by Dayton Ward
“We’re on borrowed time as it is,” Tom said. “The people following us aren’t slouches. They will find us, and we have to be ready for that. Either we find Mosara’s materials and get out of here, or we get ready to defend ourselves when the others show up.” He turned to Crusher and Daret. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like I’m trying to take over your show. I’m here because Will asked me to help you. I just don’t want us to get caught unprepared or out in the open.”
“Too late,” Konya said, and Crusher flinched as the security officer lunged forward, all but tackling her just as a bolt of harsh red energy spat forth from the darkness and struck the tent behind him. Grunting in shock as she was driven to the ground, Crusher saw the ugly hole burned into the side of the temporary shelter, its edges glowing as the material caught fire. In her peripheral vision she noticed Daret lying beside her, rolling over as Tom used his own body to protect the elderly Cardassian.
“Stay down!” Konya said, pushing away from her just before another energy beam pierced the night air, screaming overhead and striking the crater wall behind the tent. She saw the phaser in the lieutenant’s hand as he rolled up onto one knee and aimed toward the incoming fire’s source. He did not fire only once but instead loosed several shots, moving the muzzle of his weapon as though able to see his target in the darkness.
“Over there!” Tom shouted, pointing with his free hand somewhere behind Crusher. Shifting onto her stomach, she reached for her own phaser before crawling across to where Daret still lay prone in the dirt. “There’s two of them!”
How the hell did they find us so fast?
“There could be others,” Konya said, scrambling from his kneeling position and running toward an empty cargo container that had been cast aside near one of the narrow walking paths crisscrossing the compound. A crimson beam chewed into the ground behind him, throwing dirt into the air as he reached the makeshift cover. Tom fired at where the beam had originated, and Crusher heard him curse, knowing he had missed his quarry.
More weapons fire in the distance sliced through the night air, only now Crusher realized it was coming from a Starfleet phaser. Two salvos of bright orange-white energy highlighted a figure emerging from a small cavity in the shallow crater’s wall, then the new arrival passed beneath the soft glow of a freestanding work light and Crusher recognized Kirsten Cruzen. The lieutenant fired again and this time her weapon found its mark. A surprised groan reached Crusher’s ears and she thought she was able to make out another figure falling to the ground as Cruzen approached it.
“Hang on!” Konya shouted before breaking into a sprint in Cruzen’s direction across the compound.
Another weapon’s report—this one close enough to make Crusher cringe—roared past her, and then she heard Tom cry out. She turned to seem him falling to the ground, but he had not been struck; somehow he had managed to avoid being hit, and now he was rolling to one side in a desperate bid for cover. Disruptor fire or whatever it was followed him as he rolled into a narrow ditch, and only then did Crusher notice that he had dropped his phaser. The weapon was out of his reach as well as hers, but she was already moving in that direction when she heard footsteps approaching from behind her.
“Get up,” someone said before Crusher felt a hand gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet. She brought around her phaser but gasped when something smacked it from her hand. Turning her head, she saw a figure dressed all in black, including a balaclava that covered his head and most of his face. Only his eyes were visible, along with the wrinkled bridge of his nose. Her attacker was a Bajoran.
“No!” Daret cried, pulling himself to his feet, but Crusher’s assailant turned toward him, aiming his weapon at the Cardassian.
“Don’t even think about it,” the Bajoran ordered. Pulling Crusher with him, he began moving toward Daret, the muzzle of his disruptor pistol trained on the doctor’s face. “All right, move,” he said, his head turning from side to side as he searched for threats. In the distance, Crusher could make out Konya and Cruzen standing over a fallen form. Something caused Konya to look over his shoulder, and then Crusher saw him and Cruzen turning toward her, brandishing their phasers.
The Bajoran muttered something under his breath, shoving Crusher in front of him before firing his disruptor toward Konya and Cruzen. Both security officers were forced to scramble for cover, and Crusher used that opportunity to attempt freeing herself. Jerking her arm out of the Bajoran’s grip, she stomped her boot down on the top of his foot. She reached over her shoulder with her other hand, her fingers searching for her assailant’s eyes, throat, or some other point of vulnerability. The Bajoran growled in pain, and then light exploded in Crusher’s vision as something slammed into the side of her head.
“Do that again and I’ll kill you,” the Bajoran hissed between his teeth, reaching out to renew his grip on her arm. Something jabbed Crusher in the right side of her neck as he pulled her closer to him, and she felt him pushing it harder against her skin. The disruptor’s muzzle was pressing against her carotid artery. To Daret, he said, “Move.”
Whatever he might have said next was lost as the Bajoran emitted an abrupt gasp of pain and disbelief, and Crusher felt his entire body jerk. His grip on her loosened, the disruptor fell away from her neck, and then she heard him collapsing to the ground. He slumped onto his left side, his body limp and his weapon lying next to his open hand. Dim light reflected off something metallic along his back, and when she bent closer, Crusher saw the hilt of the knife.
“You okay?” a voice called out, and Crusher looked over to see Tom Riker coming toward her. His face and the front of his clothing were wet and covered with mud, a consequence of his rolling into the ditch behind him.
Looking first to Daret, Crusher nodded. “We’re fine. How about you?”
Tom glanced down at himself. “Nothing a bath, dinner, and a decent night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. Maybe a bourbon. Or three.” He gestured toward the fallen attacker. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t want to kill him, but I didn’t have anything else, and I thought he might decide he didn’t need you once he had Daret.”
Crusher felt a lump in her throat. “I understand.” Logic told her Tom was right and that her captor likely would have killed her. That did not alleviate the sadness she felt at the taking of another life, but she reminded herself that these were unusual, even desperate circumstances. “Thank you.”
Movement in the corner of her eye made her turn to see Konya and Cruzen walking toward them, escorting another person dressed all in black. One of the security officers had removed the attacker’s balaclava, revealing the face of a human male. The man, his hands bound before him with a pair of wrist restraints, did not look happy.
“Party crasher,” Cruzen said by way of greeting.
Eyeing the rest of the group, Konya asked, “Is everyone all right?”
“We’re fine, Lieutenant,” Crusher replied. “You?”
“I’m happier now.” Konya pushed the other man ahead of him. “When Cruzen and I were scouting the dig site, we started thinking that our friends might well split up, hoping to catch us at one of the labor camps. I had Kirsten hide out inside one of the tunnels where she could keep watch on me while I worked with the sensor array.”
Cruzen added, “After Rennan contacted you, we noticed a couple of guys wandering around the site, not really working on anything.” She tapped the other man on the shoulder. “Here’s a tip: The secret to blending in is actually blending in. That outfit of yours kind of defeats the purpose. Try harder next time.”
The man said nothing, though Crusher saw his eyes fix on the body of his fallen companion, and his jaw clenched.
“How many more of you are there?” Tom asked. “Did you split up and head to the different camps and other outposts?” When the man remained silent, Tom shook his head. “You have to be spread pretty thin, and that’s before we count your buddy on the ground over there.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering and taking
on an edge of menace. “Want to join him?”
Almost too fast for Crusher to follow, the man sprang forward, something in his hands reflecting in the subdued glare of the nearby work lights. She saw the small blade even as the man closed the distance separating him from Tom. Cruzen and Konya, surprised by the abrupt move, dove toward him, but by then it was too late.
Tom stepped into the attack, using his left arm to arrest the downward swing of his opponent’s restrained hands. Both men grunted at the sudden impact, and the operative attempted to pull himself free, but by then Tom was lashing out with brutal force to score a single strike to his assailant’s throat. The other man’s eyes bulged, and he staggered from the blow, a dreadful gurgling escaping his lips. Tom pressed his attack, landing a second punch to the man’s face and toppling him to the ground. It was over in mere seconds, with Crusher covering her mouth in horror before training and instinct kicked in and she rushed to where the agent had fallen.
“Oh, my,” Daret said, his voice trembling as he moved to assist her.
“Was that really necessary?” Crusher snapped, not even bothering with her medical tricorder as she pushed the fallen man onto his back. His eyes, open yet unseeing, stared up at her, and she shivered at the abrupt chill coursing down her spine.
Tom, standing behind her, replied in a flat, dead voice. “I’m sorry. When I saw the knife, I reacted. I didn’t mean to kill him. It was just . . .” He let the rest of the sentence trail off.
Despite her choice of profession and the oaths she had taken throughout her career, on occasion Crusher had been forced to kill in self-defense. Such unfortunate instances tended to weigh on her, despite knowing the actions she had taken on those occasions were justified. She saw in Tom’s eyes that same regret, but there also was something else; resignation to the idea that the killing not only had been necessary, but perhaps also deserved.
You’re imagining things. Somewhere in there, he’s still Will, and Will Riker would never . . .
“I’m not Will,” Tom said, his gaze boring into her as though he had just read her mind. “I can see it in your eyes. I’m not him, and I’m sorry for that, too, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” He gestured to the man whose life he had ended. “It was him, or me. I’m okay with how it turned out.”
He’s right. And he saved your life, too.
Neither of them said anything for a moment, until Crusher noticed Konya and Cruzen standing nearby, remaining silent until she looked in their direction. “What is it?”
Konya held up an unfamiliar device. “I found one of these in each of their pockets. They’re communicators, though they’re a model I’m not familiar with. They’ve got some extra components built into them that look like encryption hardware. I think I may be able to figure out a way to defeat it, but it’ll take some time.”
“But if we do,” Cruzen added, “we may be able to monitor any communications from the rest of their team.”
“You mean we could know when they’re coming?” Daret asked.
“That’d definitely be helpful,” Crusher said, setting aside her discomfort over the events of the past few minutes. She made eye contact with Tom and offered a small, reassuring smile.
Shrugging, Konya replied, “I guess we’ll see.”
“We should try to find their ship, too,” Tom said. “If nothing else, we might be able to verify how many of them are already here.” He sighed. “Not that it matters. Once these two don’t report in, the rest of the group will be dropping down on us like a damned hammer. Still, we can at least do something to get ready for them.” Turning to Daret, he said, “But you’ve got the most important job, Doctor.”
The Cardassian exchanged knowing looks with Crusher. “Yes. Let’s find whatever it is that Mosara left for us.”
“Right,” Crusher said, nodding. “And then let’s get the hell out of here.”
Twenty-seven
U.S.S. Enterprise
Picard hated waiting.
He long ago had come to terms with the unforgiving reality that was the life of a starship captain, a role that often required him to stand by while others carried out tasks at his behest. Though he had spent the bulk of his adult life in a position of authority over others, there were occasions where he wanted to toss aside protocol and dive headfirst into a problem. His feelings had nothing at all to do with the trust he placed in his crew to accomplish whatever orders he gave them. On the contrary, Picard harbored no doubts that those he commanded were of the highest caliber Starfleet could offer, each of them committed not only to him but also the Enterprise and their shipmates. Of greater importance, he knew, was their knowledge of his belief in them and their abilities. The men and women who looked to him for leadership must accept as bedrock, inviolable fact that his confidence in them was unwavering. This, he felt, was of particular significance now, when their current situation carried with it such a heavy personal toll for Picard himself. Though he was certain his crew understood his anxiety, they were better served by him allowing them to do their jobs, rather than casting aside protocol in order to take matters into his own hands.
Such thoughts hovered like a dark cloud over Picard as he entered the engineering section. The deactivation of the Enterprise’s warp engines had cast an odd pall over the vessel, characterized by the notable lack of the drive’s low, omnipresent hum. Its absence was more palpable here, deep within the heart of the starship. At the center of the expansive chamber, the massive warp core was dark and inert, its innards exposed thanks to the removal of several access panels that now revealed the maze of circuitry, EPS conduits, and optical data cabling. Members of the engineering staff were immersed in their duties, standing or kneeling at the different access panels or hovering over workstations. Those who noticed their captain’s arrival nodded in greeting but did not stop what they were doing, in observance of Picard’s established order that activity in the ship’s work areas not cease simply because he chose to visit them.
Standing next to an open access panel adjacent to the warp core, Commander La Forge was immersed in his study of an isolinear optical data chip he had removed from the station and inserted into a diagnostic tool. The chief engineer frowned before handing the chip to an ensign.
“Replace that one, too, just to be on the safe side.”
The ensign took the chip. “Aye, sir.”
As the younger man moved off to tend to his task, La Forge turned to see Picard, and his expression softened, as though he was embarrassed. “Captain,” he said in greeting.
“Mister La Forge,” Picard said, “do you have an update?” It had been an hour since the engineer’s last report, and almost two hours since the Enterprise had been forced to drop out of warp. The reduction in speed had come in response to dire warnings that continuing to drive the starship on its headlong flight to Jevalan was risking damage to the vessel beyond the ability to fix without a starbase facility. With great reluctance, Picard had ceded to La Forge’s frantic request, shifting to impulse power while engineering crews affected final repairs.
The engineer replied, “We’re almost there, sir. The ruptured EPS manifolds have been replaced. We’re just giving everything one more look before I initiate the start-up sequence.” He cast a look over his shoulder where Lieutenant Commander Taurik was supervising activities near the warp core. Other members of the engineering team were closing various access panels and entering commands to their workstations, and Picard noted that several status indicators on or near the warp core now were activating. Though he was not an engineer himself, he possessed enough familiarity with the Enterprise’s systems to recognize the preliminary steps that required completion before the warp core itself could be brought back online.
La Forge blew out his breath. “I have to tell you, sir: It was close. Another minute or so, and we might’ve been floating around out here, or worse.”
“And now?” Picard prompted.
“Once we bring the warp core back online, I should be able t
o take you all the way to warp nine.” La Forge paused, his attention caught by one of the status monitors positioned next to the open access panel. “I may even be able to push it a little more, if we’re lucky.” He paused, as though considering his next words, before adding, “I know how important it is to get to Jevalan as soon as possible.”
“Important for all of us, Geordi,” Picard replied, though he appreciated the commander’s unspoken sentiment. “Excellent work, Commander. I know it wasn’t easy, given the circumstances.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, how’s René doing?”
For the first time since entering engineering, Picard smiled. “As one might expect from a four-year-old: He misses his mother.” As part of the informal “inspection tour” that he was conducting as a means of keeping himself from hiding in his ready room or fidgeting in his chair on the bridge, he had visited his son in the ship’s child-care facility. René had been absorbed in play with the handful of other children under the watchful eye of Hailan Casmir, the Argelian charged with supervising the center. His daughter, Taro Katín, and René were separated in age by only a few months, and they had become fast friends. Content to watch his son and the other children without interrupting them, Picard had taken a few moments of comfort as he observed René at play. Picard would have preferred to remain a while longer, but duty would not wait for him to indulge his personal desires.
Returning his full attention to La Forge, Picard asked, “What’s your estimate for getting us back under way?”
“Twenty to thirty minutes at the outside, if everything goes right with the start-up sequence.” The engineer paused as one of the ensigns working with Taurik handed him a padd, and he consulted its display. “We’re just about ready, sir.” Looking up from the handheld unit, he asked, “Was Worf able to get anything more out of our guests?”
“No. Whoever they are, they’re well-trained, and well-supported.” Worf and Lieutenant Šmrhová had exhausted every means at their disposal to determine the identities of the two men still residing in the Enterprise brig. With no other choices left to him, Picard had risked using the encrypted communications protocols devised by La Forge to contact Admiral Riker, enlisting his former first officer’s aid in solving this mystery. Knowing any messages sent from the Enterprise were subject to monitoring, Picard had sent a brief, vague query describing the scout ship they had encountered and from where it was believed to have come, but made no mention of anything involving the Andorian freighter or the Enterprise’s course change to Jevalan. He hoped Riker would be able to glean what he needed before other parties deconstructed the missive.