POWER HUNGRY

by Howard Weinstein

  “So they could tell Captain Picard the nasty Sojourners killed me?”

  Durren nodded. “Stross can claim he did his best to get you back alive—but got there too late to save you from those fanatics in the desert.”

  The hoverjets were close enough to make out now—a random formation of four bullet-shaped craft, glinting white against the sky. They were moving slowly, drifting in a search pattern, their vertical-control engines kicking up clouds of dust as they combed the badlands for their quarry.

  “Can you hit them from this distance?”

  “Yes,” Mikken said quickly.

  “Maybe,” Mori said. “Once we fire, if we miss, they’ll be locked onto our position—”

  “And then it’s a matter of who’s got a faster trigger finger,” Riker said.

  Mori nodded. “Right. Also, if we can shoot when they’re closer together, if we hit one, the explosion might take a second one out, too.”

  “The waiting game,” Riker observed. “Tests your nerves.”

  “We may not be able to wait,” Durren said. “It looks as if they’ve found us.”

  The four hovercraft slid into a stricter formation. They were indeed headed directly for the Sojourners’ hiding place. Riker glanced at Mori and Mikken. Both seemed steady, their fingers poised on the trigger buttons.

  Riker wished he had something to shoot, too. It would be better than sitting like a clay pigeon waiting to get blown away. He licked his lips and peeked over the rocks. The hoverjets had slowed their advance. What the hell are they doing? he wondered. Somebody’s going to take the first shot. If it’s them, they could blast the mountain open and bury us. In this case, I’ll be a lot happier if we shoot first and ask questions later.

  As if reading Riker’s mind, Mori centered a hoverjet in her cross-hairs and squeezed the trigger. A red ball of roiling energy pulsed out the front of her barrel and screamed across the desert. The hoverjets saw it coming and broke their grouping, spiraling as they tried to evade the slasher bolt. Mikken fired his weapon an instant after Mori, knowing her decision to fire first meant the enemy was on the defensive until Mori’s shot either hit or missed. It hit—dead on—and the lead hoverjet exploded into a fireball. But the other three were far enough away to escape the black smoke from the fist of flame that was already crashing to the ground. Two hovercraft cannons opened fire, spraying a volley of pinpoint energy bursts. The top of the hill erupted in a shower of dirt and rock. Riker and the Thiopans ducked and covered their heads. The hill itself was too thick for the government aircraft to shoot through. They’d have to move around it, and that’s what they did. Two came from one side, the third from the other.

  Mori and Mikken crouched back to back. Virtually simultaneously, they fired—and two more hovercraft exploded. The last remaining hunter had become the prey in this deadly game, and the pilot knew he was outgunned. He rattled off a salvo of cannon bolts, then heeled over so hard his hoverjet was tipped almost on its side. With a rapid attitude correction, the pilot kicked his craft to full throttle and fled at top speed, leaving a streak of white exhaust smoke behind.

  The Thiopans broke into cheers. Riker wiped beads of sweat off his face, silently relieved. He still wasn’t free, but he’d survived the encounter without a scratch. And it was better to be a live hostage than a liberated corpse.

  Chapter Ten

  ONE THING ABOUT AIR POLLUTION: when it wasn’t obscuring the sun, it made for gorgeous sunsets. Today was one such sunset, and Sovereign Protector Stross took a break from his woodworking to watch the sky set aflame, a palette overflowing with golds and umbees near the horizon, ribbons of streaked clouds, purple and finally black on the far side of the sky.

  The door of the workroom swung open and Policy Minister Ootherai came in, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. He looked haggard, his face drained of color. He raked his fingers through his beard. “Lord Stross?”

  “What?” Stross didn’t bother to turn.

  “The Endrayan mission—it, uh, the squadron didn’t accomplish what it set out to do.”

  Now Stross faced his aide. “You mean it failed. Come right out and say things, Hydrin. How bad is it?”

  Ootherai swallowed, betraying uncharacteristic jitters. “We, uhh, we lost three hoverjets.”

  Stross’s baggy eyes opened wide. “Three out of four?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Damn those Nuarans,” Stross hissed, his jaw clenching. “That party in the desert must have Riker. There is no other reason for anybody to be going from here to the Sa’drit.”

  “Not likely.”

  “They were going in that direction, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, my lord, they were.”

  “Then we know where they’ll be. It’s about time we showed Lessandra and her terrorists they’re not safe anywhere. When was the last time we attacked Sanctuary Canyon?”

  “Five months ago. That’s when we discovered the bastards had Nuaran slashers. We lost ten hoverjets.”

  “I remember. This time will be different. Get our best pilots together and plan an attack for dawn tomorrow.”

  “On the canyon?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “What makes you think they won’t shoot us down again?”

  Before Stross could answer, his communication channel beeped for his attention. He reached for the wall intercom. “Stross.”

  “Captain Picard calling from the Enterprise, my lord,” said the communications control voice. “Shall I tell him you’re in a meeting?”

  “No, I’ll talk to him. Put visual through to this terminal.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  A moment later, Picard’s face appeared on the small wall viewer. “Protector Stross, thank you for taking my call,” he said soberly. “I had hoped to have a response from you regarding my conversation with Minister Ootherai.”

  Stross nodded with a benign half-smile. “Hmm. You made some threats.”

  “They were not threats.” Picard was calm. “I simply wanted your government to be aware of the consequences of a lack of cooperation.”

  “I’m sorry if Ootherai gave you the wrong idea. I believe in speaking plainly, Captain. I have a feeling you do, too.”

  “Then let’s speak plainly, Protector Stross.”

  “Fine. We need the supplies you have brought us, and the Federation needs Thiopa. I’m personally very sorry that your first officer got caught up in our troubles. We are trying to get him back for you.”

  “That’s a step in the right direction. Have you made any progress?”

  “Can you give us till morning? By then I think we’ll have something definite to tell you.”

  “Very well, until morning. But decisions will have to be made then.”

  “Understood, Captain. We appreciate your patience.”

  “Is it also understood that patience has its limits?”

  Stross nodded. “It is. We shall talk again in the morning. Stross out.”

  * * *

  The Thiopan leader’s image blinked off the main viewscreen on the bridge and was replaced by the standard orbital view of the planet below. Picard crossed his legs and sat thoughtfully in his bridge seat.

  “I don’t trust him, sir,” Worf rumbled from over Picard’s shoulder.

  The captain turned. “Why is that, Lieutenant?”

  “I don’t trust sudden course changes.”

  “Neither do I. Counselor?”

  Deanna Troi regarded her commander with her usual directness. “I think Stross was hiding something. At the moment, I wouldn’t classify him as trustworthy.”

  “Mmmm.” Picard was silent another moment. “I think we’ll see what the lord protector has to say in the morning, before we make our decision.” He stood. “I’ll be in the ready room if you need me. Mr. Data, you have the bridge.”

  The rest of the ride to Sanctuary Canyon was uneventful, and Riker’s group had finally reached the towering ridges that stood like sentinels at the
narrow mouth of the Sojourners’ spiritual homeland. In single file, the animals picked their slow-footed way through the ravine until they reached the entrance to the canyon itself. Riker and the others dismounted, leaving the animals in Tritt’s care. While he led them to join the herd grazing peacefully on the sparse canyon grass, Durren took the rest of the group up the side trail.

  To Riker, the canyon had a forbidding majesty. And though he’d visited cliff dwellings before, he’d never seen anything quite like the elaborate city perched on the far ledge, nestled beneath its soaring rock over hang, a wall at least a half-mile high. A wall that had long ago been the inside of this mountain, before it was split by nature’s most elemental forces, then carved and shaped and worn smooth by flowing water and blowing wind. By the Hidden Hand the Sojourners believed in, extended by Mother World to guide and protect them. The surrounding grandeur of Sanctuary Canyon almost made Riker a believer, too.

  They rounded the canyon rim and entered the Stone City, where Riker was presented to Lessandra in her barren garden. The old woman hobbled up to him, then propped her weight on her walking crutch, the padded nob tucked under her arm. The crutch was adorned with intricate carvings, and polished ebony designs were inlaid along the shaft. In her white hair Lessandra wore a circlet of silver, finely wrought but tarnished by time in an environment that offered no protection for precious bangles.

  Riker wondered about those elegant touches that seemed so out of place in the rugged world the Sojourners had chosen for themselves. As Lessandra sized him up, he did the same to her. A missing leg, one half-closed eye, weathered skin, missing teeth—life hadn’t been easy for her.

  “So you’re Riker.”

  “And you’re Lessandra. You lead these people?”

  She snorted a mirthless laugh. “You could call it that.”

  “Then we’ve got important things to discuss.”

  “Oh, do we now? Let’s do it over evenmeal. I’ve had food prepared. Little one,” she said to Mori, “fetch some of the silberry wine.” She turned to glare at a man and a woman standing beside her. The woman had a deeply lined face, though she was much younger than Lessandra. The man was also middle-aged, with a gray beard.

  “We want to be part of this,” said the woman.

  Lessandra puckered her lips in annoyance. “I don’t have to let you, Glin.”

  “Then Jaminaw and I will have to tell the people you’re keeping secrets from them. That won’t do wonders for your support.”

  “Come along, then, damn you.”

  She led the small group to her house. Even in twilight, Riker could see that the two-story building was constructed of sandstone bricks hand-hewn to exacting tolerances, their beveled edges so tightly aligned that a slip of paper would not fit between them. Inside, the walls were covered with large tapestries woven with abstract geometric designs, their colors amazingly vibrant, especially in contrast to the drabness of the desert terrain Riker had looked at all day. Candles in holders chipped from stone blocks were scattered liberally about the main room, bathing it in soft light that quivered with every breath and breeze. There was no furniture, except a few squat barrels serving as tables. Large pillows and heavy blankets littered the floor, and that was where they sat. Mori entered from a back chamber with a clay pitcher and mugs for Lessandra, Riker, Glin, Jaminaw, and Durren. A younger girl, in her mid-teens, scurried in with two platters of fowl roasted to a crunchy gold-brown over an open flame. They were still sizzling. The serving girl left the food on the barrel tables, then disappeared and hurried back with a meager salad of leaves and roots. Mori poured the drinks and then sat down.

  Riker was glad for the hot food, since the tempera ture had started to drop with the approach of dusk, a common characteristic of most of the deserts he’d seen. “Tastes good.”

  “See? We’re not starving,” Lessandra said smugly.

  “Of course this is the first time we’ve had meat in three weeks,” Glin countered.

  Lessandra flashed a dirty look at her, but Riker spoke first. “Look, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not your enemy. My ship came here to help Thiopans who need help. We’ve got food, medicine, all sorts of supplies to help your world get back on its feet.”

  “Do you have weapons?” Lessandra said.

  “Not for you—and not for Stross. This is a humanitarian relief mission.”

  “We’re the ones who need what you’ve got. I’ll trade you to your captain in return for all those supplies.”

  “We can’t do that. We’re empowered to deal only with the planet’s authorized government.”

  “Come back soon and we will be the government.”

  “I might as well tell you now, Lessandra,” Riker said in a firm voice, “that Captain Picard is not going to bargain for my release.”

  “I know one thing: he won’t let you die in our hands. People who have come this far to help poor starving famine victims are too softhearted to leave one of their own in captivity.”

  “Nobody on the Enterprise is indispensable.”

  “Brave talk.”

  Riker nibbled on a leg of fowl. The meat was tough—these birds had not been raised on quality feed, that was certain—but however they were cooked, the flavor had a satisfying tang to it. “Not brave—just factual.”

  “So your captain thinks you’re worthless.”

  “I didn’t say that, Lessandra. But Starfleet has very clear guidelines for dealing with terrorists.”

  “We’re not terrorists!” Lessandra sputtered.

  “You may have perfectly valid grievances, but the second you kidnap hostages, you become terrorists. If you give me back unconditionally, I promise you’ll get a fair hearing from Captain Picard.”

  The old woman grunted disdainfully. “And you’ll overthrow Stross for us.”

  “We can mediate.”

  “Mediate what?”

  “A settlement—not a surrender.”

  Jaminaw stabbed an enthusiastic finger into the air. “Listen to him!”

  Riker frowned, trying to fathom this battered leader who, at the moment, held his fate in her hands. “What exactly do you want—and don’t tell me the overthrow of the government.”

  “But that is what we want, Riker.”

  “Give me something realistic, and maybe the Federation can help you.”

  “Why would Stross listen to the Federation?” Lessandra asked.

  “Because he wants Federation aid—and the Nuarans aren’t the only alien race who would like a piece of your planet. Stross can accept aid from the Federation—or dominance from the Nuarans or the Ferengi. I know which one I’d pick if I were sitting in his chair.”

  Glin munched reflectively on a root. “So you’re saying that in return for aid, Stross might be inclined to pay some mind to what the Federation says about our fight?”

  “Don’t misunderstand me. We have a very strict rule called the noninterference directive. We can’t meddle with the internal affairs of any world, nor can we change how any society is developing just because we think our way is better. But if we’re asked to help settle a dispute, we can try to bring two warring parties together for their own common good.”

  “Tell him what we want,” Mori piped up. The older council members looked at her, and when no one spoke right away, she told him herself. “We want the right to live our own way. We want a chance to convince other people that our way might be better, but if they don’t choose to agree with us, then we won’t force them—sort of our own noninterference directive.”

  Riker looked at the others. Lessandra’s face furrowed in disapproval. But Glin and Jaminaw were nodding. “Is Mori right?” he asked.

  “The essence is there,” Glin said, her graying whiskers twitching.

  “Ealix dung!” Lessandra exploded. “You’re all ready to betray everything our ancestors stood for, everything Evain taught us and died for. You’re ready to believe that Stross and his criminals will learn to love Mother World overnight and accept t
he Hidden Hand and live in true Fusion with the land. And if you believe that, you’ve all got sand for brains.”

  “Lessandra,” Riker said, “governments sometimes do incredible turnarounds when the alternative is extinction. And in the case of Thiopa, your environmental disasters could mean the extinction not only of the government but of life itself.”

  “Besides,” Glin added, “no agreement is forever. If they break a pact, we’re free to start the battle again.”

  But Lessandra wasn’t buying. She folded her arms across her chest, her chin and whiskers jutting out pugnaciously. “Stross has led us halfway to hell, and the rest of the route’s a downhill slide. He and the protectorate have to be swept from Thiopa. That’s the only hope for our future, any future. I will do anything, even trade with the Nuarans, to rid Thiopa of Ruer Stross. We shall build an army strong enough to ride out of the Sa’drit and overwhelm Bareesh. We’ve sat out here in the sand long enough. It’s time to take Thiopa back and restore the old ways before Stross destroys what’s left of Mother World. Either we win or we weep.”

  The chill of the night made Riker’s nose tingle, and the condensation of his breath collected on his mustache. A crescent moon rode high in the sky as he walked along the Stone City’s front ledge with Mori. A few flickering torches moved along the canyon rim as sentries marched between the lookout posts on the outer ridges.

  “Lessandra really hates Stross,” he said.

  “That is certain,” Mori replied. She wrapped her collar scarf around her neck and chin and slipped her hands up under her arms.

  “It sounds more than political. It sounds personal.”

  “It is.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Her leg—that’s how she lost it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Back twenty years ago, she was Evain’s deputy. At that time the Sojourners were picking up more and more followers. Stross wanted us controlled, and he wanted Evain stopped. That’s when my father went into hiding.”

  “Your father?”

  “Evain was—is—my father.” She saw Riker’s eyebrows arch in surprise. “Stross told Lessandra the government was willing to negotiate. They agreed on a neutral place. I think Stross was hoping my father would show up.”