FOREIGN FOES

by Dave Galanter

  His brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “Seriously,” she said. “What does a beach sound like?”

  “People—”

  She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No. Say you’re alone.”

  He shrugged, briefly wondering why he’d be alone on a beach. “Birds, the surf. I don’t know. What else?”

  “Right.” She nodded. “Even blindfolded you’d know you were near the ocean. Entire planets are like that for Betazoids. The millions of life-forms, from insects to people, put out a sort of . . . hum of life. I can sense it. Sometimes I can even tell one planet from another by how it feels to me.”

  “How does this planet feel to you?”

  There was a cold silence for a moment, but Riker suddenly realized it wasn’t an emotional cold. It wasn’t passionless. “Picture your beach without sound,” she said. “The tide coming and going silently as if you were deaf. But you could still hear the sound of your own voice and your boots crunching the sand.”

  The image sent a shudder down Riker’s spine. It was the stuff of nightmares.

  “Maybe a better way to describe it is like walking down that beach breathing stale air.” She was raising her voice now, almost angry at the situation. “It sickens you. Suffocates you.”

  Riker frowned again. “What do you think it means?”

  She gripped his arm, her fingers now talons and her eyes burning with small tears. She was scared. One emotion he hadn’t thought of—she was scared.

  “As sure as we’re alive, Will,” she said, “I know this planet is dead!”

  “Klingon! You are dead!”

  Urosk’s bellow cracked through the hall and yanked Picard to his feet. It echoed as Worf spun to see Zhad’s form collapse over a Klingon’s. Worf looked up at Urosk, and the indicting Hidran finger that meant to bore through him.

  Picard followed the line of Urosk’s arm straight to Worf’s eyes. Surprise tinted the Klingon’s features only a moment before becoming angled with strength. He bent his knees and braced himself.

  Captain Picard vaulted over his table, phaser drawn, and stabbed at his communicator. “Enterprise! Beam down emergency security team!”

  Urosk, down on one knee, grabbed the dagger in the dead Klingon’s chest. The armored corpse jolted up with the blade, then fell back down as Urosk shook the body free. Urosk hurtled forward, toward Worf.

  Picard bolstered his foot against the edge of the table in front of him and shoved. It went sliding across the room, grinding toward Urosk. It slammed into the Hidran captain, barring his way to Worf for the moment.

  The other Hidran smashed their chairs on the hard stone floor and instantly each one was armed with a strong, threatening club.

  Splinters flew as wood cracked against marble and the Klingons suddenly had equally sinister weapons.

  The Hidran captain held his blade, clamped tight between rust-red fingers. “I will kill you myself, Klingon!”

  Picard pulled Worf back and squared off with Urosk himself. A moment more and another security team would beam down around them. Picard would have to hold them off until then.

  But no shafts of light and sparkle appeared. No hum filled the hall, and Picard’s phaser seemed less and less adequate in his palm. He didn’t want to end up with a roomful of stunned carcasses. That would save Worf’s life, but lose the Klingon-Hidran peace. Not exactly how his mission orders read.

  He looked back at Worf, hoping the Klingon wouldn’t lose his cool in the shadow of Urosk’s posturing. Worf was not the only one he had to worry about—the remaining five Klingons came up behind his security chief, flanking him. Protection?

  If so, the protection was capricious at best. With five Hidran, five Klingons, Worf and Picard, all crushed into a few square yards in the center of the festival hall, something had to give.

  Picard jabbed at his comm badge again. “Enterprise!” He heard the dull electrical tone that told him the channel was blocked.

  “We will have vengeance!” Urosk cried, grabbing a club from one of his men and shaking it wildly in the air.

  Kadar clutched at his own dagger. “We are the ones who shall have that!”

  Picard’s muscles tensed and he balanced himself against a possible onslaught. His eyes became slivers and he quickly pinpointed the positions of his few security men and Barbara’s two guards. If it came down to sheer numbers, he had control. Unfortunately Klingons and Hidran could count as two apiece—their rage turned even odds into poor ones.

  “Hollitt!” Picard called, “Get your people out of here! Close off the hall!”

  The Klingons closed tighter on Worf to barricade him, yet moved forward toward their foes.

  Kadar put his hand on Worf’s shoulder. “We will stand with you.”

  The security chief pushed away. “I stand with my captain.”

  Picard wasn’t sure if Worf was acting out of loyalty or tactics, but he heard and nodded as his officer moved out from between the cloister of his protectors. It looked bad to have Worf with them, as if there had been some conspiracy to kill the ambassador.

  The Hidran pushed closer, and the two groups began to square off against each other, space-faring races who’d clung to daggers in their lust for death by any weapon.

  The captain gestured for his personnel to surround them. He hardened his shoulders, looked briefly at Worf, then back to the throbbing mass of hostility that called itself a diplomatic delegation. Civilized pretense had been lost. A pretense he was supposed to have preserved.

  “Phasers—on stun,” Picard said, rather quietly, to Worf.

  Kadar, blade in hand, bulldozed the table between him and Urosk. They were feet apart and Picard thumbed the trigger of his phaser. A brilliant orange rod of power slammed into the floor between the two adversaries. A whine of energy rang throughout the hall, and dark smoke settled onto a frozen audience.

  “There will be no more death today!” he thundered.

  Every glare blazed rage and hate.

  Indignantly, Urosk shook his knife in the air. “We have had enough of your idleness Picard! Let us fight our enemies or become an enemy yourself!”

  “You don’t want to be my enemy, Urosk,” Picard barked. “I will not have this. Cease, and we will find the cause of your comrade’s death.”

  Kadar held his dagger in one hand and gestured to the fallen Klingon with his other. “Will we not see why my first officer died, Captain?” he bellowed.

  Picard nodded at the bodies. “His murderer is dead. What more would you seek?”

  The Klingon turned toward Urosk, his blade outstretched, his voice a low, threatening growl. “More.”

  Urosk dived forward, crimson arms extended, cloak flowing.

  Picard locked eyes with Worf and gave the slightest of nods. Worf fired, and a sizzling lance pinned the Hidran captain.

  Urosk deflated, falling back into heap of groggy confusion.

  The Klingons seized the moment and rushed forward.

  Picard pointed, a threatening motion. His finger marked Kadar.

  The Klingon commander toppled to his knees, dazed by the blast from Worf’s phaser. Orange rivulets of spark grappled his form, and his knife clattered onto the stone floor.

  The captain looked from dagger to dagger, Hidran to Klingon, and wondered how many other traditions they shared but would admit no common ground. Their problem was not their differences, he thought, but their similarities.

  He tacked back to the remaining Klingons. Four violent, savage scowls gouged with surprise. Not only had a Starfleet ally phasered down the commander of an Imperial Battle Cruiser, but Worf had fired the blow. Bitterness overpowered his pride in Worf’s loyalty, though. The captain nodded and said: “Phasers will now be set to heavy stun.”

  A grating hum filled the hall and pressed into them as every energy weapon sang with more power.

  “Shall we go at it again?” Picard asked harshly.

  One Hidran officer, his furious eyes defiantly burning into
Picard, exploded toward the Klingons.

  Worf’s phaser came up but Picard pushed the Klingon’s hand down and fired his own weapon.

  The Hidran officer snapped forward, then convulsed and went flying back, his weapon clattering to the floor.

  No one reached to pick it up.

  “Well, gentlemen,” Picard said, pitiless, “how do we get ourselves out of this bloody mess?”

  “We demand the right to prosecute him! A Hidran court must judge this matter!”

  Urosk had unfolded himself from off the floor and now stood before Picard. If the Hidran captain was still feeling the effects of the phaser stun, as he should have been, he wasn’t showing it. He pulled the dark cloak around his slick skin and took in a short, angry breath. “Well, Picard?”

  A good two feet shorter than the Hidran, Picard somehow managed a glare that looked down at Urosk. Worf still at his side, the captain holstered his phaser and nodded a firm chin toward the Klingon. “And then execute him, Captain? I think not.”

  “We have our rights!” Urosk bellowed.

  “And so does Lieutenant Worf, Captain.”

  Urosk scowled at Worf and ground those sharp little teeth that flashed through his mask. “Murderers have no rights, Picard. Especially Klingons.”

  “I am not convinced a murder has been committed by anyone other than Ambassador Zhad,” Picard said. “I assure you an investigation—”

  “Investigation!” Urosk twisted away then pivoted back. “And while you act to protect your security chief, do not think I will not act on my own!”

  “You’d better not.” Barbara Hollitt came up beside Picard. She held her own weapon, and matched Urosk glare for glare, her green to his. “Everybody in this hall is under house arrest until further notice.”

  Urosk’s face crumbled into a scowl. “By whose authority—”

  “Mine,” Barbara said coldly and turned to Picard. “My guards will remove the Klingon delegation to the back hall. No one comes in or out without my say-so.”

  Picard nodded approval, glad the Klingons would be separated from the Hidran, but uneasy with Barbara’s guards doing the job. Where were his own? Why hadn’t his communicator connected with the Enterprise? What other problems were burning elsewhere?

  “I will not stand for this, Picard,” Urosk said.

  “You will,” Picard said slowly, darkly, “whether you wish to do so quietly or not I do not care, but you will do it.” The captain leaned closer to Urosk, over and up. “I am in control of this situation, Urosk, and if anyone else gets injured it will not be me or my people.”

  The Hidran captain’s wide florid lips snarled up into a smirk. “That we shall see,” he said, and spun quickly on his heel, leaving a swirl of sour air twisting under Picard’s nose.

  He and Worf shared a glance as the captain pounded his comm badge. “Picard to Enterprise.”

  “Data here, sir.” There was no delay.

  “Where in hell were you ten minutes ago?” Picard demanded.

  “In sickbay with Dr. Crusher, sir,” Data said in something slightly more concerned than his normal tone.

  “Geordi?” Picard asked quickly.

  “Yes, sir,” Data said. “After beaming up he collapsed on the transporter pad. He has been in emergency surgery since eighteen twenty-two hours.”

  Picard’s brow furrowed, his skin felt tight. “Surgery for what?”

  “To have his temple implants removed, sir. A total malfunction of his VISOR bio-circuitry.”

  Picard’s gut twisted and he suppressed a shiver. His crisp hazel eyes focused on Zhad for a moment. “Is he in any mortal danger?”

  “No, sir. Not at this time.”

  “Keep me informed every step, Mr. Data.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thoughts of Geordi still chewing at him, Picard pushed on to more pressing matters. “Commander, when I needed communication with the ship—”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry for any delay. I was transferring all frequencies to my control for security purposes.”

  The captain looked up at Worf and shook his head. “Quite inopportune, Mr. Data. We needed an open channel.”

  “I am sorry, sir,” Data said. “I thought there may be a chance that the Klingons could use our open comm channels if we left them available. They have used similar tactics in the past.”

  “Any evidence of unauthorized use?” Picard asked.

  “No, sir. But I am pursuing a hypothesis.”

  Pulling in a deep sigh, Picard nodded. He didn’t want to step on any of his officers’ initiatives, but Data might have caused problems, even deaths.

  “I understand what you were trying to do, Commander, but you’ll have to work on your timing. More harm than good might have come of it.”

  “Aye, sir,” came the simple reply.

  “Any word from Riker?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “Contact him and have them return directly here. A small energy drain is the least of our worries right now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can Doctor Crusher leave Mr. La Forge?”

  “Once she’s out of surgery, I believe so, sir.”

  “Have her beam down as soon as possible. There have been two deaths.” Picard’s eyes narrowed on Zhad’s collapsed form, still crumpled over the Klingon’s dead body, soaking in a pool of alien blood. “I want to know if both were murder.”

  “Stabilize!” Riker pounded the console with his fist. “Come on! Come on! Get up there!” he scolded the flitter as it pitched forward and down, a burst of power burning through it.

  He slammed hard against the console as Deanna toppled out of her seat.

  “What the hell was that?” he choked, pushing himself away from the controls, trying to fill his aching chest.

  “I don’t know,” Deanna groaned, pulling herself back up into her chair.

  Riker scanned the different computer screens and worked to balance the shuttle further. He wasn’t used to roller-coaster rides where he could plummet to his death. He also didn’t usually yell at his equipment, but with only Deanna here . . . well, this wasn’t the bridge of the Enterprise.

  “Sensors show we just passed through that anomaly you read. No energy drain down there.”

  “I’m reading something else.” Deanna swiveled away from her console. “There’s a sensor beacon here.” The tone in her voice was less anxious than before. Telling him what she’d been feeling, getting into words what she hadn’t even been able to get into thoughts, must have taken a weight off her shoulders. Unfortunately, all the weight was now on his.

  Riker punched up the visual on his screen. A lump of barren rock at the center of a wild grain field stared back at him. He looked out the port window and saw the same: gray-brown slabs of stone chunked together in the middle of all that wheat.

  “As if someone dropped their cargo from a quarry ship,” he said.

  Riker had the flitter circling wide around the outcropping. He punched in a command for a tighter spin, then looked up at Deanna. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think it’s naturally occurring,” Deanna said. “It is broadcasting a beacon, Will. Weak, and certainly not on a Starfleet band, but on someone’s. If we hadn’t been looking . . .”

  “Maybe someone’s trying to hide it,” Riker said, thinking aloud. He shook his head and a few strands of dark hair fell over his brow. “But you don’t hide something from someone who isn’t looking. Anything you want to hide you make sure is hidden when someone is looking.”

  She looked at him for a moment as they were quiet. He angled back toward the port and looked down at the boulders and sheets of stone that were suddenly so out of place on a planet of continuous fields.

  “We should report back to the captain,” Deanna said.

  “Agreed, he needs to know what you’ve told me . . . but this is too good to pass up. Let’s try and take back more information than ‘the planet makes Deanna fidget.’”

  He rubbed the back
of his neck. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it to, Deanna. All the tension, now this puzzle . . . Can we forget that comment with a few other choice ones I’ve made in the last few hours?”

  “And I thought I was the empath.” Deanna smiled. “You read my mind.”

  He laughed, reached for her hand.

  “Okay,” he began, “we’ll find out a little more, then head back.”

  She nodded, gave his hand a squeeze, and turned back to her console.

  “Square one,” Riker said. “What kind of broadcast is it?”

  Deanna shrugged. “Short. One or two seconds, then it repeats.”

  “Try a standard hail on its own wavelength.”

  She tapped at the console, then lifted her head. “Nothing.”

  Riker began to tap his foot nervously, then remembered the pain in his leg. He winced and sucked in a quick breath.

  “Computers ask standard log-in questions. Maybe this is some kind of a log-in computer prompt, asking for a response or a command,” she suggested.

  “That would take forever to find,” Riker said. “Try simple codes.”

  A moment later she shook her head.

  His hand dropped back down to his knee and he rubbed. “My kingdom for a bullet to bite on.”

  Deanna continued to type something into her board but stooped down to check Riker’s bandage. “Is the pain worse?” She asked. “You’re bleeding through my handiwork.

  “I promise to wash it before I return it.”

  She shook her head. “Why are you so stubborn?”

  “You love it,” he said, bobbing his brows up and down, giving his bearded face a devilish tinge.

  “There goes your rating as an empath. The only thing I’d love right now is a medical doctor looking at your leg.”

  “We’ll compromise. We’ll try a few more things. If nothing works, we head back.”

  She nodded agreeably. “Okay. What next?”

  “Try anything,” he said. “Play back its own signal, transmit a binary request for communication, whatever.” He watched her peck away at her console. “Something’s down there,” he said. “We can’t scan under the rocks, yet we get a beacon from them. The signal can’t be from the rock itself, can it?”