Written by Delia M. Turner, Jim Shaun Lyon, Lisa Blanc, Tashana (Eileen Parkman), Gemma (Tinker Strother), Rich Welty, KittibearRoo (Fredricka Black) and Jon Woolf.

Edited by Eileen Parkman and Jim Shaun Lyon

A glamorous gloom glowed grayly over deserted Ten-Forward as the doors closed with a sulphurous hiss after the Strangler. Dangling limply half across the bar, the victim slowly slid to the floor behind, leaving a glistening trail of blood and some mysterious grisly substance smeared glutinously over the gleaming counter. Glasses glittered on the tables, also glutted with some mysterious grisly substance. The aura of menace was unspeakable, but no one was there to grasp its gruesommness...

Hours later, the doors opened again. "What died in here?" said Commander William T. Riker as he strode through, conveying intensity through a certain skewedness in the joints and the camera angle on his electric blue eyes.

The victim, who shall remain nameless, vanished into thin air, as if taken by the Devil itself. Perhaps it was the devil. Perhaps it was Evil incarnate. But it most certainly was weird.

A nameless victim, whose disappearance would never be known, at least until the ship returned to Starfleet.  

Unfortunate, for his disappearance might have given Captain Jean-Luc Picard an insight into the terrible ordeal he and his crew were about to undergo...

It was cool in the lower corridors of the ENTERPRISE. A coolness seemingly enhanced by the low lighting of ship's night cycle. Humming melodiously to herself, Yeoman Cassandra Foresythe made her way to the Captain's cabin with a still steaming pot of Earl Grey tea on a tray. Captain Picard had reported a malfunction in the food synthesizers in his quarters to Engineering at the beginning of his watch. There were other, rather more important glitches in the ship's systems to be tended to and Geordi had yet to get a round to the Captian's problem. Thus, the yeoman -- knowing how the Captain enjoyed his tea before retiring -- had volunteered to make a pot for him and see to it that it got to his quarters.

As she approached his door, Cassandra gave in to temptation. That tea smelled so delicious and reminded her of almond candy which was her one vice. She could resist it no longer. Carefully balancing the tray in one hand she lifted the bone china cup to her full lips and took a quick swallow. To cover her little indescretion Yeoman Foresythe refilled the cup and then touched the door chime.

"Come," came that distinctive voice and the door swished open.

"Good evening, Captain Picard!" she said brightly as she entered. Her smile transformed into a look of astonishment as her hand went for her own throat and she stumbled. The tray hit the floor with a silver clatter and the sound of breaking crockery. She saw Picard take a step in her direction even as his hand slapped his com insignia.

"Doct-ahr Chrushah! Medical Emergency!"

Cassandra Foresythe's last mournful thought was that she had spilled the Captain's tea.

In all of her years as a physician, Doctor Crusher had seen nothing like this. She had been so involved in her own thoughts that she had forgotten to tell Captain Picard how the Yeoman was. Captain Picard sensed something was wrong and gently touched Doctor Crusher on the arm as she was on her way out of his quarters to go to sick bay. She turned towards the Captain looking very perplexed. "What is it, he said."   "I don't know, she replied. Her respirations are very shallow, her pupils constricted, and there is some internal damage to her mouth and throat. I must do some further testing."  

"Very well doctor; please keep me informed."

Back in sick bay the prognosis of the young Yeoman did not look good. Dr. Crusher could find no virus, or bacteria which she knew she would not. She knew that whatever it was had been ingested. It was obvious by the damage done to the mouth, but she could find no chemical traces of anything. Whatever it was it was now attacking the Yeoman's lungs, heart and kidneys. She wearily got up from her desk and stretched. She knew it was time to tell the Captain what little she knew. The Yeoman had been poisoned by something that neither the doctor nor her vast medical computer was familiar with. She checked her patient one more time before leaving for the Captain's quarters; only to discover that Yeoman Cassandra Foresythe was dead.

"Damn, I've lost ANOTHER patient! The medical board will have my license for sure! Unless, unless I can pin this on the Captain!", Dr. Crusher thought, in a near panic.

"Sure, I can say the Captain had Yeoman Cassandra in his cabin and she wouldn't bow to his lascivious demands. In a rage, Jean-Luc must have poisoned her tea with, with, Aldeberon Draino, which is well known to cause mouth and throat injuries, if not heated enough to inactivate the caustic leaves." This was getting better and better. Ever since Jean-Luc denied parentage to Wesley, and hadn't paid any child support, Dr. Crusher had been looking for the perfect moment to seek her revenge!

"Tonite," she thought, "The Captain sleeps with the asteroids!"

As her thoughts grew wilder and more incoherent, a strange gas continued to seep from the air-vents of Sick Bay. Frothing and mumbling, Dr. Crusher staggered out the door, muttering about malpractice insurance, professional ethics, revenge, and Jean-Luc's bone structure. Her mane of hair (seven inches longer than the week before) swept back from her finely-etched face to reveal that her porcelain skin was sprouting glistening red hair, and her lips distended, forming a vestigial snout with delicate but pointed fangs.

"Retribution!" she howled, dropping to all fours and loping down the corridor, her tousled auburn hair rippling in the wind of her passage. She looked even lovelier than ever.

In Sick Bay, Cassandra Foresythe lay, a picture of dewy innocence and undeserved death, while the noxious gas flooded the room. Suddenly one of her iridescent eyelids flew open, followed by the other, and she sat bolt upright, the picture of girlish confusion. "The Captain's tea!" she wailed, rose from the stretcher as if nothing had happened, and tripped lightly from the room to finish her task.

When the poisoner finally managed to get the viewscreen to display Sick Bay, the room was empty, though foggy. "Curses!" snarled a familiar voice, and the villain, ignorant of the surprising consequences of the poisonous mist (it was intended merely to sedate), began to plot another dastardly deed...

Meanwhile, elsewhere on the Enterprise...

PERSONAL LOG, Commander William Riker

Stardate 43044.6

As recorded in my First Officer's Log, I've been granted the chance to attend the First Inter-Fleet Gaming Seminar due to Captain Picard's request to the Admiralty. Thankfully, our  trip to Amber Nine won't be very far out of the way for the   Enterprise, and I'm looking forward to some rest...and some   heavy poker playing. I've invited Counselor Troi to accompany me to the Seminar. With any luck, our week stay will be timed correctly with the Enterprise's completion of   its mission to Gamma Thiopa III.

Riker looked carefully at the computer simulator on his desk, his mind ignoring the continual chiming of his door buzzer. When he finally registered, the sound, he looked quizzical. "Enter," he said.

"Distracted?" said Deanna Troi once she'd entered.

"Just going over some strategies. I'll be facing Commander Suvik of the Independence in a seven-card stud round robin."

"Sounds fascinating."  Deanna wasn't in the least convincing.

"And you seem incredibly enthusiastic."

She smiled. "I'm just interested in the interpersonal relationships involved in these games. The psychology is fascinating. Here we have comrades, friends, shipmates, all suddenly moved into opposition. It's a chance for some very interesting work. I might even get a paper out of this."

The door buzzer rang again. "Enter," said Will, this time not oblivious to outside distraction. Captain Picard and Beverly Crusher entered through the doors.

"Interesting news, Number One, Counselor Troi. The Enterprise's mission to Gamma Thiopa III has been delayed until further notice. Which means that..."

Riker finished his sentence. "You'll be staying here in orbit. A week's worth of shore leave for the crew."

"Absolutely."  Picard beamed. "I can think of a number of things I'd much rather do than a simply convoy mission to the Thiopa region. I'd like to accompany the two of you down to the surface."

"Of course, sir. Dr. Crusher?"

"I'd be delighted," Beverly replied.

"Wonderful. We're slated for beam-down to the reception in about two hours," Picard said. "Meanwhile, the USS Justice and the USS Allegheny have arrived in orbit."

"The Justice?" said Riker. "Isn't that the ship that..."

"Yes, it is. I'm going to pop over there for a few minutes before the reception. Would you all care to join me?"

"I, uh, have some work to finish up in sickbay. We're still looking into the Cassandra Foresythe case. As a matter of fact, Troi said she would help me with a few things."

"Well, then, until later," said Picard.

Riker and Picard beamed over to the USS Justice. Originally a frigate of the Chandley Class, the USS Justice was unique to Starfleet. It had been converted into the only ship of its design....a ship of law and order. Specifically, the USS Justice, NCC-9100, was the long arm of the Judge Advocate General's office, a ship that would travel around from place to place as sort of a floating Supreme Court. Of its officers, 95% were assigned to the JAG's General Office out of Terra, including its captain, who was waiting at the transporter console.

Picard smiled as he left the transporter platform. "Philipa Louvois. We meet in the most unlikely places."

"Of course, Jean-Luc. With a major gambling session about to take place, is it any wonder the long arm of the law is waiting in orbit?"

"These are Starfleet officers, Philipa. "

"Humans, Picard. Remember that."

  "Ah, yes. You remember Will Riker, my First Officer."

"I wouldn't forget him. Good to see you, Commander. Well, Picard, I see my new command has surprised you."

"Not surprised, Philipa. I always knew you'd make it back into the Fleet someday."

She smiled. "Not a top of the line craft, but yes....Would you both care for a drink before the reception?"

"We'd be delighted," said Riker.

A dark corridor.

Suddenly, a flash of light.

A cloaked, cowled figure moved through the corridor that had become dark again, passing the main gangway hatch on his way to points upward. He stopped, passed his hand over the metal plaque that decorated all such foyers.

USS JUSTICE, NCC-9100. "...WITH LIBERTY, AND JUSTICE FOR ALL."

The cloaked figure smiled, an evil laugh. This would be so much simpler. These people were not nearly as alert as those he'd encountered on the Enterprise.

Lance Sterling, Lieutenant Junior Grade, newly promoted and transferred to the USS Justice, stopped to comb his hair in the mirror, and left his cabin, on his way to the bridge. He paused momentarily to remember the wonderful communique he'd received only this morning from Ensign Krista Lovely, his former co-worker in his days back on the Enterprise. Then he trudged onward...

....straight into the gaze of the cloaked stranger. Although he didn't see him.

But the stranger was paying attention.

Sterling made his usual entrance into the navigator's office to collect some charts before heading up to the bridge. At this hour, the office was empty, and Sterling would only be there for a few minutes.

Or so he thought.

Chuckling silently to himself, the stranger followed him in...

Captains Picard and Louvois, both lithe and supple, sharp and spunky, wily as whippets, strode nimbly into the lounge, followed by Riker, whose thoughts were elsewhere. That conversation with Picard and Crusher on the Enterprise...there had been something odd about Dr. Crusher's face, some hint of distortion, and a sheen on her opalescent skin as of fur. Had fashions in facial structure veered toward the lupine in the last week or so?   Had the Doctor performed plastic surgery on herself again?   With an effort, he dismissed the thought, realizing that his companions were already seated across from each other, deep in discussion, with the slightly combative air that marked all their encounters. Phillipa turned towards him intensely.

"How about you, Riker?  Are you a namby-pamby social contractarian like your waffling, weaselly Captain, or do you face the facts and acknowledge the functionality of utilitarianism?"

"Uhh, I--Excuse me?" said Riker, puzzled.

"Justice, Number One, Justice!  What's your philosophical stance?" demanded Picard impatiently, his brow furrowed and the light of battle in his eye.

"Oh!" exclaimed Riker, and a puckish gleam came into his eye. He liked nothing better than a good argument. "Actually, as a games theorist, I believe in the principle of 'to each according to his threat advantage.'"   He sat himself firmly in another chair, his frame poised.

Philipa looked disgusted, and started raving at the Enterprise's First Officer in Esperanto. Picard loftily interrupted in Urdu, with judicious quotations in Chinese, and Riker realized what was afoot. "Excuse me," he said urbanely, and stood by the expedient of raising one shoulder to shoulder level. "I just realized I have to look something up in the...in the navigator's office."  He left, looking determined and purposeful, but feeling wistful.

"I thought he'd never leave," sputtered Philipa, and kicked her long-lost Jean-Luc in the shins. He retaliated by striking her with a handy piece of statuary, and rolling and scratching they tumbled to the floor, arguing over the mutual acknowledgment of principles. Philipa loved a good argument, and Picard always obliged.

Meanwhile, Riker, for want of anything better to do, actually headed for the navigator's office. There was a curious shuffling noise coming from behind the door, and he hesitated before palming the access panel. The doors parted to reveal a scene of hideous horror, and without an instant's hesitation, Riker charged toward a thick blanket of black smoke and fog that lingered over the form of Lieutenant (JG) Lance Sterling and his pile of navigational charts.

Riker called for assistance, but his voice was muffled.

Besides, it was too/HARD2/LIB/PROG/SSST.2he black fog started to dissipate, and then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Riker helped the sturdy blond young man to his feet.

"I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come in when you did, sir, I....Commander Riker!"

"Ensign Sterling....or, should I say, Lieutenant now. Congratulations. What exactly happened?"

Almost as soon as Lance tried to open his mouth, a breathless Picard and Louvois, who'd been arguing about something not very important a little while ago, came huffing and puffing 'round the corner. "What....what hap-.....happened?" said Philipa.

"This big, black cloud of smoke appeared as I was gathering my navigational charts. If Commander Riker hadn't scared it off, then I don't know what would have happened."

"What do you mean, scared it off, Lieutenant?" said Louvois. "You don't scare off a cloud!"

"No, sir, but it wasn't a cloud. It was....dark, evil. I could feel my own fear. It was terrifying."

Riker tapped Louvois. "You were saying something about justice?  Now it looks like you've got a real case on your hands. Something killed our own Cassandra Foresythe, and now it appears the same thing tried to kill Lieutenant Sterling."

"Yes," said Picard. "The Enterprise and the Justice will remain in orbit around Amber Nine. I'd like to contact the Allegheny and have them participate as well. And I believe the USS Independence is en route here...?"

"Yes, sir. She's scheduled to arrive in six hours. Oh, Captain, before I forget to mention it...a certain doctor has just been appointed to the Allegheny. I thought you should know."

"Who, Number One?"

"Dr. Pulaski. She took the assignment only a few weeks ago. Scuttlebutt from Fleet Central says that she was requested by Captain Aurora Darkwind and..."

"Katherine Pulaski is under Aurora Darkwind?"   Picard's mind was doing flip-flops. Crusher, Pulaski, Louvois and now Darkwind, all making haste to Amber Nine. He thought to himself...."Didn't I go through this *last* year?"

Meanwhile, back on the Enterprise, Dr. Crusher labored over the screen of her micro-analytico-philosopho-cuisinart, thrusting back her locks with one impatient, slender hand. What was she going to do?  The cellular samples from the mysteriously disappeared deceased, Cassandra Forsythe, were undergoing rapid and rampant mutation. One moment they appeared to be a mysterious intoxicant closely related to water, the next they were a gene-specific virus of massive virulence. This was impossible. And what had happened to the victim?   Beverly herself wasn't quite sure; all she knew was that she had found herself crouching on the deck in front of Captain Picard's cabin, howling like a coyote. When she made her embarrassed way back to Sick Bay, Cassandra's body was gone and it was as if nothing had happened. Yet now she had to use the depilator several times a day. She was too young to be going through this change, she thought frustratedly, and programmed a medical synthesizer to whip her up a hormone cocktail. She tossed it down, and her face underwent a slight convulsion which seemed to emphasize her jaw.

Wesley wandered in, looking serious, transcendent, fragile, and slightly disapproving. He was carrying a porcelain cup and saucer, which he set down on the counter. Full of a delicate amber-scented infusion, it seemed somehow inappropriate in the gleaming modernity of the laboratory. "What are you doing, Mom?" he asked languidly. "Still all wound up about that Yeoman Catawba Forthright?"

"Cassandra," said his mother sternly, "and I would have thought you'd know that. She was very pretty."

"Was?" said Wesley, thinking of higher things. "She still is. She gave me a cup of tea in the hallway just now. I don't know why you're worried about her, Mom. She seems fully functional to me."

"Fully functional?" yelped his mother, rising and turning to face him. "Wesley, you didn't--oh, you wouldn't--you couldn't-- she's alive?"

"Mom, you're so confused," said Wesley paternally, and rewired one of the diagnostic beds with his pocket manicure set while his mother rushed out. She successfully restrained an urge to bark excitedly, but nonetheless her son noticed something strange. Meditatively, he sipped his tea, and as he did, strange things began to happen. The long arm of the cloaked stranger had touched another helpless victim.

Later, in 10-Forward, Wes sat, dripping the gooey Pomade on the tastefully decorated chairs, talking to Will.

"When will puberty finally happen to me, Commander?" ,said Will, replacing the fallen Pomade with a well practiced movement.

The Commander, noticing a new female alien walking into the lounge, said "Huh? What? Sorry, Will, I wasn't paying attention. Would you excuse me?" Will started pounding his head on the table and creating a large oil slick when Quinan came over to the table.

"What's bothering you, Wes? Is it that Will can't leave any female aliens alone and you can't find any who understand Nanites? Is that what's bother ya, Bunkie?"

Before Will could answer, a hot, throbbing phaser flash hit the hull, setting off alarms and spilling drinks as far as the eye could see.

Onboard the Justice, Captain Picard sat in a daze in the chair he'd been granted in the conference room. Deanna sat within arm's reach, staring at his grey eyes. She couldn't help but feel his emotions...trepidation, uncertain doom. It was rare that Troi felt this emanating from her Captain; it just wasn't in his spirit.

Still, two deaths had been reported. Or was it something else. Something totally different?  She couldn't help but wonder...

The doors to the conference room opened. Captain Philipa Louvois stepped through, along with another woman, very tall, raven black hair and piercing brown eyes that made Troi squirm. This was a woman who meant business. No-nonsense. Complete authority over everything she surveyed. And Picard jumped...not in the traditional sense, but Troi could feel the overwhelming surge of trepidation she'd detected before suddenly permeate the air.

"Picard, I'd like you to meet--"

"Captain Aurora Darkwind," finished Picard. "It has been a long time, Captain."

"Too long, Jean-Luc," she answered from plum rose lips.

Aurora Darkwind and Jean-Luc Picard had both been assigned as Lieutenants to Starbase 44 Reichart, where they'd experienced a brief...and very satisfying...affair. Darkwind had been transfered off the base before Picard could have said goodbye....but then again, maybe if things had been different, he might not have been able to say the words themselves.

"It's good to see you," she continued. "A long time since Starbase antics and wild fancy parties."

"You were always the life of the party, Aurora," he said.

"Ahem," said Louvois, subtly clearing her throat (or perhaps, not so subtly...)

"Sorry. Won't you sit down, Captain Darkwind."  Picard waited while Louvois was seated at the head of the table, followed by Darkwind at the other side (more toward's Picard's end, noted Troi) and a briskly handsome, black young man.

"Oh, forgive me, I'd like to introduce Commander Feinstein, my first officer."

"Commander," nodded Picard.

"Commander," nodded Troi, who noticed that the entire time, Feinstein had been looking straight at her. There was something truly exciting about the man. Perhaps it was the way he looked at her with those big brown eyes; perhaps the way in which he carried himself. She hadn't felt anything like this in a while...

"Down to cases, shall we?" said Louvois, breaking the silence that had crept into the room. "We're here to discuss the mysterious death of Ensign Cassandra Foresythe of the Enterprise and the attack on Lieutenant Lance Sterling of the Justice. Captain Picard, since your Chief Medical Officer has not checked in as of yet with the results of Ensign Foresythe's autopsy, I can only believe these two instances to be related."

"Agreed," said Picard. "Captain Darkwind, I would very much like your CMO to join mine in the medical part of the investigation."

"Doctor Pulaski?"  She hesitated, then suddenly smiled. "Ah, of course, she served on the Enterprise. I'd nearly forgotten. Very well, I will ask her as soon as possible."

"Then I see no further need for this meeting," said Philipa. "Adjourned."

"Thank you, Philipa. Captain Darkwind, would you mind escorting me to the Enterprise?   I'd like to show you around, if possible."

She smiled. "Of course, I'd be delighted. Feinstein, return to the Allegheny."

"Uh...I'd like to go with him, Captain," Troi said. "I'd like to visit Doctor Pulaski, if you don't mind."

Picard nodded, then led Darkwind off on one arm (the sight of which, Troi noted, made Philipa very tense.)   Troi escorted Feinstein away, while Philipa followed the two captains. The five were just about to round the corner to the turbolift when all of a sudden...

RED ALERT!  RED ALERT!

"Louvois here. Report."

"Red alert, Captain. The Enterprise is under attack!"

As the drinks spilled, they catalyzed with the grey grisly substance that had soaked into the surface some days before, and a peculiar purple cloud began to rise. Wesley, whose pomade (since it covered the entire surface of his skin in a fetching oil slick) protected him from the evil plotter's overwhelming poison, leaped to his feet, but the rest of the occupants of the lounge fell to the floor and shrieked as one, "Unidentified cruiser of unknown origin firing blasts of previously unencountered energy!!   Red Alert!!   Red Alert!!"  And if you think that's easy to shriek as one, try it at home with your friends some time. Faintly perturbed, Wes looked down at Riker, who was shrieking with the rest, and then looked quizzically at Guinan, who still stood statuesquely surveying the scene.

"So tell me," continued Guinan with a subtle and restrained leer, "Would you go out with an older woman if she had a working knowledge of subatomic memory storage?"   She glided closer. "EVERY male on this ship is a younger man to me."

"No, No," said Wes innocently, as everybody began getting back to their feet. "I was banging my head because I've felt weird ever since I drank some tea earlier today. My neck itches."   His neck did indeed, now that she looked closer, seem somewhat inflamed. In fact, she could have sworn it was several inches longer than usual, and there were large brown spots appearing on his...golden pelt?

"Wes!" exclaimed Riker, looking up at him because he was at least three feet taller than usual. "You're turning into a giraffe!" The long neck of the evil cloaked figure had extended across space once again.

Aurora's already firm grasp on Picard's arm tightened even more, causing the austere but well-constructed Captain of the Enterprise to restrain a grimace of mingled pain and pleasure. A flood of memories was returning to him now, many of them curiously threatening. Troi could sense the apprehension increasing, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with the condition of his ship. One by one, he peeled Aurora's fingers off and touched his communicator. "Riker. Report!" he snapped. Troi noticed that Captain Darkwind had her trim foot neatly planted on Picard's instep, and she was bringing all her weight to bear, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Captain," she said hesitantly.

"Yes?" rapped out all three Captains, all three focusing their piercing gazes on her vulnerable, delicate face.

"Oh, never mind," she said, nestling closer to the divine Feinstein, who seemed to appreciate the gesture...

The turbolift doors opened onto a scene of complete chaos. Picard, Louvois and Darkwind expected to see a long, narrow corridor leading straight to the Justice' main transporter room. Instead...they only saw darkness.

The black Cloud was back. Only this time, it was angry.

"Back in the turbolift," shouted Picard. Philipa stood poised, in cold fear, but Aurora grabbed her, tugging at her waistline in a scene that would have made fans of the famous PM cringe in fear. (Hey, a little continuity is good for the soul!!) Picard waited for both women, then poked Philipa, remembering the earlier confusion.

"Deck Five," Philipa screamed. Nothing. No soft, mellifluous male voice. Not even a voice reminiscent of a certain Betazoid jewish mother and... no, never mind, save that continuity problem for another day. "Turbolift, Deck Five."   Nothing again.

Picard shrugged. "Deck Five," he said. Nothing. "Oh, well, it was worth a try.

"It's coming for us!" screamed Aurora. She Who Wasn't Susceptible To Common Fear got really afraid, really fast. Picard made a mad dash from the turbolift along the side of the corridor, grabbing Philipa and Aurora by their tunics and heading straight away from the noxious Cloud.

"Follow me," screamed the sultry, sullen, well-muscled, moody, restless, wild, enigmatic, dark, brooding, somber, mysterious, savage, frenzied, sensual, impetuous, barbaric and ruthless Captain Picard. Aurora Darkwind was caught in the grip of a violent stream of adjectives, but managed to break them away as she followed. Even Philipa, who would usually be buried under the bureaucracy and continuous legal B.S., was strong enough to trudge onward...

Only, it was too late. The Cloud gained on them.

"Aaaagh!" screamed Aurora. Philipa did the same. Picard....well, can you imagine Picard screaming "Aaaagh!"?  Can you? I didn't think so. Picard grumbled as the enveloping Cloud seized the three Captains like a blanket. And then...

It was gone.

The Cloud vanished. And so did the three Captains, into the ether. Abruptly, Beverly came to her senses. She looked around her in bewilderment, and realized she was in Transporter Room Three, where the shimmer on the pad revealed only the ghostly outline of a cloaked figure, departing the Enterprise for--where?

"I must have had some reason for being here," she muttered, pulling her lab coat more firmly around her as she laboriously stood up. "And why was I down on my hands and knees--Oh!   Chief O'Brien!"

The Chief, pale, gripped the console firmly as if to hold himself up, but smiled tightly, watching her for sudden moves. He wasn't getting paid much in this episode, so he didn't have any lines, but he threw every ounce of talent he had into a sideways flicker of his eyes. Beverly, brushing herself off (and leaving floating clumps of undercoat all around her), swept out of the room as if she had suddenly remembered an urgent sick call. She needed to sit down and pull herself together, so she headed for Ten-Forward. Suddenly the ship lurched, every light in the corridor started to flash, and a voice like a baritone holding his nose stated flatly, "Red Alert. Red Alert. Red Alert."  She broke into a run, then a trot, then an elegant canter, and finished up at the doors of the lounge with a pirouette, a dip, and a split. A sight of devastation greeted her as the doors opened.

A full-sized giraffe was seated at one of the tables, morosely drinking a cherry herring through a straw. The giraffe was morose because a full-sized herring won't go up a straw, and you should have seen the mouth on the beast. Either beast. Riker, absolutely exuding command presence through every bodily orifice, stood in an athletic if abstract pose in the center of the room, banging on his communicator pin and saying, "Captain?   Captain?   Now would be a good time to answer."   The ship was lurching to the blasts of the unidentified ship's phasers, though how the heck a phaser beam can make a ship lurch in space only a cross-dimensional physicist could explain with enough conviction not to make it sound really idiotic, and every occupant in the lounge was doing a staggering ballet back and forth across the room to indicate that the ship was tilting, though with artificial gravity why the ship would tilt...Excuse me.

"I'm taking command!" husked Riker, tearing a nubile blonde from his chest and forcing his way through the chorus. "Doctor, you'll have to take the helm. Come with me!"   And he hoisted her up from the floor where she hadn't quite managed to get out of her split. Together, they raced to the bridge, leaving Guinan to glide over to the giraffe and stare into his melting brown eyes. The giraffe, appalled, stared down at his melting herring bashfully, and the herring stared back meltingly. It was a very hairy herring, he noticed.

Unbeknownst to anyone in 10-Forward, Data was shaken "awake" by the impacts and the subsequent claxons. He had been thinking about whether he understood Godel's work, but couldn't decide. He threw another 30 multiprocessors on the problem and hoped to have it solved by lunch.

While in truth, Data did not sleep, he did power down to minimal levels during the sleeping hours. He found it both refreshing and cheaper. But when jostled awake, he often inadvertently enabled his bootstrap routine and had to go through a full memory check. Since this lasts 8 hr 37 min, this gives him time to ponder life, the universe and everything. Since he had accidentally disproved Fermat's Last Theorem (much to the annoyance of Captain Picard) the last time, his favorite problem was gone. He was dying to explain it to someone, anyone, but people would run, screaming from the room whenever he broached the subject.

I wonder if Captain Picard IS Wesley's father, as the old wise ones claimed or was Wesley a random parthenogenic mutation, as most sane people thought? He suddenly thought of an easy test to prove Wesley's parentage once and for all, plus show that pi was really an integer, when his memory check routines finished and distracted him.

"Oh, well, I will worry about that one later. What were those claxons about anyway?" thought Data, when suddenly his door swept open and there stood Lt. Yar, unannounced.

Data's head tilted one "tock" to the right and he blinked his jonquil-hued eyes, resetting his reality circuits. "Correct me if I am mistaken, Lieutenant, but are you not dead?"

Tasha smiled gently and stretched her arms toward her former bed partner, advancing slowly. "Why, whatever gave you THAT silly notion, Data?"

"I had assumed that when you were attacked by Armus, pronounced dead by Dr. Crusher, mourned by your shipmates and "buried" in space, that you were dead. Perhaps it was incorrect of me to make such an assumption, albeit based upon the facts and circumstances of the time. This leads me to ponder the validity of my own programming where death is concerned. I should like to discuss..." Tasha silenced the android by placing her right index finger over his lips.

"Hush now, we have more important things to "discuss," she purred in his ear. In the dim night lighting of the ship, Data failed to notice the black cloud-like shadow which followed Yar into the room. "Why don't we pick up where we left off, my jewel of an android?"

Data looked puzzled as Tasha began to kiss him, beginning at his forehead and continuing down, across his cheek, pausing as she reached his neck. "Let me prove to you it DID happen," she sighed, lifting her head slightly and smiling. The soft lights reflected briefly off her glistening fangs before she buried them in Data's neck. Her deep red eyes gleamed with evil satisfaction.

Jean-Luc Picard awakened groggily....not the way he usually woke, full of life and vigor (and plenty of gusto!) "mso-spacerun: yes">  He felt as though he'd been through the spin cycle, or at least a very violent martini, shaken not stirred. Matter of fact, if he had been through a violent martini or two, he wouldn't have remembered, because his memory wasn't doing so hot at this point in time.

Turning to his side and seeing the bodies of Philipa Louvois and Aurora Darkwind changed all that. Suddenly he recalled everything, the cloud in the corridor and how he'd been propelled through a mysterious vortex. Now, he was all action. He stood up immediately, performed an EG that would have left all but the most stolid fan jumping on a table screaming and proceeded to wake Louvois and Darkwind.

"Where are we?" asked Aurora, her hair whipping in the wind. The very fact that her hair was whipping in ANY wind told Picard that they were no longer on the Enterprise.

"I have no idea," Picard said, "but I intend to find out. Captain Louvois--"

"When was the last time you called me that?" Philipa intoned.

"Never mind. I want you to check that way--" and he performed....yes, that's right....a PM!   An honest to goodness PM! "--and Captain Darkwind and I will go this way. Aurora?"   He offered his arm to Aurora, who grasped it and threw Philipa back a sarcastic look.

When Picard and Darkwind were safely out of earshot, Philipa kicked at the ground. "Damn that pompous ass!   Where does he think he gets off. Oh yes, and that trading post hussy who calls herself a Captain. She's probably slept with half of Starbase 11 and....what's that?"  A scuttering noise up in the corridor. "Is there someone there?  Hello?   Hel-...oh, no....no....NO!"

The corridor fell silent, as Philipa vanished.

Beverly Crusher awakened in her bedroom. When had she fallen asleep? she wondered. Last thing she recalled was seeing a giraffe in Ten-Forward. It was only after repeated thought that she realized she had fainted and was taken to her own quarters.

Beverly stood up, realized that she felt like a Regulan bloodworm that had been shot out through Torpedo Bay 4, and lay back down on her bed. The doorbuzzer sounded, ringing through her ears. Beverly called toward the visitor to enter.

"Dr. Crusher, I'm going to give you another sedative. You've been through a lot," said the visiting female.

"Wha-- what happened?" asked Beverly.

"You went to Ten-Forward, ran from there screaming and ended up in the Hydroponics lab, collapsed on the floor like a fried egg sandwich, screaming something about Deck 11. When Lieutenant Worf tried to search Deck 11 he couldn't find anything."

"I....why can't I remember?"

The woman smiled. "Traumatic experience will do that to you, Beverly."

"Do I...do I know you?"

"Of course you do," she said, "you just can't see because of the medication. It's Kate Pulaski."

Chief O'Brien, following a hard day at the transporter console, succeeded in his walk to his quarters....something he didn't think would ever happen. Today had been a most unusual day. Nobody had seen the Captain, people were complaining about giraffes....all this, and he still hadn't gotten some decent lines.

"I have solved the problems of universal conundrum!" he exclaimed into the corridor, found that he'd rather not have any lines at all than say something so stupid, wished he could retract it, decided he couldn't and trudged onward.

He stopped at his door. He could hear scuttling inside. He opened the door.

"Hello?" he said. "Hello?"  Again, no response.

A woman stepped from behind the curtain. "Hello, O'Brien. Would you like some tea?"   And Cassandra Foresythe stepped forward, offering her cup...

Commander Feinstein, still carrying the diminutive Deanna, trudged wearily from the Transporter Room aboard the Allegheny. Troi was busily rearranging her hair into a dramatic, voluptuous cascade, and had changed her clothes somewhere along in the way in an intriguing and perplexing manner. His smooth, capable arms clasped her in all the right places, and she looked forward to an entertaining afternoon. Derek (they had introduced themselves rather thoroughly on the way, a process which involved calling cards, raw eggs, and a duck) seemed just her type. Tall, dark (very dark) and his balance was slightly off-center, especially since he had started carrying Troi.

       "Do you mind if I put you down, or is this part of Enterprise protocol?" he panted. His eyes were bulging with exhaustion, but on him it looked good. In fact, on him anything from Nugillian elbow-hats to a Dacron leisure-suit would have looked good.

       "Oh, no, not at all," husked Deanna, slithering down him like a snake down a flagpole. "Do you like serving under Captain Darkwind?" she continued from the floor, examining his knees with her dark glistening eyes.

       "Well, she always makes the bridle too tight, and her spurs--Oh! You mean as her First Officer," stumbled Derek, bashfully doing a kind of Charleston.

       "Green Alert!! Puce Alert!! Tangerine Alert!!" shrieked a hyperthyroid voice from the speakers, and the warning lights began to blink on and off in ragtime rhythm.

       "Oh, dingleberries," declared Derek, "I have to dash, darling."

       "I see you have computer problems, too," remarked Deanna as they burst onto the bridge. The viewscreen display was upside-down and inverted, so it was difficult to read the characters on the ship raining phaser blasts on the Enterprise.

       "Commander Feinstein!" blurted an attractive ensign of indeterminate gender, crouching at the controls with a haunted expression and a baseball bat. "The Gambler's Express has gone berserk!"

       "The senior citizen's free transport to Amber Nine?" exclaimed Feinstein in disbelief, clutching Troi to hold himself up. "All those sweet old people?   An alien entity of indeterminate origin and utter omnipotence must have possessed them."

       "No, sir, they're screaming 'Party! Party!' and playing Russian Roulette with the torpedos. I think there were free intoxicants this trip."

       Indeed, it did seem that the USS Royal Flush was moving both slowly and erratically, doing entirely unnecessary belly-rolls and hitting the Enterprise with maybe one out of five blasts.

Nonetheless, the damage was extensive. "They're broadcasting a message, Commander," said an imperturbable Vulcan at the communications console.

       A cracked voice wavered over the speakers. "USS Royal Flush, Captain James T. Kirk commanding. Enterprise, we're taking control. Surrender or die!"

       "Some old bozo with delusions of grandeur," remarked Feinstein, and settled himself in the command chair. "Should be a piece of cake."

        Kate Pulaski grabbed Beaker #7, with some noxious concoction only the Mistress of Mind Erasure could create. Of course, this concoction had nothing to DO with mind erasure, but you get the idea.

        "Results of test seven?" asked Kate.

        Beverly Crusher, who was the only other occupant of the laboratory - especially now since the two had locked themselves inside without any hope of anyone getting in but the Captain, and he was nowhere to be found (a fact that made Beverly nervous, since Philipa and Aurora were missing as well) - shook her head. "Negative."

        "Damn. There must be something we can isolate. We can't even find out who's poisoning everyone with this lycanthropic tea, much less how in the world we're going to solve the problem."

        "It has to be someone on board, Kate," said Beverly. "Which means it must be a crewmember."

        "Starfleet security scan would have picked up any terrorists before they were assigned to the ship."

        "True. Keep looking. There has to be an answer somewhere." And the two doctors set back to work.

        On the bridge of the USS Allegheny, things were heating up. "Royal Flush, this is Commander Derek Feinstein, acting captain of the USS Allegheny. Respond please."

        "Allegheny, this is Captain James T. Kirk."   The viewscreen lit up with the face of a beleaguered old man....one that both Feinstein and Troi recognized all too well. The great James T. Kirk, hero of the Enterprise...and one of Starfleet's proudest legends.

        And now who was about to ruin that legend.

        "Captain Kirk," said Derek, "your threat is laughable, not to mention against every code of Starfleet regulations known to us. On the authority of Starfleet, I place you under arrest for--"

        "Barglesnaff!" cried Kirk. "You won't get away with this! You won't!"   The viewscreen snapped off.

        Deanna Troi was puzzled. "Derek, there's something not right about this. I didn't feel any sensibility from him. Almost as if he were under the influence."

        "Of?"

        She smiled. "Ah," he said. "Ensign," he called to the communications officer, "have Dr. Paye report to the transporter room along with a contingent of security men. We're beaming aboard the Royal Flush. Deanna, I'd like you to join me."

        "You couldn't keep me away," she said, caressing his back.

        "Uh....Ensign, make that in 20 minutes."   And Derek leapt up, picked Deanna up, carried her across the threshold into the turbolift..and they were off.

        Geordi LaForge, who until now had been stuck in the Enterprise's engineering section, minding his own business, now was on his way to the Bridge. Nobody told him anything, he thought. Why in the world did they transfer him down here in the first place. He'd had so many more lines up on the bridge, not to mention the fact that he was visible there. Now...oh, well, he thought, at least I'm a Lt. Commander now!

        He rounded a corner, and bumped straight into Worf.

        "Uh oh," said Geordi. "What's wrong now?"

        "Wrong?  How do you know something is wrong?"

        "I can see it in your face, Worf. Every time you get agitated you get this look in your eye like you want to kill....okay, so you always look that way. Fine. What's up?"

        Worf paused. "I am trying to determine what monstrous evil has overtaken this ship."

        "Evil?  What kind of evil?"

        "Something has turned the boy, Wesley Crusher, into a giraffe."

        "A giraffe!"

        "Yes."  Worf growled. "A lycanthropic poison has manifested itself on this ship. The Captain is missing along with the Captains of the Justice and the Allegheny, I cannot reach Commander Data or Dr. Crusher and Commander Riker won't answer his page."

        "Sounds cool. I guess I'll go back and be bored in Engineering."

        "Wait a second, Mr. LaForge. You said you were bored, you didn't know anything was happening."

        "Right. I did say that!"

        "But....you did not feel the attack on the Enterprise?   By the Royal Flush?"

        "The attack....oh, yeah, that attack!   Sure I did. That's why I was on my way to the bridge."

        Worf growled even more. "Geordi..."

        Geordi began to laugh. "You know, Worf, I've always wanted to tell you something. You know, you're the ugliest sonnuvab*tch I've ever met."

        "Geordi, I..."

        "And you're a terrible security chief. You'd have figured me out by now if you'd been any good, like Tasha..."

        And with that, Geordi smiled. Worf noticed it was a smile that he didn't recognize. Instead of the normal smile he usually flashed, he had two fangs. And with his laughing, Geordi..... changed. A flash of light....and all Worf saw was a bat. A vampire bat.

        The Geordi-bat flew through the corridor, Worf chasing it...until it was gone through a ventilation duct.

        "By Kling," he swore. "I must find Dr. Crusher."

        Worf passed by the transporter room, hearing a terrible laughing sound inside. He peered in. A laughing hyena, wearing the insignia of Chief O'Brien, stood there. He looked at Worf, and laughed some more...

       The redoubtable Captain, aka Admiral, aka Lieutenant (after the barfight with the blondes and the bikers in Cleveland they'd busted him again, but he worked his way back up before the forced retirement) sat slightly hunched in the captain's chair. His incongruously golden, curly hair gleamed, his blue eyes glittered, and he worked his face exaggeratedly to indicate deep emotion. It was a kind of signaling system he'd worked out. If he didn't contort his face, the dignified Vulcan who stood beside him never quite understand how he was supposed to take things.

       "I'm going to get her back, Spock," he snarled with inappropriate fervor, and stabbed with clawed hands at what he thought might be the torpedo controls. They didn't make ships like they used to. The true Captain of the Royal Flush, bound and gagged and festooned with popcorn strings and cheese dip, struggled red-faced on the floor while a pair of octa-centagenarians played poker on his belly.

       "Indeed," said the haggard but still upright actuarial statistician with the ears and bangs, wondering for the thousandth time why the Captain had bothered to have so many face-lifts that the dimple in his chin was actually his navel. He absent-mindedly tried to mind-meld with himself, and was overcome with a fit of giggling when he noticed what he was thinking. He'd become positively frivolous after he finally achieved Kolinahr.

       "For God's sake, Spock!  Can't you ever be serious?  That's the Enterprise out there!   The Enterprise!" and the ship did an unintended loop-the-loop when he banged his fists down on the controls.

        "Captain, please," said Spock. "We are already operating on what Mr. Scott would have once called 'chicken wire, spit and polish' I believe. Wild maneuvers with this ship's Lang-cycle fusion engines will not help matters at all."

        "I'm aware of that, Mr. Spock. I'm also aware that you're playing the pirate extremely well."

        Spock nodded. "Why, thank you, Captain. May I add that it comes naturally to you as well."

        Kirk grinned. "Indeed. If the good Doctor McCoy could be here now, he might start in on both of us. Why I ever took this assignment--"

        "Captain, may I be permitted to say, Starfleet hardly left you any alternative. They called you back out of retirement, forced you to take a secret intelligence mission, then called for me to be your 'henchman,' as it will. Even so much as to bind and gag the real captain--" and he pointed down to the floor at the popcorn-string-bound gentleman "--to confuse matters thoroughly. Now, if this Commander Feinstein beams aboard our vessel, as he no doubt will, there will be nothing to stop our capture as saboteurs and conspirators."

        Kirk looked toward the viewscreen, then back at Spock. "Still, you must be having a good time."

        "I do not have a 'good time', per se, sir."

        "Yes, you do, Spock. Admit it."

        Spock only stood there, silent. "Fine," said Kirk. "We're on a mission, Spock. We must make Captain Picard believe we've flipped our lids, gone off our rockers, lost our deck of cards, et cetera. And then we must commandeer the Enterprise...."

        "Which you will no doubt enjoy, sir..." added Spock.

        "Of course. I guess I *am* a pirate at heart."

                        * * * * * *

(Re: Kirk's Secret Mission. It's not to figure out later, it's to figure out now. I figure this is a safe way for me to jump into this madness. Herewith the tale of how Captain James Tiberius Kirk became Federation Secret Agent Whiskey One, code name Star Wolf for reasons which should be obvious. Ready?  OK, let's rock and roll...)

     As his hands caressed the helm console of the Royal Flush, Kirk's mind flashed back to a month ago, in his cabin in Ireland. He'd been jolted out of a dream about the Good Old Days by a knock at the door. Upon answering it, he found himself facing . . . his old Academy nemesis, Finnegan!

     This promptly rendered Kirk speechless. It took him almost a minute to find his voice, and he immediately lost it again when he noticed Finnegan was wearing Admiral's insignia. "Finnegan," he finally choked after downing a Voice Finder pill, "what the blazes are you doing here?"

     "Hey, Jimbo," the old Irish devil replied. "Nice to see you again too."   He struck a heroic pose.  "I'm here on a mission for Truth, Justice and the Federation Way."   He held out his hand for Kirk to shake. Kirk did . . and got a shock from Finnegan's hand-buzzer.

     "Haven't changed, have you?"   Kirk said as he massaged his numb hand. "So what's up, you practical-joke junkie?   Last I heard, you were X.O. on the destroyer Hannibal, escorting ore convoys from Merak 2."

     "Ah, well," Finnegan said offhand. "You know me, Jimmy. I couldn't leave well enough alone. Tried to improvise a phaser-powered ore processor. Ended up wrecking two freighters and putting Hannibal in spacedock for a month."   He grinned like the demented elf he was. "So I got booted off the ship, put in hack planetside, then shifted to Special Branch."   He giggled. "Can you imagine it?   Me a spy?"

     "No," Kirk said. "I guess that shows nothing's impossible. So what brings you out to see an old has-been?"

     "'Cause you're all we got, Jim. Things must be really bad, hey?"  Finnegan snickered again, then turned as serious as he could, which wasn't very. "Anyhow, we've been getting reports of funny things going on at the Starbase on Amber Nine. Too many people have been going leave-happy. Some of 'em turn up dead. Others turn into animals. Rumors of a mysterious stranger lurking around. And a few ships leaving there have just disappeared Into the Wild Black Yonder."  Again that demented grin crawled across his face ... then crawled off again, leaving behind the closest thing to a grim expression Finnegan's face could produce.

     "We in the Special Branch figure there's only one guy savvy enough to figure this out and foolish enough to try it. You, Jimbo. Spock is on his way from Vulcan, he'll join you aboard ship. And we're trying to find Monty Scott and the rest of your crew of crazies to back you up. Wouldn't count on getting them, though. So far, it's just you and Spocko."

     Kirk nodded once. He would have nodded more, but the first one gave him a crick in his neck. "So what ship have I got?"

     "The Royal Flush," Finnegan answered. "We've given her a fast refit, wired the warp drive back together, repaired the weapons systems. We even managed a cloaking device that actually works more than a third of the time."   Again that wild Irish grin. "This one works almost half the time. So off you go to Amber Nine. The Enterprise is on her way there right now, and you'll be able to join forces with her. Who knows, if you're lucky you might be able to grab her and leave Picard to handle the Flush."

     Finnegan handed Kirk a communicator. "Just signal 'em, and they'll beam you aboard. Then clobber the regular skipper, and she's all yours."

     Kirk did so, but as he did a thought made its way through his aged brain. "Finnegan," he asked, "if you burned two freighters and got booted into Special Branch, what are you doing with admiral's stars?"

     "Oh, those?"  Finnegan shrugged. "I stole 'em." And the transporter engaged and whisked the Old Man away to his new command.

                          * * * * * *

     Chief O'Brien, or what still remained of Chief O'Brien under the matted, dingy spotted pelt and the toothy rictus grin of an overfed hyena, trotted down the corridor, nervously sniffing at the air and flinching at stray noises. There had to be carrion somewhere in this cave, even if he couldn't smell any. A falsetto scream came from an open door, and he cringed and bared his fangs, but when nothing attacked, he scuttled forward and peered inside.

     There was going to be carrion there soon, he saw with delight, because a fascinating battle was underway between two of the two-legged creatures that infested this cave. One, blonde but with properly pointed teeth, appeared to be trying to bring down another by the neck, but her prey was struggling. He also didn't smell like food.

     "Tasha, please!" bleated the victim, bashing his assailant against one wall and then another. "This is not how I understood our relationship. Was I in error?   In what way can I correct this misunderstanding?" and he spun around, spinning the attacker in a blinding blur.

      "MRRRRFFGRR," grated the zombie vampire were-Tasha. She didn't let go. She couldn't. Data's highly advanced synthetic skin was self-sealing for small punctures, and her fangs were just the right cross-section.

       O'Brien barked. The struggling pair froze and stared at him, one out of the corner of her blood-red eyes, one with innocent amber ones. O'Brien began to laugh, as was his nature, and the weird noise echoed through the ship. Before the unbelieving hyena's eyes, the two creatures began to change...

     Feinstein and Troi (who was only along for the ride) stepped to the transporter aboard the Allegheny, and Feinstein snapped to his away team, "Phasers on stun!   And don't hurt any of the old geezers if you don't have to."   He seized Deanna, planted a burning kiss on her (magenta today) rich lips, and chests heaving passionately, they disappeared and reappeared on the bridge of the Royal Flush, which was deserted. Somewhere in transit, Deanna had changed clothes again, and now was in a skintight burnoose with a deep V-neck. She looked stunning. It was her equivalent of the phasers. The away team drew their phasers and scanned the area, but nothing seemed to be happening. "Commander!" barked the Allegheny's security chief, "The computer's saying something."   They listened.

       "Eight, seven, six, five..." said a deep voice from the speakers.

       "Allegheny!" screamed Feinstein. "Get us out of here! They've set the self-destruct!"   But it was too late.

       "...three, two, one...Happy New Year!" screamed the computer, and blew kazoos and paper streamers out of every available opening. The senior citizens (except for the two were responsible, who had beamed off the instant the invaders arrived) poured back onto the bridge, embraced up Derek and Deanna, and screamed, "Party!  Party! Party!"

       "Oh, what the heck," said Derek urbanely, covered with confetti, and leapt into the fray, dragging the doubtful Counselor with him.

       In Ten-Forward, only Guinan and Wesley the were-giraffe were left. Everybody had rushed out when General Quarters were sounded, making an inordinate amount of noise in which bleats, brays, caws, and howls were mixed. The lovely Cassandra Foresythe worked fast, and half the crew had been affected by her tea. Guinan was staring into the afflicted boy's eyes, which were very large and very brown. And very high up. It was hard on Guinan's neck. Suddenly, she realized that the eyes were coming down to her level. Was he becoming only a boy again?   Kind of a shame, she'd been looking forward to a giraffe. After a few hundred years of knocking around the galaxy, variety had become the spice of her life.

       But no...He continued to shrink, and finally she sat at the table staring at a hamster. A very cute and serious hamster, but a hamster nonetheless. "No matter what Jerry Penacoli is supposed to have done, <joke for Philadelphia residents only> it's not my style," she said, got up, and went back behind the bar. The hamster pouted.

       Elsewhere...aboard the Justice, the evil, vile, loathesome, despicable, rosy-cheeked, scum-sucking, finger-licking cloaked figure wrung its hands in despair. Every member of the ship's complement of lawyers had screamed in delight, packed a briefcase, and beamed out to ambulance-chase once the Enterprise was attacked. The only human left on the ship was the pathetic and confused (if noble-browed, wholesome, healthy, broad-chested, virtuous, and attractive) Lance Sterling, who was staggering around on the recreation deck hooting "Krista!  Krista!" in a poor imitation of an allasomorph hoot. Cassandra Foresythe was wasting the precious lycanthropic tea aboard the Enterprise, the black cloud had taken off on its own, and NOTHING was working the way it had been planned. The cloaked plotter activated the transporter beam, and as it shimmered out of sight, it threw back its hood. It was...It was...Oh my stars and garters, it was...Sorry. Disappeared before I got a chance to see who it was.

       Meanwhile, in the Enterprise Sick Bay, Kate Pulaski held up beaker number 479, said, "This should be it," and drank it down. As she did, a bat shot out of an air vent like a bat out of h**l, and unearthly laughter echoed outside. Kate began to change. "No, I guess that wasn't it," she remarked dryly, and licked her paw.

     Beverly emerged from her isolation lab, looking around quizzically for any sign of Kate Pulaski. Seeing none, she assumed Pulaski had popped off for a quick drink in Ten-Forward and returned to her work. She failed to notice the dark stranger, looming in the shadows, that followed her back to the lab...

     Will Riker stepped onto the bridge....and stopped dead in his tracks. The Enterprise was orbiting Amber Nine. It had been attacked only hours before. The USS Justice and USS Allegheny weren't answering their calls. And a former Starfleet hero was bent on destroying them. So, what Riker saw on the bridge should have been impossible.

     It was empty.

     Or, at least....almost.

     "Stay where you are, Commander."   A man Riker recognized as Jim Kirk stepped from the shadows, followed by a tall Vulcan who could only have been Spock. "I don't want to hurt you."

     "You're forgetting your oath, sir," said Riker. "Besides, you can't hurt me. I'm Commander William T. Riker of the USS Enterprise."

     "So what?  I'm Captain James T. Kirk, formerly of the Enterprise!"

     "I know that. I also know that you're breaking your oath to Starfleet. Sir, you're one of my heroes. I can't believe that you would have broken your word."   He saw Spock approach him. "Stay away, Mr. Spock."

     "It's the only way to be sure," said Spock, curiously to Kirk.

     "I know," Kirk acknowledged.

     To Riker's eternal confusion, Spock stepped toward him, raising his hand. He placed his fingers on Riker's head....and for a brief time, both were oblivious to the world around them. Then...

     "He is still with us, Captain."   Spock turned to Riker. "I'm sorry, Commander, but a Vulcan mind meld was the only way to be certain..."

     "Certain of what?"

     Kirk lowered his phaser, pulled out a photo-ID card from his tunic. Spock did the same. "We're with Federation Special Security," said Kirk. "We're on a mission to determine strange instances on Amber Nine. It looks, though, that we're a little late."

     "What do you mean?"

     "Haven't you heard?  Half your crew has been turned into animals. Someone broke into Station Tango Sierra last month and stole a revolutionary new drug. When used on animals, it enhances their intelligence, makes them capable of learning new things much easier. The scientists were attempting to enhance some of the higher life forms in a selective breeding experiment. However, when used on humanoids, the drug is much more unpredictable. At full strength injected into the body, it is enough to kill....but it now appears that when diluted, as in food or drink, it merely changes their metabolic and genetic structure."

     "In simple language, Commander," added Spock, "it turns them into animals. The drug was originally discovered on Daled Four--"

     "The homeworld of Salia....and the allasomorphs!"   Riker was incredulous.

     "Exactly. We're unable to discover exactly how it was stolen, but we DO have a clue as to whom."   Kirk set a document down on the OPS station, and Riker leaned over to read it. "Intelligence says that a small scout vessel docked at Station Tango Sierra a week before the drug was stolen. Since Tango is such a massive space station with ships coming and going all the time, no one put two and two together until recently. Now, the scout vessel was illegally marked, using forged registration. We managed to clear through the red tape...and found something remarkable. The engines for the vessel needed a consignment of terrilium...which no vessel known to the Federation needs."

     "Meaning?"

     Kirk shook his head. "There's only one race in our history that needed terrilium. The Vegan Tyranny."

     "I remember reading about them. The Vegans disappeared in the early 21st century after fighting a brutal war with the Andorians... and when they vanished, they took almost all of their remains with them. The Andorians believed that the race was cybernetic in origin, part machine, part man. They were part of an Empire that ravaged many parts of the galaxy."

     Spock spoke up. "We believe that we know who is responsible because of this, but we need proof. We need your help, Commander. Your Captain has disappeared along with Captains Louvois and Darkwind, and we believe that they are being held somewhere."

     "You have it, but....how much danger are we in?"

     "One heck of a lot," said Kirk. "Come, we have much work to do."

     Beverly sensed that someone was watching her the moment she entered the lab. With a heave, she leapt backwards, turned around...and jumped right into Worf's arms.

     "My apologies, Doctor, but I prefer Klingon women."

     "Another time, Worf," she said, and started to laugh. "I thought you were the killer."

     "I was attempting to discover if you had been turned by the poison that has infected the ship," Worf said. "I have located the Captain."

     Her eyes lit up like meteors. "You have?"

     "I managed to trace an ion trail that was used by whomever transported him and the people he is with. It leads...you're not going to believe this one, Doctor."   He paused. "Wrigley's Pleasure Planet."

     "WHAT?  I leave him alone with Philipa and that Darkwind lady and he gets himself transported to Wrigley's. Well, we'll see about that. How long would it take us to shuttle there?"

     "Five hours at warp two, Doctor Crusher. Provided the Sakharov hasn't been affected by whatever damage our systems have maintained."

      "Then let's get started, Worf. Let's try to find Data, he's the best pilot I'm afraid we'll be able to get at short notice."

      "He's probably also the only one," said Worf. Trusting Data to pilot a shuttle for Worf was like asking him to officiate at your Bar Mitzvah. It was something he'd have to get used to.

      A woman sat in a chair in a darkened stateroom on the Enterprise. Behind her was a large group of books and historical tapes. One in particular had been removed and was sitting on her coffee table.

      RECOLLECTIONS OF THE VEGAN TYRANNY, by Tera Mithrak.

      Mithrak's book was an account of all the Federation had learned about the Vegan Tyranny, and what few encounters with the remains of its people had been detected. Evidentally, the Tyranny had been able to prolong its life by its people assuming spiritual forms....and there was one in particular that the woman had read about. She leaned forward, to study the book, and then sunk back into her chair.

      Cassandra Foresythe had always been fascinated by history.

      As if in a trance, she started singing. "Hail, hail, fire and snow, call the Angel, we will go....far away, for to see...Friendly Angel, come to me..."

      And a malevolant darkness consumed the already dim room.

       The Gorgon appeared....and began laughing.

     Meanwhile, back in Data's quarters, the two combatants had undergone their startling transformation. Tasha, an albino panther with wary blue eyes, tore free from her captor with alarming ease and crouched on the other side of the half-darkened room, her tail lashing. She was glaring at Data, who looked much the same as usual, except for several glistening drops that welled up on his neck. He put his hand to the wound and examined the fluid.

     "I'm--leaking!" he gasped, turning even paler when he realized he'd used a contraction.

     "No, sir, you're bleeding," prosaically said O'Brien, who had himself turned human again in the interim, not that it made a whole heck of a lot of difference to O'Brien. Or anybody else in the room, either.

     "Don't!  Wasn't!   Can't, We're, He's, They're, Ain't!" shrieked Data with considerable emotion of indescribable complexity. The panther, bewildered, shook her head, grunted, and loped out of the room. Data seized O'Brien by the shoulders, kissed him, and dashed out of the room himself, ramming into the door-frame on the way and denting himself instead of the structure for a change. "Ouch!" he yodeled enthusiastically. "That hurt!" and punching and pinching himself, he trotted after Tasha, the strains of "Couldn't!  Wouldn't! Hasn't!  Weren't!" faded into the distance. O'Brien didn't have any more lines, so he did the hyena laugh again.

     In Transporter Room 43 of the Enterprise (there were enough people jumping back and forth at this point that all the rooms were busy), the cloaked plotter shimmered into sight and threw back her hood. The divine and delectable Ensign Krista Lovely, undercover allasomorph, a picture of dewey innocence, stepped lightly from the platform and went to look for Jean-Luc. All she'd wanted was him all along, and everything kept getting in the way. If she could just get him to drink some tea, he would be an allasomorph like her, and they could get together properly. On the molecular level, that is.

     Her sweet wholesome villainous countenance lighted up at the thought as she tripped gaily down the hall, and then she tripped less gaily over a fleeing albino panther. Its pursuer skidded to a halt, staring down at her. "Ensign Lovely!" exclaimed Lt. Commander Data. "You're looking lovely today!" and the erstwhile were-android, with a fearsome leer, leaned down to help her up, and clasped her feverishly to him in an embrace of unmistakable intention, saying, "Did you notice my contraction?"

       "I am not going to touch that line," gasped Krista, and fainted.

       Bewildered, Data inquired earnestly, "Didn't you find that funny?" but she hung limp in his arms. "I guess I don't have the humor part right yet," he remarked to the air, relishing his new-found grasp of the spoken vernacular, and put her down, surprised at how heavy she felt to his too-human muscles. The panther had disappeared from sight, retching, when he made his joke. Tasha never did have much of a sense of humor, anyway, so that didn't count as audience reaction. He tried to remember another joke, but his memory failed him at the moment.

       Two figures appeared from a side-corridor, and Data squinted at them. He couldn't quite make them out - they appeared curiously fuzzy. One cried, "Data!   Come on - we need you to pilot the Sakharov. We're going to rescue Captain Picard," and he recognized Dr. Crusher and Lieutenant Worf.

       "Captain Picard?  But he's aboard the..." and Worf seized his arm to drag him with them. "Ouch!" he said. Now that the novelty had worn off, he wasn't sure he was too thrilled with this pain business. And there was something wrong with his eyesight. Everything farther than four feet away was sort of blurry.

       Behind the little group, Krista stirred languidly, raised herself onto one elbow, and decided she needed a little change. Her outlines blurred, and melted...

       Elsewhere on the ship, Kirk swung his walker around, and Spock hobbled swiftly with him, while Riker followed behind, wondering if it was safe to trust these motheaten old geezers. Then he noticed something.

       "Did you know you two have some kind of mysterious bond between you?" he asked incredulously. "You seem strangely attached."

       The entire male crew of the Enterprise screamed as one, "B*lls**t!" from the farthest decks, and the two legendary heroes grimly ignored him. Riker decided it wasn't worth an argument, but he was peculiarly fascinated by how they managed to stay just close enough to keep the chewing-gum string from breaking.

     A few minutes later, Kirk, Spock, and Riker were back on the bridge. As they entered the empty room, a sensor queeped for attention, which Spock promptly gave it. "Captain," he said, "There is a ship approaching planetary orbit. Very large, no identification beacon, but it carries minimal armament."

     "On screen," Kirk said. "Can you identify her?"

     "I know that ship," Riker said. "That's the passenger liner Niblick." Both Kirk and Spock looked at him quizzically. "A very expensive cruise ship for astrogolfers," Riker explained. Kirk nodded, but Spock still looked confused.

     "Hail her," Kirk ordered. Spock did so, but got no response. He then used the Subspace Auto-Bypass Ship-Remote-Control-Grabber (never mind how it works, nobody knows, it just does) to get visual contact with the Niblick's bridge.

     The screen cleared -- and Kirk found himself staring at a very large otter, sitting in the Niblick's Captain's chair. Almost at once it metamorphosed into the Niblick's captain, Wedge Nicklaus. "Hello, Captain Kirk," he said. "Think you could give me some help? Half my crew's on the holodeck, trying to set up their own ecosystem."

     "Sorry, no can do," Kirk answered. "I have more important things to worry about."

     "Yes you can," Nicklaus said. "See, Kirk, I'm driving here. I'm on course for you, my weapons are locked, and my ship's shields are solid as irons."

     "Stop blowing sand, Wedge," Kirk replied. "You carry only two old phasers and no shields. We could hole you in one shot. Your ship isn't signaling its ID. That makes you a bogey."

     "All right, all right," Nicklaus replied. "So I exaggerated. But a little birdie tells me you're investigating this shapeshifting stuff. If I were you, I'd steer clear of the whole mess. More trouble than it's worth. Mysterious strangers, black clouds, drugged tea -- geez. I've got an intruder aboard, but no two descriptions of it agree. Like it can change shape whenever it wants."   He gurgled suddenly, then changed again, this time into an octopus. The octopus slithered down off the chair and headed for the turbolift, looking for a handy aquarium.

     Spock cut the connection. "What's our next step, Captain?"

     "Check the computer," Kirk said. "Every log file it has. Also, contact the other ships in orbit. Try to find out where Captain Picard is. I'll have his head, leaving his ship in an emergency situation."

     "'Scuse me, Jimbo," said a new voice, "but wouldn't you prefer all of him?" The turbolift opened, and Finnegan stepped out. "Picard got transported to Wrigley's Pleasure Planet," the Special Branch agent went on. "Don't know how, but I know he's there. So are Aurora Darkwind and Philippa Louvois. And we'll need them and every other unaffected person we can find to figure this out and stop it. Get this crate moving, Captain. We're following that shuttle that just left and going to Wrigley's."

       After a period of prolonged darkness while everybody present waited for Shaun to get there with the coffee and the English football results, Picard made a command decision. "Captain Darkwind!" he barked masterfully, "We must take action!"

       "That's my ear next to your mouth, you scrumptious thing, you, and I'm going to be deaf for at least a week," she replied, gnawing tenderly on what she took to be his ankle.

       "Sorry. Thought it was your elbow. But if you puncture that duck, I'm going to bite the damned ear off."   Aurora, repelled, spat out shreds of yellow rubber, and they spent a perturbing if stimulating five minutes reclaiming various of their limbs that had been artfully distributed by the turbulence of the long-distance high-power transporter beam, as well as a surprising variety of the limbs of other people, most of whom were still in a transport-shock coma.

       "Why is it so dark?  Where are we?  And what are all these people doing here?" demanded Picard, heaving what felt like three Klingons in wet-suits off Aurora's legs.

       "I know what I was trying to do," she purred, which given that she had a heck of a command voice herself produced some peculiar vibrations in Picard's skull, "But you woke up too soon."  Picard remembered just what it was that had soured their relationship, and some even more peculiar vibrations took a pogo-stick hike down his spine. Where was Philipa? He needed protection fast. This woman could be dangerous. No. Correction. This woman WAS dangerous, he thought desperately, retrieving his elbow along with a portion of shredded sleeve.

        Aurora Darkwind lightly caressed Jean-Luc's back as they stared around themselves, looking at the others sitting intently in the large open cubicle. There were Ferengi, there were Klingons, and Romulans and Gorn. There were Andorians and Tellarites and Vulcans and Bzzitniaks and Rutebagans and Gnorphians and Barglesnaffites and...

        Then Picard remembered that the Gnorphians and the Barglesnaffites had been to war, and no one had seen either race for 600 years. He turned to Aurora. "I don't know about this place, but I'm beginning to think that..."

        And suddenly, everything changed and Picard was dressed in a black tie dress suit, seated in a plush reclining chair. Aurora was in a pink taffeta dress. Before them was a silver platter, a silver teapot and some bone china teacups, saucers and a pitcher of cream.

        Light poured in from the window above them. They were in a little house with lush greenery surrounding it. The sky was blue. It looked like a peaceful afternoon on Old Earth.

        But of course, Picard knew immediately that it wasn't.

        "What is this?" snapped Aurora.

        "Someone's trying to trick us into believing we're somewhere other than where we are. Back in that room I saw extinct lifeforms; our hosts didn't seem to compensate for that fact, and they realized it too late. So they brought us here....wherever here is."

        "But....I thought we were safe for the moment."

        "For the moment....maybe we were."   Picard looked incredulous, a degree of which no one had ever seen. "I'm beginning to even doubt my own mind, which is something I never suspected I would do. I have this curious urge to jump on a table and recite 'A Christmas Carol'."

        "Then...by all means, do."   Aurora smiled, knelt in front of the coffee table with her hands folded, her beautiful dark hair folding down over her neck.

        Picard stood up, raised a foot onto the table and....stopped.

        "What am I doing?  I'm acting mad."

        "Seems all right to me."

        He knelt before her, grasping her shoulders and breaking her concentration. "Aurora, something is inducing apathy in you. It's causing you to become euphoric without reason. You have to break free of it."

        "Damn you, Jean-Luc," she cried, "I've wanted nothing but you for so long, and now..."   Tears started to form in her eyes. "I love you, Jean-Luc Picard. I've always loved you."   And with that, she kissed him. It was one of the greatest kisses in Picard's life, filled with passion that could have destroyed hearts on any planet in the galaxy and...<eesh, I'm getting flustered> <just kidding>

        When their lips parted (you think I can write this mushy stuff forever, don't you. Forget it!) Aurora seemed calmer. "My problem is that I can't have you. You're a Captain, and so am I. The decision seems clear. Goodbye, Jean-Luc Picard."   Aurora rose from the knelt position, and ran into the hallway.

        Picard sat there in the living room, not uttering a word.

        Aurora turned the corner toward what she believed would be the front door....and ran into the black cloud. She screamed....but Picard, only twenty feet or so from her, could not hear a sound.

        And Jean-Luc Picard was alone, in an empty -- and possibly nonexistent -- house.

       ...but not for long. A flustered, tattered, outraged, indignant, attractive, panting Philipa Louvois dashed in through the door behind him. "Captain Picard!" she shouted, "Thank Grod I've found you!   Is it a jungle out there or what?"

       He turned slowly and with enough dignity to knock over a Mack truck, not sure this wasn't another illusion. Philipa, struck by the full force of his dignity, staggered slightly but managed to remain standing, which should say something about how she compared with a Mack truck.

      "Come look, you self-important twit!" she said, and dragged him to the doorway. It was indeed a jungle out there. They took a tentative step forward, and as they did, the house disappeared and everything changed again...

       ...Hacking through the jungle with his machete, Picard, stripped to the waist but wearing a divine pair of whipcord jodhpurs, protected his precious Philipa from the festive <little party hats and streamers> undergrowth.

        Abruptly, a terrifying shriek split the air, and an enormous anthropoid ape (species Pongidae Edgar Rice Burroughs), dropped athletically from a handy if improbable vine. Its piggish red eyes turned red with equally improbable passion as it sighted Philipa, and it advanced menacingly toward her, sweeping Jean-Luc aside with an impatient twitch of its massive arm.

       Another fiersome cry rent the atmosphere, and a divine, god-like, 100% WASP savage male clad only in a strategically placed imitation leopard loincloth appeared as if by magic from above, facing down the vicious ape with only the authority of his piercing grey eyes, the only indication of his fury the throbbing red scar beneath his shock of black hair.

       "This is ridiculous," gasped Jean-Luc, turning down several drunken propositions from the undergrowth as he struggled to his feet.

       "Yes, but remember how many books he sold," answered Philipa dreamily, devouring the ape-man with her eyes and a dainty teaspoon she happened to have handy for just such an opportunity. [quoth the Raven, "No. No more."]