The,Children,of,Hamlin,-,Carmen,Carter

　 Dedicated to MDK, Who has put up with this madness of mine For the past twelve years and is resigned To the fact that it may never go away.

　Acknowledgments

　I wrote Dreams of the Raven over the course of two years, with no thought of publication until the manuscript was finished. In a moment of absolute insanity, I volunteered to write The Children of Hamlin in three months. Writing to the demands of a deadline was an entirely new experience, and I could never have succeeded without the help of the following people:

　Daphne Kutzer, who knew I could do it and exhibited great patience as I continually told her why I couldn"t. She read every word and kept asking for more. Pat Hoffmann, who held my hand long-distance and got me over the rough spots. Dave Stern, who asked me to write a Star Trek: The Next Generation novel and let me change my mind after I said no. Denise Tathwell, who knows the crew of the NCC-1701D better than I do and made sure I got them right.

　And special thanks to Apple Computer for developing the Macintosh. (If you have to ask, you wouldn"t understand.)

　Chapter One Day is a concept born of planets spinning captive about a sun. In deep space, far removed from the light and heat of flaming stars, the kingdom of perpetual night reigns…

　 "C APTAIN, WHAT ARE

　you doing awake at this hour?" The words pricked the fragile bubble of thought that carried Jean-Luc Picard through space. He pulled back from the void, back inside the protective shell of the ship"s hull. His gaze focused on the clear glass of the port window and met his own reflection: dark, piercing eyes set in a lean face, its strong features heightened by a high forehead and closely cropped fringe of gray hair. The fingers of his hands, resting lightly on the clear glass of the port window, were stiff with cold, their warmth drained into space. He lifted his palms from the chill surface, and turned to face the woman who had entered the observation room. "I might ask the same of you, Dr. Crusher," he said. Beverly Crusher walked up beside him and peered out the window. The captain continued to look at her. "It"s all in the title. I"m a doctor; we"re always awake when everyone else—almost everyone else—is asleep." She yawned and ran a smoothing hand back over her long and somewhat tousled red hair. "What"s your excuse, insomnia or ship"s duty?" "Philosophy." But the formless, almost mystical emotion that had welled within him had slipped away, and he had no desire to call it back now that she was here. "How serious was the medical call?" "Not serious enough to warrant a report to the ship"s captain, if that"s what you"re asking." She shivered and wrapped the blue medical jacket more tightly around her slender frame. Picard stepped away from the chilled air lining the port wall, and out of the lounge into the corridor beyond. Crusher, her easy stride matching his own, kept pace beside him. The curving passageway was empty and still; the soft glow of deck lights tracked a path for their boots. "Nevertheless," he said, "I"m always concerned about the welfare of the crew." "Then you"ll be relieved to know that Lieutenant T"sala"s firstborn is resting quietly after a somewhat nasty bout of colic." "Ah, colic." Picard arranged his features to convey what he hoped was sympathetic interest. "I didn"t think Vulcan infants were prone to colic." "Well, strictly speaking, Surell"s condition involves a circulatory rather than gastric distress, but the result is a baby that cries very loudly for hours on end. It might as well be colic." Crusher threw him a quick glance and smiled. "But these aren"t the usual concerns of a ship"s captain, are they?"

　"Perhaps not," he conceded with an answering smile. Even in the subdued light of the corridor he could detect the glint of amusement in her eyes. Such very blue eyes. Picard cleared his throat with a self-conscious cough. "How have our new passengers taken to life aboard the Enterprise?" "The Oregon Farmers?" The doctor sighed. "Well, of course, Starfleet certifies that all emigrant populations are medically fit. And it"s to be expected that there will be some emotional adjustments when faced with such a different environment as a starship…" "Dr. Crusher," broke in the captain. "What seems to be the problem?"

　"No problem yet," she said. "But Troi reports that one of the young Farmers seems to be unusually fascinated by starship technology. He"s been severely reprimanded by the community for exploring the ship." "I see." Picard pondered the implications. "Poor young man. I gather the Oregonians are rather suspicious of modern technology. Still, I dare say it"s not too serious. In another day they"ll all be on their new planet, safe from the corrupting influence of—" He stopped suddenly in the corridor, his prediction unfinished. "What"s wrong?" "Can"t you feel it?" Picard balanced the weight of his body on both feet, reading the subtle movements of the deck. "The Enterprise just changed course…and increased warp speed." His right hand flew up to the silver emblem pinned to his chest, activating his communications link with the ship. "Picard to bridge... " "Riker here, Captain. We"ve received a priority distress call from a Federation starship. They"re under attack" "Who is attacking them?" demanded the captain. "The Ferengi?" "Unknown. It"s an automatic signal, probably from an ejected buoy. We"re still trying to raise a response from the ship itself." "Very well, Number One. I"m on my way." Picard broke contact and erupted into a fast-paced walk. "Good night, Captain," Crusher called after him. "Oh, yes," Picard paused in mid-stride and looked back over his shoulder. "Don"t wait for me," she said without changing the pace of her leisurely stroll. "The Enterprise is your patient, not mine." Picard managed a parting wave, then walked on, duty wiping all thought of Beverly Crusher from his mind.

　Wesley Crusher had been creeping silently through the cabin day area when the beep of an emergency medical call pulled his mother out of her bed. Ducking back into his room, he listened to the muffled sounds of her conversation with T"sala and the accompanying shrieks of a Vulcan infant who was too young to control pain or distress. His mother left their quarters a few minutes later. After counting to thirty, Wesley peered out of the cabin and checked to see if she was still in the vicinity. To his relief, she was gone—nevertheless, his heart was beating faster than normal when he stepped out into the corridor and headed toward the turbolift. He surely felt old enough to manage his own time without having to account to his mother, but she might not agree. So the easiest course was to keep her from finding out he was leaving their quarters.

　The ship was quiet this late at night, but there were still people moving from one section to another. No one he passed was bothered to see him—despite his youth, Wesley was as tall as many of the adults and his striped cadet shirt emphasized his connection with the crew. His reputation as an earnest, precocious student helped lull any remaining suspicions. Dnnys was waiting at the appointed place, a deserted crew lounge on Deck 21. "I thought you weren"t coming." "I was delayed," said Wesley. A knowing grin broke out over the other boy"s face. "Yeah, I almost got caught, too. But after the last whipping Tomas gave me, nobody believes I"d try to leave the passengers" quarters again." He snapped to mock attention. "So where do we start, Mr. Crusher?" "Engineering," said Wesley. He had mapped out their course while lying in bed, passing the time until the rendezvous. "I can get you into certain nonrestricted areas, but you"ve got to be on your best behavior because you"re going to be noticed." "Who me?" asked Dnnys with wide-eyed innocence. He looked down at his traditional Farmer clothing of faded blue pants of roughly sewn cotton and a wool overshirt with a red and black patchwork pattern. "I would have brought a change of clothes, but I don"t think it would have made much difference." Wesley pointed to the Farmer boy"s shaggy brown hair. "You"d need a haircut, too." Dnnys shrugged off his appearance. "Can we visit the bridge?" "No way," said Wesley emphatically. "The captain has declared it off limits to all kids. Before I was an acting ensign, he yelled at me for even looking at the bridge from the turbolift." He paused, then continued. "I didn"t mean to boast. About being an ensign, I mean." "You didn"t," said Dnnys. "Not much, anyway. If I could work on a starship"s control center, I"d crow like a morning cock." He paced to the threshold of the lounge. "Come on, let"s get going. I haven"t got much time before I"m missed." Wesley lagged behind. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? You could get into a lot of trouble." "Oh, I"m always in trouble for one thing or another," sighed Dnnys. "I"ve gotten used to it." Wesley shrugged—and, since Dnnys showed no signs of backing down, led the way to the outer perimeter of the engineering section. The night crew was certainly not going to challenge Ensign Crusher"s entrance, and they gave his companion little more than a curious glance before returning to their duties. "The central shaft is more interesting," apologized Wesley as they walked through a wide, squat room filled with system control panels. "Maybe, but this is all pretty exciting to me," countered Dnnys. He pointed to one panel, "What"s that do?" Dutifully, Wesley began to describe the panel"s function, his words underscored by the constant basso hum of the nearby matter/antimatter blender. Dnnys nodded, his eyes glazing over as he struggled to absorb a whole new world of information, as alien to him as farming would have been to Wesley. Dnnys started at an unfamiliar sound and his eyes skipped from one end of the room to another. "What was that?"

　"We"ve increased warp speed," exclaimed Wesley, startled by the sudden shift in tempo and strength of the vibrations of the quivering deck. He turned away from the circuit monitor to ask why, but the duty technician had slipped away into another area. He would have to figure it out for himself.

　The main bridge of the Enterprise was its nerve center, a spacious room with a vaulted ceiling and curving walls that added an aesthetic dimension to its functional structure. The chairs of the duty stations were cushioned, the deck carpeted: warm pastels predominated, but a diffuse light revealed flat black control panels with displays of bright, flowing colors.

　William Riker, first officer of the USS Enterprise, stood at attention on the bridge, his tall muscular frame tensed beneath his uniform, eyes fixed on the viewscreen that filled the front wall of the circular room.

　"Steady as she goes," Riker told the helm crew. He heard Lieutenant Worf"s heavy tread on the elevated deck behind him, and almost asked for another report from the long-range sensor scans, but stopped himself; the request would be redundant. He"d already done what he could for now. Riker"s response to the distress call had been automatic: a quick assessment of the message, a rapid spate of orders that brought the starship onto a new course and increased its speed. His next action should have been to contact the captain, but even as his hand moved to issue the call, Picard"s voice had rung out demanding an explanation. Riker did not doubt the appropriateness of the orders he had issued, or the pressing need to act instantly, but he did regret not having reached Picard first. A first officer who usurped a captain"s authority, even when that captain was supposedly sound asleep, should account for his actions without being asked. The hiss of the opening turbolift doors was immediately followed by the distinctive voice of Captain Picard. "Status report, Number One," he ordered in clipped, sharply enunciated words as he strode down the ramp to the command level of the bridge. Riker quickly recited the speech he had prepared while waiting for Picard"s arrival. "The USS Ferrel, a Constitution-class starship, is broadcasting an automatic distress signal." He took a deep breath and continued. "I ordered an immediate course diversion to their source coordinates and increased our speed to warp six." "Yes, so I noticed," said Picard dryly. Riker met Picard"s steely gaze without flinching. The first officer towered a half head above his captain, yet somehow Picard always seemed to be at eye level. "Quite right, Number One." The rise and fall of Riker"s chest was the only sign of the relief that echoed in his own mind. He was still feeling his way with this new captain, but Picard consistently kept his ego divorced from the concerns of command. Riker relaxed his ramrod posture and finished his report. "Estimated time of rendezvous with the Ferrel is twenty-two minutes." "Security, go to Yellow Alert," ordered Picard. "And notify Starbase Ten of our diversion." The steady pulse of alert lights sprang into life across the bridge. The captain dropped down onto his command chair. He tugged sharply at the waistline of his uniform, snapping the fabric into place. "Sit down, Will. There"s nothing we can do now but wait."

　Riker envied the captain"s composure and wondered if his relaxed attitude was genuine or merely a pose. Perhaps the difference was irrelevant. The first officer sat down as

　bidden and concentrated on emulating the appearance, if not the substance, of Picard"s example.

　Natasha Yar was on her feet by the second flash of the alert lights. By the third her blue eyes had opened wide and her mind was fully awake. Her hand groped in the dark for a communications link. "Security chief to bridge," she called out as her fingers closed in on the cold metal of her insignia. A full five seconds passed before she received a reply, time she put to use scrambling into her uniform. Yellow Alert meant she could afford to get dressed properly, but there was no time for a shower. She ran her fingers through short locks of blond hair and considered her grooming done. "Bridge here, Lieutenant."

　She measured the tension in Riker"s voice and accurately judged the severity of the alert. The ship was not in danger. Yet. "I"m on my way." Yar didn"t bother turning on the lights as she ran to the door. She had memorized the layout of her cabin for just such emergencies. Her sprint to the bridge was several seconds short of her best time, but neither Riker nor the captain uttered a reprimand when Lieutenant Yar erupted out of the turbodoors. Taking her position at the tactical console, she surveyed the activity on the upper and lower decks, then studied the main viewer. Nothing of interest was on the screen, so she turned her attention to the distress signal that ran across the communications board in an unvarying pattern. "No response to hailing calls," said Worf, standing by her side. "Why didn"t you call me as soon as you received the transmission?" hissed Yar. "I was busy," said Worf. "I should have been here to initiate Yellow Alert." Wary of drawing the captain"s attention, Yar kept her voice low, which weakened her display of anger. Not that a full-volume explosion of temper would have made any greater impression on the Klingon; the emotional storms of the human race were little more than a mild summer rain to him. "I was busy." Yar was suddenly too preoccupied to pursue the one-sided argument. Scan readings had changed. The orange tracing of a fluctuating energy profile was faint but unmistakable.

　Geordi La Forge dashed out of his cabin only to stumble over a pair of feet that blocked the portal. A strong arm shot out across his chest, breaking his fall. "What are you doing here?" "Waiting for you," replied Data. He pushed Geordi upright effortlessly, then fell into step beside him. They raced in concert down the corridor, a study in contrasts. Lieutenant La Forge was shorter and more solid of build with a deep brown skin that accentuated the unnatural pallor of his companion. Lieutenant Commander Data"s eyes were a golden color that matched the metallic gleam of the visor on Geordi"s face. "So what"s going on?" gasped Geordi as they jumped through the opening doors of a turbolift. "We are on Yellow Alert," offered Data after calling out their destination. Unlike La Forge, he was unwinded.

　"Yes, but why are we on Yellow Alert?" persisted La Forge. The positronic components that gave the android his strength and endurance were also responsible for certain lapses in his understanding of human speech. Geordi knew which direction the conversation was taking and patiently played out the game; he had undertaken an informal role in Data"s social education and there was always time for a quick lesson. "Presumably, we have encountered a situation that necessitates an increased state of vigilance that—" Geordi cut him off. "Just say, "I don"t, know, Geordi."" "I don"t know, Geordi," repeated Data. He puzzled over the verbal exchange. "I see. I was being too literal again." "That"s right, Data." "I shall endeavor to be less literal next time." "That"s what you always say," sighed Geordi as the lift eased to a halt.

　Yar logged their arrival on the bridge with a curt nod of her head. "Bridge crew complete, Captain." With practiced motions, La Forge and Data exchanged positions with the nightshift helm. The maneuver was seamless in execution, one set of hands lifting from the controls as another settled into place.

　Deanna Troi sensed the heightened anxieties on the ship"s bridge even before the alert signal sounded. Stirring in sleep, her mind drifted upward through the layered textures of unconsciousness, lazily waiting for a summons from the bridge to complete the journey. When the call did not come, she pulled herself through the final barrier. "Troi to bridge." "You"re off duty, Counselor. And your services won"t be needed for a while."

　Riker"s reply should have been a relief; instead, the matter-of-fact statement called forth a stab of annoyance. He knew her too well, could anticipate her thoughts. "If I can be of any use…" "Captain Picard applauds your initiative; we"ll call if the situation changes."

　"Don"t do me any favors," she replied, but only to herself. On a moment"s reflection Troi admitted her ill temper was due to being awakened from a sound sleep and could not with justice be blamed on Will Riker. She would take him at his word, that the ship"s counselor was probably not needed, and indulge herself in a shower before dressing. Checking her reflection in the cabin mirror, Troi frowned disconsolately at the tangled mass of dark hair that crowned her head. Someone like Tasha Yar might be able to respond to emergencies within seconds, but Troi preferred a few extra minutes to pull herself together.

　The dormant engineering section had been transformed into a storm of activity as off-duty crew tumbled into the room, racing to their reactivated posts. Wesley and Dnnys exchanged looks of pure joy at their good fortune. "Do you report to the bridge now?" asked the young Farmer. Heady excitement, and perhaps a lack of sleep, made the question sound reasonable. Without thinking, Wesley opened a link to the bridge. "Ensign Crusher here—" He got no further than that. "Get back to bed, young man," snapped Captain Picard"s voice.

　Both boys bolted from Engineering.

　As the Enterprise sped nearer and nearer to the USS Ferrel, Picard held himself in check, fighting against any physical movement that could distract him from the reports of his bridge crew. "Captain," said Yar. "Sensors detect energy emissions at source coordinates for the distress transmission. The pattern is unfamiliar, but very powerful to be detected this far away." "Raise shields," ordered Picard. "Rendezvous in three point four minutes," announced Data. La Forge held his hands poised over the helm panel. "Ready to leave warp speed." "Impulse power." Picard still sat unmoving in his chair. Ever so gently, the pilot"s fingers touched down onto the board. With an almost imperceptible shudder the ship"s engines shifted to sublight drive. The universe contracted. On the viewer, the pinpoint sparkle of distant stars sprang into relief against a featureless black backdrop. In the center of this static image a blur of movement cast shadows over the fixed lights. Two vessels tumbled through space, locked in a deadly dance of combat. A glowing blue fog enveloped them both. Picard leaned forward. "Go to Red Alert." The waiting was over.

　Chapter Two

　A NDREW DEELOR ESTIMATED

　that the USS Ferrel would last another six minutes before the bridge dome collapsed, crushing him and Ruthe and the ship"s crew within. Which meant that he had five minutes and a handful of very unpleasant seconds left of life. Realization of his approaching death occupied only a small corner of his mind; his attention was fixed on the translucent blue haze that rippled and flowed across the surface of the main viewscreen. The starship was held in the grip of an energy matrix. Minute by minute the matrix contracted like a fist closing tighter, crumpling the hull of the main saucer between its fingers. The starship shuddered. The bridge screen went black. Over the last hour the ship"s sensors had failed, one after another, until the viewscreen was Deelor"s sole remaining source of information. He had whispered a description of everything appearing within its frame into the palm-size vocoder cupped in his hand. Every brief glimpse of the alien ship, every detail of its structure, every impression of its tactics, was on record, but without the viewer he was blind to what was happening outside the hull.

　Deelor switched his attention to the interior of the Ferrel. From his seat at the center of the circular bridge he could scan the entire room. He described the dropping temperature and dimming emergency lights as the ship"s energy reserves were funneled into the defense shields in a losing battle against the alien force field. He described the glittering flakes of white paint that drifted through the air like snow, and the metal wall panel that blew out from under the inoperative communications station, knocking Lieutenant Morrissey hard against a railing, bending him double. The man sagged to his knees, then coughed a bright spot of blood onto the deck. Dr. Lewin jumped to his side with an open field kit. It was a futile gesture to Deelor"s mind and he did not include it in his report. If there were to be posthumous commendations for the crew, they would be based on the captain"s log. The screams of compressing metal plates grew louder, threatening to drown out Deelor"s comments. He pressed the grill closer against his mouth, but his voice had grown too hoarse to rise above the background noise. He snapped the protective cover down over the vocoder before slipping the unit into an inner pocket of his jacket. If the record were recovered, his successor would have a detailed description of the penalty for failure. His failure. Deelor regretted that epitaph more than his death. He turned to the woman sitting beside him. Ruthe was hunched into a tight ball, her legs drawn up beneath her chin, a gray cloak wrapped tightly around her body. She had buried her face in the coarse fabric. Loose locks of straight black hair fell down over her knees. He leaned over, bringing his mouth up against her ear. "We"re about to die," he told her, not certain if she had realized that yet. "I"m sorry." Ruthe looked up. Her skin was pale, but that was its natural color. "I"m cold. I hate being cold."

　"Yes, I know." A sudden cessation of activity around them triggered an alarm in Deelor"s mind. The crew had frozen in place, oblivious to the groans and labored breathing of the saucer hull as it flexed in and out. Their faces were turned in one direction, to the rear of the bridge, and he twisted about to follow their gazes. They were watching the captain and his first officer. The two men stood side by side at the weapons console, their backs blocking sight of their actions, but Deelor knew immediately what they were about to do. And why they mustn"t. Deelor shouted at Manin to stop, but his voice could not carry above the pervasive din of disintegrating metal. He scrambled out of his chair, but the buckling deck surface pitched him down onto his knees. He would never reach them in time. Plunging a hand into the folds of his jacket, he fumbled at the inner pocket. His fingers shoved aside the familiar cylindrical vocoder and closed in on the blunt casing of a hand phaser. He fired at both men, but the tremblings of the hull threw off his aim. D"Amelio dropped in place under the impact of the stun beam; the captain was only grazed. Manin whirled about in confusion. When he caught sight of the weapon in Deelor"s hand, bewilderment quickly transformed into a burst of rage.

　"Kill him!" The scream was inaudible, but the shape of the words was clear. And the order was instantly obeyed. Andrew Deelor never saw who fired.

　Three centuries of engineering knowledge, the product of the combined efforts of the brightest minds in the United Federation of Planets, culminated in the galaxy-class starship known as Enterprise. The finest metals and alloys, the strongest polymers, the newest computer technology, had been expertly crafted into a vessel designed to travel to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. She was manned by officers and scientists of the highest caliber, dedicated to an extended exploration of that new territory which beckoned so seductively. Sometimes the search turned deadly. With shields raised and weapons primed, Enterprise dropped out of warp speed in a dazzling screech of light and coasted toward the battle site.

　"Mr. Data, what do you make of that blue aura?" demanded the captain, studying the clouded figure of the USS Ferrel and its attacker. "Blue?" exclaimed Geordi. "Looks more like a riot of color to me." The comment reminded Picard of how radically the pilots visor transformed Geordi"s vision to cover the entire electromagnetic spectrum. "It"s some kind of fluctuating energy field," said Data as the ship"s computers displayed a readout on his ops console. "Purpose unknown, but its effects appear to be of limited range." "Captain, I still can"t raise either ship," announced Yar. "All communications channels are silent." "The Ferrel may be unable to respond," said Data. "Its control systems appear to be inoperative or barely functional." "Mr. La Forge, set a direct course for the hostile," ordered Picard tersely. He had only a few seconds in which to decide his course of action against the unfamiliar alien vessel. The explorer in him was exhilarated by the thought of a possible first contact, but as a

　Starfleet commander his first duty was to defend a fellow starship and the Ferrel was definitely on the losing side of its struggle. "Prepare to fire phasers at my next command. Perhaps a change in the odds will deter the Ferrel"s assailant from continuing its attack." Tasha Yar signaled Worf from the aft stations to the tactical console and the two officers divided defense and assault responsibilities with short telegraphic gestures. Picard tensed. "Fire phasers," he said. Lieutenant Worf splayed broad hands over the surface of the weapons console. Each twitch of a finger triggered a phaser blast from the underbelly of the Enterprise. Most of the pulses dispersed harmlessly into space, but two hit squarely on target. The effect was immediate. The blurred haze enveloping the two battling ships vanished, revealing the ravages of their conflict. The large saucer section of the Constellation-class starship was distorted, its frame twisted and warped. Hovering close beside the Ferrel, apparently undamaged, was a densely packed cluster of spheres, translucent orange in color. The ships were of an equal size, but the Enterprise dwarfed them both. "Open hailing frequencies, Lieutenant Yar." Picard rose from his command chair. "This is Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the USS Enterprise. Identify your vessel." He waited patiently as the seconds passed. Riker moved silently to his side as the silence continued. "No response," concluded Yar at last. "No verbal response," said Data. "But they are reacting." He was the first to detect movement from the cluster. The irregular mass of the alien ship had no discernible features that marked one end of the structure from another, but the entire group of spheres had started to revolve slowly on an internal axis. As the back side of the ship rolled into view, one spot of deep purple appeared nestled amid the orange. The rotation accelerated, whipping the odd-colored bubble out of sight, then back again. Still spinning, the ship began to float toward the Enterprise.

　Picard signaled another communications broadcast. "Alien vessel, if you do not respond, your approach will be considered a hostile action." The cluster did not slow its progress. "I would have preferred a nonviolent conclusion to this conflict," admitted Picard in a whispered aside to his first officer. "But it seems this life form doesn"t share my view. So be it." His dropping hand signaled Lieutenant Worf to release another round of phaser fire. A cascade of disrupting beams raked over the approaching ship. The surface of the spheres crackled and sparked, but only for the split second of actual contact. When the glow of the phasers had faded, the bubbles were intact. Worf loosed another volley, to no greater visible effect. "Evasive action," ordered Picard tersely. Geordi La Forge sent his hands dancing over the console and the Enterprise swerved in its course. "They"re gaining on us, sir." "Maintain phaser fire." Throughout the barrage, Data announced the rapidly closing distance between the two ships. "Ten kilometers, five kilometers, one kilometer." His chant stopped. "One kilometer." "Too close for our photon torpedoes," declared Yar. "At this range the explosions could damage the Enterprise as well as the target."

　If we move any farther away, the Ferrel will be vulnerable to a renewed attack," said Picard bitterly as he studied the alien ship. Time for counteraction was quickly running out. And then it was gone. Having finally met some unknown parameter, the purple sphere whipped away from the spinning main cluster. "It"s coming directly toward us," warned Data. "Prepare for impact." An explosion of violet light seared the crew"s eyes, but there was no accompanying jolt, only a faint trembling that could be felt on the consoles and in the deck beneath their feet. Rivers of pale blue crackled over the main viewer. Data relayed the information from his sensors. "The energy field covers the entire outer surface of the saucer section." "It"s a net," exclaimed Geordi, and Picard knew he was describing his unique view of the field. "A matrix that"s been woven out of charged filaments; I can see the separate strands. And one thin umbilical current is still attached to the mother ship." Yar studied the tactical console closely. "Shields holding without strain. The power output of this net is not very high." Picard frowned. "Then why is the Ferrel so badly damaged?" A low-pitched hum was added to the vibration. "The field is contracting, increasing pressure on hull defenses," announced Data. He blinked, making a quick mental calculation. "Assuming a constant rate of contraction, we can withstand the effects for two point six days before ship"s power reserves are exhausted. At that time, without shields, we will be vulnerable to structural damage." Riker stepped up to the aft deck environment console to monitor incoming signals from each section of the starship. "Captain, current status reports from all stations indicate minor short circuits in electrical systems near the outer hull. No major damage," "But our passengers are undergoing major trauma," said Lieutenant Yar. "I"ve logged a dozen calls to my communications board from the Farmers" quarters since the start of Red Alert." "Contact Counselor Troi," suggested Riker. "Have her calm them down. We may be here for quite a while." "But not for two days," said Picard, falling back into the captain"s chair. "Not for two hours if it can be helped. There must be a way to penetrate their defenses." Hands braced on the railing of the aft deck, Riker studied the alien ship"s unusual construction. Blue haze blurred the image of the bubble ship on the viewer. "Those spheres look just like a bunch of balloons. All we need is a needle to pop them with." "An interesting analogy, Number One," said the captain approvingly. "Let"s give it a try, shall we?" Worf eagerly reprogrammed the weapons console to Riker"s specifications. The spre...