by Gene DeWeese
The only exception was when, reluctantly, Khozak admitted there were secret “listening devices” in offices, labs, and apartments all over the city, and that it was through one of those that he had overheard Zalkan’s revelations.
“I didn’t put the devices in,” Khozak protested when Denbahr finally calmed down. “Most, I was told, were installed at least fifty years ago. Some were in use before the cities were sealed. This was almost the first time I’ve ever used them, any of them. Most don’t even work anymore. But when I saw Zalkan talking to these people in the Council Chambers and looking as if he were about to go into shock, and then when I saw they were going into that ‘private’ lab of his, the purpose of which he has never satisfactorily explained to me . . .”
He shook his head. “I tried the system, and it worked. All I can say is, it was extremely fortunate that I did, considering what I learned.”
Obviously not everyone agreed, but in the end an interim “agreement” on most other matters was reached. The next day, a second shuttlecraft would bring someone down to check the mines, to try to determine what the dozen or more energy surges had signified. The same shuttlecraft would then pick up Khozak and return him to the Enterprise while Picard, Data, Troi, and Koralus remained in the city. Meanwhile, Riker would contact Starfleet and arrange for one or more someones “in authority” to speak directly with Khozak. Riker had expected Denbahr at some point to wonder angrily—and rightly—why Khozak would believe someone “in authority” hundreds of parsecs away when he wouldn’t believe Captain Picard or anyone else when they were standing directly in front of him, but to Riker’s surprise she remained silent, as she had for much of the later discussion. Perhaps, he thought, she was simply trying to digest the news she had finally been forced to accept about Zalkan.
Finally, after a last-minute request by Data that Ensign Thompson check on Spot occasionally, particularly in the event that more energy surges were detected, the static-laced EM link was broken. Riker passed the request on, even tried to feign interest as Thompson explained the discussions he and Data had been having about their increasingly nervous cats. Finally, he settled back in the captain’s chair, grimaced inwardly, and began to prepare a series of subspace messages to Starfleet.
Somehow, Zalkan managed to hang on to consciousness as the blinding light faded from around him and he collapsed to the cold, concrete floor. Then the once-familiar face of one of his fellow conspirators was looming over him in the near darkness.
“Zalkan? Is it you?” The muted voice was filled with easily as much disbelief and shock as Zalkan had expected. No one left behind on this Krantin had seen him since he had jumped to that other Krantin nearly fifteen years ago, so they would be prepared for his having aged. What they would not be prepared for, he knew, was his weakness, his deterioration. He had jumped only twice, once to Krantin and now back, and yet he knew that, because of his attempts to develop a blocking field, he looked far worse than even those Directorate pilots who had jumped fifty and sixty times and were due to be “lost” in another flight or two, before their deterioration became too obvious.
“Everyone must be pulled back from the mines,” he managed to whisper before utter exhaustion pulled his eyelids down like lead weights and the rasping sound of his own breathing faded from his ears.
When Zalkan awakened, it was to the painful pricking of a needle being withdrawn from his left arm. Forcing his eyes to open, he saw an empty, redstained bottle being disconnected from the other end of the tube that ended in the needle.
Blood.
They had given him new blood, he wondered how much. However much, it would revive him only temporarily. It would give him the strength to tell them what needed to be told. After that, he might last an hour or a day, certainly little more.
But that was enough. He would almost welcome the end. There was nothing left for him but the anguish and guilt that racked him for having failed. He would have to tell them that his gamble—a gamble he had been trapped into but one which, hindsight told him, he could still have avoided—he would have to tell them that his gamble with the strangers from the stars had not only failed but backfired.
And, in all probability, his people’s decades-long struggle would then be ended. Barring a miracle, the Directorate spies would learn of the true location of the dilithium and would take it. With their massive machines and virtually unlimited power, with no need for the secrecy and caution his own tiny group had been shackled by, they could jump the dilithium and the surrounding rock from that Krantin to this with little more effort than it took to jump their massive ore carriers in the asteroid belt. The likelihood that the entire tunnel system would collapse when tens of thousands of cubic meters of rock and soil and dilithium vanished in what amounted to a massive underground implosion was of no concern to them, any more than what the Directorate had done to the rest of that Krantin over the centuries.
Struggling to sit up, Zalkan began to talk.
When he finished speaking and the others began, he learned that the situation was even worse than he had known, worse even than he could have imagined.
Chapter Sixteen
AS ALWAYS when he was snatched from a sound sleep, Commander William Riker lurched toward consciousness with shreds of dreams still clinging to him. This time, not surprisingly, they involved Deanna. And Lwaxana, who was seated imperiously in her luxurious home on Betazed in a transplanted captain’s chair while all around her swirled the polluted, acrid-scented atmosphere of Krantin. Riker himself, transmuted into the clean-shaven ensign he had once been, stood defiantly before her while Deanna’s body appeared and disappeared in the noxious mists that billowed around his feet and he struggled to formulate a satisfactory response to the question Lwaxana seemed to have been asking since the beginning of time: “Will Riker, what have you let happen to my daughter?”
“Commander Riker!” Not Lwaxana’s imperious tones, but the anxious voice of Ensign Thompson exploding out of nowhere, sending the distorted images of Betazed swirling into chaos.
“Commander Riker!” the voice repeated, yanking him the rest of the way into full wakefulness.
Blinking away the last remnants of the images, Riker responded even as he threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “Riker here. What is it, Ensign?”
“A massive energy surge, Commander, probably nearby in space. Sensors indicate a ship proceeding toward us on impulse power from the direction of the surge.”
“On my way. Notify Lieutenant Worf.”
“In the process.”
“Is the EM link to Krantin still open?”
“Yes, sir. Shall I—”
“Not yet. Just be sure it stays open.”
Signing off, Riker quickly finished dressing and raced for the bridge. When he arrived, a small ship not unlike the one that had approached and fired on the Enterprise earlier was visible at the center of the screen. A faint halo of light only partially obscured it.
“This is what came through?”
“Apparently, Commander.” Ensign Thompson was still at the tactical station. “It is approaching at the equivalent of minimum impulse from the direction of the surge.”
“Response to our hails?”
“None yet, sir.”
“Weapons?”
“Laser devices similar to the earlier ship, sir, but none appear to be activated.”
“A pleasant change. Pilot?”
“Presumably, and three passengers.”
Worf, making a last-minute adjustment to the ceremonial sash that always adorned his uniform, emerged from the turbolift and strode to the tactical station, where Ensign Thompson quickly filled him in.
“Keep hailing it, Lieutenant,” Riker said. “Ensign, take Science One and see what more you can get from that ship.”
“Another surge, sir,” Worf announced as the ensign hurried to the back of the bridge, “from the same general direction as the first. It was roughly twice as powerful as the first.”
&
nbsp; “Another ship?” Riker wondered.
“Apparently, Commander,” Thompson said from the science station. “There is something there, at least.”
“EM response from first ship, Commander,” Worf said.
“Let’s hear it.”
A male voice, speaking rapidly and loudly, filled the bridge. “You must protect us, take us aboard. The Directorate will send someone after us the second it realizes we have jumped.”
“There is a ship behind you already,” Riker said. “It appeared in approximately the same area that you did. Now—identify yourself.”
There was a gasp through the EM link. “They have found us already! I was certain we had at least a few minutes! Please, you must protect us!”
“I repeat, identify yourselves.”
“They will kill us! Is that not reason enough?”
“Not until you identify yourself. And your pursuers.”
“They are the Directorate! They are responsible for virtually destroying this world below you!”
Riker’s mind flashed back to what Picard had told him only hours ago. “This ‘Directorate’ is responsible for the Plague?” he asked.
“If ‘Plague’ is what you call what has fouled the world’s atmosphere—and the space around it—for hundreds of years, yes!”
“You still have not identified yourselves. Who are you and why is the—Directorate, you said?—pursuing you?”
“Commander,” Worf said, “the second ship is overtaking the first. If its weapons are comparable to those on earlier ships, they will be in firing range within three minutes.”
“We are part of a group working against the Directorate,” the voice from the approaching ship said, speaking rapidly, “but we have been helpless until now. The Directorate controls everything!”
Zalkan’s group? Riker wondered but said nothing.
“When we learned of your presence here,” the voice continued, “we thought—”
“How did you learn of us?” Riker interrupted. On the screen, the second ship had become visible as a ball of light many times brighter than the faint halo around the first. It must be traveling at least at quarter impulse, Riker thought.
“The ships you encountered when you arrived were the Directorate’s,” the voice said. “Word of your existence is everywhere in the Directorate now.”
“And how did your opposing group learn—”
“We do not openly oppose them!” the voice almost screamed. “No one can! We are—”
“An underground group?” Riker interrupted. He held back from mentioning Zalkan’s name. If this was a trick—
“Yes! We were part of the Directorate, and we heard—”
“If you were part of the Directorate, if your organization was secret, what happened? How did they find out you were working against them?”
“I don’t know! When we heard about your ship and what it was capable of, we began to make plans to contact you, but we must have been careless—or the Directorate has spies in our midst or maybe they’ve known about us all along but it never mattered until now, when we decided to contact you!”
“The second ship will be within laser range of the first in less than a minute, Commander,” Worf said.
But the pursuing ship wasn’t waiting. On the screen, a series of laser bursts emerged from the ball of light that was the pursuer. One struck the nearer ship squarely but seemed to have little effect except to increase the halo that still surrounded it. The others swept past harmlessly, though one produced a faint glow as it grazed the Enterprise shields.
“You see?” the voice from the nearer ship shouted. “They will kill us all!” The nearer ship was in direct visual range now, its impulse engines reversing, bringing it to a halt only kilometers distant. The halo faded and vanished.
“Damage, Lieutenant?” Riker snapped.
“Minimal. They are still out of effective laser range, but—”
A second series of laser bursts flared across the screen, two of them buffeting the nearer ship, two others flaring more brightly against the Enterprise screens.
“Minor damage to their impulse drive, Commander,” Worf said. “The range is decreasing rapidly. Another direct hit would almost certainly disable the drive.”
“Very well,” Riker said, grimacing, knowing the decision had to be made, and made now. “Lieutenant, extend our shields to enclose the nearer ship. And keep close watch on its lasers. Any indication they’re preparing to fire, bring the shields in, fast!”
“Shields extended, Commander. Lasers remain inactive on the first ship. The pursuing vessel still does not respond to our hail.”
“Warn them about the shield, whether they respond or not.”
As expected, there was no response. Riker briefly debated contacting Krantin and the captain but decided against it. Unless Zalkan had returned—and there had been no surges to indicate that he had—no one there would know any more about this other Krantin or the Directorate than Riker himself.
On the screen, the nearer ship now hovered almost in the shadow of the Enterprise. The second ship emerged from the ball of energy as its impulse engines reversed and brought it to a halt barely a kilometer short of the Enterprise shields.
“Its lasers are primed to fire again, Commander,” Worf said.
“Only one life-form on board,” Thompson added from Science One. “Humanoid, possibly Krantinese.”
“Transmit on all EM frequencies, Lieutenant,” Riker said, pausing while Worf tapped at the comm panel.
“Ready, Commander.”
“Identify yourself,” Riker said. “And in case you don’t already know it, your lasers are ineffective against our shields.”
For a full minute, there was only a tense silence. Then: “Lasers returning to standby,” Worf said.
Moments later, a new voice, even deeper than Worf’s, rumbled through the bridge. “Alien starship,” it said stiffly, “we demand that you allow us access to the ship you are shielding.”
So, you do know how to speak. “Identify yourself and state the reasons for your demands,” Riker said. “And I might remind you that threats against a Federation starship are not taken lightly.” Not that similar reminders regarding the kidnapping of Federation officers did much good with Khozak, he thought irritably.
“I don’t know what or where this ‘Federation’ of yours is,” the voice shot back, “but this star system is surely outside its jurisdiction.”
At least it’s in the same universe. “We are assisting the people of Krantin,” Riker said. “I repeat: Identify yourself.”
Another silence, and then: “I represent the Directorate. The people aboard the ship you are misguidedly protecting are wanted criminals.”
“They say that you are the criminals, not they. They say that you are responsible for the near-destruction of Krantin.”
“They are lying! They are traitors, no more, no less. I demand you surrender them to me.”
“Not until I know more. If you would care to come aboard and discuss the matter face-to-face, together with those from the other ship, I can send a shuttlecraft for you.”
For several seconds there was only silence. Then: “We do not ‘discuss’ those or any other matters with wanted criminals and traitors, nor with their so-called protectors.”
“Energy surge—” Worf began, but before the words were out, the viewscreen and the sensors were blinded. When vision returned to the screen and the sensors recovered from their brief overload, the Directorate ship was gone.
“So,” Riker said, eying the remaining ship, “I suppose we had best invite this lot aboard for a chat. And see if you can raise the captain.”
* * *
Each breath of the toxic air burned Ahl Denbahr’s unprotected lungs. Desperately, she scrabbled on the floor of the lab, searching for the breathing mask she knew must be there. But there was something more important than the breathing mask, she realized abruptly, and she looked up and found herself no longer in the lab b
ut on a barren hilltop that was rising higher with each aching breath. Overhead another world appeared through the poisonous haze, rushing at her from the depths of space, but as it grew larger and larger she saw that it wasn’t another planet, wasn’t another Krantin as she had thought, but a gigantic face with mountains and valleys for features, a face that she knew she should recognize but could not, a face which, if she could only recall the name that went with it, she could call to and it would stop its crushing descent before it smashed her and her world into—
Gasping, she came awake, her muscles achingly tense, her body bathed in an icy sweat. For a disoriented moment, the terror-laden thought shot through her mind that she had once again surrendered to the fantasies of the computer, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. No one would willingly submit to such surreal horrors as these, let alone seek them out.
Then it all came rushing back: Zalkan. The Plague. The people from the stars. Her impotent rage at Khozak and his unconscionable wasting of valuable—vital, irreplaceable!—time, his stubborn refusal to look beyond his own blind paranoia.
But there was nothing she could do about it, she thought, grimacing at the memory of her last confrontation with him, when she had tried to return the comm units to the one called Picard. It had only made the situation even worse. Khozak had destroyed the comm units, leaving them dependent on the radio in the lab, which, like everything else, could die at any moment.
What they should be doing was begging this Federation for all the help it could give. What Zalkan was or was not responsible for didn’t matter. Whose side he was really on was of no importance. All that mattered was, something called the Federation existed, and it had ships like the Enterprise, ships and people capable of—of she didn’t know what. This Federation was Krantin’s only hope.
And even if Khozak’s worst paranoid fears were true, if the Enterprise was out to “steal” the dilithium or do other terrible things, what difference did it make? How could matters be worse than they already were? When your entire world will be dead in little more than a decade, there’s not a lot to lose by taking a chance and trusting in the goodwill and kindness of strangers.