The Soldiers Of Fear

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Chapter Two

  A DROP OF SWEAT ran down Will Riker’s face. He gripped the control stick of his jet firmly with both hands and pulled into a steep climb away from the bluish green ocean waters below. A stream of bright red laser fire flashed past his cockpit as the force of his climb pinned him into his seat.

  He hadn’t used these old atmosphere dogfight simulations since his days in the Academy, and his lack of practice was showing. He was ranked as one of the best space pilots in Starfleet and the best on the Enterprise, but these old dogfight holodeck simulations used ancient jets at low planet altitudes and kept score with laser hits. Twenty hits and you were considered downed.

  The screen in front of him lit up bright red, indicating he’d taken a hit on his port wing. “Damn,” he said softly, swinging his plane over into a tight barrel roll before the stream of laser fire could cause more damage. A full-second burst of laser fire in the center of a plane would easily count as more than twenty hits and end the game.

  This time he managed to escape with only one hit.

  “That’s fifteen for me,” his opponent, Lieutenant Sam Redbay, said through the headphones, as Redbay’s plane streaked past on Riker’s starboard. “You’re out of shape, Will.”

  “Out of practice,” Riker said, slamming his plane into a sharp turn in an effort to get Redbay back into his sights. “Just out of practice in these old things. Program a space dogfight and we’ll see who’s out of shape.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” Redbay’s voice came back. “We’ll try that tomorrow.”

  Riker laughed as he pulled up behind Redbay’s streaking jet and got him in his sights. “That’s a deal.”

  Riker could see his old friend laughing at him right now. Redbay was a tall, thin redheaded man who moved slowly, as if the world around him was in too much of a hurry. He laughed a lot, and his freckle-faced grin was infectious to most people around him, including Riker.

  The red light on the board showed he had a computer lock on Redbay’s plane. “Now,” Riker said, and fired, but he was an instant late. Redbay took his plane down and twisted, moving away from the stream of laser fire from Riker.

  No hits. Again he’d missed. He had to admit, his old friend was good. Very good.

  Riker shook his head and attempted to follow the other jet at the steep downward angle. At one time he and Redbay were evenly matched fighters at this holodeck simulation game. In their last year at the Academy, they had rented the holosuites and programmed dogfight after dogfight. And with each fight, not only did their skill and reflexes get better, but the stakes rose, too. It started with bragging rights, then lunches, then escalated to cleaning rooms. Their last match, the day before graduation, Riker had won and promised Redbay a rematch.

  But until today, that rematch had not been possible. Now, since Redbay’s assignment to the Enterprise, it was possible. And Riker had to admit he was enjoying this, even though he was losing badly.

  “More excuses, Will?” Redbay’s voice came back strong as his plane flashed past. Riker could imagine his friend’s red hair and his freckled face grinning. He was probably doing everything in his power to not laugh out loud.

  “All right,” Riker said, laughing instead. “Excuses, then. But I won’t make them for long.”

  Redbay’s choked laugh let his enjoyment come back clearly to Riker. Then Redbay said, “Actually, Will, I wouldn’t have expected you to be up on the latest atmosphere-dogfight techniques. I can’t imagine how you’d have time, being first officer on a ship like Enterprise.”

  Riker heard and understood the mixture of envy and admiration in Redbay’s tone. They had been on the same career track at the Academy. Their differences were minor: Redbay had taken two more piloting points than Riker; Riker had been evaluated higher in the politics of persuasion. Their classmates had always seen a rivalry between them, but no real rivalry had actually existed, even in these made-up dogfights. They had been best of friends, and would never have gotten as far as fast without each other.

  Then they separated, Redbay to years of test-piloting the latest high-speed shuttles for Starfleet, Riker to work on starships. It wasn’t until a reunion several years back, when Riker had asked Redbay why he hadn’t gone into starships, that Redbay leaned back, frowned, and said, I was planning to. I just lost track of it.

  You still can, my friend, Riker had said, but if you wait too much longer, you’ll be off the career track.

  Redbay had nodded, and the next thing Riker knew, Redbay was flying his first mission on the Starship Farragut. His skills and deportment led to numerous promotions, until he got the plum: a berth on the Federation’s flagship, the Enterprise.

  “With you here, I’ll make the time,” Riker said. “You never know when it might come in handy. But tomorrow we add in space combat.”

  “Deal,” Redbay’s voice said. “But in the meantime, you might want to watch your ass.”

  Riker slammed his plane hard to the left as a string of red laser fire flashed past. Then, in a quick thrust, he pulled his plane up and into a tight loop. For a moment he wasn’t sure if it was going to work; then Redbay’s plane dropped into sight and quickly into his scope.

  Computer lock. Riker fired.

  Redbay moved up and left, but not before Riker caught him with a shot.

  “That’s ten for me,” Will said.

  “You were setting me up,” Redbay’s voice came back. This time the laughter and enjoyment were clear in his voice.

  “Excuses, Sam?” Riker asked sweetly.

  “You’re still behind,” Redbay said. “And just wait until tomorrow in a no-grav battle. I’ll show you a stunt or two.”

  Riker laughed. “You may be famous for the Redbay Maneuver, but don’t think I don’t know about it. And how it’s done.”

  Redbay laughed. “Been studying the books, huh? That’s only one of many maneuvers I have up my sleeve. You don’t test-pilot for Starfleet for as many years as I did and not learn a few tricks.”

  “I won’t be as easy as you think,” Riker said, laughing as he rolled his plane into a tight turn, trying to spot where Redbay had gone. But the other plane was nowhere in sight.

  The his comm badge trilled.

  He let go of the stick with one hand and tapped it. “Riker.”

  “Commander.” Captain Picard’s rich voice sounded strained. “I need you in my ready room. Immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Riker said. “I’ll be right there. Computer. End simulation.”

  The blue air, white clouds, and world around Riker vanished, leaving him sitting inside a sphere suspended in midair over the floor of the holodeck. Beside him was another sphere. Inside, Redbay was pulling off his helmet and undoing his seat straps. He glanced over at Riker and then back down to finish the work on his straps. He looked serious. Very serious. He too had caught the captain’s tone.

  Redbay climbed out and dropped to the floor. He was sweating and his workout suit was sticking to him. Behind him, the sphere dissolved. “We’ll have to finish this another time.”

  Riker grinned as he climbed out of his control sphere. “Have the computer save this game. I can still recover.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Redbay said, patting Riker on the back.

  Riker nodded, then exited the holodeck, the game already forgotten.

  The air in the corridor was cool, and it made him shiver despite the sweat that coated him. Everything had been fine when he left the bridge a little while ago. He wondered what could have rattled Captain Picard so quickly.

  Or for that matter, what could have rattled Captain Picard at all.

  * * *

  The message from Starfleet had been curt. Assemble the senior officers. Prepare for a Priority One Message at 0900. Picard hadn’t heard a Security One Message since the Borg were headed for Earth. The highest-level code. Extreme emergency. Override all other protocols. Abandon all previous orders.

  Something serious had happened.

  H
e leaned over the replicator. He had only a moment until the senior officers arrived.

  “Earl Grey, hot,” he said, and the empty space on the replicator shimmered before a clear glass mug filled with steaming tea appeared. He gripped the mug by its handle and took a sip, allowing the liquid to calm him.

  He had no clue what this might be about, and that worried him. He always kept abreast of activity in the quadrant. He knew the subtlest changes in the political breeze. The Romulans had been quiet of late; the Cardassians had been cooperating with Bajor. No new ships had been sighted in any sector, and no small rebel groups were taking their rebellions into space. Maybe it was the Klingons?

  He should have had an inkling.

  His door hissed open and Beverly Crusher came in. Geordi La Forge was beside her, and Data followed. The doctor and Geordi looked worried. Data had his usual look of expectant curiosity.

  The door hadn’t even had a chance to close before Deanna Troi came in. She was in uniform, a habit she had started just recently. Worf saw her and left his post on the bridge, following her to his position in the meeting room.

  Only Commander Riker was missing, and he was the one most needed. Picard couldn’t access the message without him.

  It was 0859.

  Then the door hissed a final time and Will Riker came in. His workout clothes were sweat-streaked, his hair damp. He had a towel draped over his shoulder, which he instantly took off and wadded into a ball in his hands.

  “Sorry, sir,” he said, “but from your voice, I figured I wouldn’t have time to change.”

  “You were right, Will,” Picard said. “We’re about to get a message from Starfleet Command. They requested all senior officers be in attendance—”

  The screen on the desk snapped on with the Federation’s symbol, indicating a scrambled communiqué.

  “Message sent to Picard, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise, and the senior members of his staff,” said the generic female computer voice. “Please confirm identity and status.”

  Picard placed a hand on the screen on his desk. “Picard, Jean-Luc, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise, Security Code 1-B58A.”

  When the security protocol ended, the Federation symbol disappeared from the screen, replaced by the battle-scarred face of Admiral Kirschbaum. His features had tightened in that emotionless yet urgent expression the oldest—and best—commanders had in times of emergency.

  “Jean-Luc. We have no time for discussion. A sensor array at the Furies Point has been destroyed. Five ships of unknown origin are there now, along with what seems to be a small black hole. Two of the ships attacked the Brundage Station. We lost contact and don’t know the outcome as yet. I’m ordering all available ships to the area at top speed.”

  The Furies Point. Picard needed no more explanation than that. From the serious expressions all around him, he could tell that his staff understood as well.

  Picard’s hand tightened on the empty glass mug. He set it down before he could shatter it with his grip. “We’re on our way, Admiral.”

  “Good.” The admiral’s mouth tightened. “I hope I don’t have to explain—”

  “I understand the urgency, Admiral.”

  “If those ships are what we believe them to be, we’re at war, Jean-Luc.”

  How quickly it happened. One moment he was on the bridge, preparing for the day’s duties. The next, this.

  “I will act accordingly, Admiral.”

  The admiral nodded. “You don’t have much time, Jean-Luc. I will contact you in one hour with transmissions from the attack on the Brundage outpost. It will give you and your officers some idea of what you are facing.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Picard said.

  “Godspeed, Jean-Luc.”

  “And to you,” Picard said, but by the time the words were out, the admiral’s image had winked away.

  Picard felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

  The Furies.

  The rest of the staff looked as stunned as he felt.

  Except for Data. When Picard met his gaze, Data said quietly, “It will take us two-point-three-eight hours at warp nine to reach Brundage Station.”

  “Then lay in a course, Mr. Data, and engage. We don’t have time to waste.”

  Chapter Three

  THE LIGHT SEEMED TO GROW in intensity inside his eyelids as Bobby struggled to wake up. That had been one terrific nightmare. The Brundage Station attacked and overrun by the devil. Wow. He’d have to tell Judy about that.

  He was hot.

  He pushed at the blankets, but he was uncovered. Then he moaned. He would have to get up now and fix the environmental controls. Someone had probably messed with his room as a joke. The other members of the crew knew that Bobby Young hated temperatures above thirty-two degrees Celsius. He also hated humidity, and the faint smell of sulfur was making his nose itch.

  He felt melted to the bed, as if his body made a permanent indentation in the mattress. A band tightened across his chest. Next time he would warn them; his lungs seemed to expand in the heat, and it was not a pleasant sensation. Maybe he would even order them, as their commanding officer, not to play games anymore.

  The light grew in intensity, so that the protection of his eyelids felt thin and unimportant.

  His bed was softer than this one, and he realized that no one could mess with his environmental controls, not since Wong had made his room a virtual sauna. After that Bobby had put three different levels of security devices on all his personal effects, including room controls.

  A chill ran down his spine despite the heat. The feeling of the nightmare returned, thick and heavy.

  “What in the—?” He tried to sit up, but the band on his chest turned into a restraint. He tried to grab at it with his hands, and found that his arms were imprisoned across the biceps.

  He forced his eyes open. The light was blinding and he couldn’t see beyond it. He had never seen a light so bright. His eyes watered, and a stabbing pain shot through his head. He tried to bring an arm up, but the restraints caught him.

  He couldn’t protect himself.

  If this was a practical joke, it had better end quickly.

  Although deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

  He swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried to keep the panic out of his voice. “Judy? Airborne? Wong? What’s going on?”

  No one answered. His shiver grew. He took a deep breath of air that tasted of sulfur and was so humid that it burned his lungs. It hadn’t been that bad a moment before. He coughed, jerking against the restraints, feeling bruises form on his chest. The heat grew more intense, and he almost thought he felt the lick of flames on his legs.

  “Wong?” Bobby tried again, only this time his voice wobbled.

  Laughter startled him. Deep, throaty laughter that made him want to back away, only he couldn’t. He was strapped in place.

  “I am afraid your friends can no longer hear you.”

  The voice sounded mechanical and forced. Suddenly the bright light shut off, and Bobby slowly opened his eyes. Green, red, and black spots danced in front of him. Behind the spots, he could see a figure. He squinted, and his eyes adjusted.

  A face came into view.

  A red, smiling face.

  A face covered with maggots that crawled in and out of its long slanted eyes.

  A face with a black snout.

  A face with ram’s horns in place of ears.

  Bobby screamed.

  A red hand the texture of leather covered his mouth. Long yellow fingernails scratched his skin.

  The hand smelled of rotted flesh. Bobby tried to twist away, but he couldn’t.

  “You may scream only when I allow you to,” the creature said. “I enjoy screaming—in its proper place. Now is not the time. You will be quiet, won’t you?”

  Bobby swallowed, trying to keep his gorge from rising.

  “Won’t you?”

  Bobby nodded.

  “Good. When I release your mouth, we will have a civil
discussion.” The creature’s voice was deep and cultured, at odds with its appearance, and somehow more menacing because of it. This was no monster that Bobby was facing. This was something evil. Intelligent and evil. And it knew how to get at him, like some nightmare loosed by his own mind.

  “Won’t we?”

  Bobby nodded again. The creature’s breath was as foul as its skin. The creature removed its hand. Bobby’s skin crawled where the creature had touched him. Despite his best efforts not to, Bobby wiped his mouth against his shoulder.

  The creature laughed. Heat from its mouth touched him like tiny flames.

  Bobby shuddered. He tried to hold his body still, but he had never felt such an urge to run in his entire life. The creature’s mouth was full of long sharp teeth, and threads of saliva showed each time it parted its lips.

  The saliva shimmered green.

  “What do you want from me?” Bobby asked. He needed to gain control of this situation. If he could get the creature to tell him what it needed, maybe he could leave then.

  That was the only solution he could think of. All his Starfleet training had abandoned him except for a last, tenuous grasp on the panic building within. Somehow this thing had breached all of his internal defenses and made him feel like a frightened child again instead of an officer.

  “Such an original question.” The creature grinned at him, revealing those awful pointed teeth and that green-tinged saliva. Bobby tried to suppress his recoil. “Isn’t it?”

  “We were told we should always expect it of humans,” another voice answered. A face appeared behind the creature’s. An almost human face, but not quite. She had stunning features: oval eyes, a narrow nose, and high cheekbones. But Bobby barely noticed them.

  His gaze was on her hair. Or what should have been her hair. Instead the strands moved on their own. It took only a moment for him to realize that he wasn’t seeing hair, but small, writhing snakes that hissed and snapped at him.

  Poisonous snakes.

  Rattlers, cobras, copperheads.