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Doctor Crusher’s voice was heard on the bridge. “Captain? I was in my quarters and am on my way to sickbay. What happened?”

“Counselor Troi just collapsed on the bridge. The medical team is taking her to sickbay.”

“Any idea what’s wrong with her?”

“From what your medical team said, I gather that she simply fainted. We just got our first look at the alien artifact that is apparently causing all our troubles. The sight was … unsettling, to say the least.” He paused as a thought struck him. “Hold a moment, Doctor.” Then he turned to Data and ordered, “Order all viewing ports darkened, Mister Data. I don’t want anyone else passing out from the sight of that thing.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Doctor,” Picard continued, “this … thing—whatever it may be—is so alien, so outside our frame of reference, that gazing upon it is physically distressing. The counselor, I believe, was reacting to that. She was also able to pick up very disturbing emotions from the Marco Polo crew. Our sensors indicate that there are seventeen of them still alive, but the counselor told us that they are dying.”

Picard knew exactly what Beverly Crusher would say next, and she did not disappoint him. “Request permission to assemble a medical team to beam over there and rescue them, Captain.”

“I am not sure yet whether it will be possible to use the transporter,” he replied.

“Then we’ll take the shuttlecraft,” she responded promptly.

“Doctor, I will consider your request and get back to you shortly,” the captain said in his most formal voice.

“But—”

“Picard out. Mister Data, will it be possible to drop the shields to use the transporter?”

“Our position is stationary, sir. The tractor field appears quiescent, now that we are here. Dropping the shields to allow the transporter to function should pose no danger … at least to the structure of the ship, Captain.”

Picard understood completely what the android was hinting at. “Yes, but dropping them may leave us open to whatever mental assault the Marco Polo’s message mentioned. I get your drift, Mister Data.”

Riker turned to Worf. “Can you pick up any log entries or tactical data on the condition of the PaKathen, Lieutenant?”

“The last log entry was made by Captain Khlar when his ship had come to rest, Commander. He reported dissension and assassinations among his crew, and logged his decision to blast their way out of this trap. That is the last entry.”

Riker gave Picard a speculative glance. “Can you scan their weapons’ status, Lieutenant?”

“Readings from their gunnery station indicate that all forward disrupter banks have been discharged, sir.”

“Confirming Lieutenant Worf’s information,” Data said. “I am detecting ionized particles in this area that would indicate a volley of disrupter fire.”

“And yet the artifact remains untouched,” Picard mused softly. He considered options for a moment, then sighed. He didn’t like the idea of dropping the shields for any reason, but theirs was a rescue mission, and risks were often necessary to fulfill orders. “Lieutenant Worf, I have decided to send a medical team over to the Marco Polo to bring the survivors back,” he said to the Klingon security chief. “You are ordered to assemble an adequate security force to deal with whatever you may find over there, and to head that force personally.”

“Yes, Captain!” Worf, as always, preferred action to waiting.

“Captain,” Riker said urgently, “request permission to accompany the security team.”

“Denied, Number One,” Picard said evenly. “I want you here. If this … mental invasion should begin aboard the Enterprise, then you and I must be prepared to watch each other for signs of instability. And be prepared to act on the results of our observations. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” replied Riker with equal gravity.

“Lieutenant Worf, assemble your security team. Use Transporter Room 3. Have Chief O’Brien signal the bridge when you are ready to beam over, so that we can drop the shields.”

“Yes, sir!” The Klingon officer beckoned to an ensign to