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Only one entity within the power structure would have the temerity to experiment thus on its own citizens, Cretak thought: the Tal Shiar. And why, without any proof, when she thought of epidemics did she automatically think of Koval? He had been fixated on sickness for as long as she had known him, perhaps only because Tuvan’s Syndrome ran in his family and he sensed his life would be shorter than most. Cretak had no proof he was behind this-pestilence- and even if she did, what could she do with it?

She had been offworld often enough to know that it wasn’t the universe that was gray, but only those things touched by Romulans. We left Vulcan because it was nothing but sand and logic, she thought grimly. Now we have become nothing but dust and deviousness!

Yet here am I, Cretak thought, secure in the Senate despite my early association with Pardek, currently in disfavor, with whatever power that gives me to oppose the sort of calculated chaos the likes of Koval plays at, if only I can stay ahead of the knives. Madness. If Koval loses control of whatever he’s doing, I shall be senator of a dung-hill. Some distinction! But this is my world. What else can I do?

It was late. There was much to do on the morrow. Cretak hated sleeping draughts, but took one anyway, knowing there would be no sleep this night if she did not. As she waited for oblivion, she went over the day’s events in her mind.

Once word had reached her in its roundabout way that her Pandora’s box had been delivered safely and its message understood, she had thought her part in this was over. She did not understand enough about medicine to know if this horror could be cured or at least defended against. Her only thought in giving the information to Uhura had been to say: Don’t let me carry this alone!

But she was embroiled now. Even as she wanted to stop up her ears against the influx of reports, they continued to come to her, all but driving her to despair. Had she sent the messenger too late, or too soon? Or if there truly was nothing to be done, had there been any point in sending the messenger at all?

“… guaranteed to cure what ails you, stranger!” a hoarse voice croaked. “Come try a free sample on that bruise on your arm.”

“A snake-oil salesman,” Tuvok concluded. And at Selar’s inquiring look, he elaborated, “Terrestrial culture, pre-warp. Dealers in false medicinals. Their cures were always fake, usually harmless, occasionally dangerous. An interesting example of the placebo effect. Such individuals would sell everything from herbs to wood shavings to common soil, presented in a pleasing form.”

The salesman was a scrawny, red-faced humanoid with a raucous voice worn down by a lifetime of shouting out his wares. A small crowd had gathered around his booth to listen, but no one was buying. Even after he “cured” a “volunteer” from the crowd, no one was buying.

“A common technique,” Tuvok whispered to Selar. “The ‘huckster’ frequently planted a ‘shill’ in the audience to feign an illness. This person’s ‘cure’ often inspired purchases in others.”

“Curious,” Selar replied. “I would be very interested in the composition of this miraculous substance.”

“Indeed,” Tuvok said as they began to work their way through the crowd.

The Listeners had reported an increase in the number of merchants selling ‘miracle cures’ in this sector. Admiral Uhura had thought it worth investigating, which was why the team was here.

“It’s a fake!” a Romulan in the crowd was shouting. “And you want too much for it!”

“Too much for a miracle?” the huckster shouted. “This here, my friends, is something you’ve never seen or heard of before. It’s found on only one planet in the entire quadrant, and I’ve risked my life to get it.”

This got a few people’s attention, and a few purchases were made, but most in the crowd began to drift away, giving Selar a chance to move forward.

“What will you take in trade for a sample of this miraculous compound?” she asked the huckster who, once off his