“Perhaps,” said Data politely. “However, such an exercise would result in serious property damage, possibly bodily harm, and other consequences definitely in violation of Federation regulations. In that event, I would be forced to arrest Lieutenant Worf for conduct unbecoming an officer, and arrest you as the instigator.”
Grax laughed and swung a fast right at Data. Worf lunged to intercept. Data was a hair faster and caught the fist in his hand. Grax gasped as Data held him tightly without the slightest show of strain.
This commotion had caught the attention of others at the bar, including Geordi and Nassa. “Oh, my God, that Orion is going to kill Data!”
“I wouldn’t bet the crystals on that,” said Geordi.
Indeed, Grax’s arm was quivering under the strain of Data’s grip. “This is quite unfair to you, sir,” Data was saying politely. “I am an android. Combat with me would be even more futile than combat with Worf.”
“I can beat him, damn you!” said Grax, struggling in Data’s iron grip. “I can beat anything living, which explains you!”
“Not really, but that would be an irrelevant digression,” said Data. “Since the main question seems to be who is stronger, you or Lieutenant Worf, may I suggest a compromise?”
Grax and Worf looked at each other, and then back at Data.
Moments later the table had been cleared and Worf and Grax were opposite each other locked in a furious arm-wrestling contest. All around them people were shouting encouragement or discouragement, and bets were flying.
Data stood nearby, and Geordi said to him in a low voice, “I’m really impressed. You handled that very well.”
“I felt it was necessary to take command of the situation,” said Data primly. “To be honest, the burden of command is not difficult to bear. Far simpler than I would have thought.”
Now others were crowding in, and Data was too polite to shove to maintain his place. As a result he soon found himself on the outer edge of the crowd.
It was of little consequence to him. He had already gauged the Orion’s strength when he held the pirate’s fist. He knew of Worf’s strength and had already calculated to the third decimal point precisely how many minutes it would take Worf to defeat the pirate.
Still, he wanted to hear what was happening, for Worf was muttering some interesting things that might be of use in other situations. So he turned up his hearing a notch—and heard the wrong conversation.
“And that’ll be the beginning of the end for the K’Vin embassy.”
It was said in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
And it was coming from behind Data.
He turned and saw Gezor still seated at his table with the other two Sullurh. They nodded and then abruptly stopped talking, lifted their drinks, and clinked the glasses together as if in agreement.
Data was absolutely positive that Gezor had said it. But why? What had Gezor been talking about?
Could it be something innocent? Perhaps they were going to remodel the embassy, which would mean an end to the old one.
No, that made no sense. Something in Gezor’s tone was wrong. Something about the situation was wrong.
He waited for them to say something else, but they just sat now, as if silently communing. Data wished Counselor Troi had come along.
Then Gezor waved toward the waitress for their check. She ignored them—not unusual treatment for the Sullurh. But it was clear that they intended to leave, and Data suddenly decided they should not be left unattended.
The android quickly made his way through the crowd. His greater strength allowed him to push through easily, and he ignored the epithets that were hurled at him. He found his way to Geordi, who was shouting encouragement to Worf, and spoke quickly into the engineer’s ear. Geordi tilted his head and looked with curiosity at Data.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Data. “We may have to act quickly. And Worf must come with us. He is head of security.”
“Worf’s in the middle of an arm-wrestling match!”
“No. He is at the end. Three . . . two . . . one!”
At that instant Worf slammed the pirate’s arm down, and a cheer roared up from the crowd. The pirate, rubbing his throbbing arm, stood up, kicked his chair away, and stalked off.
Geordi looked in confusion from Worf to Data and back, and then shrugged. “I give up. You do know everything.”
As money exchanged hands and the crowd broke up, looking to get back to their abandoned drinks, Data and Geordi went quickly to Worf’s side and told him what was happening. His reaction was less than enthusiastic.
“No,” said Worf.
Data blinked in surprise. “No?”
“No,” said Worf firmly. “First, we cannot simply follow the Sullurh wherever they go. This city is very segmented. Crossing through the wrong section is asking for serious trouble. If you want him questioned, I will do so, but following him is a mistake. Second . . .”
His voice trailed off and he growled in anger. For the Orion woman was walking out of the tavern on the arm of a well-dressed Pandrilite.
Data, ignoring the second half of the statement, said, “If Gezor is planning some sort of subterfuge, he may not admit it under questioning. Following a suspect, however, is the accepted technique in all the best detective literature.”
“Oh, God,” sighed Geordi. “You’re saying ‘the game is afoot,’ right?”
Data gave a brief nod. Worf scowled.
At that moment Nassa tapped Geordi on the shoulder and said, “Pardon me, but to paraphrase Emerson, all nature seems at work, and I have to answer its call.”
“That wasn’t Emerson,” said Data. “That was Coleridge. Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”
She winced. “Coleridge. That hurts.” And she walked off.
The moment she was out of earshot Geordi said quickly, “Okay, Sherlock. Where are they?”
Data turned and pointed—at an empty table.
Quickly he crossed the tavern, sliding slightly on the sawdust. Worf was right behind him, and Geordi followed a moment later, after leaving a hasty, apologetic message for Nassa with Busiek.
They ran out the door, looked right and left.
Out of the corner of his eye, Data spotted Gezor. The other two Sullurh had vanished somewhere into the back streets, but Gezor was walking briskly down Embassy Run toward the K’Vin embassy.
“There,” he said in a low voice, and they started off after him.
They were fortunate. In any other city a Klingon, a gold-skinned android, and a black human wearing a VISOR, all dressed in Starfleet uniforms and moving surreptitiously, would undoubtedly have attracted attention. In Kirlosia, however, there was such an ethnic mix—not to mention that everyone acted as if he or she had something to hide—that the people who passed gave them only the most cursory of glances before going on about their business.
However, the farther they got into K’Vin territory, the more the glances started to linger. Worf stared back, mouth pulled into a snarl, and that discouraged further inquiries. But they were definitely being noticed, if not questioned.
Gezor, for his part, did not seem to have noticed them. He continued on a slow, steady pace, unhurried and unconcerned.
At one point he stopped, as if to consider his course, and the three pursuers, hanging back a safe two blocks, stopped also. They stepped into the shadows of a nearby building and tried to look unobtrusive. Geordi whispered to Data, “Are you sure there’s any point to this?”
“No,” said Data reasonably. “That is why we are following him. To discover if there is a reason.”
Geordi couldn’t argue with that sort of logic. Still, as they started to walk again when Gezor did, something bothered him.
Gezor had already passed one transmat booth and was now walking briskly past a second. In the distance was the K’Vin embassy, which more and more seemed to be his destination. But if it was, why hadn’t he used the first transmat booth? He voiced his concern to
Data.
Data pondered it. “I am not certain. There are several possibilities.”
“And they are . . .?”
They were now getting quite close to the K’Vin embassy. The crowds had thinned to almost nothing.
“He could simply want to get some exercise,” said Data. “Or it is possible that he is supposed to pick something up along the way. Or perhaps he is to meet someone. Or—”
The embassy loomed ahead of them now, its great turrets casting an awesome multi-armed shadow.
And about twenty yards from the embassy, Gezor suddenly veered off. Immediately the Enterprise trio picked up speed as Gezor vanished to the right into a side street. By the time they got there, the Sullurh had disappeared, swallowed up by the shadowy maze of the back streets.
“Or what else?” said Geordi, now completely confused.
“Or else,” said Data thoughtfully, “he was aware of us and wanted us to follow him close to the embassy.”
“But why?”
And at that moment, with a cataclysmic explosion, one of the proud turrets of the embassy blew apart.
The trio ran like hell, Worf shielding the other two with his body. Debris rained down on them, and a fine powder of rubble filled the air, mixing with screams and shouts.
Seconds earlier, there had been no one on the streets. Now suddenly it was surging with life before the echoes of the explosion had even died down.
“We have to see if we can help!” shouted Geordi. “There may be people trapped in there!”
“No,” said Worf firmly. Khitomer flashed through his mind. “There may be further explosions. Running into one will do no one any good. Wait to make sure all is secure.”
But Data was already off and running. He was heading toward the embassy at full speed.
“Data!” shouted Geordi. He knew damned well that Data could hear him, but the android didn’t even slow down. “Worf, I’m not letting Data go in there by himself?” And he started off after his friend. Worf, clearly fed up, nevertheless followed them.
As they got to the embassy, there were shouts all around them. “Look! Federation men! What are they doing here!”
“Perhaps they’re responsible!”
“I’ll bet they are!”
Geordi did not like the sound of that at all.
Data, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. He was searching desperately through the rubble. “Clues,” he said. “There have to be clues.”
“Data!” said Geordi desperately. “This is not Sherlock Holmes time! Do you understand? We are seriously outnumbered, and I think we’d better get the hell out of here!”
Data looked at Geordi in puzzlement. “Outnumbered? Certainly we are not being held responsible for this?”
Geordi sighed in exasperation even as he scanned the ruins with his VISOR. There were no signs of body heat, and no one seemed to be trapped beneath the rubble. It appeared that the offices of that turret had been empty when it blew.
At that moment, Gregach stumbled out the front door, coughing and hacking. He was gripping something in his hand; it appeared to be a bone with meat on it. Worf immediately went to him and prevented him from falling, slapping him on his broad back to stop the choking. Four guards, covered with bits of debris, came running up and helped steady Gregach. The ambassador was staring forlornly at the meat, grumbling, “A K’Vin can’t even enjoy a decent spilat anymore.”
Then he stopped, pulled himself together, and tried to focus on what was happening. He stood, looking Worf in the eye. “What are you doing here?” he said. There was just an edge of danger to his voice. And then, just as quickly, he said, “No. Don’t answer that. If you say the wrong words, they’ll tear you apart.”
He inclined his head slightly toward the mob that was coming toward them, shouting angry epithets and insults about the Federation, about Klingons, about anything that came to mind.
They were in seriously hostile territory.
Quickly Gregach slapped a hand on Worf’s shoulder and said in a loud voice, “You three are being held for questioning!”
“What?” said Geordi.
A roar went up from the crowd, now about sixty strong and growing. The guards formed a tight circle around the away team.
Data looked up from the rubble and addressed the ambassador. “Sir,” he said politely, “you seem to be under the impression that—”
“I’m under the impression,” said Gregach quickly, “that you are deep in an area you shouldn’t be in at all, near an event that shouldn’t have happened. Either I bring you in there for questioning or I leave you here with the crowd. Your decision.”
“Yes,” said Worf testily. “Your decision, Lieutenant Commander.”
Data’s mouth moved. But for the first time in memory, nothing came out.
It had all seemed like a game, like a holodeck scenario come to life. Data had ignored Worf’s warnings about hostile territory. He had not considered the motives that might be pushing Gezor. Instead, he had blundered in, been led around, and suddenly jeopardized the well-being of the away team, not to mention diplomatic relations between the K’Vin and the Federation.
His command was not off to an auspicious start.
Chapter Seven
IN HER THREE YEARS on Kirlos, Stephaleh had never been wakened during the night. She always took that as the sign of a good posting. But tonight her dreams were shattered when Zamorh woke her with a shake and spoke in an urgent voice.
“Ambassador!” he called, hoping to bring her awake fast. “The K’Vin embassy—there was an explosion!”
Alert, although racked with spasms and aches, Stephaleh sat up in her round bed. “Gregach, is he alive?”
“Yes, Ambassador. In fact, he’s standing by, waiting to speak with you.”
She struggled to her feet, wrapping herself in a down-filled robe, one of the few Andorian artifacts to be found in her room. It was brightly colored, bearing a pattern from an ancient clan that Stephaleh had always suspected she belonged to. She slipped her feet into comfortable shoes and blinked several times. Summoning her will, she made her body move without showing signs of age.
It took her a few minutes to negotiate her way from the bedroom to the office, where she preferred to hold her conversations on the screen. Zamorh kept pace, bringing her up to date. “It seems, Ambassador, that the Starfleet officers were in K’Vin territory at the time of the explosion. As soon as it happened, Lieutenant Worf signaled Security Chief Powell. They have some information for you and are on their way.”
“Why didn’t they beam over?”
“It seems that transmission lines were disrupted abruptly, by order of Ambassador Gregach.”
Now that was an odd wrinkle, she thought. Gregach had never before suspended the transmat net linking the two sides of Kirlos. This was indeed a serious problem and one that required a great deal of thought. Tensions between the two governments had never before affected her dealings with Gregach, but they were nonetheless duty-bound to their respective governments.
Finally, she arrived at her office. Zamorh had turned on the lights and was busying himself in a corner, preparing some tea for her, just as he did every morning. What would she do without him when her assignment here was over and she had to return to Andor?
“Put Gregach on line, please,” she said, lowering herself gently into her chair. It brought some comfort; she smiled. For now, however, it was time to be an ambassador, so she put the smile on hold.
The screen flickered once, and then Ambassador Gregach, smoke-streaked and haggard, filled the image area. “Stephaleh, has anything happened at your building?”
“No, nothing. Are you all right, Gregach? What happened over there?”
“An explosion. No one knows what caused it.” He shook his head. “The fires have been put out, and the doctors are tending to the injured. None have died—yet. But something is happening on Kirlos and it is not to my liking.”
She looked at him. “Then you believe they
are linked, these events?”
“Two explosions: first in a Federation building and now in my embassy. It is too much to be coincidence. No, my friend, this is something insidious.”
A Sullurh brought him a report, and he stopped to glance at it. Stephaleh’s attention was drawn momentarily to the Sullurh. It was not Gezor, she noticed. She wondered where Gregach’s assistant was. No doubt tending to the repair of the embassy. Or perhaps initiating an investigation.
“We do have deaths,” Gregach noted. “Some maintenance functionaries overcome by smoke when they tried to quench the fires.” He looked up from the report. “Now this has become murder, Stephaleh. Something must be done.”
She stopped and thought. Why would people want to cause destruction on both sides? Who could be responsible? And was Zamorh right—did enough people dislike the Starfleet personnel to want them gone from Kirlos? Enough to cause death and destruction? He had voiced those thoughts yesterday, and she had shrugged them off as idle speculation. Now she had to stop and reconstruct the conversation, recalling his words to see if he did, indeed, have a point.
“Gregach, who do you suppose caused this, if it was indeed an act of sabotage?”
“Oh, it was sabotage all right, Stephaleh. I wish I could say who—because if I knew, I would have them killed. But I do not know. Perhaps when we examine the explosion site in the dawn light.”
“Of course. Now please tell me, why was the transporter net disrupted?”
“Ah, well, you see, we did not want whoever was responsible for this to make an easy escape by transmat. Our security forces are tracking down several possibilities. Did you know your own Starfleet officers were in the area?” He leaned forward to watch her reaction.
“Yes, I did,” she said. She had learned it only moments ago, but at least it had not come as a surprise. Her face remained calm, and as always, she kept her voice down. The Andorian welcomed her cup of tea just as Gezor appeared on the edge of the screen and summoned Gregach’s attention. He whispered furiously in the ambassador’s ear and she watched with interest as Gregach’s head bobbed up and down.
“Ambassador, the Enterprise officers are here,” Zamorh said quietly.
DOOMSDAY WORLD Page 8