Here There Be Dragons Part 13

"Got it!" Geordi grinned and slammed home the final commands. He looked up at the screen. The picture was broken up by interference, but they could all see the small metallic sphere sail past them. "Worf-phasers!"

"On line," the Klingon reported. "Firing ... now."

The screen compensated for the brightness of the beam that lashed out from the s.h.i.+p toward the sphere. The interference in the picture cleared a little, but it was still like watching events through a snowstorm. The phasers seemed to slow down, and then the beam actually bent... .

"Just as I thought," Geordi whispered as the beam faded from sight.

"Target unharmed," Worf reported. "Shall I try again?"

"No." Geordi breathed out loudly. "It was just an experiment. You can't destroy that thing."

Beverly glared at him. "Are we out of danger?" she snapped.

"Not hardly." He stood up, indicating Van Popering to resume his post. "That device has made its pa.s.s, but it'll be back, count on that. It's on our orbital path."

"But what is it?"

Geordi chewed on his lip for a moment. "Best way I can think of to describe it is a kind of gravity bomb," he finally said. "It's a small device that somehow creates a point of gravity waves. When we do calculations about gravity, we pretend that the whole force is concentrated at the center of a sphere. It's not really true, but it's good enough for math. Well, in this case, it is true. That small sphere was somehow putting out the gravitational pull of a medium-size star. It acts like a tiny black hole, pa.s.sing close to the s.h.i.+p. It's as if we were only a few light-minutes away from the core of a sun. That's what caused the fluctuation in the containment fields."

"And what did you do to stop it?"

"Well, it's using polarized gravity waves." He shook his head. "Man, we're facing so many theoretical impossibilities here. Anyway, it's kind of like polarized light-the gravitic equivalent of a laser beam, or phaser, only using gravity instead of light. I rephased the s.h.i.+elds to act like a pair of sungla.s.ses. I aligned the field phase of the s.h.i.+elds with the beam and then twisted it to reflect the gravity waves."

"Then what's the problem?" she asked, puzzled. "Can't you do that again next time if the thing returns?"

"Maybe. But you saw how close I cut it this time. If there's more than one of those devices out there, we could be in serious trouble."

Worf glanced up from his board. "Is there any way to detect their approach?" he asked.

"You mean apart from their almost causing our engines to blow?" Geordi scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. I think we can get the sensors recalibrated to read them. They must be generating pinpoint gravitic fields that we could detect as they warp s.p.a.ce about the bombs."

"That should give us an edge," Beverly said.

"Right." Geordi managed a watery smile. "Kind of like walking through a mine field on tiptoe. Those devices are pretty small, and we won't be able to detect them until they're almost on top of us."

Worf considered this. "Why don't we simply go to a higher orbit?" he suggested. "We could stay away from those devices."

"I don't know about that," Geordi answered. "According to O'Brien, we're at about the limits of his equipment right now. We won't be able to track and beam up the landing parties if we go farther out. Not that the transporters will work until I get the gravity residue cleaned out."

"Nor will we be able to beam them up if we are destroyed," countered Worf.

"I think we'd better wait to see if we're attacked again before we consider moving out of orbit," Geordi decided.

The communicator whistled. "Hinner to bridge."

"Now what?" Geordi wondered. "I'm beginning to dislike command. Go ahead, Ensign."

"Sir," Hinner reported, "it's Lieutenant Barclay. He's still inside the access tubeway, and I can't get a response from him. The tube's partially collapsed about him. I think he's trapped in there."

Ro was somewhat puzzled by the pa.s.sageway that she had just entered. There hadn't been any cells for quite a distance, and yet the tunnel kept on going. There didn't seem to be much reason for it. It must have taken the locals months to dig it out, and yet it was without any obvious purpose.

Which meant it had to have some hidden reason for its existence. But what?

Ro came to a slow halt and stared at the wall that blocked her path. The tunnel simply ended here. This place was making very little sense at all. One thing that was clear, though, was that she wouldn't be getting out this way. She didn't want to stay here, either, with no place to retreat if she was discovered. Reluctantly she set off back up the pa.s.sageway again.

There was the sound of footsteps just as she drew level with the first empty cell. Quickly she ducked inside and waited. As she listened, her bewilderment increased. The steps were coming from the dead-end pa.s.sageway, not toward it. She peered through the grating on the door of the cell. Someone was indeed coming up the pa.s.sageway. The flickering torches on the wall weren't the best of lighting, but she could make out that the man was tall, heavyset, and bearded. He wore a large cloak that was edged with some kind of whitish fur. Around his neck was a heavy-looking piece of metallic jewelry that was probably some kind of badge of office. Without concern, he strode past the cell Ro hid in and on toward the main part of the dungeons. In a few moments the sound of his steps had faded.

Ro pulled open the cell door again, deep in thought. He had been in the pa.s.sageway without an exit, yet she hadn't seen him. Which meant that there had to be some sort of secret pa.s.sageway or door down there. And if that man had been able to enter the dungeons via that pathway, then perhaps she could escape using it. a.s.suming, of course, that she could find it.

She moved slowly down the pa.s.sageway, her hands resting gently on the walls, as she strove to discover any hidden exit.

Engineering was a mess. Broken equipment lay about on the floor and tables where it had fallen. This close to the core, the gravitic stresses had caused more damage than anywhere else in the s.h.i.+p. Beverly stepped over broken gla.s.s and shattered electronic components as she made her way to the tube where Barclay was trapped.

Most of the engineering staff was working on realigning the fields. The distortion produced by the gravity bomb may have been nullified, but the warp engines couldn't be brought on line until they had been recallibrated and reset. If the bomb came back, or another one arrived, this scene would be repeated-a.s.suming, of course, that they could stave off the ultimate effects and survive such an attack.

Only Hinner and one of the other ensigns stood by the access shaft where Barclay was trapped. As Beverly had requested, they had a spare s.h.i.+elded suit ready for her. Geordi had attempted to argue her out of going into the tube, but she had adamantly refused to allow one of the engineers to try and rescue Barclay. If his suit was torn or its field unstable, they could kill him trying to get him out. She had won the argument. She suspected that if Jean-Luc had been present, though, he'd have forbidden her to attempt this crazy rescue.

She tried to keep her mind off the dangers as she suited up. It didn't work. Though the argon in the tube was inert, it could kill Barclay by simple suffocation. If his suit had tipped, he'd be dead by now.

"No signs of movement?" she asked Hinner.

He shook his head. "He's been in the same position since I called the bridge." As he finished fastening her clamps and activating the suit's field, the other ensign handed her a cutting phaser. She snapped it onto her belt, slinging the medical kit over her shoulder. "You'll have to cut the plate that's on his foot," Hinner explained. "That should free him. But if the suit's torn ..." He didn't have to fill her in on the consequences.

"I'm not likely to cut through anything vital, am I?" she asked. "The last thing anyone needs right now is my ignorance of engineering to result in a severed power coupling." She tried to keep her voice light, but it wasn't very convincing.

"No. I've rerouted the systems at that point and put in blocks." Hinner slapped her gently on the arm. "Good luck."

"Right." Beverly flashed him a nervous smile, then pulled herself into the airlock. It was a tight fit, despite the fact that she was slim. Maybe it was because of constricting entry ports like this that she never saw any overweight engineers. The hatch closed behind her, and she was shut in the tiny lock. She tapped the argon feed controls by the second hatchway. After a few seconds the green light came on. She pushed at the hatch, which gave way reluctantly. It was easy to see why there was a problem. The door had buckled slightly and wasn't a firm fit any longer.

The narrow tubeway stretched ahead of her. Claustrophobia wasn't something engineers worried about, clearly. One of the lights built into the tube flickered unsteadily, but there was sufficient illumination to show her what lay ahead.

Barclay was visible about ten feet from her. The safety line had been sliced through by the tubing where it had ruptured. The walls looked as if they had been pinched together by some giant fingers.

"Reg!" she called. "Can you hear me?" There was a chance that he was conscious but unable to move and that his communicator was inoperative. If he was awake, he ought to be able to hear her as she began to make her way into the tube. There was no response, however. Fighting back the fear that he might already be dead, she crawled toward him carefully. She had to check the pa.s.sageway for any debris-it would only take a small piece of sharp metal to tear her suit and let out her precious air.

Then she had reached the fallen section of the tubing. She looked it over carefully. Part of the wall had ruptured, buckled and then collapsed, trapping Barclay's foot. Amazingly, his suit looked as if it was still uncompromised. The metal had formed a kind of clamp about his ankle. Beverly didn't need her medical equipment to show her that the bones had broken. Barclay must have pa.s.sed out from the pain.

The first thing she had to do was to ease the pressure on the ankle. That meant cutting the panel away from Barclay's foot. It was going to take a precise and steady hand. If she cut too close to his ankle, she might damage his suit herself. If she cut too far away, the section might be too heavy for her to move.

Gently she brought the cutting laser into position and triggered the beam. It hissed slightly in the argon atmosphere, but it was designed not to cause an electrical discharge. Of course, if Hinner had accidentally left any of the power lines running through the wall here live, then she could trigger a ma.s.sive discharge by severing it. The result would be like sitting inside a fluorescent tube as it arced. She'd probably not be aware of the problem before she was dead.

She had to stop thinking things like that! The engineers knew what they were doing. She was in no danger of being fried to death... . The beam slowly cut through the shattered panel. She fought to keep her hands steady, to have the beam cut gently but precisely. Sweat was pouring off her forehead. She wished there was some provision inside the faceplate to wipe her brow. There wasn't, of course.

The job seemed endless. Her eyes ached from the strain, and she had to keep blinking them. The phaser light left greenish afterimages on the inside of her eyelids. Finally the last segment of the panel snapped free. Before she could move, it started to slide off Barclay's foot. Instinctively she reached out to catch it-probably the stupidest thing she could have done. The sharp edge slashed across the finger of her suit, slicing through the thin material.

The INTEGRITY COMPROMISED light inside the faceplate began to flash. She was absurdly annoyed at it-she knew she'd torn the suit. Quickly she reached for her medical kit and pulled out the skin spray. It was the work only of a few seconds to spray the artificial skin over the tear. It hardened almost instantly, and the light stopped flas.h.i.+ng.

Beverly breathed again. There hadn't been any real need to hold her breath for those agonizing seconds, but instincts refused to listen to reason. That had been close, but she was out of danger. But had the s.h.i.+fting metal plate ruptured Barclay's suit?

The plate lay to one side of the tube. She could see no visible rips in his suit, but that didn't mean much. She crawled forward again, hauling herself carefully over his broken ankle. As soon as she could reach out and touch his belt, she extended the electronic probe in her glove. It interfaced with his output line, and she scanned his vital signs.

Thank G.o.d! He was alive and breathing. The suit wasn't torn.

She wished she dared stop to give him a painkiller. But there was no time to waste. If one of the gravity bombs came near the s.h.i.+p again, this tubing would collapse about them. She had to have the pair of them out into engineering before that could happen.

Beverly wormed her way backward until she was off Barclay once again. Then she clutched his uninjured ankle in her left hand. Bracing herself against the sides of the tube, she started to tug. He moved slightly. She tugged again, and he jerked toward her a couple of inches.

Ten feet to go ... This was going to take a while. She only hoped that she would have that time.

Chapter Seventeen.

RIKER TRIED not to look discouraged as he, Deanna, Hagan, and the a.s.sa.s.sins were escorted into the castle. It was a formidable establishment, made from huge blocks of stone. There was no moat, at least, but the only entrance was a large gatehouse that was well manned. A portcullis was winched upward as the guards signaled their approach. The bottom of the portcullis was like razor-sharp teeth. If that came down while anyone was under it, he'd be ripped in half. As soon as the party had entered the castle, the portcullis was lowered behind them.

Getting out again wouldn't be easy without approval from the duke. Riker wished he had faith that they would be set free. From the att.i.tude of the guard captain, however, this didn't look too likely.

Once through the gateway, they were in the courtyard. It was some fifty feet across and lined with straw. To the right of the entrance were the stables. The stench of horse manure made it impossible to miss. To the left were entrances to the walls and barracks. By one building several guards were working with long, lean hounds of some kind, presumably used for hunting. Directly ahead of them was the castle proper. There was no entrance on the ground floor-a defensive tactic that made storming the castle much more difficult. The approach was up a flight of steps that doubled back on itself. Directly above this was an overhang. The floor of the overhang had several holes in it, most likely for the venting of burning oil or arrows. Unwelcome guests and door-to-door salesmen would get short shrift here.

The guard captain swung down from his horse. One of the men in the yard ran out to take the animal back to the stables. The captain led the group up the steps and in through the main entrance.

Immediately ahead of them as they stepped inside was a short corridor. One door, slightly ajar, led to a flight of steps curving upward. A second door was closed. Directly ahead of them was a set of double doors. Men-at-arms stood to attention outside them. The guard captain strode toward these. The men instantly grabbed the huge iron handles and swung the doors open. The guards with Riker and the group gestured them forward.

They emerged into what had to be the great hall of the castle. The ceiling was some fifteen feet high, and the room about four times as long and wide as that. A huge fireplace at the far end of the room was filled with a blazing fire that hissed, crackled, and smoked. Above the large mantel was a large painted coat of arms, obviously belonging to the grand duke. To the right of the fire was a raised dias, and upon it stood two high-back chairs. There were two small stools to one side, but nothing else to sit upon in the room.

Elaborate tapestries lined two walls. They were predominantly green, showing a unicorn at play on the first wall, and the same creature with its head in a maiden's lap on the adjacent wall. The final two walls were bare of decoration but held elaborate candelabra. Between the ma.s.s of candles on this and the blazing fire, the room was quite well lit.

The guards ushered them, none too gently, before the chairs. The captain then strode across to one of the courtiers that stood lazily to one side of the room. After a whispered conversation, the courtier nodded and slipped out through a side door. The captain marched back to join them.

"I've sent for the duke," he said to both Riker and Hagan. "You can try to convince him of your sincerity."

"I'm not worried," lied Riker. "I've done nothing wrong."

The captain laughed. "Neither have a lot of people who rest in the dungeons below us at this moment," he replied. "You'll have to be a little more ... persuasive than that." He seemed to realize that Riker wasn't following his meaning. "Look, friend, I don't much care which of you is telling the truth. If either of you is," he added shrewdly. "But let me give you some advice while you can still take it. The duke has two real pleasures in his life-collecting gold and indulging in a spot of torture. If you can't help him with the one, then you'll certainly suffer with the other. You get my meaning?"

"Yes." Riker was starting to wish he hadn't been quite as generous as he had been back at the tavern. He had no real idea whether the amount left in his stolen purse was a bribe or an insult.

"Smart man." The captain cast an appreciative eye over Deanna. "Of course, he might just decide to take the lady here in lieu of better offers, so you've got one bargaining chip that your enemy there doesn't."

"She's not for trade," Riker said, flus.h.i.+ng angrily.

The captain shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm just being friendly."

"Thanks," Riker said dryly.

Hagan glowered at the guard captain. "Why are you being so generous to my foe?" he snapped. "When I win my case, it won't go well for you."

The captain shrugged. "I don't like your face," he said frankly. "And this foe of yours was well on his way to beating you. I happen to admire a good fighter."

"You've picked the wrong side," Hagan told him.

"I've picked no sides. I'm just handing out free advice." The captain leaned forward, glowering into the sorcerer's dark eyes. "And I don't like being threatened by men who won't lift a sword."

"There are other ways to kill than with a sword, Captain."

"And I'm sure you probably know most of them." Before the man could say any more, the door close to the fire opened and two men walked into the room.

The first was obviously the duke. He was overweight and overdressed and carrying a silver goblet slopping wine on the floor. His mood appeared to be as unpleasant as his face. Riker could tell that the man had been ravaged by disease, and he appeared to be walking very carefully, as if nursing an injury. He flopped into the larger of the two high-back chairs.

The second man was dressed very well, with a fur-edged cloak and a large medallion of office about his neck. He settled with more grace onto one of the stools. His eyes met those of Hagan for a moment, clearly in recognition. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Riker's stomach as he saw the smile that toyed at the edges of the fortune-teller's mouth.

"All right," said the duke sullenly. "What's this about, Volker? Do you think I've got nothing better to do with my time than to listen to the whines of peasants?"

"A street brawl, my lord," the captain replied.

"Well, why didn't you just deal with it yourself?" the duke snapped. "Execute the lot of them and set the crowd an example."

"With respect, sir, the last time we did that, things grew rather ugly." Volker nodded at Riker and Hagan. "Besides, they looked to me like men of some wealth, my lord, and I thought you'd prefer to question them yourself."

Showing a little interest at last, the duke studied the prisoners. His eyes lingered on Deanna before he finally stared at Hagan. "Well-what do you have to say?" he demanded.

"My lord," the magician said, bowing low, "I ask you to grant me justice. This man"-he indicated Riker-"set upon me and my men in the street. And for no reason."

"That's not the song you sang before," said Volker gently.

Hagan shot him a filthy look. "I do not wish to inflict my problems on such a busy man as the duke," he explained gravely.

"At least you show some sense," the duke growled. Turning to Riker, he said: "And what's your version of all this?"

Riker bowed as low as Hagan had. "My lord, this man and his thugs set upon my lady and me without warning."

"And did he have a reason for his actions?"

"Yes." Riker nodded. "I was about to expose him as a scoundrel, a liar and a fraud. He wanted to silence me."

"That's a d.a.m.ned lie!" protested Hagan. The duke glared at him, and he subsided.

"If you speak again without my permission," the ruler threatened, "I'll pull your tongue out by its roots and make you eat it." Then he lounged back in his chair and took a hefty swallow of his wine. "So far, neither of you sounds at all convincing. I'm considering having you all thrown into the dungeons for irritating me."

"My lord," purred the man on the stool. "Allow me to speak, if you please."

"What is it, Randolph?" The duke obviously didn't appreciate this interruption while he was trying to shake down his victims.

"This man I know." Randolph gestured at Hagan. "He's a businessman from the town with impeccable credentials."