“Have another drink!” Krot passed him a tankard. “And tell me more about this great Captain Picard of yours! Perhaps he will listen to reason—or a mek’leth, eh?”
“You must meet him! He is a great leader. Do not pull a mek’leth on him, though, or I will have to kill you!”
“Just try!”
Worf struggled to his feet. He couldn’t quite get them to work. Too much blood wine, he realized. Maybe—maybe I have said enough.
Krot was laughing.
That was the last thing he remembered.
Chapter Seventeen
AS THEY TRAILED THE MEN AND WOMEN responsible for organizing the rally at the hospital, Riker tried to get as close to them as he could without attracting their attention. Luckily they seemed too preoccupied…they never looked back to see if anyone was following. They simply assumed they were safe. Amateurs, Riker realized thankfully. They really have no idea what they’re doing, do they?
Perhaps a hundred other rally-goers had taken this street away from the square. With all their talk and chatter—mixed in with more chanting and slogan-shouting—Riker had a hard time trying to eavesdrop on the people he was following.
He caught bits and pieces:
“…mixers must be purged soon, or—”
“…save our families before the next plague—”
“…across the bridge, you know—”
None of it made much sense, though a lot of it offered tantalizing hints. The next plague? What did they know about the virus?
He quickened his pace, closing the gap, straining to hear more.
They left the commercial part of the city, crossed a small bridge, and entered a residential area. Tall houses now surrounded them, pressing close to each other.
Unfortunately, they chose that moment to pause in front of one of the houses. He almost walked into them and had to step around and keep going to avoid attracting their attention. He cursed his luck, and caught another fragment of dialog:
“…can’t be trusted tonight. Maybe tomorrow, if—”
Then they all entered the house and the door slammed shut. He heard a deadbolt slam home. Just when it had started to get interesting! “So much for that—” he said.
He turned to Yar and Data. “Did you hear any more of what they were saying than I did?”
“I heard everything, sir,” Data replied.
That’s right—Data had far keener hearing than a human, as well as a photographic memory.
“Summarize,” he said. “What did they say? I caught something about a second plague—are they planning to wipe out the Peladians next?”
“No, sir. They believe the Peladians are responsible for the first virus, and that a second one is coming to finish the job. It is supposed to wipe out all the humans on the planet.”
Riker shook his head. “Then they don’t know anything about it.”
“Apparently not.”
He had chosen the wrong group to follow.
He turned around and found the street deserted. “And we lost the rest of the rioters.”
“Perhaps we should return to the hospital,” Data suggested. “It might be possible to pick up Brother Paul’s trail. Someone might have seen which way he went.”
“That’s our best hope,” Riker agreed. “Let’s go!”
They set off at a jog, and fifteen minutes later they reached the hospital complex once more. Most of the people had left, but several hundred had stayed behind. They all stood around the bonfire, drinking, singing protest songs, and watching the flames. It seemed rather pathetic to Riker.
He searched the faces in the crowd but did not recognize anyone. Another dead end, he thought bitterly. This mission was not going well.
“Sir.” Data pointed to the left, and Riker squinted into the darkness at several shapes moving along the hospital’s wall behind the bushes. They moved like phantoms, keeping low to the ground.
“What are they doing?” he asked Data softly. “Your eyes are better than mine.”
“They appear to be planting explosive charges. However, from the looks of the devices they are not powerful enough to do any real damage. The hospital’s forcefield will protect it.”
Riker sucked in a deep breath. “Terrorists…this is what we’ve been waiting for. Keep an eye on them—we’re going to chase them all the way to Father Veritas if we have to!”
The shapes suddenly sprinted away from the hospital. A heartbeat later, a series of brilliant flashes and thunderous explosions sounded. Bushes flew and clods of dirt started to rain down. The people around the bonfire began to scream and run for cover.
“Now!” Riker shouted, sprinting. Data and Tasha Yar followed.
Together, they pounded up the street, gaining steadily on the terrorists. These men had a little more sense than the rally organizers—they kept glancing back, and clearly knew they were being followed.
At a five-way intersection, they split up. Riker picked the middle terrorist and kept chasing him. From behind, he heard sirens begin to ring. Here comes the cavalry, he thought, tucking down his head and speeding up his gait.
The man seemed to know he was about to be caught, since he abruptly stopped, turned, and raised his arm.
“Phaser!” Riker shouted. He dove to the side a heartbeat ahead of the beam of brilliant blue light that lashed out at him. He rolled to his feet and darted into an alley for cover.
The terrorist’s weapon had been set on kill, he realized. Its beam played across the building behind him, blowing out part of the second-floor wall. Bits of bricks and mortar began to thud to the ground around him.
Riker scrambled for cover. The terrorist fired again, taking out a shop window. Flames leaped inside the building, and more alarms began to ring.
Riker ducked into an alley as a third shot nearly took off his head.
Panting, Riker pulled out his own phaser. He counted to three, leaned out, and fired. Years of target practice paid off—he caught the man square in the side.
But the terrorist seemed to shrug off the light stun setting. I knew using local weapons was a mistake, Riker thought. Next time he’d follow his instincts.
Raising his phaser, the terrorist fired at Riker again. Riker staggered back as the corner of the building exploded into debris. When he peeked out again, the man had taken off at a dead run.
Sirens wailed. Stepping out, Riker aimed his phaser and fired a second time. Once more he hit the mark—but once more the weak light stun setting had little effect.
“Data! Yar!” he shouted.
“Here, sir!” came both voices.
That’s one good thing. They’re both still alive and safe.
After counting to ten, he peeked around the corner. Two buildings were on fire and a third had a hole in its second floor big enough to fly one of the Enterprise’s shuttles through. The peace officers are not going to be happy, he thought. Not to mention the shopkeepers.
“I think he’s gone!” Riker shouted. “Join me in the alley!”
Yar dashed over, and a second later Data followed. Yar was disheveled and out of breath. Data looked a mess. Even by the dim, flickering light of the fires, Riker could see that Data’s human makeup had been rubbed off along the whole left side of his face, revealing his golden skin. And one of his eyepieces had fallen out.
“I hear aircars closing in on our position,” Data said. “I strongly suggest we move away from this alley, sir, before we are arrested.”
“Right. We still have that terrorist to catch.” He stepped out onto the street—but a couple of phaser shots lashed out at him. He wheeled back as bits of masonry blasted loose, peppering his face and hands. That wasn’t a stun setting, he realized.
“I thought you said they didn’t have kill settings enabled on their weapons!” he said to Yar, rubbing at the stinging little wounds. He was lucky they hadn’t blinded him.
“That’s only the civilians, sir. The peace officers have fully functioning phasers.”
“Now yo
u tell me!”
One of the burning buildings suddenly collapsed with a shower of sparks and an avalanche of duracrete slabs. Dust rose in a cloud—that would provide them with cover for a few minutes, he thought. They had to get out of here.
He glanced behind him, but the alley dead-ended. There was only one way out—the way they had come in.
“I don’t think they saw you two,” he said. “I’ll draw their fire, then do an emergency beamout. Get past them and try to catch up with our terrorist friend.”
“Where will we meet up?” Yar demanded.
“Back at the alley where we beamed in. Be there in one hour.”
She gave a nod. “Got it.”
Riker leaped from hiding with his phaser in hand, blasting at every figure he saw. Just like target practice, he thought.
Light stun certainly worked better at close range. One man fell, then another, then a third. Riker rolled, landed behind a pile of duracrete slabs and paused, listening. Let them think I’m wounded. He felt his heart pounding like a battering ram. I’ll catch them when they least expect it.
On the count of ten, he leaped out again—but headed back the way he had come instead of making for the next natural hiding place. His tactic caught two more peace officers by surprise. They had been trying to sneak up behind him. A pair of perfectly executed shots took them down.
That’s five. How many are there?
They would have caught him if he’d behaved like a sensible terrorist and tried to get away. Too bad I’m neither sensible nor a terrorist. I’m not interested in getting away—at least, not on foot.
He started counting again. One more volley, then I’ll have the Enterprise beam me to safety, he thought.
Licking his lips, he tensed to spring—but a sudden intense burst of phaser fire struck the building directly behind and above him. Bricks blasted outward, and he felt several strike his back, throwing him to the ground. Moaning in pain, he reached for his combadge—but it had come off. Where? His fingers scrabbled in the dirt and debris, searching.
“Riker to Enterprise,” he said urgently, hoping it had somehow activated. “Emergency beamout—”
Then something struck the back of his head, and he knew no more.
Chapter Eighteen
TASHA YAR RAN until she thought her lungs would burst, and she still saw no sign of the terrorist in black. He must have turned off somewhere. They must have lost him.
She drew to a halt. Data paused, looking back at her. “Tasha?”
“I have to rest,” she panted. She put her hands on her knees and bent over, feeling sick and dizzy.
Since leaving Commander Riker, they hadn’t had any luck. The peace officers had spotted them and given chase, and it seemed an alert had been raised. Everywhere they went, they spotted uniformed men in riot gear.
“This is not the place for a rest,” Data said.
She nodded. “I know. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t go any farther!”
A line of peace officers rounded the corner several blocks up. They wore helmets and carried heavy shields and phasers in their hands—and for Tasha Yar, it brought back a flood of terrible memories. As a fist of panic clutched her heart, she felt herself start to shake. I’m not home. This isn’t a rape gang. If things get bad, all we have to do is beam back to the Enterprise.
“This way, Tasha,” Data said urgently, grabbing her arm and pulling her up a narrow street.
Her legs felt like deadwood, but Yar forced them to move. Data had better eyesight than she did; he must have spotted something, she thought—some way of escape short of an emergency beamout.
At least this alley smelled better than the first; hulking shapes of discarded packing material and machinery blocked her way, but she darted around them.
Suddenly Data pulled her into a deeply recessed doorway. “Shh!” he said.
Behind them, she heard footsteps entering the alley. Bright lights swung up and down the length. Great. We’re trapped.
“I have bad news,” he told her in a soft voice.
“It can’t get any worse!”
“This appears to be a dead end.”
“What!” She turned and looked at him. “You’ve got to be kidding! I thought you knew where you were going!”
“It seemed the logical place to run.”
She bit her lip, then turned and tried the door behind them. It had an old-style round knob, smooth and hard and cold. And, of course, it was locked. And, of course, a phaser set on stun wouldn’t open it. I should have insisted we bring live weapons, she thought. What was I thinking? Never again!
“Data…can you force this door open?” she asked.
“That would be an illegal act,” he said. “Federation code 44.1.6 clearly states—”
“Circumstances warrant it! Open the door!”
“Very well.” He gripped the knob and turned it sharply. Metal inside the knob broke. Then he pushed, but the door still didn’t move.
“It appears to be bolted from the inside.”
“So push!”
Using the flat of his hand, Data gave the door a sharp jab perhaps twenty centimeters above the knob. The wood splintered.
Yar glanced toward the street. Lights continued to sweep the length of the alley. The peace officers were making their way through boxes fifteen meters away.
“Hurry!”
Data rammed his fist through the hole with a loud bang, and as she watched with growing fear, he felt around inside.
One of the peace officers shouted, “I think they’re ahead of us!”
“Ah. A simple deadbolt,” Data said.
He slid it aside, withdrew his arm, and pushed the door open. Finally! Yar ducked inside, and Data followed, closing the door with a slight squeak.
Pitch darkness surrounded her. She paused, listening to the pounding of her heart, waiting for cries of “There they are!” from the peace officers.
“Shall I brace the door closed in case they try to break it down?”
“With what?”
“There is sufficient lumber on the floor.”
“Then do it!”
Outside, someone tried the doorknob.
“I am holding it,” Data whispered. “They will not pass.”
Something heavy—a pair of shoulders?—thumped against the wood. Evidently Data’s strength convinced them that entry wasn’t possible; they moved on, talking in low voices.
“How well can you see?” she asked.
“Well enough,” said Data. “There is sufficient infrared radiation for me to navigate the warehouse.”
She hesitated. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But I want you to take my arm and lead me to another exit.”
“I have a better idea, Tasha.” Picking her up in his strong arms, he carried her on a twisting course through the length of the warehouse. At last he stopped and set her down.
“Where are we?”
“The other side of the warehouse. This door is marked ‘Exit.’”
She heard him undo a couple of bolts, then he opened a heavy steel fire door half a centimeter. A blade of light fell inside—she blinked, then realized it wasn’t that bright, just spillover from the street. They were looking out onto a small side street.
Tasha put her eye to the crack and peeked out. The peace officers had moved on, apparently. The street was deserted.
She opened the door and eased out. Pressed up against the building, she made her way to the main street at the front of the building, peeked around the corner, and gave a sigh of relief. She saw the peace officers’ backs—they were moving up the street quickly.
Then she froze in place. Movement on a nearby rooftop had caught her eye. A sniper?
“Data,” she whispered. “Get up here! Who is that?”
She pointed across and up twenty meters to the roof of another warehouse. A man stood silhouetted against the larger moon. He was gazing at the peace officers. And he held something dark in his hands. A phaser?
r /> “I believe he is taking atmospheric samples,” Data said. “The device he is holding is a Starfleet tricorder of the type used on planetary surveys. It collects data from monitoring stations.”
That puzzled her. “What’s he doing out at this hour? It has to be past midnight!”
“It is 1:07 A.M., according to the local clock. The man appears to be waiting for the peace officers to leave. His expression appears nervous.”
Interesting. He’s doing something illegal. She felt a rising suspicion. “Something isn’t right here,” she said.
“I agree. He does not appear to be wearing a Starfleet uniform. Nor do I recognize him as one of the Enterprise’s crew. He should not be carrying Starfleet equipment.”
“I meant he doesn’t belong on top of a warehouse in the middle of the night,” Yar said. “He’s up to something. He might be one of the terrorists.”
“Unlikely,” Data said. “His build does not match that of any of the three men we chased. However, I agree that his presence and actions do appear suspicious. What course of action do you suggest?”
“Simple. Let’s question him.”
“How?”
She drew her phaser and passed it to him. “You’re the expert marksman. If you hit him with both our phasers, it should stun him, even at this distance. Then it’s just a matter of picking him up and interrogating him.”
“What if he has legitimate business?”
“Then we apologize and buy him a drink at the nearest bar.”
“Very well.” Data accepted her phaser with his left hand, then pulled out his own with his right. He stepped forward, raised both arms, and fired both phasers simultaneously.
Both beams struck the man’s chest. Perfect shot! Yar thought. Without a sound, he collapsed and lay still.
It took them five minutes to get across the street and up to the roof. A large and rather flashy aircar waited there with its door open and its powerful engines idling. Yar switched on its lights, and their glow lit up the whole rooftop.
“It would appear he landed here to watch the peace officers,” Data said.
“Not with this tricorder.” She picked it up and handed it to him. “What do you make of it?”