Charis Cloke awoke from a dream, jostled from sleep by the motion of her husband getting up. As with many half Betazoids, Charis could quickly sense the emotions of her spouse, and she felt an uneasiness about him.

"Phil?" she called quietly to him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you."

She glanced at the chronometer. It was the middle of the night. "Can't sleep?"

He didn't have to answer. He was worried about his sister. Kimberly Cloke, whom Charis had met only once, remained a hazy mystery. She was a Starfleet officer, and those who knew her spoke highly of her. Despite that, she was somewhat estranged from her family and shared a close relationship with only her younger brother. And the day before, Philip had confided to Charis that he was worried. He didn't know why, couldn't explain how, but he knew that something was wrong. Even an empathic tie could not reach across the vast expanse of space, but perhaps another kind of bond could. Charis didn't have an explanation, but she didn't doubt that Philip's fear was soundly based.

"Why don't you contact her?" she suggested.

"Now?" he puzzled, glad she had mentioned it, for he had been considering it for hours.

"Why not? She's on a Starbase isn't she? It might be the middle of the day for them right now."

* * * * *

Too many people, too much noise and too many emotions crowded the reception hall. The end of a week-long swim meet was wrapping up with an evening of dinner and entertainment. Kim felt dizzy with it all and while she could block out the cascades of emotions, she could do nothing about the clamoring voices. She could not quiet the ringing tones of laughter or still the cheerful shouts. And she could do nothing to change the fact that this room was simply too small to hold the celebration. As crewmaster, her place was here. But as Kimberly Cloke, she could not stay. When the next wave of guests spilled in through the doors, she slipped out unnoticed. Deep Space 13 seemed to have more than its share of festivities, and she simply could not bear another one, not this day.

She paused, ten steps down the corridor, turning to see if anyone had seen her leave and followed to haul her back in to the frenzy. Apparently no one had noticed, or if they had, no one bothered to care. She stepped out of her uncomfortable shoes and scooped them up, trotting lightly down the hall. In the turbolift she relaxed only slightly and breathed a great sigh of relief when she reached her quarters. But in the still sanctuary, alone at last and calm, Kim felt a certain sadness steal over her. She had not wanted anyone to witness her departure, but she felt badly that no one had noticed. The prospect of changing into real clothing cheered her somewhat and she was soon wearing a tattered pair of sweat pants and a t- shirt.

Catching her reflection in the mirror, Kim was surprised to see a stranger. Shabbily dressed and looking pale and tired - was this the person who had planned the evening's event, only to leave early and retire to her quarters like some antisocial introvert? A shadowy tendril of fear coiled through her mind, causing Kim to turn from the mirror, to look away from those doubtful eyes. 'This is not who I want to be... not who I am.' She forced herself to look again, at the stranger's eyes that peered back. Something in those eyes made her suddenly cold. Something she had not considered.

Before it was understood, it had been called the Empath's Curse. Modern science had brought much to light on the subject, but had not brought the subject itself out of the dark. A sickness, and - in Kim's view: a weakness; it was rarely discussed outside of professional debate. The Betazoid mind could only hold or hide a dark memory for so long - only so long before it would break under the strain. Kim clenched her jaw, it would not happen, it would not. She only needed some exercise, that was all. Grabbing her favorite running shoes she headed for the holodeck.

* * * * *

An hour later she returned, finding a message waiting on her comm panel. She was supposed to contact Philip and did so without delay. She waited a moment, letting the link establish across the great distance. Running had made her feel better, but not good. Suddenly her brother's face appeared on the screen before her.

"Kimberly?" Philip's voice betrayed him his worry. His sister could not sense him across the distance between them, but she could read the expression he wore.

"Philip," she answered, dismayed and awed that he knew. How, how could he know? Of course, if anyone were to know, it would be Philip. But she mustn't tell him, could never share the weight of the fear. If only they could speak of ordinary, trivial things. Of Philip's new marriage, Kim's new job, the trade laws restricting their father's latest business venture - anything but what they needed to say.

"Kim," Philip chose none of the mundane topics. "What's wrong?"

Her pause, nothing more than a deep breath, told the truth behind her lie, "Nothing."

"No," he seemed angry, afraid, "tell me. Kim I know that something's not right."

"You're imagining things, probably bad dreams or something."

He regarded her shrewdly. "I'm your brother, I know you, Kim."

He was the only person, perhaps the only one in all the worlds, that she could not hide the truth from. But only if he chose to seek it. If she could deter the quest, she need not lie.

"Philip, I am a grown woman. I am allowed to have private matters, aren't I?"

He blinked. He had never thought of that. Kimberly had always shared her troubles with him. Did she not trust him now? The indignance in her voice spoke plainly to him. It was None of His Business, in the strictest of ways.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, bowing to her seniority, as he always had. "I just wanted to help...."

"I know," her face softened. "I know that. But it's very... personal."

He nodded, not having any curiosity, just sadness that he could not help.

"But...." badly as she wanted to drop the subject, she had to ask, "how did you know?"

Philip shrugged, "How do either of us know anything," he thought of their special bond, "we just do."

Kimberly nodded.

When they had said goodbye, the darkness returned. And Kim wished she could call him back. Wished to say the words that made no sense, to tell him 'Philip I'm losing my mind and I don't know why and you can't help me but someone has to know.' She shut down the comm panel and closed her eyes. Her heart ached to tell him, and she put her hands to her face, trying to hide her eyes from the memories that burned in her mind.

* * * * *

She waited for Anders, like always. People went by, on their way to lunch, officers hurried past, late for their shift. Anders arrived, sat down, and didn't interrupt Kimberly as she read from a data padd. In the back of her mind Kim could hear - no, could feel - a sensation... like.... She concentrated, trying to pin it down, but feeling listless all the while, not caring if she identified it or not. Something was wrong. She thought of Anders, he asked her to see the counselor. Sorenson could not help her, no one could. Without really realizing it, Kim suspected what it was that held her in a stealthy grasp. No one could help her. But Anders was speaking again and she tried to pay attention.

"What have you done to your hair?" He asked in astonishment.

"Oh," Kim looked up, trying to glimpse the ragged mess of bangs hanging across her forehead. "It keeps growing so fast, it had to be cut."

"But who did it?" He reached across the table to try and tousle her hair into a more appealing arrangement. It could not be done.

"Well, I tried to cut it myself," she shrugged, unconcerned with her scarecrow appearance.

"Oh." He felt suddenly awkward and changed the subject. "What are you reading?" he took the data padd that Kim had brought with her.

"Erin Banks."

Anders, usually so open-minded and easy going, made an expression of utter distaste. "Banks!" He placed the padd back on the table as if it had soiled his hands.

"I thought you liked philosophy." She rubbed her tired eyes and stifled a yawn. Anders was well-read and could hold his own on almost any subject.

"I do, but not Erin Banks. Poor crazy woman... Kimberly," he studied her with concern, "you shouldn't be reading that, it isn't healthy."

"It's interesting," she defended, "besides, you're the one who said there was some truth in everything."

Anders didn't want to argue. "I have to be back on duty in ten minutes," his dark hand took hold of her pale one, "shall we meet for dinner?"

Kim nodded, successfully forcing down the wave of tears that tried to form. She managed a smile and watched him leave, lowering her eyes when he was gone. Anders was a wonderful person. And she knew, by the hidden nervousness and the little hints that sparked from his emotions, that he meant to propose to her some day soon. He deserved a decent, loving wife, a woman who would prove a kind and tender mother to his children. Kimberly Cloke could not be that woman. Guilt and shame flooded over her. Anders had fallen in love with a lie, with someone who was pretending to be something she could not. He considered Kim to be a trustworthy person, when nothing could be further from the truth.

She picked up the padd, scrolling through the words. Erin Banks had lived on Earth in the tumultuous years following World War III. She had been orphaned and later captured with a rabble of homeless people, taken for psychological experiments. After surviving that ordeal, she escaped to wander what remained of the natural world... and write the crazy notions that would somehow win her a place beside Neitzche and Plato. Scholars had struggled for years to have works banished from the halls of higher learning, but had so far not succeeded. Kim read now, losing herself in the ramblings of someone else's madness.

'Isn't it bad enough that there are so many of us? Not so much now really, not after the war, after the war that saved some of us for a hell worse than the radiation and the scavengers and the silence silence silence. But before that and even still, so many. So many to fight over what little there is and kill one another and make a mockery of all we could have been. Too late now too late for all that might have been, too late since the first human stood upright and bashed another's head in with a branch. Wretched things. Wretched. Bad enough to be here with them, to be one of them as well, but as if that weren't enough the world persists in spinning. Isn't it enough that I have to be trapped on this wasted globe - does it have to spin as well?' Kimberly smiled in spite of herself, wishing poor Erin Banks had lived to see interplanetary travel. She could have escaped her spinning world, but never escape herself. She scrolled down the pages, stopping at the next most interesting passage.

'Better this way really because life isn't what it seems. We see things always on the surface, the top of the table is not what it is but a shadow of what we wish it to be. Duck beneath and see the decades' worth of finger prints and stains and nasty underside stickings that you would never have wished to see. Look beneath and see the truth. Live the life you wish, with comfort and smiles and what might seem good - but never know the truth. You find the truth when your mind is kicked about in the mire, picking up bits of sticks and muck, being dragged face down in the gravel instead of merely walking over it. Truth must kill us in the end to really understand it...'

Poor Erin Banks. Later philosophers would say she was 'plagued by peripheral anger' though most said she was just stark, staring mad. Kim didn't know what she had come looking for in the long dead words of a mad woman. Secretly, she supposed it was the brief life sketch of Banks, thoughtfully tacked onto the end of the document. She read it again, how Banks had had no known family and lived alone whenever she wasn't institutionalized. She had died at the age of thirty-five, drowned during an evacuation effort off the Alaskan coast following a massive earthquake. The boat had sunk, leaving people piling into life rafts. When the raft she was in began to weigh down due to overcrowding, Banks threw herself into the water. Others tried to pull her back in, but she kept herself just out of their reach, never saying a word.

Kim imagined it now, those hands reaching out to help only to find Banks' empty, insane eyes looking back in the fading light. Cynics said that that was the only reason her work made it into the philosophers guild. Some people believed Banks' had sacrificed herself to leave room for someone else. Pessimists said it was nothing more than suicide. Kim had never decided what she believed. But sometimes her heart ached for Erin Banks, thinking of the hands she might have grasped.

* * * * *

In the serene quiet of Kim's quarters, she sat perfectly still in the middle of the living room. Her chest and throat felt tight with the pressure of unshed tears. Kimberly Cloke did not cry. Tears did not fall from her eyes any more than rain fell upon the wasted land of the Bayra Plains. Something inside her pleaded for those tears, for rending sobs to release the tension in her heart. But no amount of tears could save her now. A silenced voice of desperation begged her to escape the loneliness of her quarters, seek out help from Anders, the counselor, even a passerby in the hall - ANYONE! Kim sat as a statue, frozen in place and in time, wondering why stillness did not bring tranquility, why regret did not offer solace.

How many years had she viewed the lives of those around her, knowing they were different? Knowing their lives were free from the guilt that she forever felt. How many times had she hidden the sickened remorse in her own eyes, while searching the eyes of others for one that understood? Countless possible friendships had gone unmade, for Kim dared not get too close. Murderers could not have friends, not really. The stain of blood that had washed from her hands so many years before would never leave her memory. And the secret she held of that event would surface if she didn't guard it closely. Something in her screamed for confession, to tell someone, to tell anyone, before the dark truth destroyed her. But she deserved it. She deserved it so fully that it only seemed poetic justice when she bowed her head to weep... and could not.

Something was wrong. Something in the intricate balance of her Betazoid half was going awry. The Betazoid psyche, for all its enhancements, could be very fragile and temperamental. Kimberly, blessed with one Terran parent, had always believed herself safe from any of the potentially deadly ailments. When compared to Terrans, Betazoids rarely went stark raving mad but when they did, they eclipsed any bout of insanity a Terran might develop. An emotional disorder that would disable an earthling would most likely kill an empath.

Kimberly Cloke, who stood alone and needed no one and feared nothing, felt tears threatening to form. As her throat began to ache with restrained emotion, she began to think that her thoughts were badly gone astray, that she needed help of some kind. But the more she thought of it, the more she resolved to keep it inside. She held her breath, held back the tears. She would not cry, she WOULD NOT. Quickly she got to her feet, went to the replicator, but she couldn't order the computer to give her water without releasing the pent up sobs. A few steps put her at her washing-up sink and she grabbed the glass from the smooth counter top. She drank the water hurriedly, trying to force away the despair physically by drowning it.

Her throat felt so constricted that she could barely swallow and the water went down in strangled gulps. She drained the glass once, twice, and was partway through the third when she began choking. Gripping the counter's edge, she coughed and gasped, fearing suddenly that she were about to die. But a moment later she found herself still alive, still struggling under the weight of something unseen, but very, very real. She caught her reflection in the mirror, seeing a woman torn and nearly defeated. Turning away, Kim tried to breathe deeply, tried to calm down. Her worst memories, her worst fears... and the crushing grip of something she could never name. No one must know or see or ever suspect that Kimberly Cloke had lost her mind. Making her way to a pile of laundry, she began packing.

It was stress, she lied to herself, just job related tension. It was nothing serious and nothing to get alarmed over. In the back of her mind a voice of common sense screamed a warning, but she ignored it and went on organizing her belongings. A change of scenery, some new faces, a fresh routine - that was all she really needed. That was all. She'd catch the next freighter out, disappear in a throng of tourists and not have to face another day. That was what she needed.

Beneath the lies she felt herself giving in to the dim reality. She was a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer. The judicial board had ruled her innocent, but Kim knew the truth. She had killed a man who had broken into their home. She had been seventeen, defending her younger brother. Philip had been there, neighbors had seen the man forcing the door open. But only Kim knew that she had struck him over the head, rendering him unconscious and then killed him needlessly.

Betazed religion held to some fascinating concepts. They believed in an afterlife where ten parent-figure deities would welcome them into a new state of existence. The parent-deities would gather them according to their abilities or aptitudes and lead them to the next level of being. For the Betazed, life was about experiences. Today they experienced life as a mortal being with a physical body. In the next stage they might be a free- travelling spirit, experiencing something else. Like all religions though, there was that stipulation about wrong-doing. Those who chose to live maliciously would not be welcomed by the deities, but be sentenced to the most insidious of hells. This was what Kim, in some dim sense, expected.

Hell. To wander forever in the ash desert of Kimanan-tay. A place where the wind always blew and it was never warm. There was nothing to do there but walk, struggle through the shifting sands in search of one's damned fellows. Footprints of the other condemned could be seen in the shifting sand, but they could never be found. Their silohettes might be glimpsed on the horizon but the distance was too great for voices to carry. Kimberly would find herself there, with all the others who had done wrong. With them, but alone. Searching for the companionship of other evil ones and never finding them. Nothing grew in Kimanan-tay, nothing stirred but the wind. And not even the empathic abilities of the most gifted Betazed could traverse the empty, empty miles.

* * * * *

Anders was waiting for her, like so many days before, in Bristol Dreams. He had finally chosen the booth she liked, the one in the corner, away from the noise of the passing people. She slid into the seat across from him, and made eye contact for a moment before picking up the menu. She could feel him watching her, scrutinizing, staring. Kim felt her shoulders tense as she tried to read the day's lunch items.

"What?" she asked, looking up when she could stand no more, "What is it?"

"Kim," he felt awkward, but didn't show it. "Did you talk to Counselor Sorenson?"

Her sudden scowl answered the question.

Desperate, Anders said quietly, "Kim, if you don't want to talk to her, then talk to me. Tell me, please, what's wrong?"

For a moment her face showed anger at his prying, and then the mask feel away, revealing a look of fear and despair. "I... just...." she spoke quietly, calmly, "I'm tired of it."

"Of it? Of what?"

"This, this," she gestured around, "all of it." She couldn't find the words. "I... no one... needs me-"

"No," his eyes never left hers, "I need you. And so does everyone else. The station couldn't run without you-"

"It's just work," she argued, "and anyone could do it. It's not... I mean... who I am..." she looked away, the anger chipping away at the sense she tried to make, "I am a terrible person."

"What?" his brows furrowed in frustration, "What do you mean? You're not-"

"I am." Behind the words her voice hid something more.

"Kim, don't say that. I love you."

She stared at him for a few seconds. For a moment he though she would burst into tears. But instead, she got up and quickly walked away, breaking into a sprint outside the door. Anders sat and gazed at the table top, unsettled and full of worry. Skipping lunch, he returned to his office and found he could not concentrate. He decided to speak with Kim after his shift ended... and if she would not go to the counselor, he would go to Commander Giovanni, no matter how angry Kimberly might become.

* * * * *

Anders got no answer at the door chime. That was odd... but he supposed that Kim was probably playing the piano. She was the only Starfleet officer that he had ever known to have a piano in her quarters. He had heard her play only on one occasion and, thinking back to it, he didn't actually believe it would drown out a door chime. Just to be certain, he tapped his comm badge, "Tudor to Lt. Cloke."

There was no response. He frowned, "Computer, locate Lt. Kimberly Cloke."

"Lt. Cloke is in her quarters."

Concerned now, Anders headed down the corridor until he found an ensign in security gold. "Ensign," he took the young man by the arm, "you have the code to override the doors?"

"Of course."

"Come with me," Anders led him to Kim's door and stopped before it.

"You want this one opened?" The ensign paused, studying Anders' rec center attire.

"Yes, immediately."

Recognizing the genuine alarm and foregoing the man's lack of rank, the ensign typed in the manual override that released the door. It parted and Anders strode in. The ensign, about to go on his way, stopped short when he heard a shout.

"Tudor to sickbay! Medical emergency..."

* * * * *

Gettys Sorenson looked deeply troubled. She did not want to tell Doctor Kempton what she suspected and she certainly did not want to tell Anders Tudor.

"I should have told someone sooner," Anders lamented, his calm demeanor dissolved away by remorse. "I knew something was wrong, but she insisted that she was fine."

Counselor Sorenson did not tell Anders that he was correct. Had they detected Kim's condition sooner there might be more hope now. That was something the guilt-stricken man did not need to hear. Besides, perhaps they could have done nothing. Sorenson herself felt some degree of unease, being the station's counselor she might have discovered Cloke's state before anyone else. However, considering how well Kimberly kept everything hidden, there hadn't been much opportunity to help.

Doctor Kempton looked impatient and upset, he leaned forward, "Any time, counselor."

The comm system beeped and the Commander's voice interrupted, "Doctor, a small vessel has just arrived with a civilian, someone I believe you should speak with immediately."

"Commander," Kempton tried not to sound irritated, "This isn't-"

"Standby Kempton."

Within sixty seconds, the doors of sickbay parted and Giovanni came in, escorting a young man.

"Where is my sister?" he demanded.

A moment of stupefied silence stole over them before Anders said, "Philip?" He had met the young man once before, at the wedding. Strange how people looked so much different with their clothes on.

"Lt. Tudor," the newcomer nodded, not knowing of Anders' demotion, "my sister? Is she here?"

"You're Kimberly's brother?" Gettys asked, "but, how did-"

"I knew something was wrong," Philip's eyes, darker than Kim's but so much the same, met the counselor's, "where is she?"

Anders sank back in his seat, astounded. How could Philip have known? He was so far away and yet they, right here on the ship, didn't have a clue.

"Kim isn't well," Kempton beckoned for the young man to sit down, "perhaps you can help us."

Philip shook his head at the proffered chair, "I have to see her," the urgency in his voice refused to accept no.

"Very well, come with me," the doctor lead him through sickbay to where Kimberly lay on a biobed. Kempton stepped back, letting Philip approach alone.

"Kimberly," his voice broke as he said her name. He reached out and took her limp hand, tears falling unchecked. The doctor backed further away, surprised by the young man's emotional state. He had only just arrived and had not even heard the diagnosis. Did he instinctively know how dire the situation had become? Did he recognize something empathically that told him things had grown far worse than anyone else realized?

Dr. Kempton quietly returned to join the others and they waited a few minutes in silence. Just as the fidgeting and curious glances began, Philip walked into their midst. He appeared calm and composed, showing no traces of tears or despair. Sitting down, he regarded the officers with sudden interest and said, "I apologize for not introducing myself before. My name is Philip Cloke, I am Kimberly's brother."

Anders gestured to each person in turn and said, "Philip, this is Commander Giovanni, Dr. Bruce Kempton, and station's counselor, Gettys Sorenson."

"Your sister is half Betazoid?" Gettys confirmed.

"As am I," Philip nodded.

Gettys paused, hiding her apprehension and saying, "Commander, Doctor, I wonder if I might speak to Mr. Cloke privately? Anders?"

The three shared a look of surprise, but Giovanni stood agreeably, "Of course, Counselor." The doctor and Anders left, quietly discussing something as they followed the commander away.

"Thank you," Philip spoke aloud, greatly relieved.

"You must know what is wrong," Gettys spoke quietly.

"I think so," Philip nodded. "She had always... hidden... something from me. She was always trying to protect me, even when we were kids."

"I haven't had much experience with this particular problem," the counselor shook her head, "I'm afraid I can't be very optimistic at this point."

Philip considered her words for a moment, then asked, "Have you heard of Markan Neuel?"

"No."

"He's a Betazoid doctor, he's did some research in the past decade, but I don't think he sees patients."

"I could check the Starfleet medical database for his whereabouts," Gettys wanted to help, but added, "I don't think your sister is in any shape to travel. Unless this Doctor Markan would come to us...." She reached for the nearest console, not noticing the expression that crossed Philip Cloke's face.

* * * * *

Less than an hour had passed, but Philip was seated in the pilot's seat of his personal ship, warping away from the station in a controlled panic. Kimberly lay motionless on a cot in the aft section.

Anders Tudor was seated next to Philip.

Anders glanced over the scanners, "I don't think they've noticed yet."

"They will soon enough," Philip answered tensely, "is it kidnapping? She is my sister, after all." Anders shrugged. "We don't have time to get their permission."

"You shouldn't have come," Philip fretted, "you'll be in a lot of trouble for helping me."

"Starfleet can't touch me," Anders replied smugly. When the younger man glanced his way, Anders explained, "I'm no longer a Starfleet officer. You remember the incident at Itannik?" "That wasn't your fault!" "It had to be someone's fault. And I've still got a job, I'm the station's athletic director now."

"I'm sorry Anders."

"Don't be. How long will it take us to get to the research outpost?"

"Couple of hours at warp 9 - and don't tell me what will happen if a Starfleet vessel catches us going that fast."

"I didn't know civilian craft could handle warp 9."

Philip gave a small grin, "You have to know the right smugglers."

* * * * *

Markan Neuel was roused from his sleep by a nervous, young assistant.

"What is it, Azzie?" he sat up, squinting in the sudden light. "Did you have to turn the lights on?" "Sorry, sir. There are two men that insist on speaking with you."

"Where?" he got up and fumbled for a robe.

"In the conference room."

"Here? Now?"

"Yes," she shifted from one foot and then the other. "I'm sorry." "Not your fault. What do they want?" He followed her down the corridor.

"They said it was a matter of life or death. One of them's a Betazoid." She saw the look on his face and added, "I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, Markan Neuel went on to the conference room. He walked in, blissfully unaware of his own appearance. His collar-length dark hair, expertly styled by his pillow, was sticking out at crazy angles. His bony face and beaky nose looked especially comical with his expression of middle-of-the- night confusion. Tall, forty-something, he fumbled to tie his robe and sank ungraciously into a chair.

"What," he asked kindly, "can I do for you gentlemen?" He studied the strangers before him: a dark-skinned human and a pale Betazoid. Half-Betazoid, he realized.

"Are you Markan Neuel?"

"Certainly, but you'll have to call me Neuel, agreed? One of my co-workers is named Marcus and it causes all sorts of confusion."

"Neuel. My name is Philip Cloke and I need your-" "What about this fellow? Hasn't he got a name?"

"Anders Tudor," Anders offered his hand, "thank you for seeing us."

"Of course," Neuel shook Anders hand and then Philip's, saying, "go on."

"We need your help." Philip paused, not certain of where to begin.

Anders took over, "You've done some research on problems with the Betazoid subconscious?"

"Oh," Neuel groaned, "I knew it!" He studied Philip a moment, "Your sister?" Then his eyes widened, "You've brought her HERE!"

"Do I need to actually say anything?" Philip felt uneasy. He'd never had any empath sum up a situation so quickly.

"No," Neuel frowned, stood up, and began pacing. "This is precisely why I don't work with the public."

"Please," Philip was near tears. And he hadn't even had to explain.

"Think of what it could do for your research," Anders suggested.

"What research? I study full Betazoids. The half's have so many quirks you can't make any conclusions about them!" He stopped pacing long enough to address Philip, "No offense."

"Quite all right," Philip dismissed, adding, "you'll help us then?" Neuel sighed. "Take me to her." As they walked he looked to Anders and then to Philip, "She is half Betazoid then?"

"Yes."

"And only thirty years of age?"

"Yes," Philip led the way into his small ship, "can you help her?"

"I don't know," the doctor frowned, deeply troubled, "this condition is rarely seen in half Betazoids - and never in anyone so young, not even full Betazoids."

"I don't understand," Anders admitted, hoping he did not appear too foolish and ignorant. They paused in the doorway.

Neuel, who was accustomed to explaining things, began patiently, "The Betazoid mind is structured to share emotions, to feel and empathize with others. All our society is built around this, an honesty with our fellows as well as ourselves," he paused, trying to get to the point without giving a lecture, "Betazoids have a need to accept the emotions of others, but also to share their own in return. Sometimes we will suppress feelings, hide them deep inside and disguise them. But the Betazoid mind cannot do that forever. Strong feelings of remorse, hate, guilt, anger will eventually destroy the mind."

"But, but...." Anders stammered, trying to understand.

"I know," Neuel offered, "she is half terran. And a Terran's suppressed emotions would surface eventually, probably in the physical form of a nervous breakdown or illness. But being half Betazoid plays a greater role in this case."

"Is it worse because she is only half?" Philip asked, wondering what other black tricks their genetics held for them.

"I can't say," the doctor answered grimly, "but whatever it is that she has hidden, it is something very, very bad. Or something that she believes is very bad. If we can discover what that is, perhaps we can convince her that it isn't as horrible as she thinks."

"I want to go in after her," Philip declared staunchly.

"No," Neuel said firmly, "you are her closest tie. If she has hidden this from you for so long, she would not share it now. I will do it."

* * * * *

Kimberly, brought from the ship to Neuel's lab, had not responded in any way. Anders and Philip stood in silence, watching while Neuel's assistants worked at establishing a link between Kim and Neuel. No one spoke. Philip, sensing the tension all around, concentrated on not fidgeting. Anders, watching with interest, wondered what Neuel would discover from Kimberly....

Neuel found himself standing on a great stone walkway. The moon shone overhead, cold and brilliant. He shivered, his eyes adjusting to the silver light of the moon as he looked around. It was not a stone walkway, he realized, but a dam. It stretched endlessly in both directions and to one side he could see a black expanse of water and to the other a plummeting fall of empty space.

"Which way? Which way?" a fretting voice from behind made him turn.

A young woman, no more than thirty, paced from one edge to the other, considering first the icy water and then the long drop. She was shaking, cold from the night air and haunted by something unseen. Her trembling hands would grasp the rough stone as she leaned over to study first the dim shadows of horrifying water beasts beneath the waves and then, on the other side, the freezing wind of free fall. She meant to jump, of that Neuel had no doubt, but she couldn't decide which side to jump from.

"Kimberly?"

She looked up, her eyes of blue startled in the ghostly light. She stared at him, fear choking out all of her thoughts but one: run. Turning, she ran down the walkway between the two sides, sprinting away at an impressive speed. Neuel gave chase, struggling to keep up. Strange that it seemed so tiring, as if he really were running instead of pursuing her in a controlled dream state. They ran for perhaps hours, perhaps seconds, it didn't matter either way. For finally Kimberly stopped, curling herself into a huddled little bundle, refusing to acknowledge him.

"Kimberly," he knelt beside her, "let me help."

No answer.

"Please," he touched her shoulder, "just-"

"NO!" she snarled, springing up to a crouch and warding him off, "NO!"

"I can help-"

"No one," she blinked suddenly, tears filling her eyes, "can help."

"Kim, you will die if you don't let me help you."

She bowed her head, crying in earnest, "Let me die."

"What about your brother? What am I to tell him? How-"

Neuel could say no more. Kim had lunged forward to grab his collar, "Tell my brother nothing," she ordered fiercely, the strength of her ferocity chilling him. And with shocking speed, she rushed forward, pushing him neatly over the edge. Neuel tumbled off the dam and began falling into the most terrifyingly steep canyon he had ever seen.

* * * * *

Neuel gasped and sat up, tearing himself from the link as quickly as possible. He swung his legs off the biobed, as if to run, but fell to his knees. There he stayed, drawing deep breaths and forcing himself to calm down. When he looked up, Anders and Philip stood over him, their panic etched clearly in their faces. The Betazed doctor, the miracle-worker, sat back, his fear ebbing away. A look of unwilling disappointment came into his eyes and he sat there, wearing an expression that bordered on petulance. He had to give up, but he very much did not want to.

"I...." Neuel forced himself to admit it, "I cannot help her," he hesitated and finally added, "I know of only one other solution."

"What?" Philip whispered, "What is it?"

"How long would it take us to get to Vulcan?"

* * * * *

The mountains of Gol. They stood in the desert, so ancient as to be almost forgotten. But not forgotten by the masters - by the students of the Kohlinahr. They were the ones that Neuel had learned from and meditated with a decade earlier. Those who could perfectly master emotion had given him valuable insight on the triggers and controls for a race so emotional as the Betazoids. He had found no easy answers in the mountains of Gol, but had left with plenty to think about.

He returned now with more questions.

He had gained audience with the High Master, and spoke with him in hushed tones. The Vulcan, sage and wise almost to a fault, listened with severe patience. He listened as though he were hearing a hundred voices, comprehending them all, solving the troubles of a dozen nations - all without compassion. Logic, Neuel reflected, could be very cold and calculating indeed. At long last, T'Dran held up a hand to silence them in the middle of their explanation. "Do you realize," his deep voice could have commanded entire worlds, "the implications of your request?"

Anders and Philip looked blankly to Neuel. "I understand," the Betazoid said, "that it is no small favor."

"No, it is not," the reply came stoically, "and you are aware that our efforts will most certainly be useless.

"But if we only knew what it was that has driven her to-" Philip was silenced by T'Dran's gaze.

"Young man, would you suppose that possessing that knowledge yourself would not lead you to a similar fate?"

"But I," Philip faltered, "if we... I mean..." he looked to Neuel for help, "I don't see... if you-"

Anders suddenly stood, demanding everyone's attention by that simple action. When he knew their eyes had focused on him, he said, "T'Dran," and bowed slightly in respect, "would you not consider this a challenge?"

The Vulcan arched an eyebrow, either in interest or annoyance, and said, "That is one possible perception."

"If you would not do this to honor our request," Anders felt his courage slipping, worrying on this gamble, "would you do it to challenge your own abilities?"

T'Dran looked away from the lieutenant and seemed lost for words. When he finally spoke again, he answered Anders directly, "You are a very persistent young man," he allowed, "and very tenacious."

Neuel and Philip exchanged hopeful looks.

"Very well," his tone implied he did not find logic in the decision he had made, "I will assist you."

The three exchanged glances of absolute shock and triumph.

"Come," T'Dran stood, "we must begin immediately."

* * * * *

"But she's my sister," Philip insisted angrily, "it's my duty."

In order to perform a mind-meld, T'Dran would need a buffer, someone to absorb the impact of Kimberly's darkest emotions. Philip felt responsible for this task, but the Vulcan refused, choosing Neuel instead.

"It will work better with a full Betazoid," Neuel comforted.

"I don't see why," Philip glowered at them all, furious that he couldn't help in any way.

T'Dran ignored the young half Betazoid, gesturing for Neuel to follow. The two headed down a long tunnel, leaving Anders and Philip in a sparsely furnished antechamber.

"I hate Vulcans," Philip needed someone to hate just then and T'Dran seemed a good choice, despite the service and hope he offered.

* * * * *

"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to..."

Neuel was only half-listening as T'Dran began the meld to Kimberly. Neuel himself was linked to T'Dran, ready to absorb the avalanche of emotions that T'Dran, even with his Vulcan capacities, could not withstand. He braced himself, waiting, ready....

T'Dran found it difficult to meld with Kim. It was greatly wrong to meld with any unwilling party, even to save their life. But still he persisted until he found himself... there. A knife. In his mind's eye, or rather, in Kimberly's mind's eye, T'Dran could see a knife. Stained with blood and falling - no, not falling... being driven... down... down... down... impact. Stabbing a young man in the chest. The moment played itself out again and again and again....

Kimberly was insane. There would be no helping her. T'Dran prepared to break the meld when something held him back. Intuition told him to take a closer look - THERE. Hatred, fear, guilt... all of which he directed to Neuel, so he could keep searching beyond that to find - resistance. The moment reviewed again, the repetition taking on a meaning beyond madness. She was not insane, but looking for something... evidence? Clues? No... not those. Searching, reaching, grasping, looking...

Truth.

Kimberly was killing herself in the quest for truth. But what truth? Calmly, he presented that question, his mind, her mind... one mind working...

Why? Must know. Why? Must. What? Must know. For what purpose? To know. To know what? The answer. The answer to what? To this. (the knife traveled again on its time-frozen journey) This? Yes this, must know. What about this? I. You? Yes I. You did this (we?)? I did this. Why? Yes, the portion of their joined minds that was decidedly Kimberly answered, yes that is it: WHY. We must know why? This time it was only T'Dran asking - must know... why you did this? Yes, must know.

And suddenly, finally, the meld became perfectly complete and T'Dran became one with Kimberly Cloke. Kimberly Cloke who for thirteen years had been plagued and haunted by the bitter guilt of wondering. She had killed a man. A man that had broken into her house and attacked her little brother. She had killed him... in self defense? That moment, that single moment before the knife plunged down -- did she have to kill him? The man lay unconscious, no longer a threat. Did she proceed to kill him out of blind fear, or maliciousness? The moment passed, the act could not be undone. But why had it been done? Had she killed him because she was a frightened girl of seventeen, desperate to protect her sibling and spare her own life? Or had she murdered a man because she realized it could be conveniently labeled self-defense and she could get away with it?

* * * * *

Neuel felt sick with terror. There was guilt and anger and crushing remorse, but very worst was the overwhelming urge to flee, escape before he was found out with some dreadful secret. His heart pounded, he began to sweat, breathing hard and hoping for a way out. He wished very much that he had allowed Philip this wretched task. Sliding out of his seat, Neuel crouched and then curled up on the floor, closing his eyes. How these emotions had not killed Kimberly he could not imagine... but they were certainly going to kill him before much longer. If they didn't break the meld soon he would surely find himself in her place. Now he did not blame T'Dran one bit for his reluctance at this attempt. The dark, glass-shard piercing emotions that gripped him seemed to increase with each moment.

He didn't know how long he lay there, but finally a cool, gentle hand touched his face. Still dimly frightened, like one waking from a nightmare, he struggled away. Someone helped him sit up, pressed a mug of cold water into his hand. Blinking, he accepted it and took a drink, surprised at how his hands shook.

"Are..." he shuddered, still feeling the fear of pursuit, of evil and guilt, "are... are we... finished?" he set the mug down before he dropped it.

"We finished twenty minutes ago," Alock, another of the masters, studied him carefully.

"Did... did... d-did it work?" he forced himself to ask. He doubted very much that he could withstand a second attempt. The Vulcan read the emotions so clearly displayed on the Betazoid's face, answered, "You need not fear. Whether we succeeded or not, you will not experience the ordeal again."

Weak with relief, Neuel drew his knees up to his chest, ducking his head to hide his face. He would not cry - at least not in front of the Vulcan. He had to keep checking to assure himself that he was awake, that the horror was indeed over.

* * * * *

The ceiling was rough, brown... very natural looking. Almost like the inside of a cave, Kim reflected peacefully. She lay there, studying the ceiling for several minutes, without bothering to consider where she was, or even who she was. Never mind what this place was or how she came to be here, never mind the fact that-

Kim sat up suddenly, a dim memory of dark days clutching at her. What was this place? The memories sharpened with clarity - memories of days years before, and days throughout those years that haunted her. Days that led up to a time of darkness... a darkness that she had given in to. Surely it had killed her, and that would mean that this place was...

"Hello."

A voice, quiet and calm, startled Kim. She turned to see a hooded figure approaching and though she might have been afraid, she did not fear in the least. The person paused, raised a hand to push back the hood, and waited. It was a Vulcan, somehow familiar to her, with the typical Vulcan features that seemed so stern and stoic.

"How are you?" he asked, as if genuinely concerned, though he stood there a complete stranger and incapable of sympathy.

Kimberly considered this seriously and finally asked, "Is this hell?"

He considered this a moment, his answer almost wry despite his lack of humor, "That would depend on who you asked. But no, you're on Vulcan, in the mountains of Gol."

"Vulcan? But how did I get here?" "Your brother, a friend of yours, and a renowned Betazoid physician brought you to be healed."

"How?" she dared to ask, all the fears churning in her like a dark tide.

"A mind meld."

"A mind meld," Kim's eyes grew wide, "then... then... you... you're T'Dran," she wondered how she could know his name, as if he were an old acquaintance.

"Yes I know of your past, Miss Cloke, I know of your darkest memories."

"I thought Vulcans couldn't meld without consent," she accused, anger fueled by panic.

"I will not reveal your memories."

Kim realized that not trusting him was rather pointless after the fact. She regarded the Vulcan, "What do I do now?"

"What do you think you should do?"

Kim swallowed, a shadow of fear stealing over her. "If you will never tell anyone..."

"Never."

And suddenly, inexplicably, Kim said, "I killed a man."

T'Dran's expression did not change, he simply listened.

"I... I..." she paused, wanting to speak the words, verbalize the secret, but it seemed so complicated. "I lied," she admitted.

The Vulcan said nothing, just waited for her to go on.

And Kim, her empathic abilities serving her well, knew that he could be trusted. In Vulcans she was assured trustworthy logic and honesty.

"It was thirteen years ago," she told him, speaking quickly before she lost her nerve, "I killed him and pleaded self defense - it was a lie! But everyone believed me somehow," she paused, finally putting into words the horrible truth she had hidden for so long. Hidden and guarded for years only to tell a stranger so openly, "but it wasn't self defense. I had hit him over the head to stop him from killing my brother. I should have stopped then, gone for help..." her tempest blue eyes met T'Dran's as she told him what he already knew, "but I knew I could get away with it, so I killed him."

Finally the Vulcan responded, "I know that you feel that you are a murderer. But there is more to the truth than you understand."

Kim's puzzled eyes met him, silently wondering how T'Dran could find one truth and she another.

"Your mind," he explained as if he had read her thoughts, "does not work like my own, or like that of a full Terran or Betazed. Your brain's Betazoid properties has isolated a certain memory and guarded it in a way that should have protected you. But your Terran qualities, inquisitive by nature, kept re- discovering it. Because of this you've never known the truth of that moment and without even knowing it, you believed the worst." T'Dran regarded her solemnly, seeming very much like a wise and severe judge, "I can only tell you that in that moment - that moment when you held the knife," in that pause, Kim looked at her hands, sure she felt the hilt of that blade in her fist again, "that you panicked, you were confused and driven by fear. You were protecting your little brother... it was only in retrospect that your mind considered you might have not done it. In that moment you had no choice. And so only in retrospect could it have been otherwise - and so not at all."

Kimberly, who had once prided herself on never crying, felt tears streaming down her face, "I'm not a murderer?"

"No, Miss Cloke," this stranger, who had become her healer, judge, executioner, and savior in the course of five minutes, promised solemnly, "you are not a murderer."

* * * *

Alock would not have said so, but he had grown tired of explaining to Anders and Philip. The intricacies of mind-meld principles were simply lost to the two. Perhaps they were not paying attention. He prepared to explain again, but Neuel intervened.

"It's like this," the Betazoid said, "it's as if Kimberly had thrown a blanket over a spider and left it. She would know that it was there, but not what to do about it. We have removed the blanket, revealed the spider to her... but it's up to her to step on it."

While the explanation might have seemed too childish, at least it made sense. Neuel found it best to keep complex matters as simple in words as possible, but Alock stepped in.

"That is not entirely accurate," the Vulcan opposed, "though it would have been in a simple case of repressed memories."

The others waited.

"Repressed memories are often hidden, buried in the subconscious," he paused, "Miss Cloke's tormenting memory was not. She was very aware of it, pondering on it much."

Neuel raised an eyebrow.

"Speculation?" Alock waited.

"No, go on."

"I might only add," Alock humored them, "that in this case Miss Cloke's 'spider' was in plain sight all the while. And we have provided her a stone to crush it."

"By using the mind meld?" Anders supposed.

"No," the Vulcan corrected, "by forcing the truth - the spider, if you will - onto center stage in her mind. Whether or not she conquers this foe will depend greatly on what is taking place now."

* * * *

"But how could he know?"

"A Vulcan mind meld makes two minds one," Anders reasoned patiently.

"What if the term 'murderer' is based on one's one point of view?" Kim seemed determined to convict herself now that she had a chance at innocence.

"Do you suppose a Vulcan would have a lenient definition of murder?"

She didn't answer. Somehow freeing herself from this torment was harder than living with it. She had deliberately ended another person's life. Little matter whether fear had inspired the action... rationalizing it did not give the man's life back to him. Anders had listened while she explained the whole thing to him, the incident and the years that followed. He watched her, noticing the dark hollows beneath her eyes and the sickly pallor of her skin.

"Kim," he spoke quietly, leaning forward with the intensity of his whispered words, "it's right that you should regret it... but don't throw your life away. Live and know that you made a mistake, remember what happened, but celebrate what you have. Living in misery will not change what happened," his eyes were fierce as he asked, "Do you believe me?"

She blinked, absorbing all he had said. Finally she found her answer, "Yes."

And Anders smiled, speaking now in his usual cheering voice, "Good. Now, will you be my wife?"

This time she didn't blink, she just stared at him while her expression went from dumbfounded to considering to hesitant happiness. Without warning she threw her arms around him in a hug that nearly crushed him, "Yes." She held on as if both their lives depended on it.