FOREIGN FOES

by Dave Galanter

  Deanna gave a soft shrug. “Transmitting. Maybe we don’t have enough power to penetrate the rock with Enterpri—”

  Suddenly Deanna was quiet. Riker twisted to ask—

  Craaaaaaaack!

  Riker slammed to a stop in mid-motion, his muscles straining against air that suddenly was thick as wet sand against his chest. He couldn’t move . . . saw Deanna at his side . . . motionless . . . turned to stone.

  With all his will he tried to push against whatever fist held him in its grip. What was it? He didn’t care. He wanted to turn, to breathe, to move.

  His muscles ached, his head pounded with pain . . . there was no give from whatever held him. Riker felt himself trembling against the strain, but knew he wasn’t really moving. Frustration held him as tight as the paralysis.

  From the edge of his vision he saw the dim gray rock spiraling up toward the port window.

  His vision abruptly fogged to black. He could still hear the whine of air rushing against the shuttle, and there was horror when the awful whine began to fade.

  It ended with the crunch of metal collapsing against rock.

  He felt a twinge of soreness ripple through his body, then . . . nothing.

  Chapter Five

  HIS FACE LOOKED NORMAL without the glowing temple implants. Eyes closed, no one would have known he was . . . blind. Beverly’s mind choked over the thought as surely as her throat would have if she’d tried to speak it.

  Blind. No fooling blind.

  There was no medical reason for her to be there. She could’ve been checking on Riley’s arm or Tsnatsu’s fluid intake . . . she should have been. But she left it to others, to be here holding a hand.

  Watching the movement of his eyes under closed lids, she wondered what he envisioned in a dream. Did Geordi see as she did—colors, forms, definable lines and shapes, or did he dream in whatever impulses he usually saw through his VISOR?

  It struck her that Geordi hadn’t really been blind since he was a child. No more than anyone who could turn their sight on and off with a desire. There was no permanence when he took his VISOR off at night, just as there was no permanence when she let her own eyes drift shut.

  Now all that had changed. His VISOR was elsewhere, the implants that allowed it to work were gone—and his “eyes” might never open again.

  Beverly squeezed his hand and looked up at the vitals screen, more for distraction than anything else, until Data’s voice pulled her gaze toward the doorway.

  “Geordi?”

  “He’s still under the anesthetic,” she whispered, rising, yet keeping her hand around Geordi’s.

  Data nodded and glanced up at the monitors. “How is he?”

  “Resting easily.” She gently released Geordi’s hand and joined Data near the doorway. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”

  Data hesitated. He wanted to stay. Should he? No logical reason presented itself, so he turned and followed the doctor out.

  In silence they walked to the next door and entered Beverly’s office. She let out a long sigh and fell into her desk chair. Beverly looked tired, eyes weary, shoulders weaker.

  “I guessed right,” she said. “Removing the bioneural implants worked.”

  “Guessed, Doctor?”

  Beverly looked up at him, then back down. “Without time to review procedures on the operation I had to let the computer lead the way and suggest the answers. We had to make an educated guess as to the problem.”

  Data nodded. Dr. Crusher had good stamina for a human, but her voice was spiritless and she seemed not to wish to go into the details Data needed. “And that problem was?” he prodded.

  She rubbed her forehead—another sign she was tired. “His temple implants were breaking down and inflaming his tissues.” She frowned, glowering at her hands as she clasped tightly on top of the desk. “We took them out. Now he’s fine.”

  “Then you acted correctly.” Data was trying to be consoling and he wondered if it came across that way.

  “Did I, Data? I let a computer be the doctor and ended up taking out a man’s eyes because he had a headache. Not exactly a method of which Hippocrates would have approved.” She ran her thumb along the edge of her tunic jacket and mumbled, “What’s next? Decapitations for dandruff?”

  She was being overly dramatic, Data decided. “I would think that out of the question, Doctor.”

  The slightest smile appeared on Beverly’s lips. Why? Surely she didn’t want him to take the comment seriously.

  Beverly gestured for Data to take a seat.

  He did, knowing that humans disliked an inferior position in any discussion. “Do you know what happened to the implants?”

  “They looked decayed to me. Something that shouldn’t have happened—the implants should outlast the Enterprise. Bioengineering is examining them. They’ve ruled out a problem with the VISOR itself.” She tapped a few commands into her desk computer and swiveled the screen toward him.

  Data looked down at the screen a moment. The text said nothing she hadn’t told him. Why show him? Just for the sake of having done it? Humans were fidgety.

  “Prognosis, Doctor?”

  “He’s stable now. He’ll be fine . . . except for his sight.”

  “Is the blindness permanent?”

  Speaking slowly, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

  How was he to react? The injury of a comrade was serious. That the disability may be permanent made it doubly so.

  He knitted his brows in an expression he thought was regret.

  Judging by the sadness in Beverly’s eyes he probably came close.

  “Doctor, I am sorry to ask you to leave, but the captain requires your presence planetside.”

  Her expression changed to anger without thought—once round brows now arched up. “Like hell. I can’t leave Geordi right now—”

  “You did just say he was stable, Doctor.”

  “Yes, but . . . leave? Now? Out of the question.” She shook her head. “Under no circumstances. When Geordi wakes up, I have to be here. He’s going to wake up blind, Data. Truly blind. Do you know what that means?”

  Data thought he did, but something told him that Beverly had another meaning in mind.

  “It’s going to take more than an order from the captain to get me off this ship right now, Mr. Data. It’ll take an act of god.”

  It was an order from the captain. What more could he say? “There has been a murder, Doctor.”

  Beverly’s face became red. Whether from guilt or anger or disgust, Data could not be sure.

  She picked up a medical tricorder from the edge of her desk. “I guess an act of stupidity is as close as I’ll get to an act of god.”

  “Captain Picard?”

  Barbara was able to catch up with Picard’s gait across the hall as he stooped down to snatch a spoon off the floor. He walked so quickly she’d had trouble keeping up with his stride.

  She stopped, letting him march a few paces without her. Finally he realized and turned.

  Picard stood there, slapping the cup of the spoon against his palm anxiously. “Dr. Hollitt?”

  She flattened her lips. “I’m sorry—were we supposed to be racing?”

  He glared and walked toward her. “Point taken. What did you find out?”

  Barbara gave an apologetic nod. She hadn’t meant to be so flippant, just wasn’t sure how to react to all these Starfleet people. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about Riker’s disappearance. A few days ago Velex had been a small colony of scientists fumbling in the fields, and she was an overworked and underpaid botany specialist. Now Velex was becoming the battle ground of a war and she was in the middle of it, worrying about a man she’d just met a few hours ago. She’d stepped into that relationship expecting nothing more than the moment, and she couldn’t really explain the feeling of loss. All she really could explain was that she didn’t feel Picard was doing enough to stop the entire situation from falling out of control.

  But what should she do? Asse
rt herself as leader of the colony? Or maybe just sit back and let the soldiers do their jobs.

  She looked at the hard line of Picard’s jaw and the captain’s determined brow.

  “We don’t show them on scanners, but your transmission blanket makes our equipment pretty useless.”

  Picard nodded and they continued across the hall again. This time the captain seemed to be watching his gallop to assure she wouldn’t fall behind.

  He huffed out a breath and clacked the business end of the spoon against his comm badge. “Picard to Enterprise!”

  “Enterprise, Data here, sir.”

  “Mr. Data, I want a scan of the planet for the away team’s shuttle.”

  “It would be necessary to disable the ‘white-noise’ transmission, sir.”

  “Do so, Commander. Restore when scans are complete.”

  There was a pause. Too long, Barbara assumed—Picard was surprised enough to stop his trot across the hall.

  “Acknowledge that, Mr. Data.”

  Barbara flinched at the bark in Picard’s voice.

  “Yes, sir. Do you think it is wise considering Commander Riker’s failure to report in?”

  The captain shifted his weight from one leg to the other and Barbara saw his shoulders tense. Was he as anxious to find out about Will Riker and the counselor, or was he just cross at being questioned by a subordinate?

  “Explain, Commander. Quickly.”

  “Mr. Riker’s unexplained absence may be due to . . . Klingon interference. Interference that could only increase if the ‘white-noise’ blanket is disengaged.”

  Picard looked sharply back toward the center of the hall, a clanging noise distracting him.

  Barbara followed his gaze. Just someone setting a table upright.

  “I see,” Picard said flatly.

  Wasn’t this news? Wasn’t this important? Just a bit cold-blooded—to discuss a missing crewmen so dispassionately. Which was the android, Data or Picard?

  “That’s the second time you’ve made such an assertion, Mr. Data.” Picard was focused again, his eyes off the table and pivoting around the room. “Upon what do you base it?”

  Barbara opened her mouth to speak.

  Picard waved her off.

  Instinctively she took a step back. His gesture wasn’t threatening, but was certainly a warning.

  Will Riker was a kind, delightful good time. How did he get along with this captain? They weren’t just day and night—they were separate seasons.

  “Evidence is inconclusive at this time, sir.” She frowned. Damn. No news was . . . well, no news.

  “Then carry out my orders,” Picard said.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “How soon can I expect Dr. Crusher?”

  “She is on her way to the transporter room now and will brief you on Commander La Forge’s condition upon arrival.”

  “Very well. Alert me as soon as you know something about Riker and Troi. Picard out.”

  The spoon clanged against the communicator, signaling it off.

  Picard glanced back toward the middle of the hall and Barbara’s gaze followed.

  From here, Zhad’s body was nothing more than a long gray blob, his tall form covered with a tablecloth. A few feet away lay a similar blob, the ambassador’s Klingon victim.

  “None of this is going away,” she said.

  “No.” The captain shook his head. “It’s not.” He pivoted toward her. “What’s the maximum range of one of those flitters of yours?”

  She shrugged. “Under five thousand kilometers without refueling I’d guess.”

  “Spaceworthy?”

  “No. Strictly low atmosphere. Captain . . .” Barbara hesitated, unsure she wanted to ask her question. She might get an answer. “What do you think has happened to them?”

  Picard began thwacking the spoon against his leg. Was he finally nervous? If he was that may be worse than when he wasn’t. Why was he concerned all of a sudden?

  “Something’s happened,” he murmured. “Maybe they found something.”

  “Disengage white-noise transmission, Mr. De Potter.”

  The young ensign looked up at the android and nodded. “Aye, sir.” He’d been all worked up for first shift duty, which meant posting with the captain on the bridge, and hadn’t expected to be under command of the second officer. Not that it was a problem—just that Commander Data wasn’t who he’d been ready for. And with a starship under his fingertips he wanted to be more than ready.

  He ran his hands along the console. Nonstandard transmissions were always a problem. If he even missed one key sequence . . .

  “Disengaged, sir.”

  DePotter looked down at his board to confirm the disbursement of the frequency field. Stay on top of things, anticipate questions, and you look good.

  “Sir!” DePotter poked at the board again to make double sure.

  Data rose from the command chair. “Report.”

  “Seismic activity—planet wide! It was there. . . . ” DePotter looked up, expecting to see incredulity reflected back at him. All he saw was Data’s expressionless face and it startled him. He stumbled. “Then it . . . it was gone a second later.”

  The android leaned down over the ensign’s shoulder and scanned the readouts. “You are correct. Three-point-three-two magnitude for point-seven seconds.”

  “I know,” DePotter said, then quickly added, “sir.” Mistake number fifty-two since he had been transferred to his first bridge rotation a day ago . . . and he knew he wasn’t the only one counting.

  “Unique, Mr. DePotter.”

  “Yes, sir.” Shut up. Do your job. Say “aye, sir” a lot.

  Data tapped a finger at one of DePotter’s console readouts. “A fleeting earthquake of significant magnitude, less that a second in length, with no after shocks.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The last “aye” shoulda been a “yes” and the “yes” shoulda been an “aye.” He was overanalyzing, and knew that introspectiveness only led to . . . perspiration.

  Data stood up straight. “Ensign?”

  This was it—somehow he’d caused the quake and now the real boom would be lowered.

  “Sir?”

  “Was not your previous assignment Geological Sciences?”

  DePotter fought to keep himself from cringing. “Uh, yes, sir.” Back to the gravel pit he went. Shortest bridge rotation in Starfleet history.

  Commander Data looked down at DePotter with a serious expression. “What do you make of the situation then?”

  “The quake, sir?”

  What a dunsel question! Of course the quake.

  The android simply nodded.

  “Well,” DePotter began slowly, trying to draw out his first moment of real comfort on the bridge—at least this he could answer. “There’s no overt volcanic activity of any kind, but sensors have been unable to penetrate the crust. We are assuming a solid core considering the age of the other planets in this system . . .” He looked from Data to the planet’s image on the main viewer and back, analyzing what he knew out loud. “I don’t think there’s ever been an instance of seismic activity occurring simultaneously over an entire planet. Especially one that has no tectonic activity. At least there’s no recorded record of one.”

  Recorded record? What was that? Is that like a yelling scream?

  Data nodded. “I concur.” He turned toward the science station. “Scan for the away team and the Velexian shuttle, and download all sensor data on the tremor to the science station. Then reestablish the white-noise broadcast.”

  DePotter poked at his console, and tried to salvage his self-esteem. “Aye aye, sir.”

  No one could be having a worse day.

  Captain Picard had given his version of a sigh again. He’d done it more than a few times in the last hour, and that concerned Barbara almost as much as Will Riker’s whereabouts. She decided the outcome of this entire situation rested on Picard’s shoulders, and that he was suddenly uncertain . . . well, that wa
s something to worry about too.

  Maybe there was no blessing in the captain’s asking her to join him in private, but she’d needed to get out of the main hall. There was something unnerving about that room now. Two dead bodies and so little activity—no screams, no weeping, just a lone doctor hovering over them, and even she had seemed rather detached to Barbara.

  Barbara wasn’t sure which was better: when these people didn’t seem to care . . . or when they did.

  She couldn’t read Picard right now.

  “Thank you, Mr. Data. Let me know when you have something more. Picard out.”

  The wooden chair creaked as Barbara leaned forward. “Well?”

  Rising, the captain began to circle the table that filled the room. He barely had room to pace.

  “My science officer confirmed the earthquake. What’s puzzling,” the captain said, his finger whirling in a small circle to encompass all of Velex, “is that it was concurrent planetwide.”

  Barbara looked up, tensely gripping her hands on the arms of the chair. “Well?”

  Picard looked at her a moment. If he wondered what she was talking about, it was only for a fleeting moment. “He also said there was no sign of the away team or the shuttle within the radius of its presumable range.”

  She could feel tears beginning to well and she blinked them away. It was crazy—she’d only met him today. It also wasn’t just him—that was a lie to herself. The whole situation—what had happened to her simple plan? “Maybe an after-effect of the white noise . . .”

  “Unlikely. I’m having the entire planet scanned, but if they’ve“—he looked down quickly, then back up—“landed somewhere, it’ll take time.”

  She nodded and pushed herself out of the chair.

  “Doctor,” Picard began, as if he were deciding whether to confide in her, “has a quake like this ever happened here before?”

  Back to something other than Will and his companion. Maybe Picard couldn’t deal with it, so he had to think about something else. Barbara didn’t know what to make of anything anymore. The only thing she did know was that she didn’t like Picard’s inaction.

  “Ever?” She cocked her head to one side. “I can’t speak to ‘ever.’ I’ve only been here a little over a week.”