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I saw the connection. After all, the LaSalle had done considerable work in that part of space. “In that case, Brant’s knowledge of the sector would have been invaluable to them.”

“Exactly,” said Gorton. “Or maybe the mercenaries simply got wind of something a clue that told them Brant had located the Hoard. In any case, the man was abducted.”

“And you want him found,” I concluded, “and rescued before these mercenaries can find the Hoard and make use of the glor’ya in it.”

“Or even worse,” said Gorton, “sell it to the Cardassians.”

“Who would employ it,” I responded, “to make their warships even more dangerous than they are already.”

The admiral nodded. “That’s our concern. Of course,” he went on, “there are several agents we could have assigned this task, but you’re the only one with any real archaeological background. You’ll need it to verify if you actually encounter the Hoard.”

“I understand,” I told him.

Gorton regarded me. “At this point, I’m sorry to say, I don’t have much else in the way of hard information. I can only point you to the source I mentioned the one who reported Brant’s abduction in the first place.”

He suggested I go undercover to make the contact, so as not to compromise our informant. I agreed that I would do that.

“Good,” he said. “I’m transmitting all pertinent information on him. Needless to say, you’ll have to use discretion in sharing what I’ve told you with your officers.”

“Needless to say,” I echoed.

The admiral smiled grimly. “Good luck, Jean-Luc. And godspeed.”

“Thank you,” I told him.

Then he ended the communication. His image vanished from my monitor, to be replaced with the starred symbol of Starfleet.

I pondered the task Gorton had set for me, leery of entering a situation I knew so little about. All sorts of questions came to mind, none of which was the least bit trivial.

What if Brant’s kidnapping were not what it seemed? What if, far from being their victim, he had joined these so-called mercenaries of his own volition? Indeed, what if Brant’s disappearance had nothing at all to do with Dujonian’s long-lost treasure?

With luck, I would have some of the answers before long. Without luck, I would be operating at a considerable disadvantage.

Abruptly, a beeping sound told me there was someone at the door to my ready room. “Come,” I said, inviting him or her in.

As the door slid aside, I saw that it was William Riker, my executive officer. He looked curious.

“Something interesting?” he asked, a boyish smile on his face.

“I should say so,” I replied. And I described my assignment in as much detail as possible.

After all, I trusted the man implicitly. Given the option, there was nothing I would have considered keeping from him.

Before I had finished briefing him, the boyish smile vanished. After all, Riker was rather businesslike when it came to my welfare, and had been from the time we first met. It’s the mother hen in him.

“You’re not going alone?” he asked. It wasn’t really a question. At least, not in his mind.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I answered.

“I’d go with you,” he said, “except one of us should stay on the Enterprise. Just in case.”

“Agreed,” I told him. It was common sense.

Riker frowned. “You’ll need someone tough and adaptable. Someone who’s gone undercover before.”

There was one obvious choice. I spoke the man’s name.

My first officer nodded. “He’s the one.”

“All right,” I said at last. “I’ll ask him to come along. But that’s it, just the two of us. I don’t want to be too conspicuous, Number One.”

My first officer sighed good-naturedly. “I’d prefer more, sir. You know that. But Lieutenant Worf is worth several ordinary officers.”

I found myself hard-pressed to disagree.

As it was still very early in the morning, I found Worf in the ship’s gymnasium, teaching his Mok’bara class. As Hompaq can attest, Mok’bara is a ritual Klingon martial-arts form designed to enhance one’s agility in hand-to-hand combat.

Though there