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He wandered the field, quietly enjoying the flowers which tumbled over from the soil onto the pale blue grass. Homm relished these times alone, away from the wash of emotions constantly bombarding his mind.

On occasions such as these, when the ambassador's schedule allowed for him to be relieved of his responsibilities for a time, the tall being liked to take off on his own and explore whichever planet she had led them to. It gave him a chance to regroup, to regain his strength for another day. He did not have his mistress' ability to fully shield the thoughts of others. In addition to the undisciplined minds of the various non-telepaths he could not avoid, Lwaxana Troi's Phase had added more stress to his already beleaguered senses. Her grief over the scientist Timicin had almost been too much for him to bear and continue to perform his duties.

Homm bent his knees, lowering himself carefully to avoid crushing the delicate bloom which pushed its way upwards towards the Aldarian sun. He leaned down, sniffing its pungent fragrance deeply, memorizing it for future pleasure, and smiled.

The cry of a small bird caught his attention. Homm stood, scanning the horizon to find the origin of the sound. There, just over that hill, a teonq, no larger than his fist, struggled with an object in his beak. Homm made his way to the creature, which flitted about in a dead patch, still clutching its treasure as it frantically struggled towards flight. Trying, then failing, it tried again only to fall into the blackened grass.

By the time the massive soul reached the dying bird, it was too late. The teonq lay still, its orange and green plumage only the more brilliant for the black, dead blades of grass beneath it.

Homm reached down to cup the bird in his enormous hand. He lifted it gently in his grasp, searching for any sign of life. A shining object fell from the bird's still beak, twinkling toward the somber stretch of earth below. Homm caught it before it hit the ground, starting from the sharp pang as it pricked his skin. Almost forgetting the bird in his curiosity, he fingered the crystal.

And smiled.

Ship's Counselor's Log; Stardate: 4592.5

We have just entered orbit around Aldar Two to pick up my mother who has recently completed trade negotiations with the Aldarians. Normally, this would not be the happiest day of my life. Mother tends to make my coworkers a little...uneasy. Since the death of Timicin, however, I have become uncomfortably aware of my mother's mortality. It has only recently occurred to me that she might not live forever. Mother has thrown herself into her ambassadorial duties and appears to have adjusted well. Still, I sense her unrest. I cannot predict how she'll react anymore. I'm worried about her.

"Jean-Luc, it's so good to see you again." Lwaxana Troi extended her arms towards the Captain, who graciously took her hand in his as he assisted her off the transporter pad. "Little One," she scolded as she surveyed her daughter's appearance, "Not even a kiss for your mother?"

"Hello, Mother," Troi smiled as she placed a gentle kiss on her mother's cheek. "You're looking well."

The senior Ms. Troi heaved a sigh. "Amazing, after the mess those Ferengi made of the trade conference! Jean-Luc, why must those terrible little creatures be allowed to associate with civilized races?"

"Well, Mrs. Troi, I..."

"After the ordeal I went through with the horrid things!" She shook her head. No one present had the nerve to mention Daemon Tog in the ambassador's presence. "Still, when one lives a public life, one must expect these minor mishaps. You remember my valet, Mister Homm," she added offhandedly.

"Of course," Picard acknowledged the tall, silent man who nodded in return. "Mister Data will show you..."

"Not necessary, Jean-Luc. I'm beginning to know my way around this marvelous ship of yours. Why, it almost feels like a second home to me."

Lwaxana smiled coyly, then heaved a nostalgic sigh. "Jean-Luc, your motives are so transparent. It is a sweet gesture, but I am really too exhausted to be good company tonight. Mister Homm will carry my luggage, and Deanna will walk me to my cabin." Her eyes twinkled momentarily. "But you can join me later, if you like."

"Er, that would be..."

"Then again, maybe not." The ambassador turned to her valet, gesturing to her suitcase with an almost apathetic sweep of her hand. "Homm, my luggage."

The valet tugged at the suitcase, but couldn't budge it. His impassive features twisted as he stared at the case and tried again.

"Homm, this is no time for games. I'm tired and want to rest." Mrs. Troi snapped.

Homm grunted, hefting the case with both hands. He managed to lift it as high as his ankle before crashing to the floor.

"His vital signs are within normal range," Beverly Crusher ran the scanner over the hulking body of Mister Homm, now dressed in a medical jumper. The valet lay semi-conscious on a sickbay examining table. "The med scan is clear. He's exhausted, but not ill in any way I can determine." The doctor looked hopefully at Lwaxana. "Mrs. Troi, do you know of anything he might've come into contact with, anything he might have done that was out of the ordinary in the last few days?"

The ambassador shook her head, leaning over to peer down at the valet. "Mister Homm has the constitution of an ox. Nothing ever bothers him."

Crusher frowned. Obviously something was bothering the man, but Lwaxana Troi seemed determined not to deal with the obvious. She tried again. "Think back, Mrs. Troi, perhaps--"

The ambassador interrupted the doctor as if she weren't even there. "This is most inconvenient," she complained impatiently. "I can't imagine why Mister Homm is ignoring his duties like this."

Crusher glared at the older woman. The doctor was not used to having her medical diagnoses ignored, and she was certainly not used to being interrupted. "I'm sure it wasn't anything he planned to do," she said archly.

Standing silently to one side, Deanna Troi could easily sense her friend's rising ire. Crusher didn't know Lwaxana well enough to realize that the blasé attitude was Lwaxana's way of dealing with things she didn't want to deal with.

"Mrs. Troi..." Picard also saw Crusher's rising temper and was about to suggest he escort the ambassador to her quarters when the doctor put down the scanner and faced the elder Betazoid.

"Grown men do not normally faint onto transporter room floors, Mrs. Troi," she snapped, hoping that her comment would jar the older woman enough to shake some information out of her. Crusher understood far more than Deanna gave her credit for. "Even when they do have to carry your luggage."

Lwaxana Troi rose to full height, her entire body tense with indignation. "Are you insinuating that I, a daughter of the Fifth House, would mistreat a servant?"

"I'm just saying that..." Crusher started to argue.

Picard silenced the doctor with a look. "No one is making any such accusation, Mrs. Troi," he moved to assure the ambassador. "The doctor is merely trying to..."

"Don't patronize me, Captain." She moved away from Homm's side, her cheeks flushing angrily as she swept passed Crusher to stand at the foot of Homm's bed. "Mister Homm is the most pampered servant in the galaxy, and I won't have this woman..."

"Mother!"

The counselor reached out to sense her emotions. Lwaxana's fears echoed in Troi's consciousness. "Mother," Troi began again in a softer tone, "I know you are concerned about Mister Homm. But you must cooperate with Doctor Crusher."

Deanna, I do not like being patronized, nor do I enjoy being suspect.

Lwaxana lifted her head slightly, as if simultaneously understanding and disliking what had to be done. Cooperation was not Lwaxana Troi's forte. "He had a lot of free time during this conference. I don't interfere with his off-duty activities."

Crusher paused a moment, also trying to contain her resentment. "I've given him a high-potency vitamin compound, which should restore his energy. But I want to keep an eye on him for the next few days."

"Of course." Lwaxana gathered her maroon cloak around her shoulders. "When will he be able to return to his duties?"

Crusher raised her eyebrows, but said, "I'll keep him here tonight. He can return to work tomorrow morning if everything checks out," she gave the ambassador a warning look, "but only light duty. Is that clear?"

"Doctor, if you knew as much about Mister Homm as you do about vitamin compounds," she looked down at the doctor, "then you'd realize that returning to work is the best thing for him." Ignoring the flash in Crusher's eyes, Lwaxana turned to Picard. "Jean-Luc, see that someone delivers my luggage to my quarters. I do not wish to be disturbed otherwise."

The three officers watched as Mrs. Troi swept out of the room. Picard turned to Crusher, began to speak, then obviously thought better of it. He shook his head, turned for the door and said, "I'll be on the bridge if you need me."

Troi waited until the captain was gone, then turned to Crusher with a sheepish smile. "Beverly, I want to..."

"Deanna, I know she's your mother. And I'm sure that once you get to know her, she's a wonderful person. But..."

"Actually," Troi admitted, "once you get to know her, she's really annoying. At least I'm not the only one she drives crazy." A look down at Homm drained the levity from her voice. "Don't let her fool you. Mother would be lost without Homm. She's very frightened right now and is ill-equipped to handle it."

Crusher sobered. "I'm sure Mister Homm will be fine."

The counselor sighed. "I hope so. You handle this problem; I'll see what I can do about calming down Mother."

As Deanna reached the door, Crusher stopped her. "Do you want a tranquilizer? Just in case?"

Troi grinned. "For me or for Mother?"

Crusher shrugged, a faint echo of Troi's grin curving her lips.

Homm watched as the ambassador's daughter finally left the room. The doctor began puttering about on the other side of the room, still unaware that he was awake. He was relieved the others had finally left. Homm could tolerate non-telepaths on a limited basis, but these particular ones reacted intensely to the ambassador's presence.

The doctor turned to him, immediately wiping the tension from her face when she realized he was awake. It probably never occurred to her that he was as sensitive to emotions as his mistress was. He had to be - how else would he adequately anticipate the ambassador's needs?

"How long have you been awake?" The doctor smiled down at him.

Homm shrugged.

"You heard what I told Mrs. Troi," Crusher stated more than asked.

The valet nodded slightly, his face twisting into a gentle frown.

"I didn't mean to upset her," the doctor apologized a bit belatedly.

She was silent for a moment, and Homm sensed a surge of regret. He realized instantly that the doctor was ashamed of the brief show of temper with his mistress. For some reason, Lwaxana often seemed to spark such responses. Perhaps, being such internal beings, non-telepaths could not tolerate the Betazoid ways. A race born lacking telepathy and developed empathy would see only the surface, never what lay even a centimeter below. An interesting trade-off, since the contradictory nature of non-telepaths also tended to disturb Betazoids. Homm lifted himself up, knowing that Mrs. Troi would be irksome now, and in need of assistance.

At the movement, the doctor shook free of her silent musing and refocused on Homm. "You must rest in order to regain your strength." Crusher gave him firm, but surprisingly gentle look.

Homm assumed she meant to put him at ease as she leaned over to adjust his bed. He sighed and endured the attention.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked.

Homm sighed and nodded towards his feet. The huge appendages hung over the edge of the bed. This problem was not a new one for him. He smiled slowly and rolled his eyes. When the woman laughed, he felt better. He could easily sense her desire to help and frustration at being unable to do so. While he appreciated the effort, he had no wish to cause trouble for her.

"Sorry about that. I promise you won't have to stay here long." She leaned over him, carefully examining his face. As she ran one long slim hand over his temples, Homm could fully sense her compassion. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice somewhat tired.

How did he feel? He felt exhausted. He felt ashamed of failing - in front of the ambassador's friends and family. Most of all, he felt the desire to return to his duties. However, this would be of little help to the doctor. Homm merely shrugged.

Crusher patted his shoulder lightly. "I'll leave you alone for now. We'll do some more tests later, then I'll let you know when you can go back to your quarters."

Homm sighed. He did not relish the thought of facing Ambassador Troi. He would never forget his mistress' shock as he fell. It would haunt him forever. Homm prided himself in his unshakable ability to serve. The ambassador had no one else upon whom to depend.

Crusher continued. "But I'm warning you, just as I warned Mrs. Troi - no extremes. I want you to take it easy. Do I make myself clear?" She stared at him until the hulking patient nodded his assent. "Good."

"Mother, you didn't have to be so hard on her," Deanna Troi said, her melodic voice rising gracefully from the chair she'd sunk into upon entering the VIP cabin. "Doctor Crusher meant no offense, and you know it."

Lwaxana Troi struggled with the catch on her suitcase, which Data had deposited onto the bed, and jumped back when it finally sprang open. "I cannot believe Homm would do this to me," she muttered as she began pulling the brightly colored garments onto the bed. "To inconvenience me after such a wretched conference. I may have to terminate him."

"Try not to be so generous, Mother. Someone might take advantage." Troi could sense her mother shielding ferociously, and that unnerved the young woman. Lwaxana prided herself on her telepathic powers and used every chance to encourage her daughter to develop her own abilities. To Troi, who was used to a constant barrage of mental and emotional signals from her mother, this mind silence was jarring. She eyed the older woman, who fidgeted with a feathery pink robe and finally tossed it away in disgust. "Will you please try to calm down? All Doctor Crusher meant is that Mister Homm might need a break. You do tend to...uh..." Deanna stopped, unable to figure out a non-confrontational way to say her mother worked Homm like a dog.

"I am perfectly calm," came the snapped response. "And I don't ask Homm to do any more than I do."

Deanna surveyed her mother skeptically. "And when did you last take a vacation?"

"Don't play counselor with me, young lady." Lwaxana reached deep down into her suitcase and carefully pulled out her beloved recchi vine. Lowering her tone to almost a whisper, she wrapped one end of it around her wrist and beckoned it upwards. "Come, darling," she purred to the plant, which hesitated, then finally wound its way cautiously up her arm. "Thank the Mother that robot didn't harm my precious."

"Mister Data is an android, Mother; and a full-scale phaser attack couldn't damage your luggage."

"There's no need to be impertinent. I just don't feel anything from your robot. You know how that unnerves me. Granted, some beings are more difficult than others to sense; but to sense nothing...a void..." Lwaxana shivered dramatically.

"Data's quite special, Mother," Deanna countered firmly. "And he comes in handy, even you have to admit that. Look at the way he carried Mister Homm to Sickbay."

"He lifted him like you or I would lift a child," Lwaxana agreed softly. Though she was obviously shielding, her daughter could sense her concern for Homm's welfare. The ambassador paused a moment, looking uncharacteristically fragile, and then launched back into her usual facade of brittle chatter. "Really, Deanna, you choose the most inappropriate friends at times!"

"You never minded my friends before."

"Your friends never considered me a slave-driver before."

"She wasn't judging you, Mother," Deanna Troi said quietly, "but she was frustrated. You won't help matters by throwing a tantrum."

"Sometimes that is all one can do," Lwaxana's words were almost inaudible, her eyes locking with her daughter's for no longer than the length of the sentence.

By the time Deanna murmured, "I know, Mother," the ambassador was already fussing over her plant again.

Homm stood quietly in the back of his mistress's cabin. The doctor had run every test she could before grudgingly allowing him to return to the ambassador. Though the examinations had turned up nothing, Crusher had given him strict instructions not to overwork himself.

The man soundlessly removed another bright garment from his possessions, folding it carefully and laying it in the drawer Mrs. Troi had assigned him. Non-telepaths always complicated matters so. Since they could not understand the relationship he shared with his mistress, they made incorrect assumptions and suppositions.

His attention shifted suddenly down to his hands as the crystal he'd found on Aldar Two fell from the pocket of his shirt. Homm grasped the crystal in one huge hand to examine it. If possible, it was larger than he'd found it, pulsing with an internal blue-white light as he turned it in his hand. Such beauty. Homm adored sparkles and color - it was one of the reasons he had chosen Mrs. Troi as his employer. Lwaxana Troi could be called many things, but never dull.

At the thought of the ambassador, the valet shoved the crystal quickly into his pocket. He would have to prove himself worthy; he would have to assure his mistress that he deserved the trust she placed in him. Now more than ever, his employer needed him.

Homm turned to the recchi vine, which rested on its perch above the master bed. It needed watering. He reached up to gather it together, faltering as a sudden wave of dizziness hit him. He rested on one hand against the wall, suddenly weak. It was as if the energy had been drained from him. Taking a moment to catch his breath and steady the whirling in his head, Homm once again found the strength to reach up for the vine. As he touched the cool, damp leaves, Homm smiled, gathering them around his hands. He closed his eyes, feeling his strength returning as he headed for...

The sound of crumbling leaves in his hands stopped Homm in his tracks. He was still staring down in horror at the dead vine when Lwaxana breezed into the cabin.

"Ah, Homm. I'm glad you're back. I'll need my bath drawn at..." the ambassador's voice trailed off at the sight of her valet holding the withered remains of her precious vine. The color drained from her aristocratic features, and the voice which echoed hollow in her throat was pure liquid nitrogen. "Great Mother. What have you done?" she whispered.

In an instant, Homm felt the shattering blow of her combined anger, grief and confusion slamming against his consciousness. He looked helplessly at the vine, which had been green and vibrant just before he picked it up. What could he say to her? What was there to say?

"That vine was your responsibility," came the grief-stricken accusation. "I have nurtured it for years. It was a gift from Ian." Her eyes closed in barely-contained rage. "Deanna's father," she whispered.

If there was any sympathy, any glimmer of understanding for the predicament Homm found himself in, none of it showed on the Betazoid woman's face. He could feel nothing but rage.

She held out one shaking jeweled hand, pointing to the door. "Out," she whispered fiercely. "Out of my cabin."

"Holodeck three is currently in use," the computer's voice informed her as she tried to enter.

"Damn. Figures." Jackson leaned against the wall. Paul was going to learn to keep his mouth shut, even if he had to learn the hard way. She turned towards the nearest turbolift, plotting her revenge in her mind, not even noticing the tall, pale man until she was nearly on top of him.

Almost losing her balance, she side-stepped the man who reached out one hand to her. "Hey, are you all right?" He looked weak. As he fell toward her, she hurried to catch him. Jackson nearly swooned as she touched the giant. He was heavy, a huge man. Just as she felt her knees were about to buckle beneath their combined weight, the man rallied, dragging them both back against the cool solidity of the bulkhead. Jackson felt faint, all color draining from her face as she lost consciousness.

Homm caught the woman as she collapsed, thinking how pale and fragile she looked. She'd reached out to help him as he fell; now he returned the favor, cradling her in his arms. She lay so still, the rhythmical rise and fall of her chest the only indication of life. Homm frowned. What had happened to this female? A moment ago, she had been so vibrant. He thought of the recchi vine, and his heart fluttered. Sickbay. That is where he must take this being. Moving quickly, he strode to the lift and stepped inside. His eyes frantically scanned the unfamiliar panel before remembering that the lift could be voice activated.

"Sickbay," Homm said softly, swaying as he uttered the single word. Verbal communication always took such effort for him, and this word was the most difficult he had ever uttered. He felt so weak. Leaning back as the lift began to move, Homm expelled a sigh. He was so tired.

When the lift doors opened what seemed like an eternity later, Homm pushed himself from the wall with phenomenal effort. The being in his arms now felt leaden. He looked down at her and froze. No breath stirred the small form. Homm blinked away a large, single tear, still dizzy from weakness and shame. He pressed his hand against the girl's face. Nothing. No thoughts, no feelings emanated from the small woman.

He tried to step from the lift, to cry out; but the energy was not there. Homm staggered back against the wall of the lift, sagging to the floor with the dead human still cradled in his arms. He reached out mentally, but felt only the cold, angry barrier his mistress had erected against his thoughts. He strained against the barrier, but to no avail. No one would come to his aid. He was alone. The lift doors closed.

"Data found them both in the lift, Sir." Worf hovered protectively over the lifeless body of Jackson as Picard joined them in Sickbay. "Homm appeared to be carrying Jackson when he collapsed."

"Mister Homm's condition?" Picard queried.

The Klingon's body stiffened slightly, his head tilting somewhat arrogantly. "Doctor Crusher is examining him now. She said he was too weak for questioning."

Data looked up at Picard. "Captain, Jackson's death is somewhat unusual. There is no sign of a struggle, no internal or external damage to the body. In effect, she is completely uninjured."

"Uninjured except for the fact that she's dead," Picard corrected. He wiped his hand slowly across his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to banish the headache pounding just behind them.

"That is correct, Captain."

"Then how did she die, Mr. Data?"

"From the tricorder examination, it would seem that the life force was simply drained from her." Data lifted his brow slightly. "She just...died, sir."

"Sir, if my energy source were suddenly cut off, there would be no damage to my system. I would simply cease to function." He nodded toward the corpse. "If Chief Jackson were suddenly drained of her life energy, she would also cease to function."

Picard nodded. "Agreed, which brings us back to how."

"There are historical precedents, Captain," Data continued. "The Driarian weasel destroys its prey in almost the same way, applying its fore paws to the..."

"Unnecessary, Data," Picard pursed his lips as a very uncomfortable thought suddenly occurred to him. "Worf, has anyone notified Mrs. Troi?" He didn't want to consider the Betazoid's reaction to the news. He liked the man Homm in an odd sort of way, and did not wish any harm to befall him.

"Counselor Troi is doing so now," Worf reported tersely. "Shall I interrogate the suspect?"

Picard stared hard at the security chief. "Mister Homm is not, I repeat, not a suspect. Doctor Crusher will inform us when he is strong enough to be questioned. Until then, I want this kept as quiet as possible. Search the lift for any clues which might be of use to us."

"That is already being done, sir."

"Good," Picard said almost under his breath. "I want to know what killed this woman, and why. When you have concluded your investigation, inform Doctor Crusher that I want a complete autopsy." There had to be a reason for all this. Picard only hoped that they would find it before Homm wound up like Chief Jackson.

"Mother?" Deanna Troi entered her mother's cabin to find the elder woman seated, Indian-style, on the floor in the center of the room. Lwaxana was fumbling with a jumbled rainbow of fabric, jewelry and shoes, tossing one here, one there, until she was nearly drowned in her own wardrobe. "What are you doing?"

"I know it's in here somewhere."

Deanna, who had lowered her mental shields upon entering the cabin, nearly stumbled from the force of her mother's emotions. She dropped to her knees next to Lwaxana, placing one hand on the elder Troi's shoulder as she tried to calm her frantic searching. "What's here? Mother, what are you looking for?"

"It was here yesterday," came the distracted reply. "I know it." Lwaxana seemed on the verge of tears. "I wore it for the banquet. Just the night before..." She lunged into the pile again, screwing up her face in frustration as her search turned up nothing. "Damn Homm! I told him to leave it on top. Now I'll never find it."

"Find...what?" Deanna demanded slowly, catching the older woman's shoulders, forcing her mother to face her.

"My blue necklace. It has to be here somewhere."

The younger woman turned to the stack, finding the object almost immediately in the tangle. "Here it is," she said softly, handing the jeweled necklace to Lwaxana. It was one of a half a dozen almost like it in Lwaxana's collection - pretty trinkets, but certainly not worth the fit her mother was throwing. Lwaxana took the object slowly, as if it were a snake. Deanna could sense her mother forcing back a tide of emotion. "What happened?"

Lwaxana stared at the shimmering blue crystals. Tears welled up in her large brown eyes as she dropped it to the floor. "My baby. He..."

"Mother," Troi said firmly. "Tell me what happened."

"He killed my baby. My beautiful vine."

"The one that Father gave you?" Deanna held her breath for a moment as her mother nodded, near hysterics. That vine was like a second child to Lwaxana. "I'm sorry. I know he didn't..."

"He just stood there with my baby in his hands. My precious."

Her mother shrugged absently. "Hour. Maybe two," came the low, gruff response.

Troi lifted her mother's chin, looking straight into her unseeing eyes. "Mother, listen to me," she ordered sharply. "Have you seen Homm in that time?"

"I threw him out of my cabin. I never want to see him again."

"You don't mean that."

The older woman blinked once, then tried to look away.

A thought occurred to Deanna. "Where is the vine? Do you still have it?" she demanded.

"On the bureau." Lwaxana's response was so soft she almost missed it. "Homm... I couldn't throw it away."

Troi stumbled onto her feet towards the dead vine. She took a dried, brown leaf into her hand, examining it carefully. A frisson ran down her spine. There was no damage to the plant whatsoever. Every leaf, every thing was exactly how it should be. Except that it was dead. Just like Jackson.

"Mother, we need to get this to Sickbay. You must tell Doctor Crusher..."

For the first time since her daughter entered the cabin, Lwaxana's eyes focused, then narrowed. "What are you talking about? What does she have to do with my plant?"

Troi looked down at her mother. Even sitting on the floor, surrounded by her crumpled finery, Lwaxana Troi was an intimidating woman. The young Betazoid took a deep breath, then said, "A crew member is dead."

Lwaxana folded her arms, years of habitual command taking over for conscious thought. "I still do not know what that has to do with my vine," she said.

Troi swallowed hard. This was not the way she had wanted to tell her mother. Still looking down at the trembling woman before her, Deanna wondered absently when their positions had reversed. When had she become the protector, the one who kissed away the tears? Realizing there was no way to postpone it anymore, she pushed on. "Mister Homm was..."

Lwaxana Troi was on her feet in an instant. All traces of vulnerability vanished immediately. "What's happened?"

"He was found with her - unconscious, not dead," Deanna assured her quickly. "But it doesn't look good."

Her voice died in her throat as two pairs of dark brown eyes turned simultaneously to the carcass of the dead recchi vine lying on the bureau. "No," Lwaxana's voice was a hoarse whisper. "I refuse to believe it."

"He's been taken to Sickbay. You must..."

"WHAT?" An after-shock of fury rattled the counselor as Lwaxana finally became aware of the reality of the situation. "Why in the name of Riix didn't you tell me?"

"I..."

Lwaxana leaned over, picked through the nearest pile of clothing and retrieved a sable-colored cloak, throwing it haphazardly about her shoulders. "The audacity! How dare they not consult me? I will speak to Jean-Luc about this immediately."

"Mother, calm down. The doctor is taking care of Mister Homm. You cannot go in there and make a scene."

The daughter of the Fifth House, holder of Sacred Chalice of Riix and heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed turned slowly on her heels to face her daughter. The voice which pierced through her clenched teeth echoed with the authority of ten thousand generations. "A scene? I'll give them a scene they'll never forget."

"Nothing." Beverly Crusher was beginning to doubt the wisdom of ever entering the medical profession. She ran the scanner over Homm one more time, then turned to Picard, shaking her head. "Jean-Luc, this man shouldn't even be sick, much less..."

"Doctor, Chief Jackson is dead. There must be a reason."

Data, who had assisted Worf in the investigation, now stepped forward. "A complete autopsy has been done on Chief Jackson. There is no evidence of foul play."

"Our main problem here is Mister Homm," Crusher said. "I've had to place him on complete life support. Same thing, a loss of energy almost to the point of death."

"The symptoms are similar to Tangee fever, a disease native to Tarvi..."

"I've checked for Tangee fever, Data. Homm doesn't have sufficient antibody build up even to be a carrier. Besides, Tangee fever kills in less than twenty minutes." Crusher shook her head. "He wouldn't have made it off the planet. If we can figure out what killed Jackson, then maybe I can find a way to reverse the energy drain on Homm."

"Could Homm be a `Typhoid Mary?'" Picard asked. "A carrier who is immune to the disease, yet still transmits it to others?"

"No," Crusher assured him. "The transporter scans for all known viruses, including the one which causes Tangee fever. He would have tripped off half a dozen alarms before he even materialized."

"Perhaps Mister Homm is not suffering from a disease, but a contaminant," Data suggested.

"Excuse me?"

"Captain, certain elements have a tendency to draw energy to themselves. Perhaps Mister Homm..."

"True, Doctor. Unless--"

"Unless it was an element the computer does not yet recognize as harmful." Picard finished for him. "That is a possibility."

"Still wrong," Crusher argued. "When Homm was brought in here the first night, he was thoroughly decontaminated. That was well before Jackson's death."

Picard began to answer, but was interrupted.

"What in the name of the Four Deities is going on?" Lwaxana Troi burst through the doors of Sickbay with Counselor Troi hurrying behind. "How dare you make a prisoner of my valet!"

Picard raised one hand to calm the woman. "Ambassador Troi, I assure you, no one is being held prisoner."

"Please calm down, Mrs. Troi," Crusher answered sharply. "I've placed Mister Homm on complete life support. We're trying to..."

"How dare you not consult me? How dare you simply throw him under a machine as if he were just anybody?" Lwaxana turned slowly to Crusher, her refined features set firmly in an expression of determined impatience. "You have no idea who you are dealing with. Homm is the valet of a daughter of the Fifth House, not a sleep-eyed ensign with a hangnail."

"Mother, that's not..." Deanna began.

"I'm told you're a very competent physician," Lwaxana seared the doctor with a look that could make a Vulcan cringe. "Forgive me if I'm not convinced."

Crusher's blue eyes flashed momentarily. "Pardon me?" The words escaped her tightly held lips like so many darts.

Deanna saw the red alert signals going off in both women's faces and quickly insinuated herself between them. She held up the remnants of the vine. "I believe this may be of help, Beverly. We..."

Lwaxana ignored her daughter's attempts at diplomacy, side-stepping the petite woman to face the ship's doctor head on. "He was in Sickbay before. Why didn't you do something then? I have no time for this. Mister Homm has important duties he must attend to. If you cannot figure out what's wrong with him, perhaps we should have another doctor...a more competent doctor," she said venomously, "take over the case."

"If you can find one in the middle of space," Crusher snapped. "Be my guest."

Crusher froze, stomping on her rage, knowing that one word spoken at this moment would unleash a flood which, once released, could not be stopped and could never be retrieved. She turned to Deanna, wordlessly warning the counselor of the impending explosion.

Deanna whirled, enraged at the insinuations and fed up with her mother's interference. "Mother, that is enough. I want you out of..."

"Deanna, I..."

"Now," the word was a low growl which sent chills down the spine of everyone present, including Lwaxana Troi. Deanna took her mother's arm with a force neither knew she possessed and literally dragged her out of Sickbay.

Picard turned to the physician. "Doctor..." he began.

"Just...go," the woman cut him off icily.

Picard took one look at his CMO's granite features. If there was going to be an explosion, he did not want to be an innocent bystander. "I'll be on the bridge if you need me."

Deanna Troi stood in the corridor just outside Sickbay in full professional mode. She turned to her mother - no, the ambassador, and said firmly, "This is a crisis situation, and your presence is contributing to the problem."

"But, Little..."

Troi shook her head. "If you have any concern for your valet's health, you will remove yourself from this situation. Your tantrums are not doing him a bit of good. Doctor Crusher is the best in her field," she said, her voice cutting a little more than professionalism dictated. "If you allow her to do her job."

Lwaxana opened her mouth to speak, but Deanna was having none of it. "I want you to return to the VIP quarters. You are banned from Sickbay until further notification."

"When you act like a child," she repeated a phrase she'd heard too often growing up. "Expect to be treated like a child." And she stood calmly, wrapped in her cloak of professionalism, as Lwaxana drew in an enraged breath, turned on her heels, and stormed off without another word.

Beverly Crusher looked down at the unconscious valet and frowned. She brushed her hair from her eyes, checking his readings for the umpteenth time since the others had left. Homm's vital signs were slowly, but steadily lowering. Transfusions, stimulants, nothing could stop the drain on his life strength. They raised his levels momentarily, but then the unrelenting descent would begin again.

"Come on," she muttered more to herself than to Homm. "Come on, there's got to be something."

For lack of any better idea, Crusher began listing the "knowns" of the situation, hoping perhaps to accidentally stumble onto the right "unknown" just by the process of elimination. "It's not viral or bacterial. You've been thoroughly decontaminated." She looked down at his impassive face. "Are you depressed?" Crusher shook her head. "This is ridiculous. Tissue and fluid samples have turned up nothing." Dear lord, she was almost beginning to believe Ambassador Troi's accusations of...

At the thought of the Betazoid ambassador, Crusher swallowed down a remnant of anger. Dwelling on her rage will not help the patient, she told herself fiercely.

Tired, her mind raced with possible solutions - some reasonable, some ridiculous, all wrong. Crusher leaned against the storage compartment which flanked Homm's intensive care bed. Sleep, she thought. Sleep would be wonderful now. She massaged her temples and tried to concentrate as a sudden wave of weakness overwhelmed her. Crusher clawed at Homm's bed, steadying herself. As she stepped forward to keep from falling, the draining sensation dissipated. Drawing a deep breath, she backed up against the wall again, and the sensation returned. Eyes widening, she shoved herself forcefully from the wall, whirling to stare at the innocuous looking storage compartment which was set in the wall.

Gingerly she stretched one hand out to touch the top drawer, then snatched it back as a child would snatch a finger away from an open flame.

"Dear god!" A wave of vertigo hit her, and she staggered, falling hard and ungracefully to the deck.

It took her a moment to regain enough strength to rise to her knees. Crusher crawled to the drawer, took a stylus from the pocket of her jacket and jabbed the release of the top drawer, dodging away as it popped open. There, carefully folded, were Homm's clothes. Crusher swayed, her hand clutching the side of Homm's bed. "Bingo!" she whispered triumphantly.

Crawling backward, she lifted herself painfully to her feet. She retrieved a tricorder from the counter where she'd laid it earlier and aimed it at the drawer. When she saw the readings, her heart nearly froze cold in her chest. "Computer, place an isolation field around this drawer."

"Damn," she swore, tapping her insignia. "Security to Sickbay - now!"

Geordi LaForge hurried to catch the closing turbo, leaping into it just before the smooth white doors cut him off. He caught his breath, noticing for the first time that Counselor Troi's mother was sharing the same lift. LaForge turned quickly, but the doors had already cut off his only escape route. He squared his shoulders, smiling carefully in the direction of the ambassador. "Hi," he said.

Mrs. Troi ignored him, her gazed fixed on the wall before her, as oblivious to him as she would be to a bug. LaForge nodded to himself. "Ohhhkay," he said under his breath. This was going to be one hell of a long turbo ride. "Ten Forward," he said to the computer.

Lwaxana Troi countermanded his request with a harsh order, "VIP quarters."

LaForge held his breath. There was no way he was going to top that one. As the turbo began to hum its way towards the VIP quarters, he focused his VISOR straight forward, studying the door with a curiosity born of sheer desperation. He'd heard about the death of Chief Jackson, and knew that the ambassador's valet was somehow involved. O'Brien had told him enough about Lwaxana Troi's tantrum in the transporter room for LaForge to know he didn't want to be there when this lady lost it.

LaForge glanced surreptitiously at the woman beside him. For the first time since he'd met her, Lwaxana Troi was completely silent. The experience was unexpectedly chilling. She seemed lost in a daze, her fists clutched tightly at her sides, eyes locked forward. The engineer frowned and, when the turbo opened outside the VIP quarters, followed her out. "Mrs. Troi?"

Lwaxana stopped.

"Is everything okay?"

The ambassador turned to him slowly, the look in her eyes enough to dampen the resolve of the most steadfast hero. LaForge resisted the urge to gulp.

"Everything is fine," came the low, dark reply.

This time, LaForge did gulp. "Uh, great," he said as she turned back towards her cabin. Instinct told him to run, not walk, to the nearest turbolift. But LaForge could not resist the urge to follow. After all, this was a shipmate's... a friend's mother. He simply could not leave someone in this condition alone. "Would you care to join me in Ten Forward, Mrs. Troi," he invited valiantly.

"Mister LaForge, I cannot join you in Ten Forward because my daughter has confined me to quarters," she said vehemently, whirling away from him to storm into her cabin.

The engineer's hand was on her arm before his better judgement could stop him.

Lwaxana Troi froze, staring down at his hand as if it were poison. "How dare you," she began, then stopped, all energy suddenly draining from her face. She stood there, just looking at him, making no effort to remove his hand.

LaForge held his breath for a moment, truly worried now. He kept his voice low and calm. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Lwaxana's eyes seemed to blur, then she looked away. "I..." She closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. "I made a terrible mistake." She squeezed her eyes tightly, as if trying to drive away a particularly bad memory.

"Mistakes can be corrected."

"I accused Doctor Crusher of..." she paused. "I accused her of incompetence...of sleeping her way to the top."

LaForge held his breath, not quite knowing what to say. At least he knew why Mrs. Troi had been banned from Sickbay...to prevent a major blood bath. "Doctor Crusher is a very understanding person," he said. "And an apology has been known to work wonders."

"I tried to apologize," Lwaxana said fiercely, pulling herself free of his grasp. "They wouldn't let me!"

"People are funny," he said gently. "Give her a while; let her cool down a bit before you try again. But you have to do it."

The tall woman looked away slightly. "I'm not accustomed to..." She stopped again, her shoulders sagging this time. "I don't know how."

Data checked the readings on the wall monitor again. The tunic had been removed from Sickbay, and placed in one of the old-fashioned isolation chambers where a battery of tests had been done. He now turned to Picard. "Captain?"

Picard approached his second officer quickly. "What is it, Data?"

"The crystal has grown approximately four millimeters in diameter since Doctor Crusher discovered it," he said dispassionately. "It seems to be absorbing the energy of the probes; however, I cannot be certain without more accurate measurements."

"Is this what killed Jackson?" Picard asked.

Data nodded. "While I do not have undisputable evidence, that would seem to be the most logical explanation, Captain. You will note the energy patterns here...and here," he cocked his head, then waited as Beverly Crusher joined them.

"I've got Mister Homm stabilized. Once we contained the crystal, his readings began improving immediately."

"I don't understand why it killed Jackson, but not Data or Homm."

Crusher shrugged. "It could be a number of things. Data's not technically a biological life form." She cast an apologetic glance at the android. "As for Homm, the difference in brain wave frequency, his size...your guess is as good as mine until we get more information on the thing. We're damn lucky that Data carried him to Sickbay after each collapse and helped us undress him. Data's theory is that the crystal is growing exponentially. As it grows, it becomes more deadly."

"Data," Picard said. "Have you been able to get any information on what this thing is?"

The android seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, "The readings are almost identical to those of the crystalline entity."

"What?" Crusher looked sharply at Data. "But that was destroyed..."

"Correction, Doctor. The entity was shattered."

"Into a million shards," Picard whispered. "A million shards which have been scattered throughout space."

"My God," said Crusher. She didn't want to think of the effect a million of those crystals could have on living beings.

"It is growing," Data added. "And its effect on living--" Before either Crusher or Picard could stop him, Data moved into the tiny isolation room.

"Data!" Picard shouted.

The android picked the crystal up in his right hand, consulting his whirring tricorder as he directed it toward himself.

"Put that thing down!" Crusher cried out, all color fading from her cheeks. "You have no idea what it can do to--"

"Intriguing," Data replied as he set the crystal down. "A constant ten percent decrease in my auxiliary power reserves." He turned toward his captain. "A crystal this size, increasing mass proportionately to the energy drain of my systems would take three days, twelve hours, sixteen minutes, and twenty-three seconds to--"

"Data!" Picard barked. "Come out of there!"

"--assuming constant physical contact was maintained," the android finished mildly as he obeyed Picard.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Data," Crusher said, some of the color returning to her cheeks.

"Perhaps. But I am not a cat."

Crusher sighed. "Never mind."

Homm lay in his too-short bed, feeling his strength returning for the first time in days. The doctor, a bit haggard but relieved at his improvement, had scheduled his release for early that afternoon. Crusher had explained to him about the death of the young woman, about how he had not been at fault. He shuddered - to kill with a touch. Homm closed his eyes, remembering the many times...how close...

He thought of Jackson's lifeless body. How easily it could have been Lwaxana Troi... Homm squeezed the image from his mind quickly.

When he opened his eyes, the ambassador was standing at his bedside, a look of concern creasing her features. He tried to rise, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. She sensed his fear, but refused to remove the hand. It was a moment before Homm was fully convinced no harm would come to her from touching him. "Rest," was the one word she said as she carefully began adjusting his pillow.

Crusher watched quietly from her office as the ambassador fussed over Homm. She'd never have admitted it, but Lwaxana looked truly happy. The doctor lifted her shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the tension in them. Good for Mrs. Troi, she thought grumpily and turned into the office. She sat at the desk and was just getting into a report when a subtle cough interrupted her. Lwaxana stood just inside her office door.

"May I come in?" she said.

Crusher wordlessly indicated a chair.

"Doctor Cru...Beverly," Lwaxana stumbled over the words. "As a daughter of the Fifth..."

Crusher leaned heavily onto her elbows. "Daughter of the Fifth House, holder of the Sacred Chalice of Riix, and heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed," she quoted sarcastically. "I've heard it before, Mrs. Troi. Frankly, your credentials no longer impress me that much."

Lwaxana cocked her head to one side in surprise. "Your credentials, on the other hand..."

"Are absolutely legitimate," Crusher said vehemently. "If you want to check them out, you can..."

Troi held up her hand. "There is no need."

Crusher, half-expecting a fight, half-disappointed not to get it, muttered, "Damn right, there's no need. Without me, your valet would not be alive today."

Troi bit down a quick response, then and nodded her head slightly. "I realize that." She looked at Crusher, opening her mouth to speak, then stopping.

"As a daughter of the Fifth House," she repeated, carefully choosing each word. "I am not accustomed to taking orders. Nor am I accustomed to saying `thank you.'" Her voice wavered slightly as she lifted her head in an attempt to gather the last vestiges of her dignity. "Or `I'm sorry,'" she added quietly. "You saved Mister Homm's life. It is a debt I cannot repay."

The two women locked eyes for a moment, then Crusher smiled reluctantly, putting one hand over Lwaxana's. "I think you just did."

The older woman tilted her head in surprise. "Really? I didn't expect it to be that...easy," she said, the lightness in her voice testament to her real astonishment. "Thank you," she added, this time her voice dropping low with sincere gratitude. The moment vanished as suddenly as it arrived. Lwaxana raised both hands in a flamboyant gesture of consideration. "Now, whatever can I do to show my appreciation?"

"Uh..." Crusher looked at Mrs. Troi, glad to have helped, but suddenly realizing a thankful Lwaxana could be just as bad...or worse than...

"You're looking so tired, dear," Lwaxana stood up, launching full force into "Mommy" drive. "You should get some rest." The Betazoid pulled a protesting Crusher to her feet, chattering like a child just taught a new game. "Now, don't you worry about all of this. I'll take care of everything. By the way, Deanna has mentioned your recent romantic problems, and I know the nicest young man who..."

As she was pulled helplessly to the door, Crusher realized she would have to suffer the tortures of a beneficent Lwaxana Troi. Somehow, she thought, somehow, she was going to get even with Deanna for this.

END