Star Trek - TNG - 63 - Maximum Warp, Book Two

by Dave Galanter

  Find a ship, he thought. But what ship could he just "find"?

  He needed to be calm--he was letting his mind rush too fast. Just because people were watching him didn't mean they'd see more than was obvious. If he could just keep himself from being conspicuous ... A difficult task considering where he was headed: one of the restricted airlocks for docked repair and maintenance vehicles. If stopped and questioned as to why he was there, certainly he could say he was lost. But he'd be detained for some time, and eventually they'd figure out all they needed to.

  Very risky. He wondered if it had been a mistake to backtrack to meet the Federation shuttle. How foolish had he been to do that?

  If the Starfleeters were correct about what was happening well, it was a good cause, was it not?

  But how was he supposed to find a ship he could use to retrieve Riker? And what about Deanna?

  Tobin had never been in the military. It took him years of planning to arrange his escape from Romulan space--and obviously that plan was lacking. Certainly he wasn't used to thinking quickly on his feet.

  Now he had to: someone was walking toward him.

  "What are you doing here?" the man demanded. He wore the garb of a maintenance worker. He was not security, and probably not skilled in self-defense.

  Without more thought than that, Tobin attacked the larger man. He leapt forward and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him to the deck.

  "What are you doing?" the tech yelped as he fell to the ground with a grunt.

  Tobin made the tightest fist he could and pounded the man in the head, attempting to knock him unconscious. All he managed to do was hurt his knuckles--badly.

  Growling in anger, the maintenance worker tossed Tobin against the bulkhead and pain exploded along the smaller Romulan's spine.

  That was foolish, he thought as the other man now lunged at him.

  In fear, Tobin crammed his eyes shut and shrank away from his attacker. Frightened, he curled his body into a compact ball.

  Thwap. He heard a thump, a grunt, and then felt the man collapse on him.

  Motionless, Tobin didn't even breathe. He felt the maintenance man's breath, however--shallow and slower with every thin huff.

  He waited a moment... and when the man didn't stir, he pushed out from under him and rolled away.

  Tobin opened his eyes wide in amazement. The man had lunged at him, hit the bulkhead, and knocked himself out.

  He pushed the man over and began searching the fallen man's pockets. He must have a code key. He must!

  He did--in one of his tunic pockets. Tobin read it, found it was for the airlock at the end of the hall, and scrambled into a sloppy run.

  Luck... it was all he had. He didn't know how to fight--the one he'd stupidly chosen to battle had luckily knocked himself out in his anger. Luck seemed to be all he really had going for him, and it was dumb luck at that.

  But he'd take it--and he'd take the man's ship-whatever it was.

  Fumbling with the cardkey, he ungracefully put it against the scanner and the airlock slowly clicked and whirred open. He squeezed himself between the door and the bulkhead before it was fully open and exploded onto the ship.

  Also stupid, he thought. Certainly there was no one else aboard, but how did he know that until he barged right into the cabin? He didn't, but once again dumb luck was working in his favor.

  He closed the hatch again, this time from the inside,

  and then spun around in the small cockpit. Trash was strewn about and the overwhelming odor was the oily, industrial smell of the man he'd stolen it from. Kicking discarded food containers out of his way, Tobin sat down in the pilot's seat.

  Finally, here was where luck gave way to experience: he knew the controls of the ship. They were hardly different from other industrial vessels, and in fact not too dissimilar to those of his own ship. If anything, they were less complex.

  There was no need to get clearance from space dock--maintenance vessels came and went as they pleased. Tobin merely sent the right protocols to the docking computer and was released.

  It was while looking at an internal diagnostic panel as he made his way toward the planet that he first realized just what kind of vessel he'd just stolen: a tractor-tug.

  His heart sank in despair. A tractor-tug. Those didn't normally go planet side Not only might it be noticed... but he might not even be able to get it through the atmosphere.

  He set the course nevertheless. What choice did he have?

  As he began a descent toward the planet, his shields flaring with fire from the friction against the photosphere, he saw the alerts from the space dock and the orders on the comm for him to return.

  He ignored them. What was he doing? They would find him. They would kill him. Not only had he planned to escape--he'd aided and abetted the Federation.

  Tobin felt a fool.

  A klaxon blared in his ears. Shields were failing. The burning ship would mask space dock from getting a sensor or weapon lock on the tug ... but it was a futile effort. The ship would burn up before he was able to land it.

  The vessel's coolant systems couldn't compensate as the hull began to superheat. Sweat began to bubble on Tobin's forehead, and as system after system failed under a boil of friction, he knew the only way he'd land would be as a lump of charcoal in a fractured hull.

  His escape plan had failed.

  Think! What can I do? Don't panic! he chastised himself.

  He had some systems left. Shields were gone, but was there an escape pod? No, not in such a small ship.

  Hull temperature was well past tolerances. He was sweating bathtubs and could barely see. Structural integrity was weakening. Life support was failing. The only thing available was the useless tractor emitters. He didn't need to tow a ship, he needed to Wait Wait! He could use this--use the tractor emitters, couldn't he? They could push as well as pull.

  Tobin's hands galloped over the control panel. If he could do it--if he had time before the tug came apart... Beneath him the tractor beam spread itself out, carving a bowl of vacuum by pushing away the atmosphere molecules. The air on the underside of the beam perimeter was burning away, but the heat and friction was kept away from the hull.

  It was working: functions were coming back online as coolant systems began coping again.

  Still, he was tight with tension until he could slow

  the ship adequately and was far enough into the atmosphere to level his descent. When he was flying normal and evenly, Tobin huffed out a sigh and collapsed back into his seat.

  And a moment later, he sat rigid again with anxiety. Perhaps the space dock security had not tracked onto the planet, but soon they would begin again with ease. He needed to find Riker--and quickly.

  Riker had battled the Borg--and won. He'd traveled time, and come back to tell the story. He'd been close to death, and lived. And while he'd been anxious, afraid, and sometimes even terrified, he'd never really let it show.

  But Nien saw all.

  "Don't be nervous," she told him. "I don't care that you're human. I just want the truth. That is all."

  He sighed. She was far too much like his aunt. Here he was, on an exceedingly important covert mission, and he felt as if he were letting down a family member.

  How could he tell her?

  What should he tell her?

  By asking a question, he could delay having to tell her anything. "How did you know?"

  She smiled, perhaps pleased with the confirmation of her deduction. "I recognized your language," she told him in heavily accented English. "My husband was in the diplomatic corps for many years. There was a time when the government allowed me to travel with him."

  "Is that why you're not afraid of me?" He didn't

  quite look at her. He looked past her, then down at his half full dinner plate.

  Nien waited until his eyes met hers. "One doesn't live two hundred and seventeen years without learning something about people."

  "So, I'm human." Riker shrugged an
d thought perhaps he might try the nonchalant tack. "Why do you think I'm something more than I say?"

  She dabbed at the corners of her lips with her napkin, again unnecessarily, but Riker imagined it was some habit she had when a napkin was at hand. "You don't exactly carry yourself like a vagrant. You're cultured. When I showed you the library you seemed surprised I had non-Romulan volumes of literature. To know that meant you recognized the authors' names and titles of the works."

  Okay, so Riker needed to work on his covert mission personality skills. He'd failed to role-play. "Is that all?"

  Nien shook her head, a small motion, delicate. "You were looking more at the security console itself than the monitors when I was showing you the sensor screens of the entire estate."

  He bowed his head in acceptance. "My mistake."

  She dismissed the notion of his error with the wave of her hand. "Old women with little to do become very observant."

  "I have the feeling you were just as perceptive when you were young."

  Blushing just a touch, Nien lowered her gaze and smiled. "In any case ..."

  "What now?" Riker asked, pushing his plate away. He certainly didn't want any more dinner. If anything he'd expected to be beamed out by now. What was taking so long? They couldn't miss the rendezvous with Enterprise.

  "If you're asking if I intend to turn you in, the answer is no." She reached out her hand across the table. Not taking his hand, just showing her own as a symbol of friendship and closeness. "But I would like to know why you're here. I assume you're not staying."

  He sighed heavily. She was too smart for him. "No, I can't stay."

  "Can you tell me why you're here? Why you did this?"

  Dourly, Riker shook his head. "I can't."

  "Can you--"

  Rrrrrrmrr... A rumble from outside the house shook the table and the wall hangings and even the pots in the kitchen.

  "Oh, my! What's happening!"

  It wasn't an earthquake. Riker knew that sound--or sounds like it. It was a ship, a big one--probably right on top of the house.

  He shoved himself away from the table. "Do you have any weapons?"

  Rising, Nien followed him toward the window. "We're not allowed."

  "Figures," Riker grumbled, and peeked out through the window blinds. "It's a vessel. I don't recognize the design. Do you?" He opened the blinds with thumb and forefinger and moved to one side so she could look out.

  Nien squinted out into the yard. "No. It's awfully large. It's not a shuttle."

  A weapon. He needed a weapon. He glanced toward the kitchen. A knife? It was better than nothing. "It doesn't even look like it's a vessel that's supposed to land."

  "No," Tobin said. "It's not." As if he beamed in--but he hadn't seemed to--the Romulan man stood a few feet before them.

  Clapping her hands over her mouth, Nien gasped. Riker just stared with incredulity.

  Upswept brows arching into his bangs, Tobin shrugged. "The front door was open."

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Riker demanded, crooking a thumb over his shoulder, toward the window. "And in that?"

  Tobin blew out a puff of breath. "Long story."

  Taking his arm and walking toward the main door with him--and Nien following--Riker felt a sudden gush of relief. Maybe this wasn't a beam-up, but if they hurried they could still make the rendezvous in time. "Give me the short version."

  "Spacedock security is suspicious. Their repair crews had the ship fixed, then claimed they did not. Watched as we were, we couldn't scan for human life signs, let alone beam you up."

  They moved into the yard, the setting sun casting long shadows as they walked. "Data?"

  "Repairing the vessel," Tobin said, huffing a bit as he tried to keep up with Riker's brisk stride. Nien was probably falling behind.

  "And Deanna?"

  Tobin hesitated a moment and so Riker stopped and turned.

  "What? Tell me what."

  "I don't know where she is," Tobin said. "I had this address for your buyer, but hers had three different estates. I could not check them all."

  Making his way toward the vessel again, Riker couldn't help but be torn between his concern for Deanna, and his concern for the mission. "This ship doesn't have sensors?"

  "Not of the quality we would need to find her specific life sign."

  "Then we'll have to check all three places," Riker decided. "I'm not leaving her behind."

  "We don't have the time!" Tobin pleaded. "Surely they've tracked me here--"

  "That's not where our time problem is. We have to meet--" Riker stopped himself before he could name the Enterprise specifically in front of Nien, who amazingly had managed to keep up pretty well. "--my ship," he finished awkwardly.

  "We'll be lucky to just stay alive," Tobin said. "We have to lay low for at least a few hours, or a day. And maybe get word to Deanna to do the same."

  "No, we're leaving now. Come on." Riker stopped just before vessel's main hatch and turned back toward Nien. "I'm sorry," he told her.

  She smiled. "So am I."

  He took her shoulders and gave them an affectionate

  squeeze. "I guess you knew I wouldn't be here for ten years."

  Nodding, she said, "I also didn't think you'd be leaving today, in this manner."

  "This is ..." He wanted to tell her, but now there was not time. "It's very important--what we're doing."

  Nien nodded acceptance. "I gather that." She paused a moment, then added, "Can I help?"

  He shook his head and let his hands drop to his sides. "I don't see how."

  The woman looked down, thinking a moment; then her bright eyes bounced back up. "Who bought your friend?"

  Riker turned to Tobin. "Name?"

  "Tar Galal."

  Nien nodded. "Ah, I do know him."

  "Know him well? Well enough to be invited into his home?" Riker asked.

  She shrugged. "My grandson was a contemporary of his. I never liked him, even as a boy. Smarmy, ill-mannered."

  "That's the guy," Riker said. "Do you know where he'd be now?"

  "This time of the year? He would be in his western estate."

  "Have you ever been there?"

  "On a few occasions."

  He stroked his chin thoughtfully and considered the possibilities. "Can I make you a hostage?" he asked her.

  "So I won't get in trouble? I won't, trust me. I will help you of my own will."

  Riker gestured toward the hatch in an "after you" motion.

  "You're an extraordinary woman, Nien."

  With only a little help from Riker, she lifted herself gracefully aboard the ship. "My dear child, you should have seen me a hundred and fifty years ago."

  Chapter Seven

  "this ship is very conspicuous. It will be noticed." Tobin was complaining, and his tone was beginning to get on Riker's nerves.

  "We're not going to buzz his house," Riker said, studying the Romulan controls and watching Tobin's hands as he piloted. "We'll need to put down in a covered area." "He has a garden. It's very lush. There should be enough cover there." Without a chair to accommodate her, Nien was sitting on the long lip of one of the control consoles.

  Oddly, Riker felt a pang of guilt that he couldn't give her his own seat. "And you thought I was just taking you along for your looks."

  "Flatterer." She patted him lightly on the shoulder.

  "No, I'm telling you, Deanna will be jealous. She'll

  take one look at you and wonder how I got some beauty queen to buy me."

  She nearly giggled. "Enough of your blandishment, young man!"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, and grinned deeply.

  "This is foolhardy." Tobin's worry slashed across the nice moment. "We will be caught."

  "Maybe. We can't afford to worry about it. We just continue the mission for as long as we're able." As the countryside rolled underneath, Riker couldn't take much time to appreciate the scenery. He was keeping his eye out for security crafts he wasn't worried about.<
br />
  "I'm going to worry, if you don't mind," Tobin said quietly, more to himself than Riker.

  "Over here," Nien said, rising and pointing at the main viewscreen. "See the grotto?"

  Riker saw it: a semicircle of trees on one side, with what looked like a stylized gazebo on the other. There would barely be enough room to land the tug, but the trees would obscure anyone in the house from seeing. That wouldn't help them with any sensor cameras, but Riker had noticed Nien's sensors were very basic, and mostly for video. He was wagering that this estate would have the same setup. At least the area was far enough away that the noise would probably not be heard all the way to the main house.

  "That should do," Riker said finally.

  "Is it tall enough?" Tobin asked. "The top of the ship will show." Riker noticed the Romulan was biting his lower lip. He couldn't really blame Tobin for being on

  edge. Most people didn't involve themselves in life and-death situations on a regular basis.

  "It'll be fine. It's far enough away they won't hear us land. Just set us down. We'll worry about the rest later."

  "I don't see that you ever worry," Tobin said, but not so much with irritation as it was with regard.

  "Like I said, we can't afford to." That was mostly bravado. He was worried ... just about the rendezvous more than any number of third-rate, backwater Romulan rent-a-guards.

  Holding his breath as Tobin landed the ship, Riker hoped he was right and the loud hum of the engines would be muffled by the trees.

  Once the ship had touched down with a soft thunk, Riker turned to Nien. "I can't ask you to go farther."

  "You can't stop me," she told him. "Who will be more conspicuous approaching the main door? A human, or a Romulan woman and her two servants?"

  Riker shook his head. She was brave, but this wasn't her fight. "We don't have any weapons. I can't protect you."

  "Oh! That's right!" Tobin said excitedly and pulled a phaser and Riker's com badge out from a small storage compartment near the helm.

  Riker accepted the weapon and communicator with a grin. "Tobin, sometimes I've very glad we happened upon you."

  "Someone should be," Tobin mumbled.