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“I’m starting to,” the doctor told him. “Remember, the Borg can repair themselves fairly quickly. Maybe he can as well.”

“An interesting theory,” he conceded, “but why hasn’t Archangel displayed this propensity before?”

She shook her head. “Maybe it has something to do with the type of injury he sustained. Maybe it had to be goosed by the bioregeneration process. All I know is he should still be lying there, unconscious, and he’s almost back to normal.”

Picard gave Crusher a sidelong glance. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to ask me something I won’t like?”

She smiled. “Archangel asked me to speak with you on his behalf. He thinks he can be useful here on the bridge, providing insights into the actions of his teammates.”

The captain frowned. “Insights, indeed.”

“Those are his friends down there,” the doctor noted. “He wants desperately to help.”

Picard didn’t respond right away. “You’re certain he’s sound?” he inquired at last.

“Sound enough,” she answered. “And getting sounder all the time.”

Again, the captain took some time before he spoke. “Very well,” he said. “Tell him he’s welcome here.”

Crusher nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Picard sighed. “Thank you.”

Leaving the captain to his grim watch, she got up and headed for the turbolift. Archangel would be pleased, she thought. And perhaps he would be useful, if it came to that.

As the lift doors opened, the doctor entered the compartment and turned around. “Sickbay,” she said. A moment later, the lift began to take her to her destination.

Halfway there, an idea struck her. A bizarre idea, she had to admit—but one that might prove exceedingly helpful to her. Maybe Archangel wasn’t the only mutant on the ship who could provide some insights …

With the towering form of Colossus at her side, Troi walked slowly down the dismal, empty street, unaccustomed to the phaser in her hand. Her Betazoid senses reached out methodically in every direction, seeking friend and foe alike. However, this part of Verdeen was as abandoned as it had looked during their descent.

Anyway, that was how it seemed at first.

Then something registered in the counselor’s mind—something brutal and bloodthirsty, gratified by the prospect of violence. Inwardly, she cringed, knowing that emotional terrain all too well.

She had made contact with a Draa’kon soldier. No—two of them, she told herself. And they weren’t alone. There were gentler beings with them—beings wracked with fear, focused at the moment on self-preservation to the exclusion of all else.

Xhaldians, Troi noted. And they were in danger.

Grabbing the mutant’s metallic arm, she pulled him toward the intersection ahead of them. “Come on,” she said.

“You’ve found some Draa’kon?” he asked.

“Yes,” the counselor told him, “Draa’kon—and Xhaldians as well. And if we don’t hurry, the Xhaldians may not survive much longer.”

Hearing that, Colossus picked up the pace, too. For someone who seemed to be made of metal he moved rather quickly, eating the ground ahead of them with long, loping strides. In fact, Troi was hard pressed to keep up.

At the end of the street, she turned right and the mutant followed. When they came to the end of that street, they turned left and kept running.

“How much further?” Colossus asked.

“Not much,” the counselor told him, panting a little. “It feels like they’re around the next corner.”

As they approached the building at the end of the block, she slowed down and gestured for her partner to do the same. After all, she thought, she might be able to incapacitate the Draa’kon without exposing Colossus and herself to any danger. That was what phasers were for.

Finally, they reached the corner of the building. By then, Troi could hear voices. Apparently, the Draa’kon were interrogating the Xhaldians.

Lowering herself to one knee, she leaned forward and took a peek. She could see the Draa’kon, all right. And a couple of Xhaldians, too. The aliens had backed the natives up against a wall and were pointing