Here There Be Dragons Part 19

As Picard had expected, there was absolutely no argument from Volker. He, Kirsch, and the final few guards turned on their heels and ran for their lives as if the demons from h.e.l.l were on their tails. Picard couldn't blame them.

"Excellent work, Mr. Worf," he said when the locals were gone.

"I feel very foolish," Worf growled.

"Nonsense. You look very ..." Picard coughed, and hit his communicator. "Mr. O'Brien, beam Mr. Worf and the device into the Preservers' control room. Then beam the three of us back aboard the s.h.i.+p."

There was a slight pause. "That's kind of tricky, sir," the transporter chief responded. "I may have to cut this rather close."

"Do your best," Picard instructed.

There was the familiar tingle in the air as Worf and the bomb s.h.i.+mmered into nothingness. Picard stood where he was, waiting. It seemed like an eternity before the beam focused in again, and he felt the slight wrenching in his stomach. Then he and Data were on the pad in Transporter Room 3. O'Brien gave them a relieved smile and reset the controls.

As Picard stepped down, Worf materialized on the platform. Then the deck beneath their feet shuddered, flinging them off-balance across the room.

"That's the problem I was referring to," O'Brien explained. "The gravity mines are closing in and the s.h.i.+p's feeling the strain.

"Well done, Chief," Picard said. "Gentlemen?" He set off down the corridor to the closest turbolift, with Data and Worf close on his heels. He didn't look too closely at all of the damage on the way. Bulkheads had ruptured, panels collapsed. There were pools of fluids gathering. In the lift he barked: "Bridge!" The doors whined loudly as they closed.

The ride was b.u.mpy and noisy, but they made it. The second the doors opened, Picard led the dash for their posts. Riker, Deanna, and Ro-still in their costumes-were already at their posts. The counselor looked shaken, and everyone else on the bridge looked very grim.

As Picard took the command chair, he saw the computer simulations on the main screen. They had cut their arrival far too fine. The mines had arrived.

As the Enterprise shook again, Worf called out: "Ten seconds to device detonation! s.h.i.+elds at twenty-four percent power. Forward s.h.i.+eld number four still off-line."

Picard gripped the chair arms. Without that screen the s.h.i.+elds were bound to fail.

It hadn't been easy for Barclay to clamber into the access port for the failed s.h.i.+eld projector. He'd almost blacked out from the pain in his ankle. Every ounce of willpower he possessed he focused into remaining conscious. Then he'd slowly begun replacing the burnt-out circuits.

The port shuddered about him. He barely heard the red-alert klaxon screaming in the corridor outside. Slamming home the final component, he powered up the unit. "Come on, baby, work," he crooned as he tapped the final controls.

Engineering was a disaster area. Panels had been opened for repairs and left hanging. Jury-rigged units were plugged in all over. Geordi jumped one such unit, hoping that the hissing sound it was giving off wasn't a sign of impending doom. He gained the main engineering panel and took in the status.

The field stabilizers were dying. As the latest mines approached, another of the control boards shorted. The emergency backup came on line, then started signaling its impending failure. The main lighting was pulsing in time with the rapid bursts from the core.

"She's gonna blow!" one of the juniors yelled.

Geordi hit his communicator. "Field containment failure imminent," he reported as evenly as he could. His fingers whirled across the panel as he tried desperately to bring one more backup-any backup-into play before the fields shattered.

The bridge buckled and the lights dimmed. The bloodred emergency lighting came on, then faltered.

"Forward s.h.i.+eld four back on line," Worf reported. "s.h.i.+eld strength up to forty-one percent. Field containment failure now eight seconds." Then, with considerable satisfaction: "Device detonation-now!"

There was one final shaking of the gravity compensators, then a sudden silence.

Picard let his breath out again. The emergency lighting died, and the main lights returned. The viewscreen-still engulfed in the snowstorm-showed no computer-enhanced targets.

"The gravity mines have ceased transmitting," Data reported from Ops. "Gravitational stresses now normal."

"Geordi here," came a very relieved report. "Field containment is reverting to normal. We'll be back up and running again in a few moments."

"When can I have impulse power?" Picard demanded.

"Impulse power? Captain, I don't think that this is a good time to plan a trip."

"We don't have any option, Geordi." Picard was still grim, despite the elation all about him. "With the Preservers' power now gone, that platform holding open the tunnel through the nebula will shut down."

"Uh-oh ..." Geordi had obviously forgotten about that problem. "I'll have half-impulse in about thirty seconds, Captain."

"Good enough." Picard glanced at Data. "Any readings on the tunnel?"

"Not precisely," the android answered. "The generator platform does appear to have closed down."

"Ensign," Picard ordered Ro, "lay in a course for that tunnel. Maximum speed. I don't want to be trapped in here, but I've less desire to be caught inside that tunnel as it collapses."

"Laid in," Ro reported.

"Engage as soon as impulse power comes on line." Picard gave Riker a glance. "We're cutting this terribly fine, Number One."

"Don't we always?" asked Riker.

Managing a slight smile at this, Picard nodded. "It does seem to be a bad habit, doesn't it?"

"Impulse power up," Ro reported. There was a whine of power as she engaged the drive. The view of the planet on the screen s.h.i.+fted as the Enterprise came about.

"Two minutes to the tunnel at this velocity, Captain," Data reported.

"Will we be in time?" asked Picard, his voice tense.

"It is impossible to be certain," replied Data. "We have never encountered a science akin to this before. The tunnel may have already closed. The generator may have residual effects, and it may still be open. Sensors provide no information at all."

Riker s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. "We may have dropped down a rabbit hole and pulled it shut above us," he muttered.

"We're not trapped yet," Picard said with more confidence than he felt.

"Let's hope not," agreed Riker.

They watched the screen tensely. The main cloud grew larger and larger. The beautiful swirls of color grew and danced across the interference on the screen. Picard desperately hoped that they would not have to watch it for the rest of their lives.

"I am picking up sensor readings on the tunnel," Data finally reported. "It is still there, but it is showing definite signs of weakening."

"Take us in, Ensign," Picard ordered.

"Aye, sir."

Data half-turned. "Captain, if the tunnel should collapse while we are inside it-"

"I know?" Picard barked. The s.h.i.+p would be annihilated in an instant, ripped apart by the tachyon fluxes. But if they didn't attempt it, they would be trapped inside the nebula.

There was a haven of sorts for them on the world at its heart. Data had a.s.sured him that it was in no danger from the termination of the Preservers' machines. It would proceed now on its own path, and find its own destiny. He'd done his best to ensure that the Prime Directive had been upheld. There was still time to return to the planet instead of taking this risk. Should he be risking the lives of all aboard in this potentially suicidal dash?

He knew there was little choice, really. They all had families and responsibilities back in the galaxy outside. And if they returned to the world they had just left, it would be for the rest of their lives. They would be isolated there, forbidden by the Prime Directive to interact with the natives. It was better to take this chance.

In the tunnel they seemed to crawl along. The mad whorls of color fluxed and flowed about the s.h.i.+p. The patterns on the screen were almost hypnotic. Greens, ochres, magentas, scarlets, blues, and whites pulsed and skipped about the Enterprise. Picard wished he could relax and enjoy the show, but every nerve-ending in his body ached with the tension and uncertainty of this pa.s.sage.

"s.h.i.+eld integrity falling," Worf reported. "The power drain is starting to tell, Captain."

"Hold course," Picard ordered. "Data, what do you read on tachyon strength?"

"We are currently still safe from their effects, Captain," the officer replied. "But the tunnel is definitely constricting about us. The strength of the fields restraining the radiation is falling. It is merely a matter of time before the lingering effects of the Preservers' equipment fails under the stresses."

"How long?"

"Unknown, Captain."

Even though he'd been expecting this answer, Picard was still disappointed. After everything, they could still be trapped and obliterated in a split-second collapse.

The light show went on about them, oblivious to their problems.

"Normal s.p.a.ce ahead," Data reported. "We will be exiting the tunnel in fifteen seconds."

They were the slowest fifteen seconds of Picard's life. The last vestiges of the nebula slipped past them, like colored paints draining down a sink.

"Protocloud behind us," Data announced. "We are back in conventional s.p.a.ce."

Picard stood up. "My congratulations, everyone," he said loudly. "Now let's see about getting this s.h.i.+p back to normal, shall we?"

"No rest for the wicked," muttered Ro. She glanced back at the captain and then stiffened as her eye fell on Worf. "What are you supposed to be?"

Worf glared at her. "I am impersonating a magical Earth being," he growled. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Ro managed somehow to keep a straight face. "No. Absolutely not. No problem at all."

"Good."

Chapter Twenty-three.

VOLKER AND KIRSCH stood in the marketplace and stared together back at the smoldering pit that had once been the town's castle. The explosion had created a column of fire and smoke that was now dying down again. A fine rain of dust was falling over the town.

"Sodom and Gomorrah indeed." Volker sighed. "What a waste of a fine building."

"Perhaps it's a symbol," suggested the scholar. When Volker frowned, Kirsch explained: "The old duke was notoriously corrupt, my lord. Perhaps fire from heaven really was needed to mark an end of his ways. If you use this right, it could help the people to accept you as the new duke."

Volker's mind turned over the possibilities. Yes ... there was something in what this scholar was saying. The old regime was so corrupt, only a blast from the heavens themselves could cleanse the city. And he had been the one chosen by G.o.d to take the reins and make new policies... . "Kirsch, I like the way you think. Are you willing to consider becoming one of my advisers? Understand, I make no guarantee that I will take your advice."

Kirsch smiled. "It's definitely an improvement over being a slave, my lord. I would be most happy to accept."

"Good. Well, we've plenty of work to do." He made no move to begin, though. He stared over the smoking crater. "I wonder if they were really what they claimed to be?"

"I have a few theories," Kirsch offered. "I always have theories."

"Well?"

The new adviser shrugged. "They may have been angels of G.o.d. After all, didn't G.o.d send angels to warn Lot and his family to flee Sodom before its destruction? And does not the Apostle Paul speak of people entertaining angels unaware?"

"Angels?" mused Volker. "Well, perhaps so. But they claimed to be from our world. From some other continent." He rubbed his chin. "If that's true, then I think we'd better build a few s.h.i.+ps and take a look at the rest of our world. If we share it with the likes of beings like Lukas and Dieter, then I want to know where they are. We must be ready if we ever have to deal with them again."

Beneath the rubble, the Preserver fragment was satisfied. The work was exhibiting progress once again. There had been a short time-a mere seven hundred years-where it looked as if the experiment might have failed. The human colony had suffered badly when exposed to the native reptilian species. It had been thought that the presence of creatures they believed in-the dragons of their folklore-would stimulate their growth and progress. In the event, the reverse had occurred. Curiously, it looked as if progress had been restored to the world, thanks to the accidental contact with other humans from outside the experiment. The obsolete equipment had been a small price to pay.

Had this compromised the composition? The fragment couldn't tell, not being in contact with the rest of the Preserver Union. But the influence was removed, and the experiment was back on track. All that it could do was to observe and record, waiting the day when the Union contacted it again for details.

The fragment settled down to its duties, willing to wait as long as it must. Now it had at least the age of discoverers and adventurers to look forward to on this world.

In the briefing room, Picard glanced about the table. Riker, Deanna, Geordi, Data, Beverly, Worf, and Ro looked back. He felt an air of peace, despite the horrendous list of damage to his s.h.i.+p that had been compiled. They were on their way to Starbase 217, which was gearing up to help with the repair work. They were limping along at warp three, but the engines were holding.

"I've spoken with Randolph and Hagan," Riker reported. "Apparently they were the only two members of the poachers left on that planet. It was always a small operation. They're more than willing to name the rest of the gang back on Earth, so we can close this out now."

"And the recent wave of art forgeries will die out with the collapse of the scheme," Data added. "The real Federation Security will be most pleased with our conduct."

"What about the people of that world?" asked Beverly. "Will they be okay now?"

"It's hard to say," Picard answered. "But with their isolation again, they will at least have a chance to make their own progress."

"It's just a d.a.m.ned shame about having to destroy the Preservers' machinery." Riker sighed. "And we didn't get a hold of that map of the other Preserver worlds. Randolph told me he kept it in his room at the castle."

Picard knew how disappointed Riker had to be. He himself had desperately longed to see that map. "Yes. But at least we know that there are other worlds they seeded out there. Perhaps the next one we discover will hold a map, also. Who knows? I feel certain that one day we will run into them."

"If I could offer a suggestion," Data said. Picard nodded. The android continued: "The existence of the tunnel through the nebula suggests that the Preservers were keeping access to the planet open. It is therefore not unlikely that they mean to return. If a monitoring station is set up in this vicinity, it is possible that we may detect their approach one day."

"An excellent idea, Mr. Data," Picard agreed. "I'll note it in my report. And while they're waiting, the station could get a really good, long look at the protocloud evolution." He stood up. "I am commending everyone involved for his or her work on this mission," he added. "Thank you, one and all."

As the room began to empty, Beverly came over to him. "How are you feeling, Jean-Luc?" she asked. "Any aftereffects from all of your adventures on the planet?"

"Merely a slight sunburn," he a.s.sured her. "How about the casualties on the s.h.i.+p?"

"They're doing well." Beverly smiled. "Lieutenant Miles's arm is mending well. Reg Barclay is screaming about being kept in bed while there's still work to be done."

Picard chuckled. "Oh, and I meant to ask you. I saw Smolinske's name on the sick list. But there was no mention of any injuries. Could you enlighten me a little?"

"It's preventative medicine," Beverly explained. "She seemed to feel that a week in my isolation room just might give Mr. Worf time to calm down."