Here There Be Dragons Part 8

As soon as she was certain her strength had returned, she swung out of the bed and padded silently across the carpet to the door. It was large and solid-looking. She tested the latch. Not surprisingly, it didn't give. She hardly expected that the owner of this place would trust her to stay here of her own accord.

Well, first things first-clothing. She hoped that there would be some in the chest, but it was empty. Terrific.

There was a sound at the door. Ro tensed, ready to leap on whoever came in, but then forced herself to relax. She wasn't recovered sufficiently from the drug to win a fight. For now she had to hope that she could keep the owner happy without getting too close to him.

The door opened slightly, and a young woman entered. She was carrying something wrapped into a bundle. The door slammed shut behind her and was locked. That meant someone on guard outside the door.

Eyes narrowed, Ro studied the girl. She looked terrified, and she was simply dressed. A servant, obviously, not an owner. She was dark-haired and quite pretty, in a frightened sort of way. But her skin showed evidence of disease having plucked at it in places. It probably rendered her safe from the sort of fate Ro knew was in store for her.

The girl held out the bundle. "This is for you to put on," she stammered.

Ro was being allowed to wear something, anyway. It would at least stop her teeth from chattering. "Thank you."

She took the clothing and unrolled it onto the bed. It was a simple dress but obviously too short for respectable wear in this town. There was no sign of underwear. She sighed. "Beggars can't be choosers." She was aware of the girl watching her as she slipped the dress on. Whoever had picked it out had at least gotten the size almost correct. It was a little tight across the chest and loose about the hips. Then she realized that this was exactly the way it was meant to be, of course. The skirt came partway down her thighs. She wished it were longer, because her legs were freezing.

"Now what?" she asked the girl.

"You must wait here. The duke will come when he is ready." Abruptly the girl grabbed Ro's hands and squeezed them. "Be brave."

Ro realized that the girl was terrified. Well, probably because she knew what the duke was like, and Ro could only guess. Those guesses weren't too inspiring. "Uh, thanks. I think. Is there any way out of this place?"

The girl shook her head. "It is too well guarded. You have been sold to the duke for ..." She gestured at the tapestries.

"Yes, I guessed that part." Ro shook her head. "Listen, there were two men with me. Do you know what happened to them?"

"No." The girl turned sad eyes on Ro. "Were they relatives?"

"No. My ..." Ro bit back the next word. "Companions."

"Then they were probably sent to the mines. That is where most male slaves go."

This was getting worse by the minute. It looked as if the captain and Lieutenant Miles were up to their necks in trouble as well. "Listen, do you know what happened to my clothes?" She had to get her communicator back and contact the s.h.i.+p.

"You did not have any when you were brought in here. The other maids must have taken them from you when you were purchased."

"Great." Ro sighed. "What's your name?"

"Martina. I am the d.u.c.h.ess's handmaiden."

"There's a d.u.c.h.ess?" Ro gestured at herself and the room. "Does she know about all this?" Maybe she could start a little trouble... .

"Of course."

"And she allows it?"

Martina bowed her head slightly. "She is glad that she does not have to occupy this room. As am I. I am very afraid."

"If I had any sense, I probably would be, too," Ro admitted. "What happened to the last person who was here?" Martina blanched. "Okay, forget I asked."

Someone hammered on the door. Martina looked around, pale. "I must go!" she said in an urgent whisper. "The d.u.c.h.ess wants me. Try to stay brave." Then she ran to the door and rapped on it twice. It opened and the poor girl fled.

Ro sat down on the edge of the bed. This was not looking too encouraging. Graebel was obviously some sort of slave trader who'd sold her to the local duke for a s.e.x toy. And the duke clearly used up toys rather quickly... .

Dr. Hagan normally enjoyed striding imperiously through the streets of Diesen, watching the ignorant peasants shying from contact with him and cringing in fear of his supposed powers. This time, however, he wasn't striding-he was almost running. And he wasn't enjoying himself at all. He was furious and more than a little scared. And he felt humiliated for once.

d.a.m.n that fool Nayfack! The whole carefully constructed scheme they had worked out was teetering now, threatening to crash down around their ears. The Enterprise might not have reported back to Starfleet yet, but they had trailed that imbecile straight to Hagan. Hagan wished that Nayfack were alive again so he could have the pleasure of murdering the man again.

Thankfully, he had planned for almost any eventuality. Those two Starfleet officers wouldn't discover anything from his burned-out store. It would be nice if they'd been burnt to death, but there really wasn't much chance of that. Still, if they beamed back up to their vessel, then they'd be finished off there once he managed to contact the boss. He'd settle that stars.h.i.+p!

Hagan arrived at the docks. He had a small boat moored here as a secondary base. His reputation alone kept the locals well away from it. He hurried to where it was berthed and slipped aboard. The cabin looked innocent enough, but he'd worked hard on this craft. Bending to the deck, he pressed his hand down on the secret palm lock. The computer verified his ident.i.ty, and the deck split silently apart to reveal a flight of steps. As soon as he descended them, the hatchway closed behind him.

The interior of the boat was state-of-the-art. He didn't see why he had to subject himself to the squalor that the locals considered civilization, especially since he was making more money from this operation than even he could spend. Settling into his chair, he ordered the replicator to make him a single malt scotch on the rocks. It materialized in seconds, and he swallowed a good mouthful. The burning of the liquid in his throat made him feel a little better. The alcohol hitting his stomach calmed his nerves.

Turning to the communicator, he tapped in the code for the boss. Then he waited for a response. There was no telling how long it would be before the boss would be able to drag himself away from the locals and find out what was happening, but Hagan had hit the emergency code.

Two minutes later the screen lit up. "What's wrong?" a deep voice growled. The figure on the screen was clouded. They were as affected by the graviton fluxes down here as the Enterprise would be in orbit. There was no escaping the problem, and Hagan had learned to adjust. Voice contact wasn't quite as fuzzy.

"Big trouble. The stars.h.i.+p Enterprise is currently orbiting the planet."

"What?" The boss leaned forward. "Explain!"

Hagan swallowed. "When the yacht left the tunnel, the stars.h.i.+p was mapping the cloud. The yacht was destroyed, but Nayfack escaped. Thinking he was being smart, he convinced the captain he was a Federation security man and brought the s.h.i.+p in through the tunnel."

"The fool!" The man on the screen slammed his fist down on his desk. "I'll kill the idiot!"

"You're too late," Hagan replied. "I beat you to it. He was trailed to my home, and I was forced to destroy it to escape. Two Starfleet officers were there, but I doubt they were killed. The one good aspect of this is that Nayfack convinced the captain not to send a message to Starfleet before he entered the cloud. If we act now and destroy the Enterprise, we'll be safe for a while."

"Not for long." The boss thought for a moment.

"All right-I'll get the stars.h.i.+p. It'll buy us time to evacuate the planet, I suppose. As soon as Starfleet realizes they've lost the vessel, they're bound to search the area. Sooner or later they'll spot the tunnel."

"Shall I begin shutting down here?"

The other man shook his head. "Not yet. It'll take me a little while to get the defenses working. I can't go into the operations center just now. The first thing you'll have to do is to locate and terminate those two Starfleet snoopers. Then close down operations and join me here. I'll set the destruction of the Enterprise into motion, and we can leave. I'll bring the Preservers' map with us. Maybe we can find another world that's as rich as this one."

"Is that likely?" Hagan had never seen the map-only the person in charge had. Understandably, he kept it tightly under his control. Being the only one who could read it helped his monopoly. "This has been a very sweet money-making machine for us."

"I don't know. It's d.a.m.ned hard to understand the Preservers' script. But we'll have time to study it. Now-get those two interlopers."

"Understood." Hagan turned off the viewer. He then opened a small closet and took out a second cane, almost identical to the one he had been using. Only this one didn't hide a knife in the handle. Instead, there was a small but powerful phaser in the wolf's head. The Starfleet officers would be bound by their stupid Prime Directive not to bring their own weapons down to the surface. They'd be sitting ducks because he was not confined by such petty morality. All he had to do was to locate them and then cut them down.

Chapter Twelve.

"RIGHT," BARCLAY SAID, giving Worf a nervous glance. "That should have done it." He stepped back from the computer panel outside Holodeck 4. "I've-ah-managed to program in what the world below is kind of like. Of course, since we've not heard from either away team, I can't be certain that what I've programmed is correct. It's a sort of best-guess scenario, really. And I'm not very familiar with the Germanic knight period, so I sort of transposed it to the court of King Arthur... . "

"I'm certain that it will be more than adequate," Worf replied.

"Well, anyway, the code of chivalry is intact," Barclay pressed on. "And it's going to be along the right lines, I'm certain-well, almost certain. And-"

"Mr. Barclay," said Worf emphatically.

"Yes?" Barclay croaked.

"Thank you for your efforts. I am certain that they will be most rewarding." He gestured at the door. "Shall we enter now?"

"By all means," agreed Barclay. "I mean, uh, yes." He faced the doors. "Ah-computer! Run program Arthur Rex."

After the briefest of pauses, the computer replied: "Program now engaged. Enter when ready."

Worf strode toward the door, which hissed open. The Klingon marched into the holodeck, Barclay trailing nervously along behind him. As they crossed the threshold, the doors hissed closed and vanished, isolating them in the illusion that the room created.

It was as if they were standing inside a castle. Huge stone walls rose about them. Torches set in niches guttered and danced as they burned. There was the scent of roasting meat and the cheery laughter of a number of people from directly ahead. Worf glanced down at himself and found he was dressed in brightly polished metallic armor. Atop the armor he wore a tunic of white, with the red outline of a rampant lion. Under his arm Worf held a helmet, large enough to fit over his head, with a grating that could open where his eyes would be. Atop the helmet was a flowing red plume.

Barclay was dressed in green tights and leather sandals and wore a similar white tunic. His rampant lion was also in red but smaller than Worf's.

"I take it that I am one of these knights?" Worf asked.

Nodding, Barclay gestured down the hallway. "The others await us within," he explained. "I am your squire. It's my duty to keep your weapons ready and in good repair, and to ready your horse. That kind of stuff."

"Good." Worf strode down the halfway and into the room beyond.

The source of the noises and smells was instantly apparent: They were in a huge banqueting hall. Two long tables, facing each other, were crammed with all kinds of dishes. On each table sat an entire roast pig, with an apple in its mouth. Servants were cutting and tearing steaming slices from these to hand out to the feasters. There were cooked swans, large pastries, hot loaves of bread, tureens of soup and stews. There were figs, apples, pears, and a dozen different types of berries. There were smoked chickens and sausages, along with vegetables and gravies. And there were flagons of rich, red wine that further servants were slopping into goblets held up by the seated revelers.

Beyond the table a group of minstrels were vainly attempting to make their music heard over the din. The far wall was broken by an immense fireplace, within whose confines a stack of wood was burning l.u.s.tily. On a spit, being turned by a young urchin, was another huge boar, crackling and spitting as it roasted.

The men at the tables were dressed similar to Worf, but the tunic each wore bore a different device. One was a blue eagle, another a rearing unicorn. There were real and fabulous animal designs, along with arrows, swords, and s.h.i.+elds. Each man quaffed wine and tore at the meat he held with great good cheer.

At the head of the table sat a regal couple. Worf's eyes narrowed as he examined them. The man was undoubtedly the king-a circlet of gold on his thick brown hair made that abundantly clear. He wore a full beard and a wide smile, but the underlying features were clearly those of Captain Picard. The woman beside him on his left was of course the queen. She wore a silken dress that clung to her figure and flowed to the floor. On her flaming red hair was a small diadem of gold and diamonds. She bore an unmistakable resemblance to Dr. Crusher.

The king rose to his feet. "Ah! Sir Worf-come to join us at last! Welcome, welcome!" The a.s.sembled feasters all echoed the greeting. Worf caught glimpses of Commander Riker, Lieutenant O'Brien, and others in the throng. "A seat!" the king cried. "A seat for a worthy knight!" Turning to the seated soldier at his right, he said: "Make way, fellow. Sir Worf requires your seat!" The knight, laughing, picked up his stuffed plate and goblet and made his way down the table to a spare seat. The king waved at the empty chair. "Come, Sir Worf, and join us!"

"I should like that very much," growled Worf, lowering himself into the chair. Two of the servants immediately thumped a loaded plate and a filled goblet in front of him.

"Eat! Drink!" the king roared merrily. "On this feast to celebrate the birth of our Savior, all men should rejoice!" He took a deep draw of his own wine, then wiped his lips on the sleeve of his tunic. "Ah! Good wine, good food, good companions-and a beautiful wife!" He smiled happily at Queen Beverly. "What more could a man ask of life?"

"What indeed?" asked Worf, somewhat uncomfortably.

The king's eyes sparkled. "Ah, but you jest, Sir Worf. You know the true answer to that as well-if not better-than any man in this room!" Raising his cup, he howled: "What more do we need, my knights?"

The men all thundered to their feet. "A Quest!" they roared in response.

"Indeed we do," the king agreed. "And-unless I am very much mistaken-I do believe that adventure even now strides within our walls!"

Following his outflung arm, Worf saw another figure march into the room. It was similar to the men already feasting in that it wore armor. But this man's armor was of s.h.i.+ning black, not silver. The plume of his helmet also was ebony. He carried a huge s.h.i.+eld, and by his side swung a long sword.

The knight beside Worf slammed a fist onto the table. "The Black Knight, by my oath!" he snarled. "Has he the gall to come here and insult the king to his face?"

Worf was beginning to get the drift of this adventure. Leaping to his feet, he called out challengingly: "What are you doing here on this day?"

The dark figure halted and turned to examine Worf. His voice, when he spoke, was hollow and echoing. "I come to offer single combat to any knight worthy of his rank," he replied. "Or else I require his abject surrender."

"Sir, you insult me in my own court!" cried the king. "You are fortunate that I have taken an oath not to spill the blood of any man on this day of rejoicing, or I should cut off your head myself!" He gestured about the room. "But here are four score and eight goodly knights-all braver and more worthy than you. Mayhap one of them would take up the challenge you so coldly fling out."

The knights all began to call out that they would gladly accept the honor of single combat. Worf turned to the king. "My leige lord," he said. "Allow me, I beg you!"

The king's eyes sparkled in grat.i.tude. "Sir Worf! I knew that I could count on you. So be it!" After removing his sword, he rapped loudly on the table with the hilt. "Silence!" he cried. The knights all fell quiet and looked to their monarch. "Sir Worf has asked of me the honor of meeting the Black Knight in single combat. And I have granted his request!"

There was a great cheer from the whole hall at this. The Black Knight turned his head to study Worf. "I shall take great pleasure in cutting off his head," he announced.

"To the fields, then!" cried the king. "Let the combat begin!"

As everyone began to file out, slapping Worf heartily on the shoulders and calling out encouragement, the Klingon turned to Barclay. His teeth flashed. "You are quite correct," he growled. "I am truly enjoying this!" Then he shook his head. "If only I were really down on the planet, where the others are truly involved in adventure!"

If Data had been human, he would certainly have been feeling excited and smug by now. As he lacked emotions, though, the most that he felt was satisfaction that his time had not been wasted. On a leisurely swing through the market, he had detected two hundred and seventy-three close a.n.a.logues to so-called antiques auctioned off on various worlds over the past eighteen months. Not requiring sleep like the other crewmembers of the Enterprise, Data had evolved a large number of pastimes to occupy his leisure hours. One of these was to zip through all the current news releases from the museums of the Federation. Several articles had dealt with the surprising rise of available-and apparently genuine-antiques dating from the medieval period of Earth. A number of conjectures had been suggested and shot down. Data was confident that he could now explain the puzzle.

The two hundred and seventy-three items he had cataloged should all stand up in a court of law, and that should be sufficient to convict the members of the gang for this profitable little scam of theirs.

It was a shame, really, that they had been practicing such a subterfuge. Data appreciated good art, and some of the craftsmans.h.i.+p demonstrated here in the wood carvings and metalwork was indeed highly skillful. The items that had been sold as fake antiques were actually almost worth the prices paid for them.

Data judged that he had spent sufficient time and energy on this aspect of the mission. It would be appropriate to join Captain Picard and report his discoveries. He carefully scanned the market and quickly detected the banner that bore the emblem of Graebel. Attempting to look as fully human as everyone about him, Data headed for the warehouse. The captain, Lieutenant Miles, and Ensign Ro had been gone for over three hours now. They must have discovered some lead of their own, else they would have emerged from Graebel's establishment before this. Worry was alien to Data's mind, but he did register a slight anomaly. This was not typical of the captain's behavior.

Was it possible that something had happened to the captain? Data knew that on any alien world there was a chance of a problem. It was impossible to calculate the odds for such an event, because by its very nature it would have to be an unknown problem. But both Captain Picard and Ro were very observant for hominid life-forms and well able to take care of themselves. He had to a.s.sume the same held true for Lieutenant Miles, else Worf would not have a.s.signed him to his duty. Still, it might be as well to be careful when meeting with this man Graebel.

Arriving at the warehouse, he rapped on the door to gain admittance.

Geordi La Forge leaned forward in the command chair. He virtually had to drag his attention away from the main viewscreen. The sight of the cloud was dazzling-quite literally. He'd been forced to shut down the input on his VISOR twice to avoid sensory overload. The forces of nature even in this bubble were staggeringly powerful. It irritated him that he couldn't come up with the mechanism to explain how such a bubble could be maintained in the heart of the nebula.

"Any signs of the communicator interference clearing up, Mr. Van Popering?" he asked. He'd been asking that question every twenty minutes since Commander Riker and Counselor Troi had beamed down to the planet.

"No, sir." Van Popering had also been giving the identical answer every twenty minutes.

"d.a.m.n," Geordi muttered. He felt so helpless, just sitting there, waiting.

"Relax, Geordi." Beverly Crusher patted him on the arm. She was seated in Deanna's position, to the left of the command chair. "They're all adults and capable of taking care of themselves."

Geordi nodded. "You're right, Doc. I know that. But if they are in trouble, how will we know it? And what if they want to beam back aboard?"

"They'll just have to wait. Like we will."

"Yeah." Geordi sighed. "But I've never considered patience to be a virtue. Especially when we can't even talk to them."

"The interference is bound to clear up, isn't it?"