POWER HUNGRY

by Howard Weinstein

  “We’re fine; we wore masks. Is it always like that out there?”

  Chardrai reached into a cabinet behind his desk and popped the top off a bottle. He poured light green liquid into three cracked and grimy mugs. “Today it’s a little worse than usual. Weather’s been inverted for the past three weeks—traps all the fumes inside. But then, that happens about every other month.” He shoved the mugs across the desktop. “Sorry about the crockery. But the drink’s refreshing. Guaranteed.”

  Riker wiped the rim with his fingers and took a sip. Whatever the stuff was, it tasted mercifully cool and tangy.

  Undrun merely stared at the cup with a curled lip. “Totally unsanitary,” he muttered.

  “Maybe so,” Chardrai said. “But not compared to what’s outside.” He ended with a chuckle that sounded more fatalistic than humorous.

  Undrun placed the mug back on the desk. “No, thank you, Supervisor.”

  “Suit yourself.” Chardrai lifted Undrun’s mug in one large hand and poured the contents back into the bottle. Then he sipped his own. “Good stuff, though.”

  “I’m sure.” Undrun surveyed the room they were in—rusting corrugated walls, chipped concrete, service pipes crusted with corrosion at their joints, duct tubes disconnected and hanging from the ceiling. “Is the rest of the facility in as poor condition as this office?”

  “Hey, now,” Chardrai growled, “this isn’t no hotel. It’s a warehouse.”

  Undrun aimed a chilly look at him. “We have pure, disease-free foodstuffs, seeds, plants, and medicines to transport down here, Mr. Chardrai. I will not have them stored in a vermin-infested bacteria incubator.”

  The supervisor roused himself from his chair. “Now you wait a—”

  “Excuse me,” Riker said, clamping a hand on Undrun’s shoulder and steering him toward a far corner. “We’re not exactly getting off on the right foot here, Ambassador Undrun.”

  “Oh, and I suppose that’s my fault?”

  “You didn’t even give the man a chance to—”

  “To tell me that this”—he fluttered a hand around the office—“is not indicative of the way they run this so-called storage depot? I have a responsibility to—”

  “To deliver your cargo and let the Thiopans do with it what they choose. And if they choose to let rats eat it, we’ve got no say in the matter.”

  “I’m sorry, Commander Riker, but that’s not how I operate.”

  “You’ll operate according to the standards Captain Picard and I establish. And going out of your way to offend these people is not—”

  “You can’t censor me. I have a mandate to conduct this mission in any way I see fit.” Undrun shook loose and spun away from Riker, who towered at least two and a half feet over him. “And if you lay a hand on me ever again, I’ll see to it that—”

  Chardrai slammed Undrun’s rejected cup down on his desk, sending ceramic shrapnel across the room and stopping the argument cold. “You haven’t even seen the facilities. I’ll show you around, and then we’ll talk about whether this place is clean enough for your cargo containers.”

  “It’s not only cargo containers,” Undrun snapped. “I want to see where my A-and-A personnel will be housed when they beam down.”

  Chardrai’s eyes darted from Riker to Undrun, and his voice rose in alarm. “Hold on there. Nobody told me anything about people coming down here. If you think you’re going to send down some kind of police squad to meddle in—”

  Undrun waved his arms angrily. “Nobody is meddling in anything. We’re here at your government’s request to save Thiopa from starvation and drought. But I can’t do anything for you people under these conditions.”

  “I’ve got no authorization to let anybody—”

  A muffled explosion shook the entire building. Office windows cracked and chunks of ceiling insulation and ductwork fell in on them, as a fine dust coated the room.

  The guard turned reflexively toward the door, pointing his weapon at a lethal angle. Supervisor Chardrai grabbed his communications headset, a simple wireless device, and jammed the receiver plug into his ear. “What the hell is going on?”

  An agitated voice shouted back over a desk-mounted speaker. “Explosion on the river side! Took out most of a wall. Everything’s on fire!”

  “This is Chardrai,” he yelled into the mike arm. “All fire-control equipment to the river wall—now!”

  The supervisor and his guard raced out of the office, Riker and Undrun following. As they ran back through the corridor, Riker felt acrid smoke searing his nostrils and throat. Rounding a corner, they were staggered by the heat of a raging blaze licking at the twisted wreckage of the warehouse wall. Whatever caused the fire had erupted inside and blown the metal wall outward. Men in protective coats and hard hats were already fighting the fire with foam and water. But the heat forced everyone else to retreat.

  Riker couldn’t stop coughing as he staggered back to the relative haven of Chardrai’s no-longer-sealed office. He did his best to cover his mouth and nose, but he had to breathe, and every short gasp felt as if someone had sprayed acid into his lungs. Chardrai and the guard stumbled in after him—and then he realized that Undrun hadn’t made it.

  Keeping low to avoid the smoke, Riker searched until he found Undrun crumpled on the metal-grate floor. He scooped the ambassador up in a fireman’s carry and made his way back to the office as quickly as he could. Inside, he dumped the ambassador on the floor and fell to his knees, his chest heaving. He tried to talk, but that only brought on a racking cough. He bent over, trying to recover.

  Three guards wearing filter masks bustled past him carrying something, which they threw into a chair. Riker wiped his burning eyes and saw that it was a raw-boned Thiopan wearing frayed work-crew coveralls. One sleeve was torn and his face was battered and bleeding.

  “Who is this?” Chardrai demanded.

  “The terrorist responsible for the bombing,” said one of the outside guards. “We caught him trying to escape.”

  “A Sojourner,” Chardrai said, his voice taut with fury.

  The captive made no reply. Chardrai encouraged him with a backhand blow across the face. The man’s head snapped back, then lolled on one shoulder. “How did you get in? How many others helped you?”

  “They usually work in threes,” said the chief guard. “We think the other two got away.”

  Chardrai grasped the prisoner’s hair and yanked his head back. “You’re a traitor—and you’re a dead man.”

  The prisoner’s bloody lips widened into a grotesque grin. “You’re a man of few words, Supervisor Chardrai.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “We know a lot of things. You people haven’t figured out yet that we’re smarter than you?”

  Chardrai struck him again, opening a gash over his right eye. “If you’re so smart, how come you got caught?”

  “I’m expendable. My seven friends got away.”

  “Seven?” Chardrai roared at the guards. “You said two!”

  “He’s lying,” said the flustered guard. “He’s a Sojourner. They’re born lying.”

  Supervisor Chardrai let go of the prisoner’s head, but the Sojourner kept it upright, apparently out of spite as much as anything else, Riker thought.

  “It’s not treason,” said the prisoner, pausing to spit blood, “to fight against a tyrant who’s sworn to destroy my people, a tyrant whose insane policies are going to destroy Thiopan civilization. You can kill me—”

  “I will,” Chardrai snarled. “You can count on that.”

  “—but you can’t kill what we stand for. The people hear us—and they will fight with us. Only by returning to the old ways can we save our world from Stross.”

  “I’ve heard enough pollution out of you.” Chardrai backhanded the man again, stunning him. “Kill him,” he told the guards.

  The chief guard looked concerned. “We’ve got orders to interrogate all Sojourner captives.”

  “I just did. Thi
s man won’t tell us anything.”

  “What should we do with the body?”

  “I don’t care.” Chardrai paused and seemed to reconsider. “No, wait—leave his body where his friends will find it.”

  Riker stood unsteadily. “I don’t like anything I’ve seen here, Supervisor. I’m concerned about bringing those supplies down here.”

  “The main part of this place wasn’t damaged, Commander. We can still fit those supplies in. Guaranteed.”

  “I’ll have to talk to Captain Picard about that.” And a great many other things, Riker added silently. He stepped over to Undrun’s unconscious form and tapped his communicator. “Riker to Enterprise—two to beam up. And have a medical team standing by.”

  It hadn’t taken long for Picard to review the files on Thiopa. There wasn’t that much information there. A fairly primitive world with the good fortune—or bad, depending on one’s point of view—to be located in a sector in which several small and large powers had taken an interest. Picard mulled over the bare facts as he got ready to beam down for the Thiopan anniversary feast. The Nuarans had played Mephistopheles and found Sovereign Protector Ruer Stross to be a more than willing Faust. And Thiopa had clearly benefited from the resultant pact. Life was, no doubt, more comfortable for most people, thanks to the obvious benefits of modern technology. But just as obviously, there had been a debit side to this soul-selling business, as there usually was.

  Correction—as there always was.

  Picard’s ruminations were interrupted by the intercom tone followed by Dr. Kate Pulaski’s voice over his cabin speaker. “Captain Picard, please report to sickbay.”

  “What is it, Doctor?”

  “Your first officer and Mr. Undrun have beamed back in less than pristine condition.”

  “Are they all right?”

  “They will be.”

  Picard was already halfway to the door. “On my way.”

  He hurried into sickbay to find Will Riker sitting on the edge of a bed. His face and uniform were smudged with soot and dust, but at least he was upright. Undrun wasn’t. He was on the next bed, unconscious.

  “What’s wrong with them, Doctor?”

  “Smoke inhalation. Undrun is in worse shape. He’s under sedation.”

  Just then, Riker coughed. Pulaski pressed a small inhaler to his mouth, and he tried to squirm away.

  “Breathe,” she ordered in a tone suggesting she would not take no for an answer. Riker meekly complied, then set the inhaler aside and gave Captain Picard a compressed version of their eventful visit to Thiopa.

  Picard’s face betrayed his distress.

  “You don’t look pleased, sir,” Riker concluded.

  “I didn’t send you down there to have buildings blown up around you.”

  “Captain, I’m not thrilled about your going down there,” Riker said.

  “Well, you’re certainly in no condition to go in my place.”

  “Sure I am,” said Riker, slipping off the bed.

  “No, you’re not,” Pulaski said, shoving him back. “But I agree with him, Captain. It doesn’t sound as if Thiopa’s the safest place to have dinner.”

  “No, perhaps not. But they invited me and I’ve accepted. In addition to the diplomatic importance of the feast, I need more information about what is happening down there. Meeting Stross and Ootherai could add key pieces to this puzzle.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Riker insisted.

  “Objection noted, Number One. I’ll be careful.”

  Chapter Five

  CAPTAIN PICARD, Counselor Troi, and Commander Data beamed down to a broad plaza surrounded by the cluster of buildings that made up Thiopa’s government center. The half-dozen buildings appeared to have been built at roughly the same time. All were constructed of gleaming white stone, glass, and steel and designed with sweeping curves and hard angles. Their austerity stood in jarring contrast to the older, less dramatic structures on streets outside the plaza.

  “Interesting architecture,” Picard observed. The sun was setting, casting long shadows. Picard’s nose twitched as he inhaled a careful sample of the thick air. “I see what Riker meant about the air quality. Let’s go inside.”

  The Enterprise trio headed for the building that was illuminated by the most colorful floodlights, the only one in the square that was drawing people in. The Thiopan groups and couples didn’t look like victims of famine, Picard noted. They were all exceptionally well dressed and seemed far from emaciated. Inside the glass-front lobby, chandeliers of abstract crystalline shapes hung from arches towering up to an asymmetrically sloped ceiling. At the center of the lobby, a crowd milled around a showcase containing a scale model of a city with the current government center at its heart. But the old brick and dark-block buildings presently surrounding the real plaza were not part of the model. They had all been replaced by high-rise structures that complemented the government compound.

  Data circled the model like a curious child. “Most interesting, Captain.”

  “And extremely ambitious,” said Picard, brows arched, “considering all the problems this society is supposedly facing.”

  “Captain Picard!” Policy Minister Ootherai was making his way toward them through the lobby, dropping a word here and there to well-heeled Thiopans as he passed. He finally reached the starship officers.

  “These are members of my senior staff,” Picard said, “Counselor Deanna Troi and Lieutenant Commander Data.”

  “A pleasure to meet you and to welcome you to Thiopan soil. I see you’re admiring the model for our new capital complex.”

  Picard smiled thinly. “Most impressive. When is it to be built?”

  “We’re planning to start demolishing the old quarter of the city when the weather turns cooler, in about two months. We don’t really have a winter anymore, it seems, so we’re looking forward to rapid progress on Stross Plaza.”

  “Named after your leader?” said Troi.

  “Yes, an appropriate monument to the sovereign protector, which he’ll get to see and enjoy while he’s still alive. Posthumous honors leave much to be desired, I’ve always believed. Let honors be for the living—and certainly Ruer Stross deserves to be honored on a grand scale. He’s quite anxious to meet you. Come this way—and then I’ll escort you to your seats in the feast hall.”

  “Stop fussing!” Protector Stross slapped Supo’s hands away from the collar the little valet was struggling to straighten. Supo flew back several steps and Stross wrenched the collar straight himself. He looked in the mirrored wall of the anteroom and nodded. “There. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

  Supo hung his heavy-nosed head. “No, it’s not fine, but—”

  “But it will have to do,” Stross said with finality. He faced his mirrored image again. All his medals were straight, collar upright, braid in place, billowy sleeves unrolled, glittering sash tied evenly about his belly.

  He had recovered from the earlier shock of learning that some of his citizens were actually aiding the Sojourners—an hour or two in his private workshop, building, had done the trick—and felt prepared to face his audience tonight . . . even the visitors from the Federation.

  As if on cue, the anteroom door swung open and Ootherai entered with the starship officers. He announced each one by name.

  Captain Picard then extended his hand in respectful greeting. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I thank you for receiving us.”

  “The honor is mine, Captain. You’re the ones bringing the relief supplies. We thank you and the Federation. There are lots of lives at stake, sir.”

  “The Federation believes in helping those in need.”

  “Well, we’ll do our best to repay this good-neighbor generosity. Supo, go out there and see if you can find Dr. Keat.” The valet ducked his head and scurried out a side door. “I want you to meet her. She’s one of our success stories—one of our best hopes for the future. We sent her off-planet to study when she was a little girl—and now she’s co
me back to rescue our science program just when it’s blown up in our faces.”

  “Uh, Lord Stross,” Ootherai said tightly, “is this the time for—”

  “Quiet, Ootherai. These people came to help us. I want them to know they’re not pitching treasure down a sewer pit.”

  Data cocked his head. “Sewer pit, sir? A refuse disposal site—”

  “Just an expression. You’re a literal fellow, aren’t you, Mr. Data?” Stross chuckled. “What I mean is, we want you to know we’re working hard to help solve our own problems, Captain. Fact is, we’ve got a big announcement to make tonight—oh, here she is now.” Supo had returned with a willowy young woman dressed in a high-necked gown that was somehow demure and alluring all at once. Her skin was almost bronze-colored, much darker than that of the other Thiopans they’d seen. Huge pale eyes, golden hair and whiskers, and the dusky complexion combined to lend her an exotic look that Picard found striking. His smile warmed and he clasped her hand.

  “Dr. Kael Keat,” said Stross, “meet Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Counselor Deanna Troi, and Lieutenant Commander Data of the Federation starship Enterprise.”

  “Dr. Keat, your reputation precedes you,” Picard said.

  “Though only by a minute or two,” Stross laughed.

  “Your sovereign protector thinks very highly of you. He credits you with having saved Thiopa’s scientific community from catastrophe.”

  Dr. Keat’s lashless eyelids flickered. “Lord Stross is prone to exaggeration at times. But we are doing some exciting work—which only builds on what was done before I took over as head of Thiopa’s Science Council. Our aim is to find a way to survive and to adapt to the effects of the natural disasters we’re suffering through now.”

  “Sounds like admirable work, Dr. Keat.”

  Data stepped forward. “I am very much interested in learning more about your climatic changes and your strategies for adjusting to them. Could we discuss your work at greater length?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Keat replied. “We could meet at the Science Council labs tomorrow. Will you be available then, Commander Data?”