Here There Be Dragons Part 14

"How impeccable?"

Randolph smiled. "A hundred gold pieces."

The duke raised an eyebrow. "Impeccable indeed. And the other man?"

"I've no idea. He doesn't look like a local to me." Randolph stared down at Deanna. "And the lady-if she is a lady-is also a stranger."

"I see." The duke sat a little straighter in his seat. "In which case, it's clear that these two scoundrels from out of town attacked one of our local merchants of fine repute and tried to rob him. Isn't it?"

"Quite clear," agreed Randolph.

"Well, we can't stand for that." The duke made a gesture, and Riker's arms were gripped by two of the guards. A third seized hold of Deanna. "I think we'd better make an example of this pair. Toss them in the dungeons for now. I'll consider what to do with them later." He stared at Riker. "Something lingering for you, I fancy. With boiling oil in it. And as for you"-his eyes fastened hungrily on Deanna-"perhaps I shall temper your fate with ... mercy. Off with them!"

"Do you call that justice?" snarled Riker.

"I call everything I dispense justice," the duke said evenly.

"Quiet," Volker added, slapping Riker across the face. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Riker quieted down and allowed the guards to lead him out of the room. When the doors closed behind them, Volker sighed. "You were trying hard to get yourself killed there," he said. "Arguing with the duke isn't very smart. Now-I'm sorry for you, but it's down to the cells with you now."

Deanna stared at him curiously. "You don't seem like such a bad person," she said candidly. "Why do you work for that swine?"

"Because it's a lot safer than working against him," Volker snorted.

"Is safety everything?" she persisted.

"Without it, nothing else is worth very much," he replied. "I'm sorry for the both of you. You seem decent enough. But that Hagan clearly knows Randolph, and Randolph's the duke's adviser. You can't beat that."

"I suppose not." Riker let the guards lead him to the closed doorway. He saw that it was locked. Volker nodded, and one of the guards used a large key to unlock the door. As he reached to open it, the door exploded outward, hurling him aside.

Several howling maniacs poured out of the doorway and threw themselves onto the guards.

Picard managed to doze astride the horse. Kirsch sat behind him, arms about the captain to prevent his falling from the saddle, and guided the beast as it trotted gently back toward Diesen. Miles, still unconscious, was tied to the rough travois they had lashed together. Data kept up an easy lope beside the animal. Kirsch couldn't help marveling at how relaxed the homunculus appeared to be.

"I do not burn energy in the way that your body does," Data explained to him. "I have a small power pack built into me that keeps a constant level of power, whatever my requirements."

"Are there many more wonders like you wherever you and Lukas come from?" asked Kirsch, amazed.

"There are indeed many things you would find astonis.h.i.+ng," Data replied. "But they are not like me. Please do not ask me any more questions on this matter. I am forbidden to answer any further."

"Ah! A magical geas!"

"No." Data shook his head slightly. "It is merely a rule that I have agreed to uphold because I believe it to be the wisest course of action. Merely revealing myself as a nonhuman being has stretched to the limits the information I may impart to you."

Kirsch considered this. "I don't see what harm it has done to tell me."

"Nor do I, at this moment," Data agreed. "But we rarely get to see all of the consequences of our actions immediately."

"You and Lukas do hold some strange beliefs." Kirsch sighed. "I know that there must be much more that you could tell me, if only you would."

"This is true. But we believe that it is better for you to discover these things for yourself, rather than to be given them."

Kirsch grinned. "Ah! My father would no doubt agree with you there."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. He's quite wealthy, but wouldn't give me money to support my studies. He believes that a person values money more if he earns it than if he's given it."

Data nodded. "The principle is somewhat similar. You value knowledge more when you discover it for yourself rather than if it is handed to you."

The student laughed. "Ah, I've caught you out there, my friend! If that is indeed the case, then surely we should teach our children nothing and let them discover all about the world for themselves-if they live long enough!"

"We are talking of different kinds of learning," Data replied. "Teaching your children what you know is one thing; teaching your people what I know would be something very different." Before Kirsch could question this, Data added: "If I could explain what I mean by that, I would. But I am constrained from doing so. Please accept that what I know is of a very different order from what you know."

Kirsch thought it over and then nodded. "You know magic, being a creature of magic. I am a student of the sciences, and therefore untrained in magical lore."

Data allowed this statement to go unchallenged. It was, after all, merely an example of Clarke's Law in action: Any sufficiently advanced technology will appear to be magic to outsiders. It was best to allow Kirsch to discover his own answers-however incorrect they might turn out to be.

The access tube was groaning and moving slightly about Beverly as she dragged Barclay's unconscious form inch by inch backward. It was clearly in imminent danger of collapse. If one of the panels fractured, the sharp edge could cut her suit open, at the very least. She'd be dead before anyone could reach her. And if the tube shattered around her, she could be torn to pieces by the wreckage. She tried to force all the images of chunks of razor-sharp metal falling on her from her mind. It was by no means easy. She concentrated on moving Barclay and crawling backward, focusing her energies and thoughts only on the task at hand.

She was sweating badly, and there was a terrible itch at the base of her spine. In the suit scratching was impossible. Besides, it had to be pyschosomatic. To be honest, it had to be fear. Crawling down an access tube that was filled with gas and ready to break apart any second was playing havoc with her courage. She glanced over her shoulder. Just a few more feet ... Her sweat was clouding up the inside of her helmet's faceplate. The suit was doing its best to clear the moisture from the suit, but it couldn't handle this amount. Taking a deep breath, Beverly tried to calm down.

A section of the wall beside her ruptured with a hiss of escaping gas. She flung herself aside as the metal curled and slashed at her as if it were alive. Sparks danced across the exposed gap, and one of the neurone net crystals shattered. The tiny slivers showered across her suit. If one of those hit her with any force ... Involuntarily she closed her eyes. She had to will them open again.

The sparking died away, and there was no further movement. Beverly swallowed, realizing how close to death she had been. Her hands were clamped tightly about Barclay's ankle, and she carefully unclenched one. Gently she brushed the shards of shattered crystal off her suit and away from the section of the tube she'd have to drag Barclay across. It was pains-taking, nerve-racking work. If one shard was left, it could well rupture their suits as they slid over it. But she had to hurry in case any more of the tube ruptured while they were still inside it.

Finally she was satisfied, and she began her weary journey once again. To her relief, after a few more feet, her foot slapped against the outside of the airlock door. Bracing herself carefully, she got a grip of Barclay's belt and pulled him toward her. She'd have to get him into the airlock and then wait for the cycle to complete and the technicians outside to remove Barclay before she could get to safety herself. She loathed the idea, but there was not room for two in the tiny airlock. As gently as she could, she managed to push Barclay into the small chamber. As she did so, she saw his face through the helmet's plexigla.s.s. It was white and strained, but he was breathing. A faint spider-web crack in the gla.s.s showed just how close he'd come to death. If the plastic had suffered a little more impact, it would have broken completely.

The small airlock seemed to take forever to flush out the argon and then flood with the air mixture that the s.h.i.+p used. Waiting inside the tube, the door to the airlock closed on Barclay, Beverly could hear the access shaft creaking and groaning. She wondered if it was going to come apart about her.

Then there was the sound of a thump from the lock, and sc.r.a.ping noises. That had to be Hinner taking the unconscious Barclay out of the tube. Then the outer door closed again. Twisting around, Beverly tapped in the commands on the keypad to begin the cycle again. After another eternity the inner door swung creakily open. The joint was getting worse, she noted. The tube was still suffering stress forces. She wriggled into the airlock and closed the door. Then she used the keypad to order the argon flushed.

A red light flashed. "The inner door must be fully closed before airlock procedures may commence," the computer announced.

"d.a.m.n!" Beverly pulled at the hatch, but it appeared to be fully closed. Then she saw that there was a gap along the upper part of the seal. The hatch had warped too much to close properly. Now what?

She was about to signal Hinner when Geordi's voice sounded over the s.h.i.+p's communications broadcast. "Bridge to all decks: Prepare for action." The red alert siren began to howl.

Beverly started to worry seriously now: There was another gravity bomb attack under way, and she was stuck inside of the malfunctioning access tube... .

Then the airlock door behind her exploded outward. Beverly fell backward, into waiting arms. Hinner lowered her to the deck as the second ensign slammed the door closed and latched it again before too much argon could leak out.

"I gathered you were having problems, Doctor," Hinner said seriously.

She gave him a thankful smile as she unsealed her helmet. "Bless you," she murmured. Then she turned to Barclay, who was on a portable null-gee stretcher. "I'll get the rest of the suit back to you later," she promised. "Right now I'm taking Mr. Barclay down to sick bay." Without waiting for a reply, she powered up the stretcher and pushed it before her.

The s.h.i.+p shuddered about her. The attack had begun again.

Chapter Eighteen.

THE MOB RUs.h.i.+NG UP from the dungeons was in no way organized or efficient. But they were determined never to be taken back down again. Even though they were weak from the treatment they had received while incarcerated, they fought like demons to get free.

Volker and his guards had been taken by surprise. They had never considered the possibility of a ma.s.s escape before, even one as disorganized as this. Two of the guards were clubbed to the ground before they could react, and the one stunned by the door in his face was beaten to the ground. Three of the escapees ripped the swords from the fallen guards' hands and leapt for the other men.

It was an uneven fight from the start. Beaten, malnourished, and exhausted, the prisoners didn't stand a chance against the well-armed guards. But that didn't stop them from trying. They rushed the main doors, bearing the struggling guards back with the press of their bodies. The guards hacked at them without heed for their lack of weapons. There was a stench of blood and screams as the fighting intensified.

Volker had no option but to call in the other men from the courtyard. He flung open the door, calling down for help. The startled guards leapt to their feet and rushed to help their beleaguered colleagues. The prisoners fought as well as they could, but it was an impossible battle. They were cut down and mercilessly murdered. Volker took no pleasure in the slaughter, but his men were more than eager to commit the butchery.

Finally quiet settled again. One of the prisoners, badly wounded, cried out. A guard viciously hacked down with his sword, half-severing the man's head and silencing him. Volker turned away in disgust. He was a soldier, not a butcher. Standing by the entrance to the fortress proper, he gazed around at the dead escapees. There were a half-dozen bodies of his guards in with them. But there was no sign of ...

"Where are Riker and the girl?" he snapped.

The guards looked about, puzzled. "They didn't escape, Captain," one offered.

"I know that. Then where are they?" Volker glared at the men. "Right, you three"-he indicated the men with a gesture-"into the dungeons. Search down there. You four, up the stairs. You two, with me." He crossed to the great hall's doors and pulled one open. Riker and the girl must have taken one or more of the three alternative ways out.

He had made the correct decision. Inside the great hall he saw Riker immediately.

He had the duke's head in a grip that left the duke blue in the face. Riker glanced around and smiled tightly. "If I increase the pressure," he said calmly, "then you'll be left without a leader. Come on over here, Volker, with your men, and lay down your weapons."

The duke choked and gestured feebly with one hand. It was clear that he was ordering Volker to do as he had been told. For a moment Volker considered refusing the order and daring Riker to do his worst. If he killed the duke, he'd have no hostage. Then he'd be dead meat. And Volker would not have that s.a.d.i.s.tic fool ordering him about. On the other hand, Riker didn't look like a man who would kill in cold blood. And if he let the duke live, Volker would certainly pay if he had refused the duke's orders.

With a sigh Volker obeyed. He indicated to his two men to join him and walked toward the dais.

Riker wasn't certain how far he could push his luck. When the prisoners had jumped the guards, he had quickly realized that he now had a chance for escape. Taking a hostage seemed to be the best plan, and the best hostage was the top man. He and Deanna had managed to surprise the duke as he was counting Randolph's bribe. Hagan had tried to stop Riker, but he was little match for a trained Starfleet officer. At the moment he was still on the floor, moaning softly from the swift chop to the kidneys he'd suffered.

Deanna stood beside Riker, ready to grab one of the swords when the guards laid their weapons down. She was sensing so many different feelings from all around her that she missed the important one until it was too late. Amid the fear and pain and concern, she suddenly felt an overwhelming anger. She started to cry out as Randolph flung himself onto Riker and jabbed him in the arm.

Riker collapsed soundlessly, his mouth open in shock. Deanna saw the needle embedded in his arm and realized that they had found the next link in Hagan's gang-Randolph. It made sense that their leader would be close to the local ruler, to ensure that the gang's activities went smoothly and undetected. Before she could go to Will's rescue, the two guards grabbed her. One twisted her hair in his hand and savagely tugged her to the ground. He viciously jerked her head back and raised his sword to strike at her neck.

"No!" ordered Volker. "These two attacked the duke. I'm sure he'll want to dispense their fate personally."

The guard nodded. Deanna felt the tearing pain in her scalp ease slightly, and the sword was lowered.

Volker crossed to where Riker lay on the floor. Randolph palmed the needle he had used to fell the attacker and smiled unctuously up at the guard captain. "Perhaps you'd do well to keep a better eye on your prisoners," he suggested. "Or you may discover yourself joining them in the dungeon, Volker."

Flus.h.i.+ng, the captain gestured for the other guard to help the shaken Riker to his feet. The drug Randolph had used was wearing off already. Volker had seen the needle the duke's adviser had used. Poison-tipped, probably, and meant for his last line of self-defense. Randolph must want these prisoners out of the way very badly indeed to have used the needle. Perhaps it would do him some good to question Riker later. He disliked and distrusted Randolph. The man was a toad, flattering and bribing the duke, and all the time playing his own little games. The man had come from nowhere a few years ago, and it might be high time he vanished the way he had come.

Volker bent to examine the duke. The marks of Riker's fingers still burned whitely in the corpulent flesh of the duke's neck. The duke was breathing but was still unable to speak. This just wasn't his day, Volker reflected. First he was kicked in the privates by his latest would-be plaything, and now he was attacked and throttled by one of his prisoners.

Turning to his guards, Volker ordered: "Take this pair down to the cells. Then get that mess outside cleaned up." He offered the duke a supporting hand. "I'll see that our lord gets to his lady wife so she can minister to him." He shot Randolph a glare. "Meanwhile, perhaps you'd stay out of trouble and take that friend of yours away."

Randolph glared at the departing guards as they obeyed their instructions. As soon as he was alone with Hagan, he whirled around angrily. "That Volker is beginning to annoy me," he growled. "Almost as much as you are. I told you to have those Starfleet officers killed, not brought here!"

Hagan shrugged. "What difference does it really make? Once they're in the duke's cells, they're as good as dead. The only way they could escape is if the Enterprise can rescue them. And I a.s.sume you've taken care to see that won't happen?"

"Oh, yes." Randolph smiled nastily. "The good s.h.i.+p Enterprise is facing ... technical difficulties." He glanced up at the ceiling. "It's a shame we can't watch, but the gravity mines have been activated. I think we can happily wipe the Enterprise off as a problem... ."

Geordi stared at the main screen on the bridge. Above the image of the planet were three computer-enhanced dots, plotting the positions of the approaching weapons. "Here we go again," he muttered to himself. The recalibration of the sensors had worked well enough to detect the approaching gravity distortions. They couldn't be absolutely certain of the mines' positions, thanks to all the sensor interference, but at least the s.h.i.+p was braced for this attack. The small devices were using their gravity-generating powers to maneuver, so it would be difficult to outrun them at less than warp speed. This close to the mines, using the warp engines was out of the question.

"Target one: fifteen hundred kilometers and closing," reported Worf. "Phasers are powered up."

"There's no point in using them," Geordi replied. "You saw what happened last time. The point gravity well acts like a black hole, Worf, sucking all the light energy in."

Worf scowled. "What about photon torpedoes?"

"Same problem. The gravitic waves they generate are powerful enough to bend any form of electromagnetic energy. A photon torpedo would simply be deflected around the device."

The Klingon officer considered this. "Then we are helpless against them?"

"All we can try to do is dodge them." Geordi shook his head. "The problem there is that they don't need to actually hit us. A close pa.s.s is good enough. Their gravitic effects could tear the containment fields apart at a distance of a few hundred kilometers."

Van Popering didn't take his eyes from the Ops panel. "With the current sensor problems," he said softly, "I can't guarantee a reading that's accurate to more than a hundred kilometers."

"So," Worf said in the silence that followed, "what we must do is thread our path between these gravity mines, allowing none of them closer than a few hundred kilometers-with an error of up to thirty percent in our instruments-and trusting that the Engineering staff-with both yourself and Lieutenant Barclay absent-can keep the containment fields in perfect balance?"

Geordi nodded, his face glum. "That's about the size of it, yeah."

"Excellent." Worf's face broke into his first real smile in days. "A challenge worthy of us!"

Geordi stared at him, and then shook his head. "Well, I'm glad at least one of us is happy." He glanced at the screen again, which was showing the mines approaching. "Heads up, everybody. Worf, red alert. Here they come... ."

Beverly groaned as the klaxon howled again. She didn't look up from her instruments. "Turn that d.a.m.ned thing off," she snapped at Nurse Ogawa. Then she returned to the delicate task of knitting together the bones in Barclay's ankle.

She knew instinctively that he would be only the first of today's casualties.

All three s.h.i.+fts in engineering were a.s.sembled in the huge two-story main engineering room. Every panel had at least two people stationed at it. Fingers twitched above the controls as everyone waited for the first sign that the field alignments had begun to slip. They knew that the safety of the s.h.i.+p depended on their reactions. As the klaxon howled, their concentration deepened.

Hinner licked his lips and watched the readouts trailing across his screen. One figure outside of the normal parameters was all that was needed to begin the chain reaction in the core itself that could rip the s.h.i.+p apart in seconds... .

"Steady," cautioned Geordi. His VISOR was focused on the screen, but he could read the nervousness in the female navigation officer. "Easy does it, Mancini."

"Aye, sir."

"Range: four hundred kilometers and closing," Worf barked. "Target two at six hundred kilometers, mark seven oh nine."

Geordi could only pray that his calculations weren't in error at this point. "Okay, Mancini," he said. "Ready on my mark-half impulse on a heading of three-four-two point five."

"Laid in and ready," she replied.

"Okay." Geordi watched the changing image on the screen, barely heeding Worf as he intoned figures. His command, when it came, was mostly calculation, and partly a gut feeling for the s.h.i.+p. "Engage!"

The Enterprise whined as it s.h.i.+fted to the new heading. Red lights instantly began blinking as it executed the maneuver. He muted the reports of damage incoming from all decks, concentrating on the engineering reports.