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Beverly Crusher peered around Mortash’s considerable shoulder. “You mean you’re the one who attempted to kill your husband the first time?”

“With my own lily-white hands,” Khanty said. “Only he didn’t have the common courtesy to die. I finally had to finish him, and Worf and Grant were very polite to take the blame. And these colonial yokels will swallow it. I don’t know what to do to thank you, Worf. So I’ll kill you.”

“Betrayer,” Worf rasped. “Conscience does not confuse you. You are a public hack. Any lie that advances you is fair play. Simple justice never impedes you. How long can you keep control that way? You can not even control me. Remember, you do not have my Oath of Sto’Vokor.

“These people …” Worf continued, “trusted you … you could have helped build a… fine community… here.”

“Here? You think I’m spending the rest of my life with manure on my shoes? This dump is a stepping-stone.”

Mrs. Khanty clicked the buffalo prod up another setting. Then another, until it hummed and actually sparked. Another click or two and it would easily become a shuttlecraft prod.

“I’ve ordered thousands of deaths, but I’ve only done two with my own hands. My husband, and now you.”

She turned to Worf and moved closer, as if sizing him up. Even the Rogues were tight with nervousness and empathy. Ugulan had stepped away—well away.

Interesting way to die. Prodded to death. What would that look like on his service record?

She surveyed him as if trying to decide which part of his body would be more fun to poke with that heartless device, and he knew she was giving him time to think about what was coming. Him, and the Rogues.

She raised the prod, and stepped back to give herself room to use it—

“Wait!” Riker called. Mrs. Khanty looked at him. “Wait for what?”

The first officer made a motion at the wall-mounted observation screen just outside the cell. “You might want to turn that on.”

“That will do you no good!” Ugulan shouted. “That one is a security display monitor, not a recording monitor, fool.”

“Why don’t you see if there’s anything to display?” Riker suggested.

Crusher gave Khanty a thick woman-to-woman look and added, “I think there is.”

Khanty’s expression lost its smugness. She gestured to Goric. “Turn it on.”

Ugulan swung to her. “That monitor cannot possibly record anything you’ve said. It has no way of doing that!”

“Turn it on!” Khanty roared.

Goric plowed out of the cell. Every body in the place was tense now, sensing complication. Goric pounded the monitor control until it came on.

A fritzing picture jumped to life, fielding some interference, and struggled to clarify itself. The sound crackled, then settled into a voice.

“There’s got to be buffalo pee in the water on this colony. I dress like Bo-Peep and tell them there’s no evidence, and they think it’s the same as saying I didn ‘t do anything. And thanks to Worf, no matter how much I control, no matter who I kill for the next ten years, I’ll be able to blame it on Starfleet. Not everybody’s as hard to kill as my husband. It took two tries to finally get rid of him.”

“You mean you’re the one who attempted to kill your husband the first time?”

“With my own lily-white hands. Only he didn’t have the common courtesy to die. I finally had to finish him, and Worf and Grant were very polite to take the blame. And these colonial yokels will swallow it. I don’t know what to do to thank you, Worf. So I’ll kill you.”

The picture fritzed again, shifted, and settled again, this time on a close-up of Mrs. Khanty as she turned to Worf.

“I’ve ordered thousands of deaths, but I’ve only done two with my own hands. My husband, and now you.”

The Rogues stared and stared, utterly stunned and no doubt running over in their minds how this could possibly be happening.

“It is being broadcast colonywide,” Worf shuddered out. “All the airwaves have been pirated. The whole planet has been watching you.”

“How!” Khanty shrieked. “It’s a trick! This is a trick! How could this happen!”

Abruptly, a hand clamped on her wrist and held her in place. She automatically tried to wrench