubbornness. It had been close this time, too close. There were still dark days, and too many nightmares. But this time, Beverly had someone else to hold her through the memories. Her relationship with the captain would help her through, Deanna was sure of it.

"You're not going to eat another chocolate sundae when I leave, are you?" Beverly asked after a long silence.

Deanna narrowed her eyes at her friend feeling just a hint of amusement slipping through Beverly's mental shields. Deanna sat back and laughed. "Who told you about that?"

"Deanna, you always have chocolate after counseling your 'special’ patients. For me it's sundaes, Geordi means chocolate chip cookies, and Jean-Luc usually sends you straight to the chocolate cremes."

"And how exactly did you obtain this privileged information?" Deanna asked, laughing.

"Doctor/ patient confidentiality, Deanna. I'm sure you understand."

"Don't give me that Beverly. What did you do, make another truth or dare bet with Will at the last poker game?" Deanna smiled, pleased by the sound of her friend's laughter.

"Oh this wasn't a poker bet." Beverly let that thought hang for a moment before sobering. "I will talk to Elizabeth." She reached out to touch Deanna's arm. "Thank you, Deanna." The sincerity of her words, and the emotions behind them made the empath smile.

"You are welcome, Beverly. Always."

* * * * *

Beverly tapped lightly on the door chime, and stood back, taking a deep breath. A moment later, the door opened and she was face to face with Elizabeth Harris.

"May I come in?" Beverly asked quietly, cursing the sudden tightness in her throat.

Expression dark, Elizabeth didn't answer. She took a step back and gestured.

"Thank you." Beverly entered, realizing that, although she had worked closely with this woman for months, she had never been in her cabin. It was small, but she was one of the fortunate junior officers who had a viewport. Against one wall was an aquarium.

"What can I do for you?" Elizabeth asked moving a few steps into the room, but neither offering nor taking a seat. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. She had had a lot of time to think since she'd been back on board the Enterprise, and many of those thoughts were directed against her former mentor.

Beverly didn't miss the deliberate omission of both her title and name. She had known this wasn't going to be easy. She looked around, and took a seat on the chair near the small sofa. Conscious of her body language, she folded her hands on her knee and spoke, "I was hoping we could talk."

Stiffly, Elizabeth took a chair at the opposite side of the room. She was thinner than Beverly had ever seen her, as though she had lost the last of her pleasant baby fat along with her innocence on that asteroid. Her hair was different too, pulled severely back from her face making her eyes seem too large, her nose too severe. She wore no makeup, the lack of color on her pale face making her look ghostly.

Beverly noted this, and grieved silently for the young woman she had cared for. It was clear that Deanna's assessment had been correct. Elizabeth would need more help than anyone on the Enterprise could offer. Perhaps, in time, she could return to Starfleet duty, but it was doubtful that she would ever again serve on an exploration vessel. She sighed. Seeing the young woman like this only made what Beverly had to do that much harder.

"Elizabeth..." Beverly pretended not to notice the flash of hostility that crossed the woman's face at the sound of the informal greeting. "Things happened in the Katharian mine that neither of us will ever forget." Beverly swallowed hard against the lump that rose in her throat.

"I wish I could have prevented it. All of it. I would never have made that shuttle flight if I'd known. But I can't change the fact that it did happen. All of it." She shifted uneasily, her eyes focused anywhere but Elizabeth's angry face.

"We were both forced to do things in that place. Terrible things. I am sorry for what happened. But we can't change it. I only hope we can both accept it in our own way and move on. I'd..."

"Move on?" Elizabeth interrupted, her usually soft voice loud and harsh. "You certainly did that. Didn't you?"

Beverly opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted again.

"Don't bother to claim innocence with me. You know what I mean. I watched you in that sickbay, while I lay there bleeding from what those animals did to me. They didn't treat you like that, did they, their precious Healer!" She spat the word, her face twisted with contempt. "You didn't have them clawing and pawing you and forcing you to..." She stopped, rising suddenly, beginning to pace.

"I saw what you did to the injured, to the wounded. They could have been treated, been healed. You let them die." She stopped, whirling to face Beverly. "I used to look up to you," she said with a harsh laugh. "The great Beverly Crusher, the finest physician in the fleet. I admired you, worshipped you. All through school I pushed myself to excel so that one day I could be here." She gestured to the ceiling, and the room around her. "So I could work with the exalted Doctor Crusher."

She turned away, her voice low and filled with pain. "You're worse than those animals in the mine." She moved to the far side of the room and opened a drawer, removing an object that Beverly could not see. Elizabeth stood looking at it for a long time before turning, the object clasped in her fist.

"You're nothing but a murderer." She moved forward quickly, almost running, and raised the object overhead. Beverly didn't have time to react before Elizabeth was standing before her, the objecting arcing down. It was a knife.

Beverly watched, transfixed as the glittering blade came down, her mind too numb to respond. Just before the tip reached her flesh it stopped.

"You had a choice, Doctor. Don't pretend you didn't. The others may believe your lies, but I was there." Elizabeth turned the knife over and held it in front of Beverly's face. It wasn't the knife from the mine, but it was close. She offered it to Beverly, accusation on her face.

Slowly Beverly accepted the item, its weight heavy in her hand, and heavier in her mind. She lowered it to her lap and stared at it. Her mind rebelled against the item. Helplessly she looked up, and was met with a stinging slap.

"Is that what it takes, doctor? A little pain? Someone threatening you? What does it take to push you over the edge? How little had those bastards done to you before you became a killer?" Elizabeth raised her hand again, her face scarlet.

Beverly caught Elizabeth's wrist, stopping her. Holding the knife with her other hand she rose, still gripping Elizabeth's arm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She let go of the woman's arm and brushed past her. She set the knife down on the table and turned.

Elizabeth had followed her murmuring, "Murderer." Over and over.

"Do you think I had it so wonderful in that place? With those creatures grabbing and pawing me while I worked. While they forced me to watch as they tortured prisoners, then made me heal them so they could do it again? When they made me patch up the women they had savaged?" She took a step back towards Elizabeth. "What they did to you was nothing. Your body is still intact. You can still walk, and talk and see. Not everyone was that lucky."

Beverly lowered her voice, tears stinging her eyes. "So many died. Some were so bad they were beyond medical help. Others could have been saved, if I had been allowed to treat them." She looked out towards the stars, unseeing. "Sometimes two of them held me pinned between them, their filthy hands touching me as someone lay dying just beyond my reach. They would laugh and laugh, all the time taunting me, telling me that if I did what they wanted, they'd let me go. But they never did."

Beverly turned back away, rubbing away her tears. She went back to the table and picked up the knife, playing with it idly. "I promised myself that I would do anything to get you and Carla out of there. I had it all planned. When they brought Carla in, they took my medicines and tools away and gave me a knife.

She had injuries from being beaten, punishment for her disobedience, but nothing I couldn't have healed. They said they would let me choose - her life or the lives of ten other prisoners." Beverly looked up, a tear slipping onto her cheek. "Carla chose for me. She held my hand. " Beverly made a smooth cutting motion with the knife, as if demonstrating. "She was the first healthy one I killed. Those guards were the last."

"Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can still smell the blood, and feel it on my hands. All of those beings, suffering. I couldn't keep them alive, but I could try to ease their pain." Deliberately she drew the knife across her palm and watched as the line of red darkened her palm.

"When I killed the first guard, I felt nothing. No sorrow, no remorse. They'd beaten those emotions out of me. I'd sent so many to their deaths, what were a few more?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she looked down, tears falling onto her clenched fist. "I see their faces, even when I'm not dreaming." Slowly she raised her head.

"Do you really think you're the only one who feels pain?" Beverly showed Elizabeth the bleeding hand. "Do you think you're the only one who bleeds?" She closed her hand again, closing off the sight of the wound.

"I'd seen more death when I was ten than you've seen in your whole life. Just because you've read my Starfleet profile doesn't mean you know who I am. How dare you try to make me something I'm not. "

She took Elizabeth's hand, holding it firmly although the young woman tried to pull away. Deliberately she placed a smear of blood on Elizabeth’s palm. "This is what we have in common. Our humanity. How dare you presume to take mine away from me."

Beverly stood then, her eyes full of pity. "You have the makings of a great researcher, Elizabeth. As long as you remember who you're trying to heal. And why. It's not the illness that's important. It's the person. And not all wounds are visible."

With a very sad smile Beverly turned and left. Behind her, Elizabeth remained standing. It wasn't until the door slid shut that she allowed her tears to fall.

* * * * *

She stepped across the threshold into her private domain with a knot of anxiety in her stomach. It had been five weeks since their rescue from the Katharian mine, and today was her first day back to work. Deanna had officially reinstated her seven days ago, but Jean-Luc had had other plans.

She ran a hand over the surface of her desk, grateful that Coria had cleared it before going off shift. Beverly liked her desktop clear, but Coria didn't; she preferred to have things close at hand. It drove Beverly crazy.

Savoring the feel of sitting behind her desk again, she leaned back and closed her eyes. There was still a hint of anxiety, but she did feel better. A moment of regret tinged her thoughts. Poor Elizabeth. The young woman had had a breakdown and was being transported to a mental hospital for treatment. Deanna had assured her that Elizabeth's chances for a full recovery were good, but the memory of the dynamic young woman she had been left a painful lump in Beverly's throat.

"Beverly?" Jean-Luc startled her, and he offered a smile as apology. "I came to see if everything is all right."

She returned his smile. If not for Jean-Luc and Deanna, she might have been on that transport too. She crooked her finger at him, motioning him closer. He smiled wider and obeyed.

"Have I told you lately," she asked, drawing his face down towards hers until she could kiss him, "how much I love you?"

"Not since breakfast," he replied, kissing her back.

They savored each other's nearness for a moment before he drew back. It would be hard for both of them to adjust to her being back to work in Sickbay. At Deanna's suggestion, she had named Harry Timms the Interim CMO, taking that pressure off for a while. For the next two weeks, she would be on short shifts and excluded from away team duty. When Deanna certified her ready, Beverly would increase her daily shifts, working up to full shifts. Only then would she be allowed to reclaim some of the CMO responsibilities.

Surprisingly, Beverly found herself looking forward to being just a physician. She was currently assigned to research and to tending the Enterprise children. Both were duties that she participated in all too seldom as CMO. Deanna hoped this would help Beverly past the nightmares and self-doubts that still plagued her.

Jean-Luc moved back a half-pace. "I have to get to the bridge," he told her. "Will you join me for lunch? In Ten-Forward," he added in response to her salacious grin.

"Only if you'll invite me to dinner in your cabin tonight."

"I planned on it," he assured her. "Especially since you're there all the time anyway."

"And whose idea was that?" she teased.

"My favorite doctor's," he assured her. The flicker of sadness didn't cross her face this time, and Jean-Luc felt a surge of joy. Over these last weeks, he had been playing a role he'd never been comfortable with, that of a healer, helping to mend Beverly's soul. As he watched her smile, he felt as though he finally understood a little of what she must feel when a patient was healed.

The End

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