“Captain!” Wesley’s fingers skipped over the Ops console. “I’ve re-analyzed the tricorder readings from Commander Riker, the ones he took from the area where the colonists were killed by a disrupter blast.”
The ensign paused for dramatic effect, then announced, “A large percentage of the rocks in the landslide are composed of arizite.”
Wesley appeared somewhat crestfallen when the captain accepted this news calmly, and more than a little resentful when the other officers insisted on double-checking his analysis.
“Patience, Mr. Crusher.” Picard moved to the command chair and sat, relaxed but alert, while Davies and Dean conferred over the data.
“Confirmed,” said Davies finally. “The phaser attack on the mountain peak uncovered a vein of the marble. But then, any stray phaser blast in the valley would probably do the same. The entire mountain range is composed of metamorphic rock.” The geologist aimed a sympathetic but somewhat condescending look at the young ensign. “It could simply be a coincidence.”
Wesley hunched down into his chair.
“But what if it’s not a coincidence?” asked Picard. Despite his outer reserve, he had experienced the same thrill of discovery that had excited Wesley. “What if this is why the raiders beamed down to Tehuán?”
“I don’t see how,” said Davies. “The vein was small and the rock simply isn’t that valuable. A ton of it would barely pay back the cost of fuel for a single ship to make the trip, much less a fleet of ships.”
Picard recognized the force of the geologist’s argument, yet the only distinctive feature of Tehuán was the presence of this ancient quarry. And it was tied, if only faintly, to the death of three colonists who had come face to face with the attackers. If they hadn’t landed to gather arizite, what had they come for?
Burke’s voice broke the silence. “I’m receiving an alert transmission from Kirlos.” Then, as he scanned the incoming message, his brow furrowed in alarm. “Captain! Ambassador Stephaleh has declared martial law on Kirlos.”
“On speakers,” ordered Picard.
He listened intently as the heavily accented voice of Zamorh, the ambassador’s Sullurh assistant, dispassionately recounted the recent series of catastrophes on Kirlos. And the death of Professor Coleridge.
When the message had concluded, one clear thought remained in the captain’s mind.
“Arizite,” he muttered softly, as if to himself. “I don’t understand why, but it is the one common thread in everything that has happened here and on Kirlos.”
Picard pushed himself out of the captain’s chair.
“Staff meeting in five minutes. Ensign Crusher, recall all senior officers from Tehuán.”
He hesitated for a moment, then headed for the ready room. There was just enough time to collect one very important item from his desk.
The Ariantu warrior crouched in the center of the conference-room table, gripping its knife and biding its time. Picard could almost see it twitch as the room filled with people. Its slitted eyes seemed to follow their movements and mark them as prey once they had chosen seats. He was still half absorbed in studying its form when he announced his proposal.
“Leave? Now?” Dr. Crusher stared at the captain, then began to shake her head. “No, absolutely not! I’ll need at least one more week to clear sickbay of critical cases.”
“We can take them with us,” said Picard evenly.
“But it would mean separating critical-care patients from the family members who have returned to the planet. And outpatient treatments are still going on. Not to mention we’re constantly treating the new injuries that have occurred since the colonists started rebuilding.”
She paused for breath and Riker immediately jumped in.
“Captain, I’m also concerned about the away team on Kirlos, but we can’t leave the Tehuán settlement unprotected. Another attack would wipe out everyone.”
“Sensor scans indicate the fleet has left the sector.” Picard looked to Burke for confirmation and the security officer nodded in agreement, but Riker was obviously still unconvinced.
“We don’t know that they’re gone. They could have cloaking devices.”
“I doubt it,” said Burke scornfully. “If they’re still using disrupter pistols, they won’t have cloaking devices. I’m surprised they even have transporters. In my opinion, Tehuán was probably attacked by space drifters looking for some easy profit. The Gatherers, perhaps. Since they didn’t find anything worth stealing, they’ll head for the nearest trade center next and resume their usual petty thefts.”
Riker grunted. “That’s only conjecture! We can’t risk the lives of several hundred colonists on such slim evidence.”
Burke dismissed this suggestion with a shrug, but he did not offer a rebuttal. Turning back to Picard, Riker said, “Captain, I gave my word that the Enterprise would stay to protect this colony.”
“It wasn’t your word to give, Commander.” Picard quickly raised a hand, as if to blunt the sting of his reply. “However, it is not my intention to abandon anyone. The colonists on the surface will simply have to evacuate. They can remain on board the Enterprise until we return from Kirlos.”
“That may save the people on Tehuán, but what about the populations of Devlin Four and Maynard Two? The fleet is probably keeping a low profile because of the Enterprise’s presence. As soon as we leave, they could attack one of the other outposts.”
Picard’s eyes were drawn to the Ariantu statue. He wondered what price it would bring on the black market. Had someone expected to find similar artifacts on Tehuán?
“I believe that Kirlos will be the next target.” Yet he couldn’t offer any rationale for that belief. He looked back in time to catch the skeptical look that passed between Riker and his chief medical officer. “But I admit that leaving this sector is a calculated risk.”
“Whose risk?” demanded Dr. Crusher. “Not ours. We’ll be safe on this starship. You’re gambling with the welfare of thousands of people in this sector.”
“Oh, but the stakes are much higher than that, Doctor. An attack on Kirlos would mean not only substantial loss of lives but a disruption in diplomatic relations between the Federation and the K’Vin Hegemony. The repercussions could affect the safety of millions of people.”
Crusher settled back into her chair, arms crossed over her chest in a gesture of defiance. His reply might have silenced her, but she remained as unconvinced as his first officer. Picard deliberately looked to the officers who had only listened to the debate.
“Any other objections?”
Ensign Crusher and Lieutenant Dean dropped their gazes from his, but did not speak. Only Deanna Troi locked eyes with him. She looked puzzled.
“You made up your mind before the conference even started, didn’t you?” she said. “Nothing that has been said has made any difference.”
“On the contrary, Counselor,” said Picard. “The comments of my senior officers are always of interest to me.”
He rose from the table.
“Mr. Riker, begin the evacuation of the Tehuán settlers. The Enterprise will break orbit in four hours.”
Chapter Thirteen
THE FIRST THING Geordi became aware of was that he couldn’t scratch his nose.
The second thing he realized was that he couldn’t see it. Or anything else.
He sat up, staring into nothingness. “Data! Worf!”
“They are right next to you,” came a rough voice.
Geordi recognized it immediately. He also recognized that they were in serious trouble.
When Gezor had brought in the three Federation men and the Sullurh who had been aiding them, he had seemed characteristically apologetic. “I know you have been trying your best, Ambassador. The cooperation with the dig, with the Federation in general. It pains me to have to bring this to your attention.”
Gregach was staring at the three unconscious forms on the floor. The Sullurh, Thul, stood beside them. Gezor had admitted that he had been
weak, and unable (or unwilling) to bring such furious force against one of his own in order to render him unconscious. Gregach could almost admire that, if it hadn’t been so damned inconvenient.
“Does it pain you?” Gregach asked. “Are you sure you’re not deriving some pleasure from it, Gezor? Some moderate feeling of I-told-you-so?”
Gezor looked stricken. “No, Ambassador” was all he managed to get out.
Gregach nodded, satisfied with the Sullurh’s sincerity. His gaze wandered to the dyson board set up in the corner of his office, with which he had had so many pleasant and entertaining matches with Stephaleh. How had they come to this pass? he wondered.
He could wonder no more. He had already taken some degree of action by declaring martial law. That had to be the first step, but not the only step.
The Federation officers were starting to come around. The Earthman was coming to first, although the Klingon seemed not far behind. In his hand, Gregach was holding the curious curved eyepiece that the Earthman customarily wore. He wondered how it worked.
Then the human opened his eyes and Gregach saw those helpless, blank orbs floating in their sockets. Geordi clearly had no idea where he was or what was happening. There was fear on his face, and he started to shout for his friends.
“They are right next to you,” said Gregach, trying not to sound sympathetic. A show of kindheartedness could not be tolerated. For that reason he elected to hold on to the eyepiece, at least for a brief time.
Now Geordi was trying to move his hands again and realizing why he couldn’t. “We’re manacled,” he said.
“Yes,” said Gregach.
Worf had not moved, but his low voice sounded through the office. “Is the great K’Vin ambassador so afraid that he must chain us like dogs?”
Gregach looked at Worf with open curiosity. “Is the Federation so craven that its representatives must resort to sabotage and trickery?”
“No,” said Worf promptly. “But can you respond in the negative to my question?”
Gregach actually smiled at that. “Very well.” He nodded toward Gezor, who half bowed in response.
Within moments Gezor returned with the keys to the manacles—and six guards, heavily armed, who kept their weapons leveled at the Federation men.
Data was still not moving, and slow alarm spread through Geordi as he tried to prod the android. “Come on, Data,” and he felt around for the android’s on-off button. He flicked it, but nothing happened. “Come on,” he repeated. Nothing.
“I am curious,” said Gregach. “Which one of you is in charge?”
Geordi tried not to dwell on the fact that the voice was coming from nowhere. It wasn’t nowhere, he told himself. Gregach was . . . what, about five feet in front of him? He half lifted Data, who was still stiff, and said, “He is.”
Gregach laughed at that, and turned to Worf. “He is? Really?”
“His performance is adequate when he is functional,” said Worf sullenly.
“Well,” said Gregach, “we can pretty much say that for all of us, can’t we? So”—he circled around his desk—“he is the one who gives you the orders to commit sabotage.”
“No,” said Worf.
“Someone else does, then.”
Worf frowned at that as he shook his hands out to restore circulation. “Word games are beneath a warrior,” he rumbled.
Gregach nodded slowly. “You are quite fight.”
“We didn’t have anything to do with it,” said Geordi, addressing a space about two feet to Gregach’s left. “If you want to know who did, I’ll tell you. It’s that Gezor guy.”
For the first time, Gezor spoke up. “Truly?”
Geordi cursed to himself. Of course Gezor would be standing there. They were obviously in Gregach’s office, and where else would Gezor be? But because the Sullurh had said nothing, it hadn’t occurred to Geordi that he was present. He felt like an absolute fool.
But he pushed on. “Yes, truly,” he said tightly, hoping against logic that Data had been right. “Data figured it all out. Gezor and Zamorh are working together to push you and Stephaleh out and seize power for themselves.”
“Seize power?” said Gregach incredulously. “Of what? An artificial floating ball of rock in the middle of nowhere? Filled with archaeologists and the scum of the galaxy? What do you think this is, some sort of secret power base? A stepping stone to the stars? Good God! Seize power! If he wants it, he can have it! Gezor, do you want it? I can pack and be gone inside of two hours.”
“No, thank you, Ambassador,” said Gezor politely. “I ran the embassy shortly after your predecessor’s hurried and somewhat embarrassed departure after he amassed such great gambling debts. As I recall, I was quite content to turn the reins over to you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want them back? Think of it as an early birthday present.”
“Quite sure, Ambassador.”
Gregach sighed. “Can’t blame a fellow for trying.” He turned back toward Geordi. “So . . . your commander there figured it out, did he? And did he have an even more plausible motivation for Gezor’s alleged duplicity than the one you just put forward?”
Geordi thought, I knew it was a stupid idea, but said out loud, “I’m sure he was working on it.”
“Yes, well, I’m certain he can continue to do so where you’ll be confined. Gezor, take them down to the holding cell on the lowest level. Cell D.”
“Cell D?” Gezor blinked. “Sir, we rarely use that. It hasn’t been cleaned out in years.”
“Yes, I know,” said Gregach. “I do not take well to betrayal, and I enjoy duplicity even less. I see no reason to be charitable while I decide what to do with them.”
“There is a great deal you do not see,” said Worf, “because you are more blind than Lieutenant Commander La Forge. If you had any decency, you would return his VISOR to him. If you had any sense, you would listen to him. Or to me.”
Gregach eyed him up and down. “You speak your mind at times when you can ill afford to do so.”
“I speak my mind and let the times attend to themselves.”
Gregach nodded slowly and tried not to smile. Then he said to Geordi, “Mr. La Forge, stretch out your hands please.”
Geordi did so. And a moment later the VISOR was in his hands. Quickly he put it on . . . and saw nothing.
A shock of dismay ran through him. “It . . . it’s not working. When it was knocked off me, or maybe when I was hit, the connectors—”
“I am many things, Mr. La Forge,” said Gregach. “Warrior, ambassador, gamesman—but a technician I am not. I will provide you what tools we have, if you wish, and in your cell you may endeavor to repair the damage done to your equipment. And, for that matter, to your valiant commander. Perhaps you can replace the logic circuits that brought him to such an odd and erroneous conclusion concerning my trusted longtime aide.”
The guards started to guide them toward the door, Geordi struggling with the weight of Data. Worf started to reach over to help.
“Not the Klingon,” Gregach said.
Worf turned and stared at him, not showing surprise but certainly feeling it. Thul stepped in to help Geordi with Data, and they were hustled out the door.
“You,” Gregach said to Worf, “will receive somewhat more suitable quarters than your compatriots. I would not dishonor a fellow warrior with the inhospitable accommodations of this building’s ancient dungeons.”
“I go with my comrades,” Worf said.
“Very good,” said Gregach. “I knew that would be your instinctive reaction. But think a moment, Lieutenant. Down there you will do them no good. Up here, spending time with me, who knows? You might be able to talk me into some degree of leniency with them. And with yourself, for that matter.”
Worf said nothing, his eyes flashing.
Slowly Gregach nodded, and his gaze wandered toward the corner of his office. “Tell me, Lieutenant, do you play dyson?”
Stephaleh could not recall the last tim
e she’d slept nor, for that matter, the last time she’d even relaxed. Of course, a number of times in the past, she had been involved in tense negotiations that could have dissolved into war. Each time she had managed to avoid conflict and bring about peace.
She took great pride in all that, despite the hours and the exhaustion that had gone into it. But this . . . this was a unique situation, one she had never dreamed could happen on Kirlos. There was death, destruction—and a rapidly crumbling friendship that had once held Kirlosia together as well as any official treaty.
She had trouble recognizing Gregach now, as he made the transition from diplomat to soldier. His martial side was one she had never really seen before, and she found it distasteful. Particularly because she feared that when this was all over, they would never be able to restore things to the way they had been.
Most troubling, at present, was the absence of the officers from the Enterprise. They had gone off on their own the night before, looking for answers. She was glad to have them, since in their own way they were better trained for this sort of problem than she and Powell were.
Worf was right: Powell had never fired a phaser in the line of duty and appeared somewhat skittish about doing so. He preferred it when things were nice and orderly; he was not unlike the ambassador herself in that respect.
Zamorh, who rarely left her side now, spoke up. “Ambassador, the people are frightened. Our broadcasts seem incapable of calming them down. Perhaps a direct appeal from you would . . .”
She shook her head. Stephaleh knew that few people on the Federation side of Kirlos cared about the embassy or the ambassador. These were inconveniences they had tended to ignore—until recently. When she sent out orders, the people obeyed, but they grumbled. She had even walked among them to try to resolve matters, and had come away feeling that she’d wasted her time. Public opinion, she knew, was fickle; the smallest of things could sometimes turn a crowd into an ugly mob.
“No, Zamorh. I do need to do something, but exactly what it is seems elusive.”
The ambassador rarely admitted weakness to the Sullurh, so he was somewhat taken aback by the admission. He thought and then responded, “Perhaps you need to take the initiative rather than follow in Gregach’s footsteps. Act rather than react.”
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