STAR TREK - TNG - 07 - Masks

For my wonderful parents, who never cease to be

supportive and enthusiastic

Thanksto Nancy and Sarah, my wife and daughter, for making themselves scarce. I missed them.

To Ashley Grayson, for telling me how to get the planet right.

To The Group: Susan, Janie, Marilyn, and Linda. What day are we meeting?

And to my ST:TNG experts: Kevin J. Ryan, Barbara Beck, and Andrea and Kevin Quitt.

Chapter One

THE MASK LAY ON THE TABLE, glistening even in the subdued light of theEnterprise ’s

Ten-Forward lounge. Lights from ten thousand stars played upon its burnished metal surface, which was

intercut with opaque ribbons of black and navy blue flowing from the nose hole of the mask like the

strands of a spiderweb. Its two eye sockets were outlined with green and yellow jewels that might have

been emeralds and topazes. Sweeping eyebrows made of rubylike stones gave the mask a faintly

quizzical expression. This was offset by an oval of stern black jewels, which encircled the mouth opening,

offering no hint of expression or emotion. The chin of the mask was exaggerated, jutting out boldly then

curling protectively under what would be the wearer’s own chin. The mask’s outer edges swirled back

into short but perfectly formed wings tipped with lavender feathers. The handmade mask was improbably

beautiful.

“It’s gorgeous,” murmured Katherine Pulaski, reaching tentatively for the artifact. “May I hold it?”

A tall athletic man, clad in leather frontierstyle clothing and wearing his sandy hair to his shoulders,

reached out to stay her hand. His creased face smiled, kindly but determinedly. “No, Doctor, you may

not. I don’t want anything to happen to this mask before we reach Lorca. You see, it’s my calling card.”

Wesley Crusher noticed Kate’s disappointed expression. The young man liked the ship’s new doctor

and her frankness. “It looks heavy,” Wesley observed, trying to change the subject.

“It’s not really heavy, lad,” said Lewis. “It’s made out of an alloy that’s mostly aluminum. There’s lots of

aluminum on Lorca.”

Wesley saw Guinan among the handful of onlookers admiring the mask. But unlike the others, the

dark-skinned humanoid seemed more interested in Fenton Lewis than in the rare artwork.

“Are those real animal skins you have on?” she asked innocently.

Fenton Lewis narrowed his gaze at Guinan, who seemed completely oblivious of his scrutiny. “Trading in

animal skins is illegal in the Federation,” he observed.

“There are a great many places that aren’tin the Federation,” she answered.

“That’s true,” agreed the ambassador, “and I’ve been to many of them. Wild places. You know, many

of the old Earth explorers wore animal skins in the wilderness. Skins wear better than fabric and cut

down on the human scent.” He smiled as he fingered a cuff that was worn smooth and dark. “This outfit

has seen me through many scrapes. I get the information I need to do my job—without asking too many

questions.”

“Speaking of questions,” Guinan responded cheerfully, “did I ask you what you wanted to drink?”

“I’ll take some of that damned Ferengi juice,” growled Lewis.

“One synthehol coming up.”

Guinan hurried back behind her counter just as the doors breezed open to admit Jean-Luc Picard and

William T. Riker. Though Riker was taller than Picard and built much more powerfully, there was no

doubt who commanded. The wiry, balding Picard had an aura of strength and authority born of character

and of the respect accorded him. The crowd in the room parted to allow the captain and his first officer

to approach Fenton Lewis.

“Ambassador Lewis?” asked Picard, gazing at the colorfully garbed stranger. He maintained his dignified

demeanor only a few seconds before spotting the gleaming mask. He leaned over it excitedly. “Is this

mask genuine? Is it Lorcan?”

“Absolutely, Captain,” said Lewis, motioning to the artifact. “A genuine Ambassador’s Mask. It didn’t

come cheap, I can tell you that. Feel free to examine it.”

Riker smiled slightly at his captain’s unexpected show of excitement. “This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard,”

he said, “and I am Commander William T. Riker, first officer of theEnterprise . We would have

preferred to meet you in the observation lounge. Normally, this facility is reserved for crew members and

ship’s residents.”

“Noted,” said Picard, never taking his eyes off the striking mask. “But I think we can make an exception

in the ambassador’s case. He’s come a long way and has a very important mission.”

“And he’s very thirsty,” Lewis added, as he gratefully took a small glass from Guinan. He downed the

drink in one gulp and handed the glass back to her. “Hit me again, and this time make it a double.”

Guinan winked at Wesley. “He’s lucky Data’s not here.”

“Data?” asked the ambassador.

“Our android,” explained Wesley. “He takes language very literally.”

Captain Picard carefully lifted the Lorcan mask with both hands and stared into the hypnotic visage.

“Stunning, absolutely stunning.”

Katherine Pulaski murmured in Wesley’s ear, “He wouldn’t letme touch it.”

As if he overheard her, Picard replied, “You have no idea how rare these masks are. A Lorcan has to

be killed to be separated from his mask. Isn’t that true, Ambassador?”

“Not entirely,” said the long-haired civilian. “In some instances, Lorcans have to be defeated in

hand-to-hand combat before they will relinquish their masks, but even in those cases, the combat isn’t

always to the death. The Ambassador’s Mask is one of the few masks that’s allowed to leave the planet

and to be worn by off-worlders.”

Guinan handed Lewis a fresh drink, and he took a long sip. “I’m surprised and relieved, Captain, that

you know so much about Lorca,” the ambassador said.

“I know very little about it,” Picard admitted, turning the mask over to inspect its leather bindings. “But

I’m an incurable romantic about a place where chivalry is still in force and where the most dangerous

weapon is a sword. Perhaps I have an idealized view of Lorca, but that’s the view I’ve absorbed in the

computer library.”

“We’ll know the truth soon.” Fenton Lewis smiled. “Perhaps you’ll accompany me on my mission.”

Commander Riker cleared his throat respectfully but firmly. “Normally the first officer leads the away

teams. The captain is too valuable to risk.”

“It’s the chance of a lifetime,” remarked Lewis, slyly cocking one eyebrow. “As the captain said, the

Lorcans have nothing more dangerous than swords.”

“Swords can kill,” Riker said with finality.

Still mesmerized, Captain Picard continued to stare at the mask of flowing silver metal festooned with

gemstones and feathers. “How dangerous can a people be who would make something so beautiful?”

Picard handed the mask back to Fenton Lewis with great reluctance. “We reach planetary orbit in

eighteen hours, and we’ll have a complete briefing in the observation lounge at zero-four-hundred. We’ll

decide then who, if anyone, is to accompany Ambassador Lewis.”

Will Riker was troubled some hours later when he repaired to his quarters for his sleep period. He

thought Fenton Lewis had overstepped his position by encouraging the captain to join him on the away

team. Of course, Riker had to admit, Captain Picard hadn’t seemed to need much encouraging, as

enamored as he was with barbarous cultures. The first officer could only hope that Worf, as security

chief, would second his opposition to the captain leaving the ship with a buffoon like Fenton Lewis. The

ambassador might be a colorful character, but that didn’t entitle him to the run of theEnterprise after ten

minutes on board. And it certainly didn’t entitle him to turn the time-tested procedures of a starship

upside down. Most of all, Riker’s instinct told him to watch Lewis, closely.

Riker stripped off his tunic, revealing a broad, well-muscled chest. Then he manipulated the console on

his desk.

“Computer,” he said.

“Yes, Commander Riker.”

“Tell me about Ambassador Fenton Lewis.”

“One moment please.” After a brief pause, the soothing feminine voice of the ship’s computer continued:

“Ambassador Fenton Lewis. Age: forty-six. Place of birth: Alpha Centauri IV, Lewis Colony.”

“Lewis Colony,” Riker snorted. That figured.

“Shall I go on?” the computer queried.

“Yes, please.”

“Educated on Earth. Graduated with honors from Oxford University with degrees in anthropology and

sociology. After completing his graduate studies, Fenton Lewis was offered admittance to Starfleet

Academy but declined in order to join a civilian trading mission to the Klingon Empire. Sole survivor of

the crash landing of the freighterNystrom Egbert, he lived in the wilderness of Orestes VII for three

years, during which time he mapped eight thousand square kilometers of the planet’s surface. After his

rescue, he joined the Diplomatic Service as an intermediary first class. Twice received the Federation

Medal of Honor for sacrificing personal safety in order to mediate armed conflicts. Promoted six years

ago to the post he currently holds: ambassador-at-large with special duties. Author of three books on

wilderness survival.”

“Hmmm,” said Riker grudgingly. He might have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but Lewis

had earned the right to a somewhat cocky attitude.

“That is the brief biography of Ambassador Lewis,” the computer added. “More data is available. Do

you wish a more detailed report?”

“No,” answered Riker. “Just tell me, does he have any black spots on his record? Any unfortunate

episodes?”

“Certain portions of Ambassador Lewis’s record are classified,” replied the computer. “But the Ferengi

Alliance has tried and convicted him in absentia for murder.”

“Murder?” said Riker, raising his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound very diplomatic.”

“I don’t understand,” the computer replied.

“Never mind. What exactly happened between Lewis and the Ferengi?”

“Data removed,” answered the computer, “by request of Ambassador Lewis.”

The man did pull some weight within the Federation, Riker decided. He turned off his console and

lowered the lights in his cabin to a warm golden glow.

Will Riker washed up and lay in his bed for some time before falling asleep.

From the aft turbolift, three relief crew members filed onto the bridge and stood silently at attention.

Jean-Luc Picard noted their arrival and rose from his control seat. Riker was already standing and shifting

uneasily on his feet. He looked like a teakettle that was about to boil over. And why shouldn’t he? Picard

smiled to himself. Riker’s job was to protect his captain from all hazards, including himself. A good first

officer—and Riker was certainly that—considered the captain no more expendable than any other

integral part of the ship, like the matter-antimatter reactor or the computer. Unlike the computer,

however, the captain had a mind of his own.

“Ensign Crusher,” Picard said, “maintain course at warp speed.”

“Yes, Captain,” Wesley answered briskly.

“Number One, Worf, Data, La Forge, to the observation lounge,” Picard ordered. He turned back to

Wesley. “Please ask Ambassador Lewis, Counselor Troi, and Dr. Pulaski to join us.”

“They’re already there,” answered the teenager.

“Good.”

Silently the two humans, the android, and the Klingon followed the captain off the bridge as the relief

personnel manned the vacated consoles.

Jean-Luc Picard sensed that his first officer wanted to tell him something, but the big man held his

tongue. Not that Picard couldn’t guess what he would say if given an opportunity to speak. Well, he

would have that opportunity, but not until everyone had been fully briefed on Ambassador Lewis’s

mission.

When they reached the observation lounge, they found Deanna Troi and Katherine Pulaski studying the

Lorcan mask. Apparently, thought Picard, Lewis was not letting it out of his sight. The ambassador

himself stood at the huge port windows, watching the spectacular view of stars stretching and popping

through the sky at warp speed. His plainsman outfit and long unruly hair made him look more like a

refugee from a history book than one of the Federation’s most honored diplomats.

“A phenomenal sight,” he said to no one in particular. “With so much out there, it makes you want just a

small piece of it for yourself.” He turned to the others and smiled charmingly. “Of course, home is a

nonexistent concept to a career diplomat. We’re always on somebody else’s turf.”

“Turf?” asked Data quizzically. “Do you refer to the term for an athletic playing field?”

“Ah, you must be Data,” the ambassador nodded. “The lad told me about you.”

“Ambassador,” said Picard with a sweep of his hand, “may I also introduce you to Lieutenant La Forge,

chief engineer, and Lieutenant Worf, security chief.”

Fenton Lewis nodded to Geordi, who looked deceptively stern behind the visor that covered his

sightless eyes. Then the ambassador turned to Worf and uttered something indecipherable in a language

full of guttural growls and clicks. After his initial surprise, Worf responded in kind.

With some annoyance, Riker tapped his insignia badge. “My translator doesn’t seem to be activated.”

“Excuse me, Commander,” said the Klingon, his massive brow still wrinkled with surprise. “The

ambassador was merely saying that he was honored to meet me.”

“I’m honored to meet all of you,” Lewis replied expansively. “I wish I had more time to get to know

each of you. But we shall arrive at Lorca in a matter of hours, isn’t that right, Captain?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then we’d better get started.” Lewis motioned to the conference table, and theEnterprise crew

members took their seats. “Much of what I’m about to tell you you could find out from your computer,

but I’ve made a special study of Lorca and have talked to some recent Federation visitors to the planet. I

believe nobody else in the Federation is as well versed in Lorcan customs as I am.

“Lorca was settled about two hundred years ago by two separate groups from Earth. One of them was

a wandering theater company—in fact, the planet’s name is taken from a famous Earth playwright. They

used Lorca as a rest and recreational stop, a place to rehearse new productions, put on play festivals,

and house their nontraveling family members. The other group was a cult of antitechnologists who went

there seeking a paradise where they could live a simple communal life. The fruit-and-berry folk hired the

acting company to take them to Lorca in their ship, and that was the last Earth ever heard of either group.

“Communications being what they were two hundred years ago,” he continued, “Earth thought the ship

had been destroyed en route with all aboard. But it turned out that the ship did make it to Lorca, and

later on, perhaps a thousand of the settlers survived a cataclysm that can only be compared to all-out

nuclear war. As a result of a number of sudden and savage volcanic eruptions, Lorca was transformed

from a paradise into a fire storm as volcanoes spewed enough ash into the air to lower the surface

temperatures by at least half. But somehow, though all of their technology was destroyed, a thousand or

so hardy souls survived. Over the course of time, they have developed a warrior-run feudal society that is

completely devoid of technology.”

He held up the startling Ambassador’s Mask and rotated it dramatically. “One thing they never forgot

from their theatrical heritage was the use of masks. The entire society is structured around masks such as

this one. Everyone’s standing in this rural community is based upon the type of mask he or she wears. A

person of lesser rank shows obedience to a person of higher rank. Therefore a serf wears a simple clay

mask, and a nobleman wears a mask made from the rarest feathers, gems, and metals. And I don’t mean

they wear these masks on special occasions—they wear them all the time. Appearing in public without a

mask would be akin to us walking buck naked in public. It simply isn’t done.”

Deanna Troi held up a hand to ask a question, and Lewis nodded to the exotically beautiful Betazoid.

“Can these people rise from one social rank to another,” she asked, “merely by wearing a different

mask?”

“Ah,” the ambassador said, “that is where the warrior mentality comes in. At any time, one citizen of

Lorca may challenge another’s right to wear the mask of a certain rank. If mere words or a show of

wealth and entourage are not enough to substantiate the right, a duel ensues. Most of these swordfights

are ritualistic, with the winner sparing the loser’s life and taking his mask as a prize. If the mask is of

greater value than his own, the victor may begin wearing it, thus increasing his stature in the community.”

“Fascinating,” remarked Kate Pulaski, leaning forward with her usual intensity. “Theoretically, then, a

person could wear any mask he chooses?”

Lewis nodded. “As long as he can obtain it and defend his right to wear it.”

Will Riker narrowed his gaze. “Are the duels always simply ritualistic?”

“Almost invariably,” the ambassador answered.

“Almost?” Riker countered.

Fenton Lewis smiled. “Lorca is a violent planet. None of our information has been verified.” He stepped

closer to the conference table. “That’s why I’m going there, to get all of our questions answered. Recent

reports have shown that the planet may be due for another series of cataclysmic eruptions, which could

cause another devastating volcanic winter. We’ll send a team of geologists to make a final evaluation later

on, but first we need to open diplomatic relations. After all, we owe something to these people, who are

of Earth stock, even if they hardly remember it.”

Fenton Lewis stalked back and forth. “The Federation is also concerned because a number of Lorcan

masks have been showing up at Ferengi art auctions. Given the history of the Ferengi, we’re worried that

they might turn Lorca into one of their infamous mining colonies, or worse. If Lorcans ask for protection,

we’ll be able to provide it.

“On the other hand,” he added, “maybe the Lorcans are too warlike to allow us to establish diplomatic

relations with them. One of the problems is that they don’t seem to have a centralized government. Their

nominal head of state is a semi-mythological figure called Almighty Slayer.”

“Almighty Slayer?” asked Geordi incredulously, breaking into a wide grin.

“I hope he exists,” said Fenton Lewis, “because he’s the one I’m going there to find.”

Everyone sat still for several moments, letting the scope and danger of Fenton Lewis’s assignment sink

in.

Worf finally spoke: “You’ll need a full security detachment.”

“No, no,” Lewis said determinedly, “I don’t want to show up there with an army. The Lorcans are eager

enough to fight as it is. The good thing about this custom of wearing masks is that a small party of

off-worlders can blend in with the natives without attracting attention.”

The group gradually shifted their eyes to Captain Picard, who, so far, hadn’t said a word and was

massaging the cleft in his chin as he compiled his thoughts. “Ambassador Lewis,” he finally said, “your

mission presents theEnterprise with several problems. First of all, we know so little about Lorca that it

may take weeks or even months to find the appropriate parties with whom to negotiate. We don’t have

any other business pending, but if I know Starfleet, they’re not going to allow us to orbit this planet

indefinitely.”

“I realize that,” Lewis replied, “and I’m prepared to beam down alone. It wouldn’t be the first time. The

Enterprise, or another ship, could check on my progress after a prescribed period of time.”

“Unacceptable,” said Picard. “Our orders are to deliver you andprotect you. I don’t relish the idea of

reporting back to the Diplomatic Service that we dumped one of their key people on a warlike planet

and then deserted him. We can’t leave until we’re certain of your safety.”

“I shall welcome your company,” the ambassador replied, waving his hand magnanimously.

“You may not,” continued the captain, “after you hear my conditions. A time limit must be set for this

mission—say, thirty Lorcan days. Also, it must bemy responsibility to determine when the danger is too

great and the mission should be aborted.”

A deep frown creased Fenton Lewis’s face, and he started to protest. Finally, he settled back in his seat

and drummed his fingers on the table. “As long as you don’t interfere in matters of diplomacy, I bow to

your expertise in matters of security. Of course, Captain, you must come with me if you are to make this

determination.”

Will Riker leaned forward and leveled a stern gaze at the long-haired civilian. “As I stated before,

Ambassador Lewis, standard procedure dictates that the first officer lead all away teams.”

“I insist that Captain Picard come along,” challenged Lewis, returning Riker’s stare. “He can’t determine

the danger on the planet unless he is there!”

“I will be there,” said Picard slowly. Now it was his turn to receive Riker’s bristling stare. “I know what

you’re thinking, Number One, and I’ll entertain your objections in private when this meeting is over. We

will beam down a minimal complement—myself, Ambassador Lewis, Security Chief Worf, and

Counselor Troi. With her empathic and telepathic abilities, Counselor Troi is best suited to determine the

peaceable or belligerent intentions of the Lorcans.”

The captain then turned to Worf. “Lieutenant, consult with Ambassador Lewis and determine what

equipment and clothing we will need.”

“At least Worf won’t need a mask,” added Geordi.

The joke broke the tense atmosphere in the room, and even Riker managed a faint smile.

“I had thought I would go alone,” Fenton Lewis admitted. “All of youwill need masks.”

“We are not going to pass ourselves off as Lorcans,” answered Picard.

“That’s not the reason you need the masks,” said Lewis. “The Lorcans might take offense at your naked

faces. Wearing masks isn’t a ceremonial custom; it’s a fact of everyday life.”

Jean-Luc Picard frowned thoughtfully. “I doubt if the replicator has any masks in memory, except for

some Halloween masks. Would those do?”

“Very well,” said the ambassador. “They would be ideal, in fact; they would never be challenged.”

Picard turned to Deanna Troi. “Counselor, will you check with the entertainment director and see what

he has in the way of masks? Try to select some that are appropriate.”

Briskly Picard stood. “This briefing is adjourned to make preparations for the away team.”

“Captain?” interjected Riker, as the others filed out of the room.

“I haven’t forgotten you, Number One.”

The commander waited until he and the captain were alone in the observation lounge. The stars streaking

by outside the gigantic port windows usually filled Riker with excitement and wonder, but now he felt

only dread. He didn’t mind taking command of theEnterprise while Picard was away; ordinarily he

relished the opportunity. But not when it placed his captain in harm’s way.

Gone were the days when starship captains were swashbuckling heroes, thumbing their noses at death.

Too often in the early days death had thumbed its nose back, and Starfleet had lost captains of great

experience and ability. Now the death or incapacitation of a captain was considered as serious as the

loss of a starship. Sometimes Riker felt that his concern for Picard’s safety bordered on the irrational, but

this protective instinct had been drummed into him and every other cadet at the academy.

Despite his strong feelings, the first officer decided to be tactful. “I can well understand your wanting to

see Lorca,” he remarked offhandedly. “It sounds like a fascinating planet.”

“But you can’t agree with my decision,” Picard replied, “and you’re going to do everything possible to

talk me out of it.”

“I believe, with Worf and Deanna along, I can determine if the danger becomes too great to continue,”

Riker said evenly.

“I’m sure you can.” Picard nodded. “But can you persuade Fenton Lewis to leave even if it means his

mission will be a failure? Thus far, the two of you haven’t gotten along very well.”

“I don’t know why,” muttered Riker, “but I don’t trust him. Did you know that he was tried and

convicted for murder?”

“By the Ferengi,” added Picard, “who consider the Federation a threat to their commerce. For all we

know, you and I may be wanted for some crime or another by the Ferengi.”

“All the same, Captain, I don’t trust Lewis.”

“He strikes me as unorthodox, too,” the captain agreed. “But Starfleet assigned him this task. You

obviously reviewed his record, and so did I. If anyone stands a chance of ferreting out the leadership on

this planet, Fenton Lewis is the one. He has reached a station in his career where he is allowed a bit of

eccentricity.” Picard met the younger man’s intense stare and softened his own stare with a smile. “And

so have I.”

“Then you insist on leading the away team?” Riker asked, his tone now bordering on resignation.

Picard nodded. “Can’t let you have all the fun. I’ll quite understand, Will, if you wish to state your

objections in the log.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Riker replied. He was beginning to feel like a selfish curmudgeon for trying

to deny the captain a chance to satisfy a strong personal desire. “Just be careful.”

“You can rest assured of that.”

Three Halloween masks lay on a shelf in the transporter room, along with the rest of the supplies

destined for Lorca: heavy boots and dark blue parkas for the cold weather; the Ambassador’s Mask;

canteens and freeze-dried food; a collection of scanners, clothing, and toilet articles; backpacks to hold it

all; and pistol phasers in heavy-duty shoulder holsters. Captain Picard inspected the freight closely, and,

like a sergeant inspecting raw recruits, he didn’t look happy. Then his eyes struck the Halloween masks,

and he smiled in spite of himself.

One mask sported the grinning white-faced visage of Harlequin, the clown of Earth’s sixteenth-century

commedia dell’arte theatrical troupes. Another had the bulging pink cheeks, flared snout, and cocked

ears of a pig; a tiny green top hat was attached to it. The third mask was the typical red devil’s face, with

a leering grin, a goatee and mustache, and short yellow horns. Despite the flimsy elastic bands that

secured them to the wearer’s head, all three masks looked reasonably well constructed.

Picard turned to Deanna Troi, who had chosen the masks and was now trying to hide her

embarrassment. His eyes twinkled. “Counselor, do you really suppose we will be inconspicuous in these

masks?”

“I am sorry, Captain,” she said a bit shamefacedly, “but these were the only halfway appropriate

full-face masks I could find. There were a few others, but they were even more hideous. Halloween is a

rather bizarre holiday.”

“Yes, it is,” Picard agreed. He turned to Fenton Lewis. “Will these suffice?”

The ambassador studied the masks closely and then nodded. “As I said, ideal.”

Picard’s lips thinned as he shifted his attention to Worf. “Lieutenant, I have some disagreement with your

choice of equipment. These pistol phasers,” Picard continued, hefting one of the sleek instruments, “are

too threatening. Let’s go with hand phasers, set to stun.”

Worf nodded and started to say something, but Fenton Lewis cut him off. “I disagree with you there,

Picard. We may need the firepower. We don’t know what to expect down there.”

“Even firing a phaser on another planet is a violation of the Prime Directive,” the captain reminded him

firmly. “The people of Lorca have developed into a feudal society out of choice or necessity, and we

can’t interfere in that development. I don’t want them to see phasers or any other technology they might

get curious about. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, Captain,” said Worf in his basso profundo voice.

Lewis smiled wistfully. “I have no desire to change Lorca. I think I’ll like it the way it is.”

“Let’s hope so.” The captain nodded. He turned to Lieutenant Data, who stood at the transporter

console. “Have you chosen the coordinates yet?”

“Population on the planet is extremely scattered,” Data replied, never taking his eyes off his readouts,

“and the energy sources are very faint.”

“They don’t even have electricity,” Lewis added.

“The best I can do, Captain, is to set you down next to what appears to be a gathering of life-forms.”

“Data, don’t set us down next to any life-forms,” ordered Picard. “Put us a few kilometers away, so that

we can approach them normally.”

“Wise strategy,” the ambassador concurred.

STAR TREK - TNG - 07 - Masks

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