"How is he?" Commander Will Riker asked Dr. Beverly Crusher, his eyes on the barely adolescent boy lying limp on a Sick Bay bed.

Only three days before, Enterprise had been cruising in relatively known space, near a system just outside a Federation colony, albeit distant from home. Unfortunately for them, theirs wasn't the only starship out exploring that sector of the galaxy: they had crossed paths - and fire - with a pair of suddenly decloaked Romulan warships as well. A furious fight - and flight - had resulted in their abrupt discovery of a previously uncharted wormhole. Their options rapidly decreasing to exit or face almost certain capture or annihilation, they had chosen to brave the unknown and probably unstable wormhole. Now they were lost: drifting in a realm of unfamiliar constellations and star systems, out of range of any Federation timebase beacons or subspace radio relays. The computers had been working for days to calculate their position by finding a recognizable pulsar or other unique space or subspace phenomena without success; they had to face the possibility that the surest way home may be the route they had taken to get here: waiting Romulan ambush notwithstanding.

Enterprise was in sore shape. Warp nacelles and shields had taken a beating: she would need parts and time for repairs before they could go anywhere at better than impulse speed. Luckily they had found an inhabited - and technologically advanced - system less than a light-week from the wormhole exit. It was a system well worth exploring: if they could only get home to tell about it. Tiny craft zipping in from the outskirts of the system gave evidence that the inhabitants shared some commerce with other worlds. The population, however, was small and scattered, poor and largely ignorant; the environment mostly hot and dry: an arid desert. The largest concentration of inhabitants clustered in a sprawling city built on an oasis far from the equator.

Will, Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge, and Counselor Deanna Troi had been first to beam down to the surface, to the outskirts of that city, in search of materials. The inhabitants of the planet, they had found, were apparently human, with some interesting variants on skin color: some shaded almost to silver. Most of them were human, anyway: the main city also housed a fascinating variety of non-human sentients, none of which the xenobiologists on board could identify from the snapshot recordings brought back by the away team. Dr. Feran-Smith was nearly hopping out of his skin in his eagerness for further recordings, tissue samples - anything they could get for him, since he was restricted from a visit to the planet itself while the ship operated on perpetual yellow alert.

The planet, Lansar, harbored a rough, harsh people, on the whole. Most of the city was filled with derelict-looking buildings, outdoor markets, dirt streets. But at the center, isolated from the worn and tumbled outskirts by its own gardens and spring-fed landscape, stood a sparkling complex of modern buildings: a resort, a playhouse for the rich, called Starways. Gambling and fights and contests were prevalent everywhere they walked, but the Starways resort was the hub: arenas, betting houses, large viewing screens, opulent housing: all the trappings of wealth, easily gained and even more easily lost, on conspicuous display. Beings richly dressed walked the gardens, while those in modest or even ragged attire walked the bare roads that led to the many arena and betting-house gates.

Slaves, on the other hand, walked everywhere.

These were mostly human, though none of them silver-skinned. They wore little: a wrap of leather or colorful cloth. A collar, always. Sometimes a leading chain, held by the owner. But never shoes or any other footwear. In the interest of their mission and in light of the Prime Directive the three Federation officers tried to ignore the sad-looking slaves: but the sight of the rights of sentients so flagrantly flouted disturbed them all, especially empathic Deanna.

Inquiries of the locals produced unfriendly stares as often as not. But after a string of unsuccessful visits to local junk shops and booths, they were finally given a lead to a trader in minerals and materials. He lived in an upper-level apartment within the most opulent of the resorts: called, ostentatiously, The Palace. His name given, simply, as: Xanatos.

They had to pass through several levels of security in order to secure a meeting with the man. He insisted on meeting with them in person, once he had heard of their request. Will got the distinct feeling on greeting Xanatos by vidphone that the man had been gathering information on their activities and inquiries for several hours: that he had 'allowed' them to find him. Though he reminded himself that this was normal behavior for a powerful businessman, Will could not shake that first impression: that Xanatos was wily, ruthless, and extremely dangerous.

The man greeted them in his own quarters, and served them an elegant and sumptuous meal from his table. He was charming and personable. But Will found that his second impression did nothing to dispel the first: if anything, his distrust grew. However, Xanatos claimed he could supply them with the materials they needed, and so Will held his peace.

The boy, though: the sight of him nearly broke Will's resolve. A slave boy: young, perhaps fourteen. Skin fair, tanned; hair a ruddy brown: both flecked shimmering gold. He stood and walked with weary resignation, as one long past the possibility of hope. But his eyes...

Will found himself studying the boy covertly from his first glimpse of those deep blue eyes: they showed intelligence, wit, and a fierce resolve at odds with his demeanor. The boy was acting his hopelessness, at least in part. But Will found it difficult to catch the boy's gaze a second time: he kept his eyes downcast, like others of his caste they'd seen, and Will was loath to risk visiting the master's wrath on the child by pushing for his attention. And so he and his shipmates took their leave of Xanatos, their agreement sealed with a deposit of electrum and platinum chips from the Enterprise stores, with a promise that the deal would be concluded three days hence, again in Xanatos' quarters.

For all those three days Will could not keep the slave boy from his mind.

On the third day he, Deanna and Geordi returned to the Palace to collect the materials they had bought: and found its halls a battleground. Silver-skinned Mozelle, as they called themselves, and human Lansarites fought the red-clad Palace guards: their short, powerful laser weapons scarring the gilded doors and artwork; bodies falling on both sides. Xanatos' apartment was at the center of the fighting, so Will contacted the shuttlepod orbiting above, waiting, and asked that they be beamed to an empty room in Xanatos' quarters. In moments they found themselves in the man's study, the materials they'd ordered sitting crated in a tidy stack by the door. Geordi was all for leaving then. Will had him take the supplies back to Enterprise. He found he could not leave without knowing what had happened to the slave boy. Deanna, of like mind, joined him.

They hadn't far to look. The young slave lay on the wide bed in Xanatos' own room, wrapped in a cloak of dark wool over the leather halter and loin wrap he wore. He was unconscious, but still Deanna sensed in him incredible mental distress. Will didn't hesitate. When he called for Transport, he ordered they take the boy as well.

Now the child lay on a Sick Bay bed, nearly obscured by a biobed clamshell, under Dr. Crusher's care, still unconscious.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard entered the ward, accompanied by Deanna Troi. He nodded to Will, then turned to Beverly. "How is the boy?" Picard asked, echoing Will's question.

"Physically," Dr. Crusher answered them both, "he is for the most part in good condition. In fact his physical conditioning is remarkable: he has the build and muscle tone of an athlete. He is, as he appears, human: though there are some genetic divergences his DNA is well within our species' definition."

"Have you sent his DNA scan to xenobiology?" asked the captain. "They've been bothering me for samples since the away team reported a human settlement here."

"Already done," the doctor answered. "They've been pestering me, too, since Will and Deanna brought the boy back with them. Anyway, he's thirteen years old, perhaps fourteen. His back is scarred, I'd say he's been beaten multiple times in the past weeks, but the bruises and lacerations there are healing, as are lacerations from the manacles on his wrists. Nothing abnormal there, really, given his status on the planet." Beverly paused, grimacing. "His internal chemistry, on the other hand, is quite extraordinary: an interplay of enzymes and cellular structures I've never seen before. I can't even guess at their functions. Of most concern to me now is that half the cells in his body show evidence of some sort of trauma, consistent in some ways with a series of mild, long-duration electrical shocks. None of the damage is localized, it's generally distributed."

"He's been tortured with electroshock?" Will asked.

"Possibly," Dr. Crusher answered, "though some of his symptoms are like nothing I've ever seen, and I see no burns that I would associate with electrocution. I've designed a program to repair the damage; with your permission, Captain, I'll begin that program now..."

"I consulted with the doctor earlier;" Deanna added. "We agree that the system-wide damage - possibly torture - is the most likely source of the mental and emotional distress I still sense in the boy."

"Begin your protocol, Doctor." Picard nodded. "I see no reason to withhold treatment, if it's your judgement that his health is in any way compromised."

Dr. Crusher went immediately to the boy's side, and busied herself entering commands on the biobed over his chest. The other three officers gathered at a safe distance so as not to interfere with her work; but near enough to include her in their conversation.

"I understand your decision to rescue this boy," the captain told Will and Deanna, "but his presence here, in direct violation of the Prime Directive, presents us with a challenge I do not know how to resolve."

"Captain, I could not in good conscience leave an unconscious child in the middle of a battle zone -"

"I told you, Number One, I understand: you needn't defend your actions to me." Picard paused, and all present reflected on the reference implicit in his emphasis: Starfleet would most certainly make an inquest into Will's decision.

No need to borrow trouble, Will told himself. Starfleet isn't here now, and I wouldn't have decided differently even if an admiral been standing in the room with me.

"The issue is not what you should or should not have done," the Captain continued, "but what we are going to do with the boy now. Is there any way to return him to his family? Can we be assured of his safety if we repatriate him? For by removing him from an untenable situation, we have taken on responsibility for his welfare."

"We could discuss the situation with the child when he wakes," Deanna suggested dryly.

Picard chuckled. "Yes, that would seem to be the simplest solution." He turned serious. "But what if he has no family, if he has no connections, nowhere to go? What then?"

Who would take care of him? Will wondered. He mulled the germ of an idea, uncertain, and was uncomfortable to find that Deanna was watching him. He turned away to face Beverly, who had finished with the biobed, and was grateful when she addressed them generally:

"He's waking." The doctor commanded the biobed to stow itself, and put a hand on the boy's forehead. His breathing slowly deepened; he stirred, then grew still, tense. He opened his eyes: blue eyes took in the room, not focusing on any person; then narrowed in apparent pain. The boy moved his lips as though to speak, but no sound came from him. He squeezed shut his eyes and rolled to his side, facing away from them, curled in on himself. Beverly put one hand on his bare arm, the other on his head. "It's all right," she cajoled him. "You're safe. No one will hurt you here."

Deanna moved to the bedside with a look to Will that he should follow; she crouched by the boy's face, Will standing behind her. "I'm Counselor Troi," she said softly. "Will Riker and Geordi LaForge and I first saw you when we had a business dinner with Xanatos. You were serving table. Do you remember?" Deanna waited for a response. When the boy failed to answer, she continued, "we returned to Xanatos' apartment a few hours ago to collect the materials we'd ordered, but there was a battle going on in the Palace. We found you alone and unconscious in the middle of it. It didn't seem safe or right to leave you, so we took you with us." At this, the boy slowly opened his eyes, focusing on Deanna. She continued, "we can take you home from here. Can we take you to your parents?"

Again the boy opened his lips as if to speak, then stopped. He sat up in the bed, sliding back towards the wall, and looked warily around at the four adults.

"What's your name?" Will asked.

Deanna gave him a sharp look, then introduced the others. "This is Commander Riker, Captain Picard, Doctor Crusher. You're aboard Enterprise, our ship." The boy quietly attended; then he returned his gaze to Deanna. With one hand he touched his neck, looking to Deanna expectantly.

"The collar is missing," Will noted, wondering how he had failed to notice before. All slaves in the city planetside had worn collars. What did it mean that this slave's collar was gone?

The boy nodded; then he touched his neck again, and then his lips.

"You can't speak?" Deanna asked. She looked questioningly at Beverly, who shrugged and pulled a medical tricorder from her pocket; activating it, she moved it in a slow scan of the boy's head and neck. "Do you mean that you physically can't, or that you shouldn't, that you're forbidden to?"

"You can speak here," Will said, more sharply than he had intended. "We don't believe it's right to keep slaves, and we certainly don't believe in forbidding sentients to speak."

The boy looked up at him, shyly. A faint smile touched his lips, then faded.

Dr. Crusher drew breath. "There's a foreign implant in his neck, apparently attached somehow to some of the neural pathways in his brain. I hadn't found it before; I didn't do an internal scan for foreign objects..."

"Is it stopping the boy speaking, doctor?" the captain asked.

"It could be. I'd have to run more tests to be certain. Do you know what it is?" Beverly asked the boy. He nodded. "Is it keeping you from speaking? Should I remove it?" He nodded to both questions, looking hopefully up at her at the last. She turned to the captain. "I'll need to consult with Geordi and Data, technical devices are their expertise."

"I'll apprise them of the situation." Picard moved toward the door before tapping his communicator.

"Could we get the boy some clothes in the meantime?" Deanna asked, seeing him wrap his arms around himself.

"Go ahead, it will take me some time to set up the necessary protocols," the doctor answered. "I've stored his physical profile under 'boy Riker-Troi'". Will grinned at her teasing look.

"Come on." Counselor Troi reached out one hand to the boy, who pushed himself off the bed, looking questioningly at Beverly and Will. "Don't mind them, the doctor is just having some fun at my and Will's expense. How are you feeling? Anywhere that hurts?" The boy shook his head no.

"We can't call him 'boy'," Will complained. "Can you write?" he asked the boy. The child nodded, then shrugged uncertainly. "You replicate him some clothes," Will told Deanna. "I'll get some writing materials." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder to steer him to the replicator bank in an alcove behind the main infirmary. The boy's eyes widened, taking in the medical equipment and unfamiliar surroundings. His bare feet padded silently on the metal deck. "How old are you? Fourteen? Thirteen?" The boy nodded.

Reaching the replicator, Will programmed in an order for paper and pencils. "Thirteen. Dr. Crusher has a son Wesley who's not much older than you. I think you'd like him. Perhaps he could keep you company while we're trying to figure out how to get you home." The child smiled softly up at him; then he watched, fascinated, as a writing pad and colored pencils shimmered into existence on the replicator tray. Will found that he enjoyed watching the boy's obvious interest in the technology of Enterprise. He showed no fear of the ship's strangeness; the intensity of his focus and observation hinted at a quick and lively intelligence. Will indicated Beverly's office. "The doctor won't mind us using her desk," he said.

Deanna joined them then, with a neatly folded stack of clothing. "Why don't you dress, first?" she suggested. He looked uncertainly at the clothes she carried, then touched the armband on his left biceps. "Can you get that off yourself?" she asked, looking at the complicated network of metal bands, leather straps, and buckles he wore. He shook his head no.

"I'll help," Will volunteered. "We'll cut it off if we have to. If that's okay?" The boy nodded quickly.

Will found a small laser cutter in one of the medical equipment drawers, and tested it on an armband. With care, he found, he could slice the metal without hurting the boy. He drew the child into the Sick Bay head, and settled him onto a stool by the shower. The boy sat quietly, watching without fear as Will worked. Will stole glances at his face, wondering at the child's steadiness. "Have you been a slave long?" he asked, then continued at the boy's negative shake of the head, "a year? More? Less? Less, then. Your parents must be worried about you." The boy's expression creased; pained, uncertain. He shrugged. Meaning what? Will wondered. He finished cutting the last band, then, and deactivated the tool, putting it in his pocket. "You can take a shower if you like. Here -" he showed him how to operate the water controls and get soap from the dispenser. "I'll get your new clothes from Deanna. Counselor Troi, that is." The boy flashed him a faint, knowing smile before he stepped into the shower cubicle.

Deanna was talking with Beverly and the captain at the surgical station when he left the boy. She handed Will the stack of clothing she still carried. Data and Geordi were there as well, hunched over a screen readout.

"It looks like some sort of carbon-based microfibers extending from the main device into his brain stem," said Geordi. "Removing them may be difficult."

"They may spontaneously decompose if we deactivate or remove the main device," Data suggested. "That kind of structure should not be stable in the long term without a power source to reinforce the molecular matrix."

"Maybe. I'd like a better look; we'll need to do a more thorough scan." Geordi looked up in Will's direction, his expression thoughtful, thoroughly absorbed by this new technical puzzle.

"He's in the shower," Will told them. "He'll be out in a few minutes." Geordi nodded, then he and Data bent back over the screen, continuing to trade hypotheses, consulting with Beverly as well.

Picard drew Deanna and Will aside. "How is he, emotionally?" he asked Deanna.

She shook her head slowly. "He seems to be taking the strangeness of being here remarkably well. Except for those first few minutes on waking, he's shown no distress at all."

"Seems?" asked Picard.

"I can't read him," she admitted. "His mind is opaque to me."

"Isn't that unusual?" Will asked.

Deanna nodded. "Some species are naturally resistant to mind probes, but not humans." She looked at Will. "I couldn't read him when we saw him the first time, either; but then, I wasn't really trying to at the time. I was more focused on Xanatos. Whom I also could not read." She looked back to the captain. "I have no idea how it could be. It does happen sometimes."

"But both of them..."

"Though not other humans we saw on the planet: I could sense their emotions without difficulty."

The captain stood thoughtfully silent for a moment. "Curious. Well, keep your senses open; inform me of any change. Does either of you mind if I leave him in your charge for now?"

"No, Captain," Will answered.

"Not at all," Deanna echoed.

"Carry on, then." Picard left them.

The clothes Deanna had chosen for the boy were shaded predominantly blue, with a bright blue pullover shirt, dark pants, and accent stripes in blue and black on the short gray jacket. Will helped him to figure out the fastenings and dress. Most of the gold flecks had washed from his skin in the shower, Will noted; but his hair still sparkled faintly.

Will and Deanna brought the boy and the writing materials to Beverly's office, saying it was long enough they'd gone without knowing his name. The boy settled into Beverly's chair, the drawing tablet open on the desk in front of him. He pulled a mechanical pencil from the box - green - and Will showed him how to push some of the lead out of the tip. He held the pencil in his right hand, with the ease of long practice, and put the tip to paper. And stopped. He frowned, and stared at the pencil, as if willing it to write of its own. Then he dropped the pencil and leaned back in the chair, shoulders slumped, a look of misery on his face.

"You can't write, either," Deanna guessed. The boy nodded. "But you know how." He nodded again.

Will hated to see him so distressed. "It's all right," he said, lightly touching the boy's shoulder. "Dr. Crusher will take that device out of your neck, now, and you'll be fine." The boy tried to smile at him in response, his lips curling half-heartedly into a look that was almost a grimace. Will found himself hoping very much that he had spoken correctly, that removing the implant would be easy - and yet he was strangely certain that it would not be a simple operation at all.