Prologue: Point of Departure

"If I were you, Picard, I wouldn't pass this way again!" The menacing growl tainted Deanna Troi's lovely voice, the rough-edged words ones that should never have passed through her lips. Then again, the person speaking them was hardly Deanna Troi; it was, instead, an unknown and nameless criminal, whose government had, for reasons as unknown as his name, stripped him from his body and sent his consciousness--and that of his fellow prisoners--whirling angrily into the eternal storms that racked this benighted planet.

Not mad, Picard had said, and he believed that still. Even after five centuries without a body, the being that now possessed Troi was not mad. Ruthless, desperate, filled with hatred and anger. But not mad. The eyes that burned into his were coldly sane; even the fire of his anger was cool, calculating. And now it was gone.

Picard raced forward as the glowing balls of energy that were all the body the prisoners had left deserted Troi, Data and O'Brien. He caught the half-Betazoid counselor's suddenly limp and unconscious body in one arm, mouth open to shout orders to the bridge crew as Worf leapt to activate the transporter.

It was then that the containment field created by Beverly Crusher failed.

Picard looked up in frozen horror, unable to move as the light in the room abruptly returned to normal, and the beings caught helplessly in their incorporeal prison were suddenly, frighteningly, free. His last conscious thought as lightning seemed to explode around and through him was that he had, finally, failed in his sacred trust to keep his people safe.

It was a bitter thought to carry into darkness.

PART I: IN THE TEETH OF THE STORM

Narve opened his eyes and looked around the room. He could feel Picard, trapped and helpless in a corner of his own mind, and allowed his mouth to twist into a triumphant smile. "Picard, you're mine," he whispered savagely, as savagely as he'd first said the words, when he'd been in Troi's body and merely held Picard hostage. Now, Picard was truly his. Neatly shut away in a corner of his own mind, powerless to stop the invasion. And Narve had a body again, a body he felt more than willing to keep. Being caught in the body of a woman had been interesting, but he felt much happier now that he occupied one of the correct sex. The commander as well, which was only fitting.

He rose to his feet, wiping such irrelevant thoughts from his mind as he assessed the situation. Troi was still unconscious--well, that was to be expected; he'd exited her mind more harshly than necessary, viciously angry at being forced to leave in the first place, using her pain to eject himself rather than simply leaving. It would be some time before any of his men could take her mind...if it were even necessary at all. Another smile curved his lips as he raked her trim, slender body with Picard's eyes, a smile that grew as he felt the captain's outrage at the thoughts and images that rapidly flooded Narve's mind. He pushed those thoughts aside as well--for the moment--and turned with a critical eye toward the others.

They were all occupied now; Verek and Mylal had re-entered the bodies of Data and O'Brien. Peris had occupied the Klingon and was already punching in a security override to the cargo hold doors that would keep Riker from blasting them into space, as Picard had threatened to do. Narve nodded approvingly at this action, then noticed that Mast had entered O'Brien's woman--O'Brien's civilian woman. Picard's face frowned, and his voice rang out. "We need to occupy the bodies of the security forces first. It's safe to assume that they realize their plan has failed; once we leave this room, they'll be waiting for us." He glanced over at the rest of his storm-tossed men, who had moved their essences from the transporter pad and were now waiting near the door. None of them were fools; the second they realized that the oh-so-clever containment field created by Dr. Beverly Crusher in a desperate attempt to control the situation had failed, they acted.

Thoughts of Beverly Crusher brought more of Picard's memories to the surface; with a rapidity that would have astounded the other man, had he been fully able to grasp Narve's thought processes, the images and memories were seized, examined and stored away for future reference. It had been far too long since Narve--or any of his 150 fellow prisoners, all male, all condemned for the same crime, all loyal to him--had been physically able to touch anything, let alone hold a woman in their arms. Now he had two that he had every intention of exploring further, once he had taken this ship.

These thoughts flickered through his consciousness far quicker than it took Peris to finish entering the code that would open--and keep open--the massive doors to the cargo hold. Even while they brought a smile of anticipation to his face, Narve's voice--Picard's voice--barked out orders. "Remember: Security forces first. We're not likely to encounter anyone else right now anyway, so that shouldn't be too difficult to accomplish. They'll have all the civilians and noncombatants locked away for their own safety. Other than that, don't worry about whose body you get; you'll be able to change later, if you want. The bridge is our main goal."

The other four who now had bodies nodded their heads; the 146 still lost in the small portion of the Storm they'd brought with them sang their agreement into his mind. They all knew what to do. Nodding grimly and gesturing with his phaser with one hand while he hoisted Troi over his shoulder with the other, Narve followed as his men left the room.

It was almost too easy. Even though the forces confronting the invaders thought themselves ready, they were woefully unprepared for the savage force of the Storm. The lightning grew weaker as more and more members found bodies and left, but even in this weakened state, it was more than enough to stun the men and women they encountered.

Riker had desperately attempted to block them from the bridge; it was the obvious goal. But Worf's memories and tactical abilities served them well, and it wasn't long before the bridge crew--Riker, Ro, LaForge, all the rest except a stunned Beverly Crusher, now being held tightly by Peris--had been rendered unconscious and taken over. Regaining access to the computers was the next priority; one of Riker's first actions had been to lock the invaders out. A futile gesture; Picard's memories told Narve exactly what to do to counter that move, and he took immense pleasure in doing so in front of Riker's disbelieving eyes--before stunning the first officer into unconsciousness.

As soon as that had been accomplished, the rest of the ship had been gassed by its own internal security system--yet another piece of Federation technology that had proven useless against the invaders--and the remainder of the former prisoners had been sent to round up every man, woman and child, imprisoning them in the cargo bays.

Once the prisoners came around, they would no doubt attempt to escape, and there was always the chance that some smart guy from engineering would come up with a way to get around the locks. Then again, Narve thought as he glanced around the bridge, that was fairly unlikely, since they now had the smartest guy from engineering right here, with--who? Ah, Lormis. With Lormis, best computer man in his crew, controlling him and assimilating his memories. His aura was unmistakable, the pale blue glow that identified him as clear to Narve as if his name were written across his host body's forehead. It was the same for all of them. An unexpected--but beneficial--side-effect of their time spent without bodies, discovered during their first, abortive escape attempt.

"Interesting." Riker's voice interrupted Narve's thoughts, sounding slightly bemused as Larsch looked with the former first officer's eyes around the bridge. Larsch had been forced to stay behind when the pain from Riker's broken arm kept him from being able to take over that body, and he'd claimed it for himself, with no one disputing his right to do so. But now his attention was focused on the three women on the bridge. "This Riker guy's slept with that one"--he pointed at Ro, whose occupier, Mesch, merely raised an eyebrow--"and that one. He slept with that one a lot." His gaze lingered on Deanna Troi for a moment before passing over to Beverly Crusher. "He even slept with that one, but he had some sort of parasite in him that was in love with her or something--" he shook his head, half in amazement, half in disgust. "This guy gets around!"

Larsch was the youngest of them, Narve remembered, suppressing a flash of annoyance at his preoccupation with the women--and conveniently forgetting his own thoughts about them. It had been so long since such minor matters as age, rank or even sex had truly meant anything. Well, not quite. Rank still mattered, even after five long, hopeless centuries. Narve remained the leader, had coordinated their first escape effort and this current, more successful attempt. He, Narve, had kept his crew from completely losing hope. Now that he had finally managed to free them from their prison, their respect for his leadership would be even higher. But he had to keep discipline. Larsch wouldn't be the only one thinking with his new hormones. There would be time enough for his crew to sample the women once they were safely away and had disposed of the extraneous people.

"We can't keep all the prisoners on board this ship," he announced, putting thoughts to words. "We can't control them all. Suggestions?"

"Kill them," Verek said flatly. His golden eyes glittered in the subdued red lighting that now draped the bridge, flickering oddly in the silent flashing of the emergency alarms.

Narve looked over at his second-in-command consideringly; his suggestion was a quick, easy solution that would satisfy many of the men. Especially the one who suggested it. Verek reveled in death and killing; only Narve's orders had kept him from killing the Klingon or Picard earlier. He would need to vent his frustrations, but killing helpless prisoners wasn't part of the Code. Verek occasionally needed to be reminded of the fact that the Code could not be ignored. Sidestepped, on occasion; at times interpreted a little more freely. But never ignored. Besides, it always paid to try and plan for as many contingencies as possible. If by some quirk of fate they were ever caught by the Federation, they had on their side the fact that no lives had been lost. Wholesale slaughter of the prisoners would make any punishment far harsher.

"Use the navigation systems," Lormis interjected in his flat, emotionless tones. "Find some uninhabited planet where we can dump the ones we can't use. We start slaughtering them, the Feds will be out for blood if they ever catch us." Narve nodded his approval; it was the plan he had come up with, as well. But it always looked better if he took the suggestions of the crew; that was also part of the Code, however unwritten.

"You can't get away with this!" Narve/Picard swung around in surprise, fixing his gaze on the speaker. Beverly Crusher. Of course. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow and gestured for her to continue, jerking his head at Peris. The Klingon hands released the woman, and she stumbled slightly at the unexpected freedom before snapping erect and turning her glare on her former captain. "This is a Federation Starship! Do you honestly think you can try to steal it without someone stopping you?" She spread her arms angrily, taking in both the invaders and the entire situation in which she now found herself embroiled.

Narve shrugged expressively, silently reveling in the ability to do so. "We've already gotten away with it, Doctor," he replied in Picard's cultured accents. "And we will continue to do so. Between our abilities and the memories of Picard and his crew, we should be able to fake a most convincing 'accident'; remember, even your sophisticated sensors couldn't find the crash site of the Essex."

He smiled as her eyes widened at this revelation. "Then we'll take all civilians and useless personnel and dump them on some primitive planet far away from the shipping lanes and outside Federation territory--maybe someplace just inside Romulan space, how would that be?--and we'll leave them there. Someplace where they'll be too busy surviving to try and create communicators out of rocks and trees," he added in mocking tones as he glanced around at his crew. "If anyone does eventually stumble across them, we'll be long gone and nowhere to be found."

He shrugged once again, then leaned casually against the railing, his eyes back on the doctor's strained--but still beautiful--face. It would do no harm to tell her..."Don't get the idea that somehow one of your people will try and pass for one of us. We can still 'see' each other, despite these bodies." He pointed at Worf, busy at tactical. "That's Peris." The Klingon looked up briefly at the mention of his name, grunted, and returned his attention to the board. "He has a distinctive green aura." His hand waved at Keiko, standing guard by the turbolift, the phaser held so steadily in her hand clearly set on "kill". "That's Mast. He's an assassin; his aura is a purplish-red. Blood-colored, you might say." He smiled.

Crusher felt an almost overwhelming urge to slap that cold, calculating smile off his--Jean-Luc's--face. She squelched it mercilessly; such thoughts could serve no purpose. She had to keep her head, even though her nerves were screaming at her to run away as quickly as she could. But there was nowhere to run. Not now, anyway.

She studied the stranger in Picard's form once more. She could see no sign of the auras he'd described, but had no doubt that they existed; she could probably even rig a tricorder to look for them, now that she knew they were there, now that he'd told her about them..."Who are you?" she demanded, suddenly determined to know his name. She refused to think of the man standing before her as Picard any longer.

"My name is Asrun Narve," he replied, clicking his heels together and bowing with a mocking gesture. "At your service...Beverly."

She felt a gasp of outrage escape her lips at his use of her first name in so familiar a fashion, not to mention the caressing tone with which he said it. How dare he--! The outrage was gone as quickly as it came. A man who would ruthlessly take over another man's body and mind would hardly stop at something as trivial as over-familiarity. She almost felt embarrassed by her reaction, while her professional side clinically noted that concentrating on trivialities helped keep the mind from being overwhelmed by the larger picture. The larger, less-than-appetizing picture.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a voice over the communications system. "Narve? This is Nal. We've secured the prisoners. What now?" The voice--it sounded like Ensign Perry from Security, but Crusher wasn't sure--waited expectantly.

"Now you select the bodies you want," Narve replied. He turned away from the doctor, apparently dismissing her from his mind. "Pick technical staff, people who can run this ship. It can be done with a crew of 150, or even less; Picard's memories tell me this. Oh, one piece of advice," he added. "Pick male bodies. Being inside Troi was interesting, but there are better ways for a man to occupy a woman." Raucous laughter burst out, both from the bridge crew and over the intercom.

Crusher felt as if she were going to be sick. Surely there was something she could do--! She'd never felt so helpless before, so vulnerable, even when she'd been kidnapped and held hostage, even when she'd been trapped in that warp bubble, horribly alone. But not so alone as she was now, surrounded by enemies in her own home.

The activities of the invaders over the next few hours went by in a blur, with only a few events standing out. The spectacular "accident" that Narve had promised. The invader inside Ro--Mesch, Narve called him--abandoning the ensign for Lt. Reg Barclay, the engineer's usually cheerful face transforming into a cold mask before Crusher's horrified eyes. Keiko falling to the floor unconscious soon after, when a security guard was offered to her occupier instead.

Narve flatly forbade her to check on either woman, just as he had refused to allow her to check on Troi. All she could do was watch their unconscious forms anxiously, unable to force the issue because Peris had produced a pair of binders and secured her hands behind her back, then forced her to sit on the deck next to tactical. It was humiliating.

The worst of it, she thought dimly, was the way not only she but the other women on the bridge were being treated. O'Brien--Mylal, she'd heard him called, a name ironically similar to the transporter chief's own first name--had demanded that Narve allow him to "keep" Keiko for his own. Narve had smiled that same, cold smile and nodded indifferently. "She's yours; I do try and keep my promises, you know." His eyes ranged over the rest of the men on the bridge. "We'll keep some of the other women, never fear," he'd added carelessly, but his eyes had lingered on Crusher's face and she'd felt herself flushing with anger and embarrassment. This sort of thing just didn't happen on a Federation starship, to Starfleet personnel!

At that thought, her eyes went involuntarily to the captain's ready room. Troi had been taken there on Narve's order, still unconscious, while the one in Data's body, Verek, efficiently removed anything that could be used as a weapon and disabled the computer console. Narve's eyes on the ship's counselor had been almost as unsettling as his eyes on her own body, and Crusher found herself wondering uneasily just what this...pirate...had in mind for the two of them. Not that her unwilling imagination couldn't conjure up a grim image or two, but she decided she'd better not think about it. She would either laugh or cry, and hysteria would not help the situation.

She concentrated instead on being grateful that no one tried to argue with Narve's decision to send the majority of the crew and their families planetside. Although Verek's eyes flashed dangerously when his suggestion to kill them was turned down, he appeared satisfied to go along with his commander. She allowed herself to wonder, briefly, how Jean-Luc was feeling, trapped within his own mind. He was still there, she had no doubts about that; Narve had said so and had taken immense satisfaction in describing to her the flashes of emotion he could feel from Picard's outraged--and helpless--consciousness.

And, of course, there was the evidence of her own eyes; as Keiko finally came to and huddled against the wall near Crusher, her strained face and terrified eyes bore silent witness to the fact that Miles O'Brien's wife was perfectly aware of what was going on, her mind obviously undamaged in spite of everything that had happened. But the other woman was even more powerless than Crusher to stop the nightmare, even though she hadn't been secured the way the doctor had. She didn't even have the rudimentary martial arts training that Crusher had received as part of her Starfleet education; she was a botanist, for God's sake! A civilian botanist. Who had been promised to a stranger that was occupying her husband's body. Who gives this woman away...

The doctor shuddered at the way her thoughts kept turning on her. She concentrated instead on what could have gone wrong with her containment field, what she now knew about the invaders, anything that might distract her from a growing sense of panic. Anything. The mysterious "Code" Narve kept referring to. The apparent ease with which they--especially Narve, or perhaps, she realized suddenly, only Narve--submerged their true personalities under the false ones they'd presented while pretending to be the crewmembers they'd taken over, personalities that, bit by bit, seemed to emerge while they were pretending to be "ghosts" of the Essex command crew. Their immunity to the intruder containment gases, to phaser fire--surely in that mass of data she'd accumulated there had to be something she could use against them! She kept her mind grimly glued to those thoughts until exhaustion finally overtook her--she'd been on duty since well before the initial discovery of the distress beacon--and she sank into a rested, haunted sleep.

Author's Note: Here is another story dug out of my archives, such as they are. This story was written a long time ago but in our own galaxy, and published in not one but two, count 'em, two fan publications, the second of which (she pointed out modestly) was a digest-sized zine devoted exclusively to this story and its sequel. Not published by me, by the way. Anyway, horn-tooting aside, I hope you enjoy this alternate view of the NG episode "Power Play" and if enough people like it, I'll dig out the sequel, "Power Struggle" as well. Enjoy!