POWER HUNGRY

by Howard Weinstein

  “Captain,” said Lessandra, clutching the metallic insignia Picard had given her, “you should know Undrun’s main reason for sneaking down here himself.”

  “I imagine he meant to figure out a way to get that emergency aid to the people who needed it.”

  She shook her head. “His first priority was to free your Commander Riker.”

  Picard’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. “Really,” he murmured.

  “Data to Captain Picard,” said the voice from Picard’s communicator.

  “Report, Data.”

  “We have located a pair of life-forms in the general vicinity you suggested.”

  “Is one of them Commander Riker?”

  “Uncertain, sir. There is some interference with our sensors due to the magnetic properties of various ores and minerals present in fairly large quantities at or near the surface. That, added to the similarities between human and Thiopan physiological readings, makes specificity difficult. I could program sensors to compensate.”

  “Do we have time for that?”

  “Not if we consider one additional factor.”

  “What additional factor?”

  “Whoever they are, they appear to be under attack by Thiopan government aircraft.”

  “Hoverjets,” Lessandra said sharply. “If that’s true, they’re in great danger.”

  Picard whirled toward her. “Do you know of any other people—your people—who might be out there?”

  “It’s possible, Captain.”

  “I’ve got to know for certain. Data, transport me to that position.”

  “But, sir, the risks—”

  “Don’t argue with me, Commander. Beam me directly there on my order. Then stand by to beam all of us up to the Enterprise. “Picard stepped away from the rest of the group. “Lessandra, we’ll talk again.”

  “Good luck out there, Captain Picard.”

  “Data, energize!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE QUARRY HAD BEEN gouged carelessly out of the hillside, then left like a gaping wound when the mine was abandoned, mute evidence of the pillaging of Thiopa. A permanent scar, cut so deep that it revealed millions of years’ worth of sedimentary rock built up by heedless forces of nature—and torn apart by the heedless hand of man.

  All that might have interested Will Riker at any other time. At the moment, however, his only concerns were the seven military hoverjets regrouping for another strafing run at the spot from which three other hoverjets had already been shot down in flame and smoke.

  Riker and Mori hunkered down near the lower edge of the old quarry, concealed by two piles of rock that intersected to form a sort of protective angle. Protective, but far from invulnerable. Mori’s aim had been nothing short of miraculous so far, but Riker knew the odds were against her continued success. If he could have offered a viable alternative to attempting to blast seven more aircraft out of the sky, he would gladly have done so. But there was no other escape from here. It was fight or run. Riker feared the final results of either choice would be the same—the charred remains of bodies smoldering where he and his sharp-shooting companion had been crouching.

  Mori shifted the balance of the missile launcher on her shoulder, then took aim on an incoming hoverjet. “If I can get two more, the rest will run.”

  Before she could fire, the hoverjet shot a burst of energy bolts their way, blowing pebbles and dirt into the air, forcing them to cower with heads covered until the rain of rocks ended.

  “Number One!”

  At the inconceivable sound of a familiar and very welcome voice, Riker’s head jerked up. “Captain!”

  Another salvo of hostile fire set off a small mushroom cloud of dust and stones. Riker lunged for Picard’s arm and pulled him down to the ground. “What the hell are you doing here, sir?”

  “Getting you out of here.” Picard slapped his chest insignia. “Enterprise, three to beam out—now!”

  “No,” Mori shouted, popping out of her crouch, tracking a swooping hoverjet in her scope. “Let me shoot—”

  “Are you crazy?” Riker shouted. He clamped both hands on her launcher and wrenched it away from her—as the three of them sparkled back into existence in the Enterprise transporter room. Mori was still scuffling to get her weapon back, when the sudden realization of her abrupt change of venue hit her. She froze—but only for a beat. Then she straightened with dignity far beyond her years.

  “I could have shot all of them down.”

  Riker shook his head, a combination of relief and amusement glinting in his eyes. “Not in my transporter room. Captain Picard, meet Mori.”

  Picard nodded stiffly. “How was she doing?”

  “Three out of ten when you interrupted me,” Mori stated.

  “Commendable. Number One, you’re out of uniform.”

  “Long story, Captain.”

  “I’ll look forward to hearing it—later.” He faced Mori squarely. “I’m told you are a young lady of uncommon determination.”

  She opened her mouth, but Riker silenced her with a sharp look. “I’ll explain, sir.” He reminded Picard about Evain, the latter-day prophet who had revived the Sojourner movement with his writings and preaching.

  “What does all that have to do with this young lady?” the captain asked.

  “Mori is Evain’s daughter.”

  Mori explained the rest. “And I believe all the reports I have heard of prisoners seeing my father alive long after the government said he died.”

  “Ahh, I see.”

  “Captain,” Riker said, “I made her a personal promise that I would try to find out whether Evain is alive or dead.”

  “Hmmm. What would prompt you to make such a promise, Number One?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. I guess I was impressed with her guts, if not her judgment. I’d like to keep that promise, with your permission.”

  “You realize we’re treading a very fine line,” Picard warned.

  “The Prime Directive. I’m aware of that, sir. The knowledge that Evain is alive could conceivably change the balance of power on Thiopa, and if we’re responsible for that . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Picard exhaled slowly, mulling over the implications. “I take it you have something in mind . . .?”

  “I do, sir.”

  Arms folded across his chest, Picard gave Mori a stern look. “Commander Riker does not make such promises lightly. Nor is he impulsive. I will allow him to keep his word to you.”

  Mori met his gaze without flinching. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Let’s go to sickbay,” said Riker.

  “Sickbay?” said Picard.

  “I’m going to need Dr. Pulaski’s help to carry out my idea.”

  “It sounds like grave-robbing,” Kate Pulaski said as she faced the dusty trio in her office.

  “Not robbing—just peeking, sort of,” said Riker defensively.

  Pulaski looked up at the two officers who outranked her on the Enterprise and pursed her lips skeptically. “Let me see if I understand this. You want me to take a genetic scan of this young woman, then beam down to a graveyard and scan the inside of a tomb to see if anyone’s home, as you so quaintly put it, Will.”

  “If there is a body in the tomb, you can do a genetic scan of it, too, to see if it matches Mori’s gene pattern,” Riker said.

  “To see if they’re related.” The doctor shook her reddish gold curls.

  “Is this technically feasible?” Picard asked somewhat impatiently.

  “Well, of course the genetic scans would tell us whether there is a familial link. But depending on what this tomb is made of, my tricorder might not be able to penetrate.”

  “But if it can,” Riker prodded, “would we find out what we need to know?”

  Pulaski looked at Mori. “We would be able to tell if that’s your father buried inside that tomb, yes.”

  “Then we’ll give it a try,” said Picard. “Where is this tomb?”

  “In a war memorial par
k in Bareesh,” Riker said. “Do you know exactly where, Mori?”

  “I’ve never been there myself, but other people have told me where it is. I think I can find it.”

  “What makes you think you’re transporting down?” Riker said.

  Mori lowered her eyes, one of the few times Riker had seen her show any vulnerability at all. “Please let me. I could never go before, and I may never be able to go there again. If my father really is buried there . . .” She paused. “It would mean a lot to me . . . to say good-bye.”

  “You won’t do anything dangerous?” Riker said.

  “I promise.”

  “Very well,” Picard said. “Give the coordinates to the transporter chief, Number One. I want you to beam down in Thiopan clothing. The less suspicion you arouse, the better.”

  “Agreed, sir. Let’s make a stop at ship’s stores and get this over with.”

  “Oh, Number One,” Picard called, stopping them at the door. “My compliments on skirting the Prime Directive. If you are able to come to a definite conclusion one way or the other, only we and Mori will know for certain. And she won’t be able to prove it to anyone on Thiopa, not from what we find out today.”

  “That was my thinking exactly, sir.”

  “Wait,” Mori protested. “What do you mean I won’t be able to prove it?”

  Riker’s expression was not unkind, but it was firm. “I told you I made a personal promise—between you and me. There will be no permanent record of our findings, if any, and we can’t offer any testimony to back you up.”

  The young Sojourner’s expression darkened, as if she felt cheated. “Then what good does this do me?”

  Picard approached her. “You’ll know—for sure, we hope—whether Evain is alive or dead. This will be your own personal knowledge. It may give you some peace—or it may not. But it will guide you in whatever you decide to do next. If it turns out your father is dead, you’ll be able to get on with your life.”

  “And if he’s not buried there, then what?”

  Picard spread his hands uncertainly. “Then you’ll know the government lied about his death twenty years ago. And you’ll have a solid reason to continue your quest for the truth about his fate.”

  “That’s the best we can do, Mori,” Riker said. “I hope it’s enough.”

  “It’s better than anyone ever offered me before,” she said with an acquiescent shrug. “I guess it’ll have to do.”

  Three figures dressed in billowy robes, with loose hoods shading their heads, shimmered into being on a cobblestone walk in Bareesh’s memorial park. The path on which they had materialized was one of a dozen fanning out like a sunburst from a central plaza with a building that looked like an administrative office. Each ray was connected to the others by short paths in between, subdividing each segment of the whole. Riker realized they were in a gently sloped valley, with the walkways going up over the surrounding hills and out of sight. He didn’t want to spend any more time here than they had to. “Mori, which way?”

  For a moment, she looked lost. “Umm—wait a minute. Okay—up this way. Had to get my bearings —I’m not used to beaming into places. Takes a second to figure out directions.” She led them along a connecting path and halfway up the hill, which was matted with the brittle remains of grass too long deprived of water. Riker took a quick look around at the grave markers and mausoleums. There were no representational statues, no literal images. Instead, Thiopans favored geometrical headstones and obelisks.

  Mori’s steps slowed as she caught sight of a white pyramid, rising tall and stately above the graves around it. It was made of a marbled stone, with an epitaph and dates chiseled into one side at eye level.

  “What does it say?” Dr. Pulaski asked.

  Mori stood in bitter silence. When she spoke, her voice was edged with disbelief. “Evain—The Truth of Thiopa Saved His Soul.”

  Riker motioned to Pulaski and she snapped open her tricorder. He tried to put a reassuring arm around Mori, but she shook it off and stared at the graven words as if trying to burn them into oblivion. The words of those who had imprisoned her father because of the things he’d said and written. Words that mocked his life and his memory.

  Pulaski turned off her tricorder. “There’s someone in there, all right.”

  Mori didn’t hear. She’d left Riker and circled to a blank side of the tomb, reaching out to touch it.

  “Hey!” A voice called from down the hillside. Riker turned to see a guard laboring up the slope toward them. “Hey!” he shouted again. “This place is closed. How did you get in here?”

  Riker grabbed Mori by the wrist, reached under his cloak and touched his communicator. “Enterprise, this is Riker. Energize, now.”

  They materialized in the secure confines of the starship’s transporter chamber. Mori nearly stumbled as she came down the steps. “He’s in there,” she whispered in a numb voice.

  Kate Pulaski gripped her by the shoulders, gently but firmly. “Mori, listen to me. All we know is that someone is inside that tomb. But we don’t know if it’s your father.”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “It could be anybody,” Riker said. He found himself annoyed that she was so ready to let go of her faint hope, so ready to forget how much she distrusted the government that had imprisoned her father all those years ago. Then he chastised himself for having seen Mori only the way she’d wanted to be seen—as a tough desert fighter capable of shooting down an entire air squadron and more than willing to die in the attempt. Right now she was a trembling young woman overwhelmed by the possible reality of the death of a father she could barely remember. His expression softened. “They could have buried any dead prisoner and said it was your father.”

  “Do you want to know?” Pulaski asked.

  Mori managed a nod. “I have to.”

  “Then we have to go back to sickbay so I can take a genetic I.D. on you and compare it to the readings I got from the remains inside the tomb. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Picard sat in the ready room just off the Enterprise bridge, elbows propped on his desk, fingers steepled, eyes focused in far-off thought. With Riker’s safe return and Undrun’s retrieval, he would be able to leave all this bad business on Thiopa behind, knowing at least that his ship’s complement was intact. For all the brave ship-captain talk about no single person being more important than any other, and about every life aboard being secondary to the survival of the ship and the majority of her crew, no commander could accept the loss of a crew member or passenger without losing a piece of himself in the bargain, without feeling that he’d failed. I’m responsible for every life on this vessel—and every life is sacred. For one more day, at least, that was one internal conflict he wouldn’t have to fight.

  He was also pleased that he’d established a dialogue, however tenuous it might be, with Lessandra and the Sojourners. The people most in need would get at least some measure of relief from the two shipments of food and supplies he’d beamed down to drought-stricken Endraya. But the most difficult loose end remained loose: what, if anything, was he to do about Thiopa’s long-term difficulties?

  Data had given assurances that his projections of Thiopa’s bleak environmental future carried with them a 97.8876 percent probability, if none of the worst-case variables were affected for the better by positive steps. And Picard had shared Data’s astonished reaction at Dr. Kael Keat’s ready admissions. Data still couldn’t grasp the notion of overlooking the truth to enhance one’s personal power. Picard could understand it, but that didn’t make it any easier for him to accept it. And the revelation that Thiopa’s chief scientist didn’t think indisputable conclusions of ever-darkening disaster were reason enough to alter her empire-building strategies—well, that certainly was a bad omen.

  Starfleet and Federation regulations and laws were clear: it was not the Federation’s place to tell the rest of creation how to live . . . but sometimes some creatures were so damned stupid�
��Picard caught that thought before it could fully emerge. The legal code he’d sworn to uphold by accepting his Starfleet commission limited his actions. But it didn’t relieve him of his conscience.

  Captain’s Personal Log, Supplemental.

  I face a decision that is both difficult and simple. In spite of the paradox there, such decisions are all too common in this line of work. The simple part is this: I feel morally bound to present Thiopa’s leaders—both government and Sojourner—with the facts as we know them to be. And to offer our help, if they ask for it. After that, it’s up to them. That is the hard part.

  All eyes turned toward Jean-Luc Picard as he came out of his ready room onto the bridge. He took his seat between Riker, now cleaned up and back in uniform, and Counselor Troi. “You look as if you’ve made up your mind,” she said.

  He nodded. “We will not turn our backs on people in need,” he said with quiet fortitude. “Not unless they force us to.”

  “What about the Federation, sir?” Riker said. “It’s not likely they’re going to want to prop up a poor leader with a shaky grip on power.”

  “True enough, Number One. But that’s for the Federation Council to decide, not one starship captain and his first officer. Lieutenant Worf, open two channels to Thiopa, please.”

  “Aye, sir. Channels open.”

  “Enterprise to Thiopan Communications Network . . .”

  A brisk male voice replied. “Thiopa responding, Enterprise.”

  “This is Captain Picard. I would like to speak to Sovereign Protector Stross.”

  “Please stand by, Captain Picard.” A moment later, the voice returned. “Putting you through to Protector Stross’s office—visual signal.”