Title: Double Helix Book 7: The Final Solution
Author: 3D Master
Feedback: [email protected]
Rating: PG-13
Keywords: X-Over Star Trek(The Next Generation/New
Frontier)/Highlander/X-Files. Sequel to
Nothingness and Wormhole Dead ahead. Tie in
with the book series Double Helix. No reading
of the books, or the earlier stories required,
but it will add so much more to the story.
Spoilers: Double Helix
Character Listing: Dana Scully, Duncan MacLeod, Cast of New
Frontier and The Next Generation.
Summery: The Federation was horribly wrong when they
thought they had the culprit responsible for
the Double Helix virus. It turns out the real
creator is infinitely more evil and powerful.

Disclaimer: The character Dana Scully does not belong to
me, but to Chris Carter and 1013 productions.
Star Trek belongs to Paramount. Highlander to
Panzer/Davis Productions.

Author's Notes: Aah, back again. For those who've made me your
favorite author you'll be extremely happy. The
next story came from reading the Double Helix
books. Every time I picked up the next
installment I more and more got the impression
we were dealing with some seriously sick,
twisted individual that must be behind the
virus. Somebody old and with far too much time
on his hands, somebody who can't die of a
little virus... somebody immortal. Thul was
great character and bad guy though... for a
pawn. Enjoy.

Double Helix Book 7:

The Final Solution

by 3D Master ([email protected])

Prologue: The Story

Dana listened to Fox Mulder's story, while a fire crackled,
throwing ghostly shadows around the clearing. Animal sounds came
from the forest around them, some sounded familiar, most
completely alien. The trees -- all of which grew with a muscle-
like substance in their stems and plateaus, these plateaus of
strong green material lined the stems, veins ran across them,
which pumped a blue liquid around the plant -- made gentle hissing
sound as the wind rocked them back and forth. On most plateaus
there would be buzzing of animal activity, all working in a
symbiotic nature with the tree. Some trees were different, they
had more traditional branches, not made of wood, but of muscle.
The branches would occasionally swoop down and grab a tasty treat,
after which it would move back up, where it let its digestive
fluids digest the animal.

Four more people sat around the fire: a girl with the name
Diari Mulder -- Fox' wife -- a Tinry, by the name of . . . well,
it was really unpronounceable, after a few stuttering attempts of
the other five present, they had settled on Din, a female Driak --
by definition sensual to a fault -- named Frianne, a male Orion,
listening to Eran and finally a male Leln, named Djixion. All of
them were listening to Fox' hipnotic story as intently as she was.

It was an incredible coincidence to meat Fox here. *Not
really,* Dana thought. This was after all the second time she
heard the story -- the first time was a few weeks ago. She had
been in a space bar and hotel; it just hung there in the middle of
interstellar space. There she had picked up the name Fox William
Mulder being bandied about in conversation at the closest table.
Her interest had peaked and she had, not surprisingly, lost all
interest in the sexy . . . whatever the sex of the person had
been. She sauntered over to the table and asked if she had heard
the name correctly. The storyteller nodded. For a moment she had
had fantasies of her Fox, somehow transcending more than twenty-
three hundred years of time. For a moment the possibility of a
never mentioned time travel adventure had entered her mind.
Catching her breath she asked what he knew about Fox Mulder. When
the storyteller described a hybrid man, with at least some Human,
probably some Orion, and possibly Bolian -- or at least one blue-
skinned and pink-skinned race -- that fantasy had evaporated
quickly. Dana, however, had become determined to find out who this
man, who held the familiar name was, and why he had knowledge of
events dating back twenty-three hundred years. Still, it was a big
coincidence that she heard the name Fox Mulder mentioned at all.

The planet was a paradise of primal beauty untouched by
technology. It was marketed by its Ferengi owners as the 'true
camping experience'. Campers paid through the nose making its
owners rich. Which was exactly how the Ferengi liked it.

Dana had arrived at the station orbiting the planet two days
after Fox did, bribing the Ferengi into letting her go to the
surface. The quota for the maximum number of campers was reached.
A large sum of money and a little oo-mox was needed as persuasion.
In keeping with the planets weapons regulations Dana had elected
to take a bow and arrows with her along with her sword. Marketed
as the 'ultimate camping and survival experience, where you can
find tranquillity and peace as well as your own death if you're
not careful', the Ferengi allowed only knives, swords, axes,
spears, and bows and arrows to the planet. People were beamed down
with limited food and water. They were expected to hunt or pluck
their own food and find their own water. The number of campers was
limited, so animals couldn't be hunted into extinction.

It had taken Dana two days to find Fox and Diari Mulder, two
days she had thoroughly enjoyed. She found them together with some
other campers around a fire and joined them. Not long after Fox
had proposed that each camper tell a story. They had all agreed,
and since it had been his idea he had agreed to begin.

Fox told the legend of his name-sake. A legend carried down
through the Mulder family of a man who, togther with his partner,
Tara Kelly, stopped an alien invasion of Earth. Dana grinned.
Although her name been changed her part in the story had managed
to survive the passage through time. Since Dana had heard the
story before she was not surprised that their struggles made up a
rather short part of the story. The present day Fox soon
progressed into the story of the Mulder family guardian angel, the
very same Tara Kelly, who transcended death in order to guard the
Mulder family. Dana grinned again, she really had tried to keep
tabs on Mulder's descendants, and had protected them when she
could. The present day Fox' line of the family had apparently
managed to slip through her notice somehow.

" . . . and so ends the legend of the Mulder guardian angel,"
Fox said, smiling as he heard murmurs and claps of approval.

"My turn," Frianne purred. "This is a legend among our people.
Nobody really knows how much of it is true. It was in the early
days of our exploration of the universe that . . . "

Frianne made herself comfortable by lying on her side. Dressed
in only the flimsiest excuses for clothing, she curved her body
enticing everybody present. She archer her back gently, leaned on
her left arm, allowing everybody a nice view of her cleavage. The
tiny, loose skirt she was wearing barely covered her curvy bottom
and allowed glimpses of the paradise beneath. Jaws dropped in
admiration. Diari gave Fox a scowl. He gave his wife a guilty
smile and proceeded to closed his mouth, as Diari turned to scowl
at Frianne. Frianne gave Fox a predatory gaze just to piss Diari
off. The other men were not so restrained:; the Orion licked his
lips while the Tinry openly drooled at Frianne, which - aroused
or not - was not all that strange for a Tinry and Djixion touched
the tips of his fangs with his tongue one by one. Frianne's dark
blue-green skin was glistening with sweat in the pale light of the
planet's three moons. Her arousal was clear. Loaded with
pheromones the sweat smelled musky and sweet. It enthralled
everyone. She licked her lips during her tale, her gaze lingering
the drooling Din, undoubtly deciding on whether she would have sex
with him tonight, or the day after. She then gazed at Dana, who
had her mouth slightly ajar but closed it quickly under the
scrutiny. Frianne smirked and Danna grinned back. Frianne, looked
around the group deciding on whether she would fuck one, a few of
them, or whether she would just initiate group sex with them all.

So powerful was a Driak's sex drive, it made Orion slave-girls
look like nuns. Unlike the Orions though, the Driak were anything
but submissive. They were down right sexual predators. Thousands
of years ago an asteroid crashed on their planet and wiped out
their civilization, a civilization equal to that of Earth's Middle
Ages. As the women were considerably weaker than the males, far
fewer women managed to survive. In order for the race to survive
there was but one option, to have as many children as possible
with as many different men as possible. Women with higher sex
drive, independence and strong physiology became the preferred
choice of the men and evolution took its course. Its result: Driak
women with an enhanced sex drive, the strength and agility of a
cat and the twisting ability of a snake. The retractable claws was
a remanent of the Driak's feline ancestry. Unlike most felines
though the only place where hair grew on a Driak's body was on
their heads, which had a lion-like mane quality to them, the color
ranging from rose-red to the orange color you see on many cats.

The premise of Frianne's story was rather simple. A group of
Driaks out to explore the galaxy found a civilization at about the
same technological level. While on their planet, one of the
females got kidnapped by one of the local animals, who -- as time
would tell -- was attracted to the Driak female's unusually high
pheromone count. For two days the female was raped by the animal.
Frianne described in explicit detail the rape. The Driak female,
the way Frianne told it, had enjoyed the sex, despite being scared
to death. Finally a chivalrous knight of the native people had
slain the beast and rescued her.

That the female had enjoyed the bestiality was not unexpected;
a recent questionnaire revealed that seventy-nine percent of the
Driak females enjoyed bestiality on a regular basis, thirteen
percent had had bestiality but did not practice it regularly, six
percent had not had bestiality yet, but was planning on
experiencing it in the near future, and only two percent had some
resemblance of decorum by the definition of other races, not that
that stopped them from having sex with almost anyone and anything
else that crossed their paths.

The outcome had, however, been common knowledge, to such an
agree that someone a few centuries ago had said, 'Driak women fuck
anything that walks.' A Driak woman present had promptly answered,
'Correction. We fuck anything that lives.' This had soon evolved
into the Driak people's personal motto. The other rather
interesting outcome was the average number of sex partners for
Driak women in their one hundred and twenty-year life span: twenty
thousand. The lower border was two thousand, the upper border
forty thousand. This too was common knowledge and had prompted
someone to say, 'Girls just want to have fun . . . and a Driak
girl's definition of fun is sex.' The Driaks had been particularly
proud of those outcomes. The natural average number of children
for a Driak woman as biologists and historians say was thirty-two.
Lucky for everybody else in the universe they started to use birth
control a long time ago, or they would have run everybody else
over.

Frianne continued her story with detailed descriptions of the
sex the Driak female had given her knight in shining armor as
thanks. Sadly the female had overestimated his sexual prowess and
after two days of continues sex, he had slipped into a coma,
brought on by exhaustion and dehydration that lasted six months -
apparently her vaginal fluids did not contain enough water for him
to live on.

This sparked a surge of paranoia on the planet The people
declared war on the Driaks. The Driaks decided that the best way
to end a war was he way it began. Captured soldiers were given a
royal sexual treatment before they were sent home unharmed. A few
days before the hero had woken up, his people had understood the
message and had initiated peace talks. Frianne finished her story
with detailed descriptions of -- not all that surprisingly -- the
orgy between the two governments that the Driak government had
organized in celebration.

By the time Frianne finished, Diari and Fox were kissing
passionately, and the three men were advancing on Frianne.

"Uh-uh, I've found that making desperate men wait a little
longer, the sex gets infinitely better," Frianne said, wiggling
her finger and licking her lips.

Fox and Driari parted reluctantly, while the men settled back
down with difficulty.

"Well," Djixion said, "I guess it's my turn. I will tell you a
legend of my people. An ancient legend. Historians say that it's
at least sixteen hundred years old, and probably older. It's the
legend of 'The Angel's Sacrifice'."

Djixion's race, the Leln, came from sector 221-G and had a
rather infamous history. About fifteen hundred years ago their
advanced civilization was wiped by the Enevians, who originated
from the same sector. The Leln were one of the first races that
befell the fate. The Enevians were evil. They believed that they
were superior to all races and had the right to rule all. For a
hundred and fifty years the Enevians ruled sector 221-G with an
iron fist. Then, four hundred and fifty years ago, they made the
mistake of declaring war on the Federation. The Enevians
miscalculated. As the Prime Directive did not apply to races the
Federation was at war with, the Federation smuggled weapons to the
subjugated races of sector 221-G. The war had been over within a
year. The Enevians were vulnerable against attacks from withing
their sector. With their supply lines in shambles they didn't
stand a chance. The war had ended within a year, it didn't even
come anywhere near close to the destructiveness of the Galaxy wide
Borg War.

After the Enevians' capitulation, peace talks started between
the Federation, the former subjugated races and the Enevians. The
Leln, not satisfied with just victory, engineered a deadly disease
that would kill only Enevians. It had no initial symptoms, an
incubation period of two years and was extremely contagious. Two
years and three months later there wasn't an Enevian left alive
anywhere.

The thousand years of living in primitive conditions and under
subjugation had apparently changed the real life events of
Djixion's story to the stuff of legends, for it involved dragons,
demons and an angel that battled them across the galaxy. The angel
sacrificed herself by letting a demon inhabit her body, a demon
she was not sure she could banish from her, once it was inside. Tt
was the only way to save all the mortals. The angel, Djixion
stated, could simply have stood by and watch the mortals die. It
would never have meant her death, but she made the sacrifice, beat
the demon, and saved everybody inside the galaxy.

Dana grinned at the story, while the arousal, brought on by
Frianne and her story, slowly ebbed away. *This is too good to be
true,* Dana thought as a way to truly baffle the group entered her
mind. She soon realised it was too good to be true, since it
required her to give up the group sex that was sure to be coming.
She consoled herself with the knowledge that Frianne would hunt
her down later, because, Dana knew, she would never be able to
tear herself away from the prospect of a sex partner over twenty-
three hundred years old. Dana also decided to let herself get
caught.

"And that is how the Angel's Sacrifice saved us all," finished
Djixion. The enthralled audience clapped in appreciation.

"That is of course not what truly happened," Dana said with an
enigmatic smile.

"The blonde talks," Frianne answered, licking her lips
suggestively, "for a moment I started thinking there was something
to the Humans' claims of 'dumb blondes'."

Dana's comment irritated Djixion. As he threw a another piece
of burnable material on the fire, he said, "That suggests you know
what truly happened."

"I do. Would you like me to tell?" Dana asked with a mysterious
smile. The group nodded.

"First, I would have to paint the canvas with a background,"
Dana said thoughtful. "There was a man, a Thallonian, a general.
His name was Thul and he was madly in love with a princess; the
sister of the Thallonian Emperor. The power that went with the
princess was the main reason for his love. The princess loved him
as much as he loved her, however, his stature was not enough, he
was born a common man, and the Emperor did not give permission for
the marriage.

"Now this could have broken many men, sink them into
depression. But not Thul, no Thul was made of sturdier stuff; he
decided to fight for his love, he decided to make such an enormous
act of vision and gain such power, that the Emperor would not be
able to afford not to allow him to marry his sister. His plan
required a lot of innocent deaths and lots of unnecessary
destruction. There was however a Federation ship present that
thwarted his plans, in the process Thul's bastard son died and the
Thallonian authorities threw him in prison. Thul vowed vengeance
for the death of his son and inability to marry his beloved one.
The princess, still in love with Thul, hired someone to free him
from his prison . . .

*****

Thul sat in his cell, sulking. He didn't have much else to do.
Suddenly the force field that held him dropped then came back up
again. A pair of glasses, headphones and a microphone seemed to
materialize out of thin air and flew at him. He caught them, and
put on the glasses. With them on he saw a man standing inside his
cell. The man was dressed in a black robe, with a hood that
concealed his face perfectly. It was as if the man had only a
shadow where a head should be. The man pointed at his ears.

Thul understood and put on the headphones and microphone
combination.

"Good," said the voice in Thul's ear piece. Thul watched as the
man removed a rather large device from inside his robes and threw
it at him. "Put this on your upper arm and activate it. Hurry up,
it won't take the guards long to figure out, that what they're
seeing is not what's actually happening. By the way, I was hired
by the princess to get you out," said the invisible man.

Thul turned the device -- that covered most of his upper arm --
on. He saw a little flicker go over his body and then nothing.

"Follow me," said the voice in his ears. The force field
flickered as Thul stepped through.

"Who are you anyway?" Thul asked.

"My identity is irrelevant," the man answered as they walked
through the corridors. Thul nodded. In his self-possessed mind he
didn't consider the man's identity relevant either, so Thul just
kept following him. After a few minutes, guards started filtering
through entrances, each shouting about the escaped prisoner. It
took a little effort to make sure the guards did not bump into
them, but they walked out the prison rather easily.

Once outside the effects of the transporter scrambler, the man
said, "Beam us up."

Thul materialized on a dark ship with green walls of unknown
design. The hooded figure reached insides his robes, there was a
flicker. A moment later he removed a device similar to the one on
Thul's upper arm. He put it in a locker along with his headphones
and microphones. He then gestured to Thul. Thul nodded his
understanding and proceeded to turn off the arm device. He
returned it, the headphones and the microphone to the robed man.

The man took them, put them away. "So," said the man's
seemingly disembodied voice as he turned to face Thul. "I hear you
want revenge on the Federation for killing your son."

*****

"Thul's plan for revenge was simple: create a virus that will
destroy every sentient life in the Federation and release it,"
Dana said, looking around the group. "The execution a little less
so. He needed a combined effort of several of the biggest crime
lords, of course after promising they'd get to rule the whole of
the space that was up until then known as the United Federation of
Planets, they were more than eager to chip in.

"He had a massive station built, easily the size of small moon,
from which he could coordinate the effort to destroy the
Federation and to design the virus. The Romulans delivered to him
the cloaking device that would conceal his station.

"First of course he had to test his scientists' creation. His
first test was on a planet called Archaria III. A colony world,
colonized by Terrans and Peladians. A world filled with the
beginnings of race hatred, and hatred against hybrids. The virus
attacked only hybrids fueling more hatred, while everybody accused
each other. The Enterprise D was dispatched there at the time, and
her chief medical officer managed to develop a cure.

"The second test was on the Cardassian station in orbit around
Bajor called Terok Nor, the station that would later be known as
Deep Space Nine. The test was during the latter days of the
Cardassian occupation of the planet, an easy place to introduce a
virus that promised the death of every Cardassian. It however also
promised the death of every Bajoran, something that was neglected
to mention to the Bajorans. A Federation doctor by the name of
Pulaski was sent, after the resident Bajoran doctor, Pulaski's ex-
husband, asked for help. They, together with the resident
Cardassian doctor managed to cure this decease as well.

"The third test was done on the Romulan royal family.
Ambassador Spock -- present there to work for reunification of the
Romulan and Vulcan peoples -- and an old shipmate and famous
doctor, Leonard McCoy, managed to find a cure for this virus as
well, after locating the only -- and banished -- member of the
Romulan royal family that was not infected.

"The fourth and last test was held in the demilitarized zone
between the Cardassian Empire and the Federation. The Macquis -- a
rebel group of ex-Federation citizens, that was fighting the
Cardassians for their rights and freedom. They did everything in
their power to stop the virus from wiping out the population of
the planet on which the test was held. They failed, and the
Cardassians had decided to vaporize the entire surface of the
planet to make sure the virus didn't spread. Thul, happy with the
outcome and not wanting anyone to get a hand on the virus to
develop a cure, destroyed the virus.

"Finally Thul was ready to release the virus for real. With an
ingenious plot, he planned to release a computer virus into the
Federation network, which would order all the replicators to start
replicating the prionic components which would react together to
form the deadly virus. Two undercover agents -- Captain Mackenzie
Calhoun of the starship Excalibur and Captain Jean-Luc Picard of
the starship Enterprise -- were sent in by the Federation to stop
Thul and his criminal organization. They succeeded, destroying
Thul's space station and the man himself in the process.

"Little did the Federation and Thul know, that he was nothing
more but a pawn in a grander scheme. A scheme of, you guessed it,
our robed friend.

*****

Diego Rivadeneira, which is the name of our robed figure,
looked at the view screen of his cloaked vessel, which showed the
exploding space station, with an invisible grin.

"Plan A," he said, a deadly tone to his voice, "we help Thul
realise his goal and he succeeds, with the Federation gone there's
no one to stop us from releasing an even deadlier virus, which
will clear the quadrant so we can rule it." His crew grinned and
chuckled evilly. *Fools,* Diego thought.

Diego watched as a small craft managed to get away from the
explosion in time, and targeted another, bigger, craft. After
about a minute the bigger craft moved off at warp speed. The
smaller one just hung there dead in space. Diego checked his
sensor read out and noticed that its energy reserves were gone.
His sensors also told him that a big ship was heading this way at
high warp and would soon arrive. A minute later it dropped out of
warp, saved the people on board the small craft and then, after
doing a sensor sweep, moved off at warp.

"Plan B, Thul fails, and with the Federation not doing anything
because they think they've defeated the man behind the plot, and
those that worked for him have scattered back to what they always
do, there is no one to stop us from releasing an even deadlier
virus," Diego said relaxed, and looked around his bridge and his
crew with an invisible grin. "Everything just went according to
plan B." Then he started an eerie, evil laugh that echoed through
his bridge. His crew joined in.

*****

Dana looked around the group with a grin. They were all focused
on her, listening intently.

"Now that you know the background, I can go on with the story.
It happened in the Terran year 2376. For you who don't know, that
would be around Stardate 53500, for you who don't now Federation
Stardates either, it happened around two thousand years ago, the
year following the Dominion War," Dana said smiling, looking at
any reactions from them.

"The story is about a woman named Dana Katherine Scully. At the
time she was a Federation Ambassador and had just renegotiated a
trade agreement on Rania III. Now Dana Katherine Scully was
special. She is of race of beings that cannot die unless you cut
off their heads. There are legends about them, spanning back
thousands of years . . . even at the time the story takes place.
They are called, not very originally Immortals. People have seen
them as demons, angels and gods. Some say that they came from the
dawn of time, that they move silently down through the centuries,
living many secret lives. You would never recognize what they are,
unless you see them come back from the dead. One of us could even
be one, and he . . . or she could be laughing at us right now.
There even have been those, who claimed that the Immortals
struggle in an eternal battle that spans eons of time, and that in
the end, the last Immortal will be God . . . and rule the
universe."

"Don't take their word for it though, they could be horribly
wrong," Dana said. She grinned and again picked up the thread of
her story. "But that is another story . . . as I was saying;
Rania III."

~~X~~ Chapter One: The Virus

Rania III
August, 2376

Ambassador Dana Katherine Scully had just successfully diffused
a potentially volatile situation, the trade-dispute between Rania
III and Andoria might well have turned nasty. She and her
entourage were walking across the spaceport towards the
Ambassadorial star ship. It was small, maneuverable with enough
fire power and enough speed to escape a bad situation.

The spaceport was bathed in sunlight. Slowly little white
clouds moved across the green-blue sky. In the bright light the
beige spaceport seemed to radiate light.

Dana neared the ramp leading into the ship; the posted colony
guards came to attention. Their blue uniforms gleamed in the
sunlight. Suddenly the Andorian guard on Dana's right, started to
cough and clutched his chest. A few seconds later he dropped to
his knees gasping for breath.

Dana and her entourage were too surprised to act immediately,
but a moment later Dana sprang to action. With quick strides she
walked to the gasping guard, who was lying on his side shivering
wildly, and took off his helmet.

"What's wrong with him?" the other guard, a Human, asked. More
than a little concern laced his voice.

"I don't know yet," Dana answered. She looked at the shaking,
sweat covered Andorian, as one of her aides ran a tricorder over
him.

"Ambassador," said another assistant.

"Yes, Rianne," Dana answered.

"The pilot just informed me, that he was told this planet was
put under quarantine seven minutes ago, we're not allowed to
leave." She and Dana watched with horror as spots started to form
on the Andorian. The spots were more than just spots. I a
different language, ranging from Klingon to English, from Romulan
to Ferengi the spots spelt out the same thing; 'Smile, you're
dead.'

"Jesus Christ!" Dana exclaimed in horror as she read the
messages. She activated the universal commbadge on her right wrist
and said, "Emergency medical channel."

Instead of the helpful face that Dana was expecting there was a
voice recording, "All emergency channels, transporters and
ambulances are currently overloaded. We know of the epidemic. If
you have a patients with certain indistinguishable symptoms,
please bring the patient to the nearest hospital yourself."

"What the . . .?" Dana exclaimed in shock, but quickly changed
tactics. "You!" she said to the sick man's partner. "Where's the
nearest hospital?"

*****

Dana, her patient and her entourage arrived at the hospital
twenty minutes later, after worming themselves a way through a
seemingly city-wide traffic jam.

"Who's the doctor in charge?" Dana asked a nurse in the
overcrowded lobby.

"Listen, lady . . ." the aggravated nurse started.

With her right hand, Dana grabbed him by the collar, pulled the
nurse's face close to her and hissed, "No! You listen, I have some
virology expertise, I might be able to help find a cure if you
point me to the person in charge."

The man nodded and yelled to a female colleague, "I'm away for
a minute, I'm bringing her to the virology center."

"You help out as best as you can," Dana said to her assistants,
who nodded their ascents as she started to follow the man.

Minutes later, after following the man through a winding set of
corridors -- each filled with patients lying on the floor and
nurses and doctors trying to give them relief -- they arrived at
the virology center. Her reluctant guide pointed at the door then
turned around and left.

Dana walked through the door leading into the virology center
and looked around. The pale green walls adorned with white tiles
gave the room an air of doomed tranquility. The activity in the
room was anything but tranquil. Doctors and assistants crowded it.
They walked back and forth between the state of the art equipment,
talking heatedly as they tried to come up with a cure. Subspace
scanners, microscopes, quantum-resonance scanners and other
devices hummed with activity. A large table in the middle, with
two doctors standing by it, was covered with notes, most stored in
PADDs, but some hastily scribbled on large pieces of paper: quick
preliminary sketches and formulas. Crumpled up pieces of paper
lined the floor. A doctor, most likely the head of the center,
pointed things out on the large main computer screen. Two doctors
standing at the table nodded at his comments then turned and
continued their work.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" said the man at the
screen as she approached him.

"Dana Scully, I might be able to help. You got something that
allows me to catch up?" Dana asked.

The medium built ash blond doctor clearly not liking her
intrusion, hesitated briefly, before saying, "Sander Schafer.
Pick up a PADD. File: Double Helix fifth incarnation."

Dana grabbed one of the PADDs on the table and started reading
through the information rapidly. The incubation period was at
least nine and a half weeks, according to the blood samples. Ten
weeks old was the oldest sample of infected blood. Five months ago
Thul had been stopped, thought Dana. It was big news throughout
the Federation. How close they had all come to annihilation had
not been part of the news release. The Question remained, how long
ago had they, however 'they' were, started to spread this new
version of the disease.

Chemical notations, DNA profiles, data about the spread of the
viral outbreak. Now this was interesting. It started here in the
capital, and was rapidly moving outward. Another twelve hours and
people would start succumbing everywhere on the planet.

"They screwed up," Dana noted to the head doctor, who was
working a few meters away from her.

"What do you mean?" said the man without looking up from his
work. Once in a while he scooped some of his tossled hair back
over his head.

"The spread, it started here and is moving outward. With an
incubation time of at least two months I'm certain that whoever
planned this would have wanted the disease to set in everywhere on
the planet at roughly the same time. Whoever did the delivery
screwed it up," Dana elaborated.

"You're right. I better send that tidbit of information to the
Enterprise as well," Doctor Schafer noted.

"The Enterprise is coming here?" Dana asked.

"After I found that this was the Double Helix virus, I sent
word to Starfleet Command immediately and recommended any and all
blood tests they made recently in the fleet. Starfleet said that
the Enterprise would be dispatched to us immediately," Schafer
said. He pushed a button and the screen of the computer before him
changed to a worried looking red head.

Dana half ignored the conversation and focused back on the
PADD. She felt herself pale with every new tidbit of information:
it kills within fifteen minutes to twenty-four hours, depending
mostly on the concentration of the virus in the blood stream, then
on the species and the strength of the patient's immune system.

Dr. Schafer tapped the communications screen off and returned
to his work.

"What's this?" Dana asked, pointing to a picture made by a
microscope of one of the sores.

"Hmm, oh that. We haven't figured that one out yet, best guess
we came up it's the closest thing to a release valve for the
virus," Dr. Schafer stated absentmindedly.

Dana knew of viruses that released themselves into the air
through sores on an patient's body, but this looked nothing like
them. "But . . . this . . . seems completely wrong for that. This
is . . . almost as if . . . as if . . . it can open and close . .
. but still . . . that doesn't account for . . ."

Schafer's eyes widened and an expression of revelation mixed
with shock lined his face. Dana did not notice it, intent on
finding the solution to this puzzle her focus was on the PADD.
"Oh. My. God!" Schafer esclaimed slowly.

"What?" Dana asked. The room had quieted down. She looked
around and saw everyone's attention focused on Schafer. She turned
back to him. The large main screen behind him now held the same
picture as her PADD.

"Computer, test hypothesis: this formation is a release for the
virus, but unlike a natural viral release, it can open and close,"
Schafer said heatedly.

"Test complete, main part of formation conforms to hypothesis,"
said the computer as it highlighted the formation.

"Main part? What could the other parts be?" Schafer asked, his
voice tinged with astonishment.

As the picture on the screen changed to highlight the other
parts of the strange formation, the computer answered, "Unknown."

"I doubt the rest would have a totally different purpose than
the release valve," one of the other doctor's said.

"Computer, assume the rest of the formation is also a release
system, could it release prions?" Schafer asked his face paling.

"Affirmative," the computer answered.

"Check the four prions that form the virus. Can the system
release these four prions?" Derrrick asked with a sense of doom in
his voice.

"Four out of the six release capillary match the four prions,"
the computer stated.

"Six release capillaries? There are only four prions that form
the virus. Why would there be six capillaries?" one of the
virologists asked, looking intently at the screen.

They all stared at each other for a while, trying to figure out
the answer. Then some of them started running theories by one of
their colleagues.

"Computer," Dana asked, reluctantly. "What can open the release
valve?"

"Two possibilities, outside stimulus of a chemical agent, or
stimulus from inside the body," the computer said.

"Using the scans of the valve, can you extrapolate possible
chemical agents that could open the valve?" doctor Schafer asked
with urgency.

"Affirmative," the computer once again stated.

"Do it, and display them, include graphical notations."

"Working . . . Working . . . Direct contact with these agents
could open the valve," the computer stated. A list of compounds
appeared on the main screen.

"Leave only those to which the valve is most sensitive to," Dr.
Schafer said quickly.

"Affirmative," the computer stated. The list shortened
noticably.

"Now, can any of the remaining agents be formed by coupling two
prions, who fit the remaining two release capillaries?" Schafer
asked, dread filling his voice.

"Working . . . affirmative," the computer said, only one
compound remained. Its graphical representation became highlighted
then animated. The animation showed it breaking up into two
smaller compounds.

Sander Schafer pulled a chair from under the main table, and
sat down heavily in it muttering, "Jesus Christ."

Similar mutters came from everybody else, nobody needed to
explain it to them. "This virus wasn't made to destroy the
Federation, it was made to kill every living eukaryotic life form
in the galaxy," Schafer stated out loud. "Whoever created this
thing must be completely insane. Unless he has a cure, it'll kill
him as well."

*Or doesn't need to worry about dying.* The thought popped in
Dana's mind before she could stop it. She shook her head. *You
don't need to go there,* she told herself. *It's probably just
some insane mortal, like the last one: Thul.* But the would not
completely leave her alone.

Everybody stood there for a moment, then Schafer stood up and
with renewed vigor he said, "Move it, people. We might be the only
chance the galaxy has, we must find a cure." The staff went back
to work with a flourish, each determined to find a cure as fast as
possible.

Dana grabbed a sample of infected blood and walked to one of
the few unoccupied scanners and placed it under the viewer. "What
the hell?" she muttered confused. The blood was virus free. She
turned back towards the table and picked up a tricorder. After
verifying that she indeed had virus free blood, she used it to
find a blood sample that contained the virus. She placed this
sample under the viewer. Once more the scanner showed the sample
to be virus free.

"This is impossible," Dana said, rechecking the sample with the
tricorder. It showed no signs of the virus. "How . . ." Dana
stared but stopped as she had an epiphany. She picked up a closed
vial with infected blood and checked it with the tricorder; all of
the virus and all of the prions were concentrated as far away from
her hand and body as possible. The virus was built to react to her
Quickening, a simple magnetic repulsion effect, to make sure make
sure no Immortal ever got infected and accidentally created a
cure. Whoever created the virus knew about Immortals, a Watcher?
*Or doesn't need to worry about dying.* The thought returned to
her. A Watcher didn't really make sense, why would he want to kill
himself, but an Immortal . . . One of their own had created this
virus, to kill off every mortal life form in the galaxy. But why?
He had to be insane.

Suddenly Dana knew what she had to do. She looked at the door
in the back, most likely a private office, then at Schafer. She
saw him take a vial out of a machine triumphantly, as she walked
to him and asked, pointing at the door in the back, "That your
office?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Does it have a quarantine unit in there?" Dana asked,
switching her weight from foot to foot in apprehension.

"Yes," Schafer said, frowning at her strange questioning.

"Force field or old fashioned doors?" Dana asked him again.

"We've got state of the art equipment, but it's an old
building. It's still got doors," Schafer said, looking at her
strangely.

"That the virus?" Dana asked pointing at the vial that Schafer
was holding.

For a moment Dr. Schafer forgot about her strange line of
questioning and held up the vial proudly, shaking the clear liquid
inside it. "Yep, we just managed to synthesize it. First step to
finding a cure. This stuff is so concentrated, even if you took
only a part of it, you'd be dead in minutes."

"Good," Dana said and whisked the vial from his hands, turned
around and walked towards the door. Most of the doctors were to
wrapped up in their work to notice.

"Hey, give it back!" Schafer said in anger, following her
through the door to his office.

Dana held up the vial for him to see. Schafer looked and saw
the liquid all crawled up the side of the vial away from Dana. His
eyes widened, his mouth open, locked at a position to yell
obscenities to her.

Instead, "What the . . . ?" came out.

"Close and lock the door, now," Dana said, sternly. Schafer
complied.

Dana looked around the office. The color of the walls were the
same as the main lab. A desk stood in the middle with a computer
on it. Medical scanners and other equipment laid on tables that
lined the walls. A door in the far left corner of the office
undoubtedly lead to the quarantine unit. She grabbed a hypospray
from the shelf to her right and replaced the empty vial it was
holding with the one containing the virus.

"What do you think you're doing, we need that to generate a . .
." Schafer was too late. He watched in horror he as Dana injected
the virus into her right arm. Relief washed over him as she handed
the half empty sprayer back to him. She winced as her arms began
to discolor.

Dana took her katana from within her purple Ambassadorial robes
and said, as she cut open her left hand. "Normally I wouldn't tell
you, but I don't think I have much of a choice, I just have to
hope you keep my secret." She held up her hand for him to see it
healing up. "I am four hundred plus years old and I am Immortal. I
generate a relatively powerful bio-electric field. You saw it; the
virus and the prions were engineered so my bio-electric field
would repulse them, to make sure . . ." Dana groaned in pain and
decided it was best to get herself into the quarantine unit.
Staggering along, she continued, "my immune-system, and that of
others like me, doesn't generate a cure for the disease."

"Don't tell them," Dana said pointed at the wall, behind which
the others were working. "Don't tell anyone." Dana staggered and
Dr. Schafer grabbed her arm to steady her and helped her into the
quarantine unit.

Once she was inside he locked the doors. He pushed the intercom
button and said to Dana's kneeled form, "Your intercom button is
to your right."

While pain lanced through her body, she pulled herself up with
extreme effort. She groaned, screamed and cursed. She pushed the
button while leaning to the wall. "I think . . . my immune system
. . . is our best hope. You . . . keep . . . ngggh . . . working
there . . . while my body . . . arghh . . . does the same here . .
. "

Schafer turned away. He had seen the last stage of the virus
too often: first the sores would split open, releasing massive
amounts of blood, then the patient would go into extreme
convulsions, finally most of the flesh would rupture and internal
bleeding would occur leading to death. He felt lucky the intercom
was down, so he wouldn't have to hear her screams.

He turned back to the door, looked through the small window and
saw the bloodied corpse of Dana Scully. Soaked through with blood
her once purple robes were now crimson. For a moment he thought he
had only dreamed her hand healing and that the virus had gotten
her after all. Then he saw electrical discharges cover her body,
some blood actually flowing back into her wounds, before those
wounds closed right in front of his eyes. He looked on in
astonished as her body to regenerated. Suddenly she gasped for
breath and slowly stood back up.

"Wow," he muttered. He was envisioning a cure, when he saw
spots forming the grizzly words once more darkening her face.
Suddenly he understood the true scope of what she had done. She
would keep dying in the same horrible manner, until her body
finally generated the needed anti-bodies.

She staggered towards him, her sweat made red trickles as it
pulled along the blood on her body. She was a gruesome sight. Red,
blood-soaked fingers covered with new sores pushed the intercom
button. "Listen to me! Don't . . . don't ever come in here!
I'm a perfectly trained killer, and in the states I'm going to be
in, I might kill you instinctively without so much as a blink of
an eye! Don't come in here, no matter how dead I look! I might
not be dead, or wake up before you can get out! Don't even open
the door, unless you're absolutely certain I've completely
recovered! Don't be fooled! Aaagh! I might not be thinking with
all my faculties and just try to get out whatever the cost!
Nnnggg! Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said and watched her sink to the floor in pain.

"Sander!" an agitated voice called into Shafer's office from
the lab. "I don't know what you two are doing in there, but if we
want to find a cure, we need that virus."

"Of course, I'm coming," Schafer said, removing the half-empty
vial from the hypospray.

Once through the door, he closed and locked it behind him.

"Where's the woman?"

"Inside. None of you go inside, she works alone," Schafer
answered, his voice solemn.

"What!? But . . ." the man said.

"No buts. She's doing the best she can. Sean, trust me on this.
It's best to leave her alone and not to go in there," Schafer
answered. He felt the key in his pocket and felt secure. The age
of the building was a blessing. No one could command the computer
to open his door. His key was required. If anyone tried to take
the key rom him, he could always hide or throw the key away.

*****

Half an hour later

"Let me out!" Dana screamed, while she threw herself against
the door. Her face seemed like that of a viscous and hurt animal.
One eye turned up into an eye socket and she screamed in pain.

Schafer saw, rather then heard Dana's scream of agony and rage.
Schafer pushed the intercom button and said coolly, "You know I
can't hear you unless you push the intercom button." He kept his
emotions carefully in check overcoming his first instinct to rush
in and deliver pain killers. In her condition she would probably
rip him apart. He could not allow himself to feel any sympathy.
"Dying, regenerating and waking up again must get you hungry and
thirsty. There are replicators installed, you know." He said in a
detached tone.

Suddenly she was upright. Her fist came flying at him.
Reflexively he took a step back. The fist connected with the
armored transparent aluminum edge of the window in the door making
a small star shaped indentation. He stepped forward, looked
through the window and saw her lying on the floor convulsing and
spitting up blood. The bones in her hand were completely
shattered, but he saw it healing already. Once more Schafer saw
the sores splatter open and spray blood.

It sickened him. If for some cosmic fluke he got his hands on
the person who created this virus his Hypocratic oath would not
keep him from killing him. Realizing that he could do no more for
Dana, he returned to the main lab. He carefully Locked the door
behind him. They were making progress; finding the cure wasn't the
problem, finding it on time was. He wiped sweat from his forehead
with his right hand. He felt ill, his limbs hurt, his head hurt,
everything hurt. On top of that he was tired, he knew he needed
rest, he also knew he didn't have time for rest. He looked at his
wrist as he moved it away from his sweaty forehead. On it he saw
the familiar discolorations that were the beginnings of the deadly
sores. He cursed mentally. He was running out of time.

A blue column of energy appeared and a moment later a familiar
face, wearing a bio-hazard suit materialized. Beverly Crusher,
chief medical officer of the USS Enterprise looked around, spotted
him, grimaced at the unpretty picture and walked over.

"The virus has incubated inside of you," she stated the
obvious.

"Yes, it has. You do know you're not getting off this planet
even with that suit, unless we find the cure don't you?" Schafer
asked solemnly.

"Yes," said Beverly, as neutrally as she could manage, "last
time we spoke, you told me you think whoever distributed this
virus made mistakes."

"Really? I guess in all the excitement, or should I say shock,
I forgot to contact you about our new discovery," he answered
almost in glee.

"What?" Beverly asked hopeful at first. Then she noticed the
mad undertone.

"Oh, just this," Schafer answered. He walked towards the main
screen and pushed the buttons needed to show her the information.
He did not explain, he just let her read.

"My god, this will kill everything in the Galaxy," she
whispered in shock.

"Yeah, welcome to the Apocalypse," Schafer answered, chuckling
with mad glee.

"I'm not giving up that easily."

"Have you heard me say anything about giving up?" he asked,
grinning even wider.

Beverly looked at him as if he was mad, "I don't get it. Not
what you're saying and not what so funny."

"Something that occurred to me while I was standing there
looking at you materialize. Don't you see the irony of it all? The
genius of the creator of this virus, insane but a genius? I mean,
look at us," he pointed around the room with hard working doctors,
some of whom were looking at him with a strange expression. "One
of his cronies messed up, and it's allowing us find a cure. We
already have the virus synthesized, it's only a matter of time.
But you know what, even if we do find the cure in time, the virus
is so infectious and so wide spread already that we simply don't
have enough hyposprays, syringes and personnel in the whole
Federation to inoculate even one planet, let alone the billions
across the Federation and the trillions more across the galaxy.
And I've got European ancestry, I mean the billion that comes
after milliard and the trillion that comes after billiard." He
laughed a good, mad laugh, before finishing his speech. "The only
hope we've got is saving enough and the most important people of
every race in the Federation and a planet uninfected for them to
live on... and hopefully in about a few thousand years we'll have
rebuilt the Federation."

Beverly looked at him, tried to find a flaw in his reasoning
and could not. Her face whitened at her conclusion.

"Well, there's one good thing that comes from all of this,"
Schafer said with a grin. Like his mother had told him over and
over, 'Every disadvantage has an advantage, everything bad, has
something good inside of it. If you'll just look long enough,
you'll find it.'

"Something good?" Dr. Crusher asked him disbelieving.

"Yeah, this will probably kill off the Borg, as well," Shafer
said and laughed heartily. The mad undertone was gone. "Ironic,
isn't it? The biggest threat to the Federation getting eliminated
by an even bigger threat, yet some of us survive."

A few of the other doctors started laughing, as exhaustion got
to them. "Good one, Schafe. We needed that," Sean called in
between laughs.

"No problem," Dr. Schafer called back. He returned to his work.
Then he thought of something and picked up a medical tricorder.

"I'll have to relay your discovery to the Captain and then to
Starfleet. Our best bet is setting up a network with every
virologist in the Federation and work on this together," Beverly
said, dread lacing her voice. She looked back at Schafer and saw
him frown as he waved the scanning device of a medical tricorder
over her.

"What is it?" Beverly asked flatly. She had an idea of what was
to coming, but she didn't want to think about it, the implications
were too horrible.

"You can take off your bio-hazard suit; it'll only hamper your
abilities," Dr. Schafer said calmly, too calmly.

"This virus can't pass through this suit . . ." Beverly was
shocked. Her worst fears were coming true.

"Exactly. Which means you were infected, before you were beamed
down," Sander answered her, as he turned back to his work station.

Beverly took off the bio-hazard suit, revealing a black and
grey Starfleet uniform. The blue line on the uniforms sleeve and
the blue collar of the sweater identified her as part of
Starfleet's medical and science staff. With resignation she walked
toward the communications console and pushed a few buttons. Nurse
Ogawa appeared on the small screen. She noticed Beverly's lack of
bio-suit and her eyes widened in shock, but said nothing.

"Alyssa, check everybody in sickbay for the virus, then have
the computer check everybody else on board. I'm uploading the
exact specifications of the virus, now," Beverly said with
urgency. She already knew the outcome, but she had to run the
test, hoping against hope.

"Yes, doctor," Alyssa answered a little frightened.

Beverly waited impatient. She leaned on the console, and tapped
the surface with her right hand. After a few minutes Nurse Ogawa's
face returned to the screen. "Doctor . . . we're all infected."

"Alyssa, set up a connection with the lab here and be ready to
add connections with almost every other doctor and virologist in
the Federation. They'll soon be joining us," Beverly said,
practically spitting out the words. "Now connect me with the
captain, and hurry."

"Yes, doctor," Ogawa answered.

*****

"Doctor, I was just enjoying a nice cup of Earl Grey," said
Picard to Beverly's visage on his computer screen. Since he
couldn't really do anything he had decided to leave coordinating
the quarantine to his first officer and take a break. His smiled
wavered, when he realized Beverly was not wearing her bio suit.

"Everybody on board the Enterprise has already been infected,"
Dr. Crusher said, via the screen of the computer.

Picard spit up his tea in surprise. The amber liquid spilled
across his table as he placed his cup on his desk in haste.
"What?! How?!"

"A few weeks, perhaps as far back as two to three months ago,"
Beverly said, while a dark frown crossed her face. "We could have
picked it up at any of the places we stopped by in that time."

"My god, that means . . ."

"That probably the whole of the Federation is already
infected," Beverly interrupted him. "This one is different from
the ones that came before, it spreads. The viruses that came
before could not reproduce the prions. They would after awhile
burn out. This one makes sure new prions are being released from
an infected body. Captain," Beverly said, urgently, while pushing
a few buttons. Her image shrank somewhat, allowing an animation of
the internal workings of the sores beside her image. "This is the
way it works. The smaller vents release the prions. Six in total.
Four of them form the unincubated virus, the other two form a
chemical agent that opens the larger vent. The middle vent
releases the actual virus and it closes almost instantly after
contact with the chemical agent, needing a new contact to be
reopened. I'll explain the life cycle of the virus.

"When it enters a new environment there's not enough of the
chemical agent to keep the large vent open, thus releasing
virtually nothing of the virus. Doctors will try to help whoever
is carrying the virus, which will be in a progressed stage. They
will not have the time to come up with a cure and since nobody
else got sick and nobody will for months to come, they'll think
it's either not infectious or cannot attack their species. All the
while the prions pass through the force fields that are their
quarantine measurements, combines in the unincubated virus and
infects people. The virus in this form does nothing but multiply
and gets the infected body to release more of the prions. In time
enough of the chemical agent is formed to open the main valve
almost continuously, which at the time where the virus isn't
active yet shows no signs of being there. Infection now goes
rapidly, complete planetary infection can go as fast as two days.
When the virus finally activates itself and starts consuming the
body's flesh to release truly massive amounts of itself and the
prions . . ." Beverly heatedly explained to Picard.

"The first to die are the very doctors that might have been
able to find a treatment," Picard answered, starting to understand
the deadliness of the disease.

"Exactly. Jean-Luc, this virus wasn't created to destroy the
Federation, it was created to kill off every living thing in the
galaxy. It jumps force fields, spreads incredibly rapidly and
hitches rides on every ship it can find. The doctors here have
told me that animals and even plants get infected with this
disease," Beverly explained. "And since we're already infected, I
can safely say that a huge part of the Federation will also be
infected. The virologists here have already found the viruses life
cycle and synthesized the virus. Finding a cure is not the
problem, finding it in time is, and I don't know if we can manage.
And as doctor Schafer realized . . . unless we find a cure that
can be administered by simply releasing it in a planet's
atmosphere, we don't have enough personnel to inoculate everyone,
if we get a hundredth of a percent of the population, we're lucky.

"And that's just the Federation. The Klingons, the Romulans,
the Ferengi, we can probably send the data for the cure and they
inoculate themselves, but for the rest of the Galaxy I've got no
idea. Plus this thing travels as fast as the fastest ship it gets
on, if the Borg, or another trans warp capable species gets
infected . . ." Beverly let her statement hang. Picard's
expression showed her that she did not need to explain any
further. Gravely she added, "Captain, I think we should start
looking for a planet that has had no visitation in at least the
last six months, and start choosing which people from every
species in the Federation need to be saved . . . so the
Federation, in time, may rebuilt itself."

"My god," said Picard as he slowly stood up, and stealed
himself for what he had to do. "I will contact Starfleet and
explain to them. Picard out." Picard turned off the computer
screen. Then he took a few steadying breaths and walked onto the
bridge of the USS Enterprise-E.

"Data, contact Starfleet Headquarters," he ordered.

"That will not be necessary, sir. I am receiving a communique
from Starfleet right now," Data answered, swiveling his chair to
face Jean-Luc Picard.

"On screen," Picard said.

"Aye, sir," Data answered.

The large view screen switched from a view of the planet to the
visage of Admiral Necheyev. Her blonde hair was tossled and sweat
poured from her head. Red welts were visible where the sores would
soon be forming.

"Captain Picard," Necheyev said, the strain in her voice
evident.

"Admiral, I have some disturbing news," Picard said.

"Me too. Captain . . . this virus is not an isolated case. As
you can see, Earth too is infected. I've got reports of the first
few thousand patients from Vulcan, Andorra, Betazed and every
other major planet in the Federation." She paused as she heard the
gasps across the Enterprise bridge.

"It's worse," Picard answered, grimacing. *Better get this out
now,* Picard thought. "Everybody on board the Enterprise is
already infected, which means that most other starship crews and
starbases will also be infected." The stunned gazes of his command
staff were almost more than he could bare, but he had not found it
in himself to tell them in a more private setting.

"Let me up the ante then, Captain," Admiral Necheyev answered
through the screen with a grim smile. "We've gotten reports about
infections from the Klingons. So too from the Romulans, the
Ferengi, the Cardassians, and they are so busy rebuilding their
ruins that they don't have the ability to find a cure. Reports
from Sector 221-G about the virus there and even the Breen.
They're normally rather seclusive, but they saw it fit to promise
us, and probably everybody else as well, that if they find out we
gave them the disease they'd make sure to bring us down with them.
We answered them we were dying from the same virus as they were."

"Sorry, to disappoint you, Admiral, but it seems I'll be the
one winning this little one-upmanship," Picard answered, walking a
little closer to the screen, with an even grimmer smile. "Dr.
Crusher just explained to me that this virus won't burn itself out
like the previous versions. This one will spread out. This virus
is created to wipe out every living thing in the galaxy. And
unless they manage to develop a cure that can be spread simply by
releasing it in the atmosphere of a planet, only a fraction of
everyone will survive, whether they find a cure or not."

"It does seem you win, Captain," Necheyev answered, her voice
sounded like she was in perpetual pain. Picard found himself
feeling bad, just bad, not bad for someone or something, just
plain bad. Even the normally soothing tones of the computers
working on his bridge, nor the feeling of his great ship working
up energy to do whatever he commanded, not even the sensation of
his trusted crew around him could quell the feeling. The pit of
his stomach seemed to turn inside and out. He could see no hope,
not for him or anyone else. The sight of the normally as tough as
nails admiral ready to keel over in pain rattled him, and he knew
things would get far worse for her. Never had Picard felt so
hopelessly helpless. Not even the Borg had managed to make him
feel this overwhelmingly useless. Against the Borg he had
prevailed, fought himself free of their influence. Against this
disease, an unseen insidious enemy even now working to eat him
from the inside out, there was nothing he could do.

"Admiral, Dr. Crusher informed me, that we should start
selecting a planet which did not have any visitations in at least
the last six months, then decide who to inoculate when and if they
find a cure and relocate them to that planet," Picard said almost
softly, still overwhelmed by the idea.

"Agreed," the admiral answered, then someone off screen handed
her a PADD.

"It seems the specialized network has been established, I've
got a projection," Necheyev said, punching a few buttons. Half of
the screen of the Enterprise changed to show the galaxy. A red
dot, starting at the Alpha Quadrant started growing outward,
showing the spread of the disease. "Ten years, twenty, thirty,
forty, fifty, sixty years," Necheyev needlessly added gravely, the
whole galaxy was covered in red. "This is if the virus crosses the
wormhole at DS9." The picture now showed two red dots growing
outward, covering the galaxy in only twenty years. "This is
providing the speed of the ships the virus travels on never
exceeds conventional warp speeds." Gasps of horror followed by a
deadly silence came from the bridge crew of the Enterprise.

"Captain, I'll return shortly to you with the list of people
who will be inoculate. You're going to be busy ferrying people to
the planet we'll have chosen the minute they come up with a cure.
Necheyev out," the admiral closed the connection.

Picard turned once around, looking everyone of his bridge crew
in the eyes, trying to convey to them strength and a certainty
that he didn't feel himself. Troi, of course, felt right through
it, but gave him an encouraging smile. Then he walked to his
command chair with a sense of purpose that he didn't feel, and sat
down. "It seems," he said. "There isn't much else we can do now
but wait." Chapter Two: The Cure

Schafer locked the door softly behind him, as he stepped back
into the hub of activity. Dr. Crusher walked up to him with an
accusing look. Sweat poured from her face. "What's in there?" she
asked gruffly.

"Nothing that concerns you," he answered her folding his arms
across his chest. The other doctors turned to look at them. It had
been several hours since they had a distraction. Then it had been
Schafer's humorous remark about the demise of the Borg. Three of
their comrades had to have been wheeled out on a stretcher since
that time.

"Listen," said Crusher with a pained voice, stopping to cough
several times. "You've been in there several times over the past
few hours. If you've got something in there that could possibly
lead us to a cure, you'll let us to it. If you don't, I'm
beginning to wonder if you're the one who screwed up the
distribution."

Schafer grabbed Crusher by the collar and pulled her close,
with surprising strength for a man who, to Crusher, seemed ready
to drop dead. The hideous sores covered his body and he constantly
coughed up blood. "You listen to me. My office contains our
best, if not our only hope for survival. But like Pandora's Box
it also contains death and destruction on a scale I'm only just
beginning to fathom. So neither you, nor anyone else goes in
there unless I say so, or I fall over. And when I do, you
better take every precaution you can make, before you go in
there. Especially taking with you an open mind that can see the
grand scheme of things. For at the moment, we still have the hope
of saving several million, perhaps a few hundred million people,
but if you let out what's in there too early..." Schafer stopped
talking to make a dramatic pause and to coughed up some more
blood, before continuing. "No one will survive." Schafer let
go of the thoroughly intimidated Beverly Crusher, then pulled out
a handkerchief and used it to clean off the blood from his chin.
For a moment he looked at the blood, then put it back into one of
his pockets.

Beverly mustered up as much dignity as she could, and returned
to work. She did not like it, but there was not much she could do
about it. She continued with her work, hoping he would fall over
sooner, rather than later, so she could have a look for herself.

After half an hour of hard work Schafer felt himself growing
weaker. He decided to check up on Dana one last time, before -- he
knew for sure - he collapsed.

*****

Dana woke up with pain all over her body. She choked up some
blood and spit it out. Her clothes were a hideous mess. But she
knew something was different, which was remarkable to say the
least since she could barely remember what up or down was, or what
was before or after, let alone some kind of details out of the
confusing haze that clouded her mind. She looked around, not
understanding where, why or even who she was. There was only an
inkling about her identity that was just beyond her grasp. She got
up, staggering as she looked around. A table was crashed against
the far wall. Her eyes followed the wall until she saw the hilt of
a sword sticking out of a machine mounted in the wall. How or why
it got there she did not know. But a single clear thought pierced
the haze in her head, a clear voice that said, *I am Dana
Katherine Scully and I was borne immortal. I cannot die unless
someone takes my head -- and with it, my power.*

Mesmerized she walked to the sword and pulled it free,
revealing a katana. She looked over the edge, letting a finger
glide along side it. In an instant she felt the blade cut through
to the bone. She pulled back quickly. Fascinated, she looked on as
the wound healed rapidly. *Clarity, need clarity!* something
screamed inside her. She looked at the blade again, and suddenly
plunged it through her heart. She pulled it free, and collapsed to
the floor with a grunt.

A minute later she woke, her mind clearer, but still hazy. She
got up and looked at the sword in her hand. She raised the hilt to
eye level, the blade pointing down. She was compelled to swivel
the katana to her side. Without thinking her body followed up with
the first movements of a kata Duncan MacLeod had drilled into her
so many years ago. The kata continued, at first with her eyes
open, then with her eyes closed. Tai Chi movements followed,
letting her Chi, Quickening, or more scientifically the bio-
electric currents flowing through her body, strengthening her,
invigorating her, and slowly the aches removed from her body. Her
mind cleared, first into a blank, then slowly her mind filled with
all that she knew and remembered. Her mind returned to her.

She ended, facing the door, her sword in the same position as
when she started. With another swivel the sword moved to her right
side, then she walked to the door. Schafer stood behind the door
leaning against it. Scully briefly wondered how those stars had
got on the window, then vaguely remembered shattering the bones in
her hand on it.

"I'm cured," Dana said calmly, pushing the intercom button.
"You can let me out."

Schafer chuckled, then looked up through the window. "You
expect me to let you out that easily. You told me not to fall for
any tricks, remember."

"I remember. Now open the door," Scully told him,
concentrated focus lacing her voice.

Schafer looked up and into her eyes. Despite her disheveled and
bloody look, her eyes were focused, cool and measured.

"You really are back, aren't you?" Schafer asked.

"Yep," she answered.

Hope and relief flushed Schafer's face as he unlocked the door
to the quarantine room and opened it. Dana walked out and saw how
far gone he was. She grabbed an empty hypo spray from a table to
her right, pushed it against her wrist letting it suck up a vial
full of her blood. Once done she injected some of the blood into
his neck. The reaction was immediate. The sores started to
discolor.

"Here," she said, handing him the still half full hypo spray,
"filter out the anti-bodies and start synthesizing enough to
inoculate your staff. They are going to need it to keep working. I
don't suppose you have a sonic shower in here, do you?"

"In the quarantine unit if you haven't smashed it," Schafer
answered as he proceeded to the machine. Dana placed her katana on
Schafer's desk and proceeded to take of her dirty clothes. Schafer
turned around, while the computer worked on the task, and looked
stunned.

"What?" Dana asked, removing her bra. "Haven't seen a naked
woman in a while?"

"Well . . . yeah," Schafer answered, a pained expression
crossed his face but was not able to tear his gaze away. "Three
years ago my wife died in a shuttle accident . . . and . . . I
haven't been with a woman since. Never wanted to."

Dana smiled at him as she removed her skirt and started pulling
down her panties. "Then by all means look, perhaps it will stir
something in you and compel you to find yourself a lucky lady, so
you can make each other happy." By now Dana had reached the
replicator behind his desk. She put her clothes inside and said,
"Clean." She didn't bother to look at the clothes dematerializing
and rematerializing minus blood and sweat. She looked at him as
she walked to the quarantine unit and a much needed shower. He
seemed a bit uncomfortable, a quick scan of his body, halted at
his crotch revealed the problem, or rather the opposite of a
problem. "Ah, good. It seems something is stirring," Scully
commented with a smile in her voice and one on her face.

Schafer didn't manage anything past a blush and an embarrassed
half chuckle. Part of him was disgusted at his reaction, she was
covered in partially, dried blood, something that normally could
make men throw up at the sight, but after three long deprived
years, the call of nature had been irrepressible.

Dana found the shower and ordered it on. The vibrations passed
through her body, smashing away all the dried blood. She leaned
against the wall for a moment and sighed contentedly. She turned
of the shower and walked back outside. She grinned at Schafer's
expression and teased, "Looks better clean, huh?"

"Uh . . . yeah, it does," he managed as he watched her get
dressed once more in clean clothes. The computer in the separating
and synthesizing machine beeped. Schafer turned around and removed
a vial with a clear liquid from it. "All right," he said, "now to
mass produce this and inoculate as many as possible."

Dana laughed and said, "I don't think so, how many do you think
you'll get that way? A couple of hundred million, a billion at
most?"

"Yeah," Schafer said as he walked toward her. "What do you have
in mind?"

She smiled at him, as she sheathed her sword back in the folds
of her robe. Accessing the computer on his desk, she said,
"Computer, establish computer link with the 'Golden Eagle' and
download my genetic structure from the transporter's memory
buffer."

"Affirmative. Link established. Working," the computer stated.

While the computer finished extrapolating Dana's genetic
structure from the ambassadorial ship's transporter buffer, Dana
picked up a new hypospray in extracted some new blood from her
hand, picked up a tricorder and had it scan her blood sample.

"Interface with this tricorder and download my genetic
structure," Dana ordered.

"Affirmative. Ready," said the computer.

Schafer now leaned over the sitting Dana and watched as a
second DNA helix placed itself next to the one already present,
both gently turned around their axis.

"Compare them, and highlight any changes pertaining to the
immune system in the newer genetic code that would create the
anti-bodies Dr. Schafer just synthesized," said Dana.

"Interfacing with synthesizer. Working. Task complete," the
computer answered. Dana's newer genetic structure was brought to
the middle, with a few highlighted genes.

"The genetic structure needed to build the anti-bodies,"
Schafer exclaimed. "I'm starting to understand."

Dana grabbed a PADD from Schafer's desk and said, "Upload data
on highlighted genes this PADD." The computer chirped a response
and several seconds later the screen on the PADD showed the
highlighted genes. "Computer, delete my genetic structures." A
chirp from the computer told her it had completed her order.

Dana stood up and said, "Let's go." Schafer walked to the door,
with Dana on his heels. He unlocked and opened the door. With a
big grin, he walked to Crusher and injected her with the anti-
bodies. Beverly looked in astonishment. He just grinned and
proceeded to the next person.

"Dr. Crusher," Dana said.

"Ambassador Scully. Well, well, aren't you full of surprises,"
Beverly said with sarcasm and surprise. As she folded her arms
across her chest, she remembered Deanna telling her about the
mystery that surrounded Ambassadors Scully and MacLeod.

"Always," Dana grinned evilly at Beverly and handed her the
PADD. "I've got in this PADD the genes that will create the anti-
bodies for the virus and the prions. Do you think you can engineer
a virus that will do nothing but build these genes inside the
infected subjects cells, right down to those in the reproductive
organs, and then die off, so that they and their descendants will
be immune to the Double Helix virus."

Beverly's face went from revelation to a grin and answered,
"Sure."

"And do you think you can use Double Helix itself as a template
for this virus, so it will be as infectious and will spread itself
as rapidly as Double Helix itself, so that it will follow Double
Helix across the Galaxy and cure everyone infected?" Dana asked
once more.

"Yeah . . . yeah, I can do that. But what I'd like to know is,
how you didn't only get the anti-bodies, but also the genes
required to build in so short a time," Beverly asked Dana
powerfully.

"Trust me. You don't want to know, and that goes for the rest
of you too," Dana answered, using her psychic ability to push the
suggestion into the minds of Crusher the others. It was the same
ability that made some Immortals think the Gathering had started,
the same one that made the Kurgan in his desire for power suggest
to himself it really was the gathering when he took the ability in
him when he took Osta Vasilek's head, the same power of suggestion
that made Connor believe in his own hope that the Game was finally
over, that he was the last and that he could have children, grow
old and die.

"Of course I don't want to know," said Dr. Crusher, as if it
was the most obvious and natural choice in the universe. Schafer
silently agreed, he really didn't want to know, and wished he
didn't know, but he vowed he would take the secret to his grave.

Dana turned to leave, but Beverly suddenly grabbed her arm,
releasing it when Dana turned towards her. "Wait," she said. "Now
that you've given us the cure, where are you going?"

"I am going to find whoever created this virus . . . and chop
his or her head off," Dana answered and briskly walked out the
laboratory.

*****

Fifteen minutes later
Rania III, Spaceport
The Golden Eagle

"Get out," ordered Dana to the pilot and the few engineers that
were inside the small eagle-like vessel.

"Uh, Ma'am," the Starfleet pilot started, "I don't think, I'm .
. ."

"Get out, now, or I'll beam you all off," Dana interrupted.

"Uh, yes, ma'am," the pilot said and left the ship. "Come on,
she doesn't want us on board," he motioned to the engineers who
reluctantly followed suit.

A few seconds later the ship lifted up in the air and the
landing gear pulled up into the ship.

*I need to find this loon, best start with his known
accomplices. Only one comes to mind that I can find easily. Not
surprisingly, time to visit a loony bin,* Dana though, as she laid
in the course for the main Federation institute for the criminally
insane in orbit around Beta Omega III.

A communication light blinked and Dana activated a small
screen. Through the view screen she watched the Enterprise move to
intercept her. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise.
This planet is under quarantine, you are not allowed to leave.
Turn your vessel around now."

"Sorry to disappoint you, captain. But I'm leaving," Dana
answered him, seeing recognition and a little surprise on his
face. "Besides, everybody is already infected so I can't make it
worse and on top of that: I'm already cured, either Dr. Crusher
will contact you on that soon, or she's forgotten to tell you all
together, working on a mass distribution version of what cured
me."

"That may or may not be true, Ambassador. But you still will
not leave this planet," Picard said with authority.

"Watch me," Dana answered him and cut off the transmission.

*****

"Lock a tractor beam on her ship," Picard ordered, annoyed.
"She should know better."

"Captain," Data said. "Tractor beam is not responding, sensors
are off line."

"Propulsion is off line as well, sir," answered the woman at
the helm console, to Data's right.

"What!?" Picard exclaimed, before tapping his communicator.
"Mr. LaForge, what's going on?"

"Nothing is really going on, sir," LaForge's voice came back
through the commbadge. "Everything is in working order, it's just
that someone used the command codes and turned off those areas of
the ship."

"What!? How the hell did she get her hands on those command
codes?" Picard cursed. He turned to Counselor Troi after she gave
a short 'hm'. Picard could not quite except Deanna's theory on
Ambassador Scully, but the smile on Counselor's Troi told him,
'You know how. You just have to accept it.' Picard turned back
around and saw the 'Golden Eagle's' warp nacelles lighted up and
the ship disappear into warp.

"Captain, sensors and tractor beam have come back on line,"
Data told Picard.

"Propulsion too, sir," the ensign behind the helm console
answered.

"Mr. Laforge?" Picard asked, after tapping his commbadge.

"Not me, captain. I think this fast, would even be too much of
a miracle for Scotty to pull off," Geordie answered.

"Understood. Mr. Fowley contact that ship's pilot," Picard said
with anger, the ever increasing symptoms of the disease in his
body, did nothing to improve his mood.

"Yes, sir," answered the man communications officer.

A moment later the face of a young lieutenant came on the
screen. "Lieutenant Sardonnay here, sir," he said.

"Lieutenant, why are you not on board your ship?" Picard asked,
his voice stern. He was beyond annoyed.

"The ambassador ordered us off, sir," Sardonnay answered.

"Isn't that against regulations, Lieutenant?" Picard asked,
almost angry.

"That's what I tried to tell the Ambassador, sir, right before
she threatened to beam me and the engineers off the ship. What
could I do, phaser her down?"

*That would be a start,* Picard thought. Another voice in his
head conceded that Sardonnay could not have done much else but
obey the ambassador.

"So she stole the ship?" Picard asked, more as a statement than
a real question.

"No, sir," Sardonnay answered. "The ship was assigned to her,
so she didn't steal it. She's just using it in a manner that is
against regulations."

"Thank you, Mr. Sardonnay. Picard out." Sardonnay nodded before
the screen showed the planet again.

"Captain," Nurse Ogawa said as she walked on to the bridge.
"They have found anti-bodies to fight the disease, sir. I'm here
to administer it."

Picard nodded and gestured she should continued. Riker stood up
and asked, "So the ambassador was telling the truth then?"

"If you can do, what she did too us, would you bother with a
lie?" Deanna said in a strained voice.

"Of course not," Picard answered, as Alyssa pressed a hypospray
to his neck. She proceeded to Riker and Troi.

"Mr. Fowley, contact Dr. Crusher," Picard ordered.

"Aye, sir," he answered and a moment later Beverly Crusher's
face appeared on screen.

"Doctor you seem to have neglected to mention that you found
the cure," Picard stated, a bit niffed.

"Well, I was busy relaying the information on how to synthesize
it to nurse Ogawa. And now we are busy on making this a mass
distributable cure. It slipped my mind," Beverly said, as sweat
dripping from her face.

"Ambassador Scully claimed she was inoculated, is this true?"
Picard asked.

"I should say so, since -- to rectify your previous statement -
- she and Dr. Schafer were the ones who found the cure, not me,"
Dr. Crusher said, then turned to one of the other doctors to
confer.

Picard looked back at his first officer and his counselor for a
moment with an astonished gaze on his face. Troi and Riker for
their part returned the gaze. *Another mystery,* Troi thought to
herself, eager to find out who Ambassador Scully truly was. She
berated herself for thinking she had all but figured out the good
Ambassador. She had thought that only a few more details were
needed. Now she decided she would not underestimate this woman and
how many more surprises she could produce again.

"Doctor, if I may ask, how are you going to mass-distribute
this cure?" Picard asked intrigued.

"Simple, Jean-Luc. The cure is anti-bodies. I have the genes
that tell a body how to make those anti-bodies. I make a virus
that puts those genes inside a patient's genetic structure.
Patient proceeds to cure him- or herself," Beverly answered,
impatience creeping into her voice.

"How did you get by those genes?" Picard asked in disbelief

"I didn't create the cure, remember Captain. I don't know and I
don't want to know. Now if there is nothing else . . ." Dr.
Crusher said, impatient to get back to work. Even minute delays
mean millions of lives, and they wasted her time with trivial
details.

"No, nothing, Doctor," Picard answered, flabbergasted.

"Good, Crusher out."

"Captain, there was something wrong with Dr. Crusher," Deanna
Troi said with apprehension.

"No kidding? Instead of trying to find out how they made that
cure, so she could use that technique a possible next time, she
brushes it aside like it's an unimportant detail," Riker commented
deadpan.

"What were you able to pick up, Counselor?" Picard asked.

Deanna stood up in order to explain better, using gestures.
"It's like a hypnotic suggestion only far more powerful, she
really doesn't want to know how they got that cure."

"Do you think you can break through this control?" Picard asked
her.

"If it were mind control, I probably could, because then her
own mind would sooner or later help me out," Deanna said, a bit
frustrated, she did not quite know how to explain this. "But she's
not under mind control. Like I said this is like a very, powerful
suggestion that she accepted as being true. So, if I want set her
free of it, I'm going to have to go against her will, and she
herself, her own mind will be battling me all the way. I would
suggest getting a full telepath to work with her, that would have
the best chances for results."

Picard nodded. "We'll see about that once the more direct
crisis has been solved. Now, it seems we once more have to wait
until the doctors finish their work."
 Chapter Three: The Hunt

Picard was annoyed, although he did not show it to anyone.
There was nothing he could do but wait, and he hated it. Here was
possibly the most devastating and important event of the century
and there was nothing he could do. He was forced to stand idly by
as a rogue ambassador took off with a Federation ship. An
ambassador with access to the command codes of his ship, codes
that should only be known to a Starfleet captain. There was
nothing he could do, except log the violation and have her brought
up on charges.

"Captain," came LaForge's voice across the commbadge.

"Yes, Mr. LaForge?"

"I was wrong, sir. It was not the command codes that she used
to disable the ship, but her own separate access codes," LaForge
explained.

"Very well, Mr. LaForge. Can you remove her access to the
ship?" Picard asked, as he fidgeted his fingers on the command
chair.

"Sorry, captain. I've checked the more common ways of accessing
our computer, but I've found nothing. Which means that she's not
using a common, reusable, piece of access software, but original
lines of software code. The operating system is made out of
hundreds of milliards of lines of code. Searching through all of
them . . ." LaForge answered.

"Data?" Picard asked.

"Without sacrificing any of my regular duties, I could probably
find it within about a week, sir," Mr. Data answered after a quirk
with his head.

"And if you commit all of your time to the task?" Picard asked.

"Approximately one and a half day, sir," Data answered. "But I
recommend against it, sir. I think it's a waste of time. If she
has her own original lines of software, that means that she was
part of the team that programmed this system and she will have
multiple ways of accessing the ship's computer and reinstating her
programming or even add brand new lines of code. We'd be right
back where we started without us knowing about it, sir and now
that we know, we might be able to stop, or stall her when she
tries again. The only real way to eliminate her access is writing
a new operating system from scratch."

Picard nodded thoughtfully a few times before answering, "All
right, let's keep the ship's systems the way they are and work on
prevention next time she tries." Picard was fuming inside. That
insufferable woman was driving him mad. Last time he met her, he
got a reprimand from an admiral about having her and the other
ambassador shadowed after his chief of security found that they
had the swords on their persons, instead of as expected tucked
away safely in their luggage. Now she had information he did not
have, access she should not have and seemed to be a step ahead of
him and yet . . . Picard ground his teeth together as his
instincts irrevocably drew him in a direction he did not want to
go, but he could not avoid. She had everything he could ever want
in a woman. She was strong, intelligent and every bit his equal.
On top of that, she was someone he could not control. A challenge,
and if there was something Picard liked, it was a challenge. He
dismissed the thought as inappropriate. He rationalized that hey
had nothing in common, she was all wrong for him, and despite a
few characteristics he wanted, she annoyed him more than anything
else. His slight attraction to her made him even more annoyed than
he already was.

"Captain, I've got an incoming transmission from the governor,"
Fowley announced.

"On screen," Picard answered as he stood up, eager for
something to happen that he could control.

"Yes, Governor. What can I do for you?"

"I've got someone who's rather adamant about leaving our
planet. More so than anyone else. He's clearly infected, he's
sweating and there are sores on his body, but he claims he will be
fine, if we only let him go," the governor stated.

"I don't see, how this is any different from any of the other
ships on the ground. People up here are claiming the same thing,"
Picard asked.

"Are you certain about that?" the governor asked with a
crooked, knowing smile. "Because until now, I've only had people
who seem uninfected, claim to be fine and that they would stay
that way as long as we let them go."

Picard face lit up in revelation. "You've got the one who
distributed the virus."

"Exactly, and I was wondering what you want me to do with him,"
the governor stated.

"Captain," Riker said as he stood up and placed himself beside
Captain Picard. "If we let him go . . ."

". . . He might lead us straight to the ones responsible. I was
thinking the same thing, Number One," Picard interrupted his
executive officer.

"Governor, can you send us the coordinates of this man's ship?"

"Of course," the governor answered as he pushed a few buttons
on the console in front of him.

"Mr. LaForge," Picard said after tapping a his commbadge. "I'm
sending you the coordinates of a ship, do you think you can tag it
with a undetectable locator beacon?"

"Not a problem, captain. Give me a few minutes and the
transporter room will have something to beam down," LaForge
answered, excitedly.

"Make it so, Mr. LaForge."

Several minutes later a small ship lifted off from Rania II and
went into warp. Shortly after the Enterprise followed pursuit at a
leisurely pace.

*****

"I'd like to see a patient you've got here," Dana said to the
clerk at the entrance of the institute.

*How ironic,* Dana thought as she looked at the Tellarite who
seemed as healthy as a fish and realised that nobody had visited
this place in the past few months. Insanity was rare and most who
fit that discription could be treated rather easily with drugs.
*Of all the people who could have survived this disease it would
have to be the psychopaths that would have.*

"State your name, subject's name and your business," the
Tellarite snorted.

"Ambassador Dana Scully, Sela, and finding the person who wants
to wipe out all life in the galaxy," Scully dead panned.

The Tellarite's head jerked up and looked her over, trying to
decide whether she was serious or not. Then when he decided she
was, he tried to decided whether to let her in, or let her in and
have her committed at the same time. Finally he decided she was
sane, handed her a PADD and said, "Fill this in."

Fifteen minutes later Dana stepped into Sela's room. The half
Human/half Romulan was lying on a raised bio-bed staring upward
into nothingness.

"If you don't mind me asking, ma'am," asked the warden, who had
walked her to Sela's room. "How are you going to get anything out
of her? She's practically a plant. Are you telepathic?"

"A bit, now leave the room, please. I need to concentrate,"
Dana told him, slowly walking around the bio-bed appraising the
still form of the former Romulan Commander.

"Will do, ma'am," the man answered and left.

Dana walked around the bio-bed for a few minutes raising her
concentration. "Well," she said, as she placed her hands on Sela's
face. "Here goes nothing."

"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts," Dana
whispered, looking at Sela's expressionless face.

~~X~~

July, 2084
Shakir, Vulcan

T'Lar walked through the town, she knew so well. She was headed
toward the guest district. It had been two years since the first
had arrived. Humans, they called themselves. Not long ago the
Humans had almost annihilated themselves in a nuclear war, now
they were quickly rebuilding and founding a seemingly peaceful
civilization. T'Lar was one of the few Vulcans who had been
assigned as a liaison to the party of Humans. Her job was to teach
them about Vulcan, Vulcans and the Vulcan way. She had found these
Humans to be aggravating, violent and emotional to the point of
being unbalanced. At first T'Lar had embraced her duties, at
barely thirty years of age, she had been assigned to be a cultural
liaison and been determined to perform her duties well. She had
found that was more difficult than she thought. She had complained
to her teachers that she was not suited to the task. She had given
logical reasons why she was not suited for the assignment,
however, instead of being reassigned, as she had expected, they
had told her it was a good learning experience in finding a way to
overcome difficulties.

In the two years that had passed since the first group of ten
Humans had arrived on Vulcan, their number had grown to steadily
to a hundred. Although that number was steady the population was
not, new ones arrived while others left. T'Lar had grown to
tolerate the Humans. For some strange reason she felt akin to
them, despite the fact that she found no logical reason for it. If
there was anything her logic told her, it was that she was
anything but akin to them. They were aggravating to the extreme;
many a times she had needed meditating in order to keep her
emotions under control. Yet, she had become somehow fond of them.
In particular the exceptional woman she had started to consider,
to her own surprise, to be a friend.

From the moment the woman, Sally Trent, had arrived on Vulcan
she had acted totally differently from all the other Humans. Where
the others had merely been amused or interested in the Vulcan way
of logic, they never showed any sign of wanting to practice it. At
times they had even looked down on it. Sally had expressed a
desire to actively take up the Vulcan way and banish all her
emotions. She had started studying with, among others, T'Lar.
Where Humans needed medication in order to breathe efficiently in
the Vulcan atmosphere, sally did not. And where other Humans had
merely expressed curiosity to try a Vulcan mind meld, Sally had
shown greater fascination, but had steadfastly refused to join in
one. No matter how logical T'Lar's arguments had been, Sally had
stubbornly refused. When questioned why, she had answered on more
than on occasion, 'Trust me, you don't want to know.' The answer
had puzzled T'Lar and she had meditated on it on more than one
occasion to find a deeper meaning but had found none. To her
Sally's reply was an erroneous statement; alone the fact that she
had asked Sally, clearly proved that she did want to know.
Furthermore T'Lar was perfectly aware of what she did or did not
want to know. Eventually she had decided to drop the subject.

T'Lar was headed to Sally's apartment deeply contemplating her
recent behaviour. Sally's control of her emotions seemed to be
slipping, she was getting agitated more easily. She also seemed
almost constantly depressed and it was getting worse. T'Lar was
trying to find a way to get Sally back on track. She missed
Sally's enthusiastic way of studying the Vulcan way. Why that was
she did not know. Even though missing it seemed illogical, there
was no way she could shake the sensation.

T'Lar's ears picked up something peculiar that sounded like
metal clanging on metal. She decided to investigate and moved
towards the sound. As she neared, she became aware that it was the
sound of clashing swords. Without noticing it she quickened her
step. She was moving towards an area that was sparsely populated.
The guest section of Shakir, held all kinds of facilities that
were not necessary for Vulcans. It was built larger than required
with the future in mind. Vulcans, ever logical, had envisioned
that with time they would make more contacts with other species,
thus requiring more guest lodging.

T'Lar heard voices. One pleading, the other mocking. As she
neared the origin of the sounds and voices she recognized one. It
was Sally. Finally reaching the site of the commotion, T'Lar
slowed down at the corner. She took a moment to center herself,
pushed down any illogical emotions that the sounds and Sally's
presence had stirred and she rounded the corner . . . She saw
Sally and an unknown man fighting in an all out sword battle.
Anger and a feeling of insult swept through T'Lar. How dared they
defile Vulcan in such a way? One did not fight with swords on
Vulcan. Vulcans only fought under extreme circumstances and always
unarmed, with the exception of ritual battles, but as the name
suggested they were more often than not just a ritual that wasn't
fatal in every way and when they were they were under the
strictest regulations. T'Lar suppressed the emotion quickly and
reminded herself to meditate on these events. The sight also
stirred something primal in her, a deep fascination coursed
through her. T'Lar decided that logic dictated she needed to
understand why and what Sally was doing, so she watched the fight
play itself out.

*****

"Please," Dana pleaded on the verge of tears, parrying his
blows. "Don't make me do this. I've killed too many already." She
had hoped to outrun the game for a little while, but the horror
had followed her here.

"Sorry, girly. Your Quickening is mine," he grinned, his green
eyes reflected a confidence she did not possess and an eagerness
for the kill she did not feel. Everything about him scared her. He
was strong, fast and deadly. Everything she did not want to be,
everything she wanted to banish for good.

She was on the defense and aware that she was losing. Winded,
out of breath, getting cut and hurt, she knew she needed to defend
herself, but didn't feel the desire to. Part of her wanted to give
up and let him decapitate her. But another part of her cried,
*Never.* A terrifying voice inside her roared and with it and with
it came a terrifying bloodlust, fueled by finely honed survival
instincts. She fell back on the Vulcan teachings of logic and to
suppress those feelings. Logic controlled her now, and the part
that had fallen back to those teachings, the part that wanted to
stop fighting and killing, was surprised that logic dictated
survival and the need to fight back. As that emotional part too
was suppressed, she started to fight back.

As reality returned, Dana noticed that her inner battle had
allowed her opponent to maneuver her into a deadly position. He
had her. She did the only thing she could do, parried his swipe
then rushed at him, her sword swinging at his neck. A fright
gripped her surpassing all that she had felt before. She could see
it so accurately, the only thing he had to do was attack, move
into her swing, parry it and then there was nothing she could do
to stop him from making the killing strike. An incredible relief
swept through her as she saw him try to avoid her desperate swing.
Then with utter horror, she watched as her sword sliced through
his neck. A little blood spurted from his neck, before the energy
that was building up inside the decapitated body kept the rest
trapped inside, then the head and body dropped to the floor.

Dana felt dead inside and utterly defeated. Sinking to her
knees she started crying.

*****

The mixture of feelings T'Lar was experiencing was unfamiliar
to her. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she pushed
them down and analyzed her feelings. First there was betrayal. How
could the gentle woman she considered a friend be so completely
ruthless and chop a man's head off? Then there was anger at
Sally's actions, and at herself for being fooled. Than there was
the horrifying sense of satisfaction, pleasure and enjoyment at
the sight of the severed head flying through the air. A small
voice inside her had even screamed, *That's it!*

T'Lar stepped from behind the corner and walked forward,
determined to place Sally under arrest and speak her mind. She got
no further than a few steps when she saw it. No amount of self
control could keep her emotions in check. It defied every logic
she knew. Her jaw dropped. A mixture of amazement, curiosity,
fascination, fear, and finally an overwhelming sense of awe filled
her.

Sally was kneeling on the ground and crying, "Oh, god, not
again. Please, not again. Oh, god, I did it again." Small sparks
of electricity curved away from the dead body. A sharp wind picked
up. The air started to crackle with electricity. Then a mist
detached itself from the dead body, a luminous plasma sparkling
with electricity. The plasma mist slowly floated towards Sally,
while the power in the air continued to build. Large sparks
crackled along the ground and the surrounding buildings, at times
curving across the alley. T'Lar felt the electricity raise her
hair and hastily took a few steps back. Sally gave an agonizing
wail of protest as the mist started to enter her body. Her face
contorted with emotion and horror. Sally wailed again. She
screamed, "No!" as if she knew something else was coming.

Then a powerful lightning strike blasted from the dead body and
slammed into Sally's chest. Her eyes flew open, head shot back,
body jerked and then she screamed. T'Lar watched with horror and
fascination. T'Lar noticed that Sally screamed not in pain as she
had expected, but mostly in pleasure. Illogically she thought,
*The Eater of Souls.* Another blast left the body, this time
slamming into Sally's side. She screamed again in pained ecstacy.
Than a blast left Sally's body and slammed into the building. To
the credit of Vulcan's construction quality only a little bit of
stone broke of. Lightning blasts started following each other in
rapid succession, blasting up sand, or blasting off stone,
depending on whether the blast landed in the sand or on a
building. Some of them disappeared into the sky. Strangely the
lightning strikes that struck Sally didn't seem to hurt her and
barely effected her clothing. Then, just as suddenly as the whole
incident started it stopped. Only an occasional spark of power
sizzling on the floor or a wall remained.

*****

Dana lay on the floor, crying and completely shattered. She had
killed again and taken another Quickening. She felt revolted at
herself, and at once more feeling the overwhelming sense of
pleasure and ecstasy of a Quickening. She had felt him enter her,
becoming one with her, for a moment been unable to distinguish
where she began and where he ended. He would forever remain inside
her, fueling her with unwanted power and knowledge.

With an effort she sat up, feeling a presence nearby. She
laughed in despair as she saw T'Lar standing over her, emotions
playing across her face that only gradually came back under
control.

"Who . . . or what are you? Are you the Eater of Souls?" T'Lar
asked, fascinated but fearful.

Dana chuckled, recognizing one of Vulcan's oldest myths: a
horrible beast that resided in storms and ate the souls, the Katra
of any unsuspecting Vulcan. "Not that I know of, no," Dana managed
through her tears. Not liking the position she was in, she slowly
staggered back to her feet.

"Then . . . what?" T'Lar asked.

"I am a hundred and twenty years old. I died eighty-two years
ago of cancer . . . and then woke up. Since then, I have not aged
and nothing short of decapitation cand kill me," Dana paused, then
shrugged. "I am Immortal."

"And he . . . was as well," T'Lar said, following her logical.

"Yes," Dana answered, wiping her tears away, as she slowly got
her crying under control. She looked at the dead Immortal and felt
an overwhelming sense of guilt.

"And when you killed him, you gained his Katra."

Dana marveled at T'Lar's deductive capabilities. "Yes," Dana
answered simply as guilt threatened to overwhelm her. She watched
T'Lar who kept looking from the decapitated body to Dana, and down
again. Dana was tense. The hand that held her sword was ready for
action. Dana hated it, but could not relax her sword arm. It was
the part that would kill in order survive that kept ready, and she
certainly would have to if T'Lar decided to tell on her and have
her locked up in prison . . . or worse.

"What were you planning to do with the body?" T'Lar asked.

Dana smiled, relieved that T'Lar had accepted what she was.
Suppressing the smile along with the emotion, she said, "I hadn't
thought that far ahead."

"We could leave a message and go on an unexpected survival,
then feed him to a le-matya. It'll eat him bone and all," T'Lar
stated without emotion. "And if it doesn't, then it will still
look as if he died from the le-matya's attack."

Dana looked at her a bit stunned, she had done a lot of things
to get rid of a body, but never had she fed it to a deadly
predator. "I don't know what to say except . . . thank you," Dana
answered with a deeply guilt ridden face.

*****

One day later

From a secure vantage point, Dana and T'Lar watched the male
le-matya ripping apart the decapitated body of the dead Immortal.
After a few more minutes of checking they decided that there would
not be enough of the body left to identify, they started walking
back to their encampment eight hundred meters away.

They walked in silence, as they had the way into the desert.
Both opting to stay lost in their thoughts, contemplating their
deed.

"So . . ." T'Lar started, not knowing how to do that start.
This was a matter of the heart, her logic failed her. In the end
she decided to simply come out and say it. A small part of her
could not help but feel that logic was mistaken, that she was
overstepping a Human boundary. The same way a lot of Humans
overstepped Vulcan boundaries when they touched a Vulcan, or asked
about their mating habits. "What emotional trauma are you trying
to overcome?"

Dana's head whipped around, then, far too quickly and far too
adamant, she answered, "I'm not trying to overcome anything."

"You are the only Human here, who is trying to suppress her
emotions. You have mood swings, more than the average Human
female, who seem to get them on average 28.44 Terran days. You are
often tired, indicating insomnia, and you have been extremely
depressed for at least the last 9.71 Terran days. Your Human Dr.
Tiang has told me that those are classic symptoms associated with
what he called post-traumatic stress disorder," T'Lar explained.

"You have been busy, haven't you?" Dana said her voice tight
with anger. "Have you ever heard of the word 'privacy'?"

"Yes. Vulcans are very private."

"Then perhaps you should pick up a dictionary and re-examine
its meaning," Dana fumed.

"I understand its meaning," T'Lar simply said.

"Really, does privacy mean, check up on every detail of your
friend's life, talk to doctors who never talked to that friend,
then accusing her of all kinds of psychological defects?" Dana
asked, getting angrier by the moment.

"It is not logical for one to deny a medical problem," T'Lar
answered.

"Yes, just as logical as it is to be afraid of touch, or not to
talk about ones mating habits," Dana spat out.

T'Lar felt the cold remarks. *The truth hurts,* popped in her
head, a favorite expression of the Humans. Her culture was not the
topic and at that moment irrelevant. "Our culture is irre . . ."

Dana stopped walking and turned to T'Lar. "Look! Just quit it!
I have no emotional trauma, and that's it!" Dana screamed. Then,
despite the heat, she picked up her pace and started walking even
faster.

"I breached some Human cultural barrier, did I not?" T'Lar
asked disturbed.

Dana just snorted and sped her pace even more.

*****

The next day

T'Lar was considering how she could get Dana to open up and
face her problems. "Now that I know your secret, I could perform a
Vulcan mind meld with you," T'Lar said. They were walking through
the Vulcan desert again, heading toward Shakir and home.

"You could?" Dana asked, her enthusiasm showing. She and T'Lar
had not talked much since the day before. Dana felt like talking,
but the prospect of experiencing a mind meld was an even bigger
excitement. Ever since she heard of it, she had wondered what it
would be like to share a living mind with someone else. Sharing
dead minds was something she was used to, that was her essence; a
living mind merged with ancient dead ones. But a living one . . .
that was something else.

"We could do it right now. No one that could see or hear
anything they shouldn't," answered T'Lar.

Dana kept walking as she thought it through. Her curiosity won
over and she said, "Yes, let's do it right now."

A few seconds later they were both sitting in the lotus
position on Vulcan's hot sand. T'Lar gently placed her fingers on
Dana's face. Her action was driven by curiosity and concern for
her friend. "My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts,"
T'Lar said . . . and the landscape changed. First there were
clouds where none had been before. Then suddenly the landscape
became green, plants of all shapes and sizes, green grass, bushes,
trees filled T'Lar's view. Birds started to chirp, followed by the
sounds of other animals. A large waterfall cascaded in the
distance. T'Lar was astounded. Although she had seen similar
landscapes in other minds, the sheer volume of life in such overly
visible manner, and the sheer abundance of water never ceased to
amaze her.

"Welcome to Earth, or rather an idealistic picture of it,"
Dana's voice came from behind T'Lar's.

T'Lar started to turn around but stopped halfway at the sound
of a friendly man's voice. "Hi." T'Lar was startled. "Oh, I'm
sorry," the man said as he walked past her. T'Lar's gaze followed
the man. "I didn't mean to startle you." The man walked straight
toward Dana. T'Lar expected him to slow down, but he did not.
Instead he distorted and disappeared into a Dana.

"He was another Katra . . . a Katra of . . ." T'Lar tried to
say.

"Of one of the Immortals I killed? Yes," Dana finished for
T'Lar with a self-conscious smile. "And there are a lot more of
them," Dana answered with sadness. T'Lar became aware of many
minds around her, some ancient, some sad, some honest, some so
evil that it caused shivers to run down her spine. They were
faint, as if they were not truly there . . . as if they were not
alive. T'Lar realized, as she probed a bit further that they were
all centralized and entangled in Sally . . . no, that was wrong.
Dana was her name, Dana Katherine Scully. T'Lar took a good look
at Dana and noticed that she was different too. Where Sally's hair
was mousy brown, Dana's was vibrantly red. Dana herself seemed
vibrant, almost painful to the eye, it was like looking at energy
itself.

"So strange, feeling your emotion and thoughts inside of me,"
Dana said. "Your emotions run rather deep and are very powerful.
Are you ready?"

"Ready?" T'Lar asked a bit confused.

"Yes, you didn't think this was all did you?" Dana asked. As
Dana spoke T'Lar felt as if she was slowly be drawn into
something. The pace quickened, and for a moment she could feel the
true scale of Dana's mind. As layer upon layer of minds and
century upon century of memories blasted through her, she
staggered under the onslaught. Suddenly everything returned to the
garden with Dana standing in front of her again.

"You all right? I'm sorry, I should have taken it slower," Dana
said with concern in her voice.

"I'll be fine," T'Lar said, her voice cracking. "I just need a
few moments to pull myself back together."

"Let me help you," Dana offered.

"That will not be necessary," T'Lar said as cool as she could
muster.

"No, no, I'll help . . ." Dana paused, her expression changed.
"You're hiding something from me."

"No, I'm not . . ." T'Lar started.

"Yes, you are!" Dana exclaimed forcefully.

"So are you," T'Lar stated without emotion. She pulled all her
strength together. She had a feeling she was going to need it. The
oppressing sense of secrecy that she had felt from the minute
their minds had joined focused into a single point. A huge gate
fell from the sky, and with a mighty slam dropped into the soil.
It was locked with huge locks and wrapped in chains. T'Lar walked
toward it.

"No!" Dana practically screamed. "You will not go in there!"

"Dana," T'Lar stated, the joining of their minds made the name
come out as easily as if it were her own. "Whatever is in there is
eating you up. If you don't deal with it quickly it will haunt you
forever," T'Lar said. T'Lar pulled at the gate's lock -- Dana's
mind was powerful, but untrained and unfocused -- the chains and
locks fell away easily.

"Don't! You have no idea what you are unleashing. Don't open
it, I beg of you! Please don't go in there!" Dana pleaded, as she
slowly sank to her knees in weakness and fear.

T'Lar nudged the gate and it opened. Suddenly the environment
changed. The garden was gone. In its place was a vast city scape
stretched out. T'Lar looked around in confusion and noticed that
all the people were standing still, except the sobbing, kneeling
form of Dana Scully. T'lar had seen many pictures of Earth's
cities and glimpses of them in the minds of other Humans but she
did not recognize this one. T'Lar looked further and was startled
as she saw another Dana Scully. This frozen incarnation was
blonde.

*A memory,* T'Lar thought. Suddenly it got darker. She looked
upward and saw the sky filling with foreboding clouds. Lightning
flashed in the skies, immediately followed by a loud clap of
thunder.

"Why did you do that, bitch?!" a dark powerful voice came from
Dana. She was standing and a powerful wind whirled around her. "I
told you not to open that door, but did you listen? Of course not,
because the logical, slut of Vulcan knows better, doesn't she? You
had to make me relive this again, didn't you?"

T'Lar was at a loss for words. Dana the good friend was gone.
What remained was a powerful, and frightening visage of darkness
filled with darkness. The skies turned pitch black at the sound of
her voice.

Dana walked forward, grabbed T'Lar by the neck and squeezed
hard. "You wanted to see my secret, fine! Now you get to see it,
all of it! And you will experience it too, all the pain, all the
horror! Welcome to my private hell!" Dana screamed in hatred.
There was a bright flash of light and the frozen landscape came
alive. The people started to scream in terror and ran away. T'Lar
looked at the diminished light and understood. A cold fear gripped
her, a fear too great to control. In the distance she saw a
mushroom cloud that signaled a nuclear explosion. T'Lar started to
struggle against Dana's grip, and felt it slowly start to slip.
"Don't bother escaping," Dana said eerily calm. "Even if you
escape my grasp, you'll never escape its grasp." Dana laughed and
started to laugh even harder when T'Lar managed to slip from her
grasp.

T'Lar started to run. The Dana from the memory stopped, and
slowly turned around. "Where are you gonna go?" the evil Dana
called, as the temperature around them started to rise rapidly.
"There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide!" Evil Dana laughed.
T'Lar stopped running as logic took over the fearful response of
running. T'Lar stared at the Memory Dana just standing there and
staring at the mushroom cloud with deadly fascination. T'Lar felt
the searing heat, start to blister her skin. Her hair caught on
fire as everything around her seemed to explode. Over the
thundering roar of the lightning flashes and the explosions Evil
Dana called and laughed, "Like the show, T'Lar? This is where I
thought to myself, 'Don't worry, Dana. You'll survive.'"

Then T'Lar felt herself ignite, just like everybody else around
her. The pain was beyond anything she ever felt. Nothing was left
of her self control. Then as the shockwave hit she felt herself
being thrown through the air.

"Did you like it, T'Lar?" she heard Dana scream. T'Lar looked
over to the memory Dana should be, to see only blackened corpses.
Her keen eyesight saw movement at one of them; a tiny electric
spark arched across the charred body then blackened slivers of
flesh started to fall from the body. She looked down at herself,
as she felt incredible pains wrack her body. Black slivers of her
flesh cracked and fell as she moved. Standing up felt as if she
ran into a bed of spikes.

"Welcome to my realm, T'Lar!" T'Lar heard Dana exclaim. Intense
pain overwhelmed her as she turned around and looked at a blazing
Dana Scully. She laughed, then said, "In here, I am master!" The
flames disappeared, and a Dana Scully bearing a sword stepped
forward, grinning evilly. "Are you happy?" Dana asked in a dark
tone.

The sight brought T'Lar back to herself and logic took over.
"This is not real, this is not real," she chanted with her eyes
closed. She opened them to find her clothes back on her body which
was as it was before the explosion.

"How nice," said a cracked voice to T'Lar's right. A scorched
corpse slowly got up, like a visage straight out of a horror movie
it walked toward her. "Very nice, sweet cheeks. I like the pointy
ears," it said as it advanced toward T'Lar. Fear once again
gripped her, as the almost skeleton walked towards her. Its hand
shot out and grabbed T'Lar's neck, and lifted her effortlessly off
the ground. The scorched flesh disappeared to be replaced by a
huge mean man holding a large sword in his left hand. "I know it's
time for you to die," he said with a maniacal grin, placing the
sword at T'Lar's throat. "But I'm certain the mistress will allow
me a good time, before I kill you."

"Oh, absolutely, Bertrand," a blonde Dana said to T'Lar's
right.

"Yep, have your fun," Evil Dana said to her left.

T'Lar smashed her knee into the man's balls, and he let her go
as he doubled over in pain. She started running into a small
street, glancing over her shoulder in fear. The man was back up
and running after her already. "You're gonna pay for that, bitch!"
he screamed. *Immortal healing power,* T'Lar realized. Both Dana's
joined him in the chase, and they were getting closer. Lightning
and thunder started to flash and rumble, and suddenly all the
scorched body's started to get up.

"Get her!" they screamed. "She must die! Kill her!" A few of
the corpses gained flesh and were armed with deadly looking
swords. T'Lar ducked into an half destroyed alley. The corpses in
it got up and grabbed her legs. Fortunately their scorched bodies
were not strong. Arms splintered as they tried to hold onto her
and bodies shattered as she stepped through them. T'Lar ducked to
the left at the end of the alley, barely in time to miss a swiping
blade at neck height. Fueled by the fear Dana's taunting and
scorched corpses coming back to life around her, T'Lar sped up.

All of a sudden the scenery changed. Dana's taunting voice
disappeared. The buildings were less damaged and instead of dead,
scorched corpses, there were half dead, burning living beings.
T'Lar slowed to catch her breath. A man's hand reached up and
caught her leg. "Help me!" he begged.

"I can't, I have no medical equipment," T"Lar answered as
logically cool as she could manage.

"Help us, angel! Help us!" the writhing bodies begged. They
started to close in on her.

"I can't!" T"Lar shrieked.

"Demon! She's no angel! No angel would ever dare to show her
perfectly, untouched body to us! She's a demon! Kill her! Grab
her!" Voices screamed around her. T'Lar started to run, but this
time the bodies didn't crumble, and she stumbled. She managed
barely to struggle back up from the grabbing hands and run into an
alley. She was caught of guard as arms came out the walls,
grabbing her, restraining her.

"We've got her!" screamed the men and women horribly fused into
the walls by the nuclear heat. "We've captured the demon!"
Horribly burned men and women filled the alley from both sides.
T'Lar struggled, hit, punched, and kicked. Everything to get away
from them. But it was of no use. Soon they held her by each of her
limbs in between them.

"What should we do with the demon?" somebody asked.

"I know!" someone screamed in reply. "We'll send her back to
hell, where she came from!"

"Yeah, Hell!"

"To Hell with the demon."

"Back to Hell!" The burned mob kept chanting as they walked,
holding T'Lar in between them.

When they had reached their destination, T'lar was set down and
held tightly in place. To her horror she saw the ground opening
up, revealing a stream of lava. The crowd kept chanting their
'back to Hell' chants. T'Lar realized they were planning to throw
her into the lava.

"NO!" she screamed, as she struggled with all her might against
her captors. "You can't do this, I'm not a demon! Let me go!"

"So, how do you like my secret so far," Dana's voice cut
through the noise. The laughter that followed was bone chilling.
T'Lar saw her standing on the other side of the chasm. "You should
have listened to me," Dana grinned. "Throw her in!"

"Back to hell!" the crowd cheered and threw T'Lar in.

"Noo!!" T'Lar screamed, flailing her arms in a futile attempt
to fly. "AAAAAH!!!" T'Lar plunged into the lava . . .

. . . and fell straight through, landing on a pavement with a
painful smack. The city around her was untouched and eerily empty.

T'Lar staggered to her feet. She placed the tips of her fingers
against each other. "Control," she whispered and focused her mind.
"There is only logic, only clarity."

*Are you certain about that?* Dana's voice boomed all around
her, penetrating her focus. The pavement filled with pictures of
Dana's face. "This is my mind, T'Lar. There is no logic here, nor
is there clarity." The faces laughed and then disappeared.

As T'Lar shook off the disturbing vision, she became aware of
crying in the distance. A part of her wanted to break the mind
meld and flee, but logic dictated that she should find out what
happened. She knew that she was responsible for unlocking this
horrible version of her friend. If the memory she saw really
happened . . . Perhaps she should never have opened the locked
gate. She dismissed the thought; Dana needed to deal with it, not
lock it away.

T'Lar followed the sound. Rounding a few corners, she found a
little girl sitting against the wall. Her face was buried in her
arms that were lying on her knees. The girl was sobbing. T'Lar
knelt beside her and in a soothing voice said, "Hello, I'm T"Lar.
I won't hurt you."

"I know who you are," the girl sobbed, and slowly looked up,
tears cascaded down her puffy cheeks. "Why did you do it? I warned
you, begged you not to. Why didn't you listen?"

"Dana?" T'Lar said in astonishment. She had thought Dana was
back there, somewhere.

"Of course Dana, T'Lar. Logically, who else could it have
been," Dana's cool logical voice sounded from T'Lar's left. She
looked up and saw the Sally at, what T'Lar always considered, her
best, cool and logical. Everything became clear to T'Lar.

"You're shattered, when I unlocked that memory, you were
shattered into different aspects of yourself," T'Lar said.

"Correct, I'm logic, rationality, the part that thinks before
it acts," Sally answered, coolly. "She is Innocence. Weakness.
Naivete. Fear."

"And the one you just met, is Insanity. Evil. Death.
Destruction," the little girl whimpered. That the little girl told
T'Lar, made it that much more gruesome.

"When we experienced . . . nuclear weaponry, we could not
handle it," Sally said. "We went insane, we considered ourselves
and all like us to be monsters and demons. We proceeded with
attempting to rid the world of all Immortals. Every Immortal we
could find we killed, it did not matter to us, whether they were
old, young, children of even babies, whether they could defend
themselves or not, whether they knew what they were or not, or
even whether they had died their First Death or not. We killed
them all, we ripped babies from their mothers' arms, killed
children on school grounds, killed people right in front of their
loved ones. It took us thirty years to beat it down, now you have
once again released that insanity."

Then the girl interrupted, "We must hurry; she's coming. This
time I won't be able to protect you. She wants to destroy you
T'Lar, kill you. If she succeeds in destroying your mind, your
Katra here . . . " the little girl shivered in fear, then turned
to Sally. "I can't face her like this. Join us."

"Logical. None of us can face her when we are apart, we
wouldn't have enough strength," Sally stated, the next second a
bland katana was imbedded in the wall, and the girl's head fell
off.

As Sally pulled the katana from the wall, T'Lar exclaimed in
shock, "You killed her!"

"Of course I did not kill her," Sally said with a raised eye
brow. "We cannot die, remember." Just then, the body and head of
the little girl disappeared in a tornado of electricity. The
tornado slammed itself into Sally, then disappeared inside her.
"See?" Sally asked.

T'Lar shook herself and focused back on the issue at hand. "Why
would Insane Dana want to kill me? What am I to her."

Sally's eyebrow shot up, while a flicker of fear coursed
through her eyes and she shivered. "Simple, T'Lar. As long as we
are entangled in this mind meld, our bodies cannot do anything. If
she were to kill you . . ."

"She would be in control of this body, and she could do with it
whatever she wants to," T'Lar realized.

A laugh rang through the streets. Sally and T'Lar turned
towards it. The blonde Dana from the memory stood there. She wore
a long coat over a short mini-skirt. When she walked the top of
her stockings could be seen, at times allowing a glimpse of her
garters, her top showed ample cleavage. The blonde Dana swayed her
hips overly suggestive when she walked. She placed her hands
sensuously at her sides and puckered her bright, red lips. "That
would be a sight to see, wouldn't it? Her on the rampage. I think
from that day forward, Vulcan would depict Death as distinctly
feminine." She laughed.

"I take it you're Sexuality, Humor, Enjoyment," T'Lar said
stated.

"And a few other things," she answered with a flirtatious grin.

"If we are to beat Insanity, we need to join together," Sally
told the blonde.

"Hmm," the blonde gave a throaty moan and caressed herself as
she considered Sally's comment. She walked towards Sally. Her
hands swept the contours of Sally's body before they came to rest
around Sally's. "'Join together' has a nice ring to it," she said.

Sally's eyebrows shot up. "I did not mean that in a sexual . .
."

"Oh, shut up, boring," blonde Dana whispered into Sally's ear
before placing a kiss on Sally's lips. Then they merged. A
redheaded Dana emerged wearing clothes that were a little more
conservative than the blonde Dana; a demure blouse, knee-length
skirt and high heeled shoes. She removed the katana from her coat,
and smiled as she looked over the reflective blade. "This was my
sword until it was destroyed in that nuclear fire. I think it's
just been called for one final battle. Let's go, T'Lar, we've got
insanity to beat."

"Agreed," T'Lar answered.

*****