Fortune's Light Part 20

Good. Then he could continue to believe it wasn't Norayan.

Apparently Lyneea believed it, too, or she wouldn't have called for help from Madraga Criathis. Because if Norayan had hired the a.s.sa.s.sin, and if she knew Riker was convalescing here, relatively defenseless ...

He eyed the door warily and wished he had a phaser close at hand instead of a regenerator.

"I heard about your friend," said Crusher. "The captain told me."

Riker frowned. The loss of Teller had subsided to a dull ache in his gut.

"Things happen," he remarked. "You just never think they'll happen to you or to the people you love." He met her gaze. "Who else did the captain tell?"

"Only those who might have had to beam down at some point. Me. Worf." She paused. "I guess that's it. Oh, and Deanna probably knows, too-but then, that's Deanna."

Riker found the mere thought of Troi soothing. But he put it aside. He didn't feel much like being soothed now.

"Listen," he said, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't make too much of Teller's death when we get back. Especially under the circ.u.mstances."

The doctor nodded. "I understand."

For a moment or two there was an awkward silence. Then Crusher spoke again.

"You know," she said, "Wesley was afraid something would happen to you."

Riker cracked a smile. "Was he?"

"Yup. It seems he was studying Impriman culture, particularly as it relates to Besidia and the Trade Carnival, and he decided that this was a pretty dangerous place." Her eyes twinkled. "Actually he started out trying to figure out why Starfleet had sent you down here. And though he never quite came up with the answer, he did unearth some interesting items along the way-in addition, I mean, to his conclusions about it being dangerous."

Riker's smile widened. He couldn't help it. "Such as?" "

Well, there was something about a parade on the last day of the carnival. All the locals dress up as clowns and serenade the officials of each madraga."

"I've seen it," said Riker. "It's quite a show. And some of them do a little more than serenade-but that part wouldn't be in the library files."

"What else?" Crusher asked herself. "Oh, yes. The maze, up in the hills above the city? Wesley was telling me how all the tunnels are color-coded, so you can find your way in and out, and ..."

Riker stopped hearing her. He'd fixed on the word "color-coded" and was unable to get past it.

Why? He knew about the color codes. d.a.m.n, he'd seen them only a couple of days ago.

And then it came to him. Like a hawk out of a gray Alaskan sky: The codes would have been useless to his friend. Teller was color-blind.

Which meant that if he'd been hiding in the maze and not just dumped there after he was killed, or if he'd had to stage a rendezvous there, or even if he'd just been using the place as a cache for Fortune's Light, he must have had another way of getting in and out. And if the seal was hidden there, he would have needed a way to find it again after he concealed it.

Crusher waved a hand in front of his face. "You've got that faraway look again, Commander. Something I said?"

He took her hand in his. "Doctor, I've got to get back to the maze."

Her mouth became a straight, hard line. "See?" she said. "I knew you'd try this. That's why I kept you under for so long."

"You don't understand," he told her. "I think I just figured out how to find the seal."

"Good for you. When Lyneea returns, you can tell her all about it. I'm sure she'll be only too glad to test out your theory."

"But we don't know when she'll be back or, for that matter, even if she'll be back. You heard her say that time is running out? Well, it is. Lyneea won't call on us until she's done everything she can to help Criathis. And even then she may decide we're not worth the effort."

For a moment the doctor seemed to waver in her resolve. Then she shook her head. "Forget it, Commander. You're still weak. You can barely use that arm. And your a.s.sa.s.sin friend is still out there; maybe next time he'll be more thorough."

"I appreciate your concern," he told her, "but this is something I have to do." Taking a deep breath, he tried to sit up again. This time he made it. "For Teller." Pivoting on the couch, he planted his feet on the floor.

Crusher was faster. She placed herself in his way.

"Use your head," she told him. "What are you going to do? Resurrect your friend by risking your own life?"

"No," he agreed, gathering himself. He really was weak. "I can't make his past go away, and I can't bring him back from the dead. But I can make amends for him-by returning the seal to Madraga Criathis."

"If you live long enough."

Riker glanced out the open window at the snow-covered street below. Was the doctor right? Was there someone out there waiting for him?

h.e.l.l, hadn't he wondered about that himself before she'd ever mentioned it?

"I'll take my chances," he told her. And with that, he got to his feet.

But Crusher wasn't budging. "Don't make me pull rank, Will. Don't make me order you to stay here."

Riker looked down at her, smiling gently. "It won't matter if you do, Doctor. This isn't about Starfleet. This isn't even about Criathis. It's about one man's obligation to another man. I wasn't a very good friend the last few years, or I would've seen how Teller was changing. But I'm going to be a good friend now."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "It's not just Teller I'm making amends for, Beverly. It's me, too."

Crusher frowned. "Silver-tongued Will Riker."

"Not this time," he a.s.sured her. "This time, it's straight from the heart."

She searched his face, came to a decision. "Yes, I suppose it is." She grunted. "All right, Commander. You win. But if you're going somewhere, I'm going with you." And s.n.a.t.c.hing up her pack, she began checking to make sure that everything was secure.

He hadn't antic.i.p.ated that. His first reaction was to a.s.semble reasons she couldn't go. But there were more reasons for him not to go, so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

Besides, he mused, she'd probably be as safe with him as she would be if she stayed in the suite alone. Which was to say, not very.

Her pack slung over her shoulder, Crusher straightened again. "Ready when you are," she told him. "Back to the maze?"

He adjusted his sling to make it a little more comfortable. "Back to the maze," he confirmed.

Stretching out on his bed, Picard took a deep breath. After a moment or two he felt himself start to relax.

It had been a close call for his first officer. He didn't like close calls, particularly when he had no control over them.

As his body unwound, so did his mind. And some of the s.h.i.+p's business that had been submerged during the emergency started to float to the surface.

The captain sifted through it. And stopped when he got to Data's recent attraction to the holodecks.

It was a development he'd barely noticed at first. But the android was hardly a creature of habit, so anytime his behavior grew repet.i.tive, it drew Picard's attention.

And given the substance of Data's last obsession with the holodeck ...

Perhaps it was something that needed looking into. Filing the thought away, he went on to the next bit of command minutiae.

Rain clamored on the dugout roof, dripped off the edge of it in wind-twisted cascades, and collected in puddles on the worn concrete steps. It had begun in the Icebreakers' half of the fifth inning with a light sprinkle, which the umpires decided would pa.s.s.

The umpires were incorrect. By the top of the sixth the skies had become bloated with black-bellied clouds, which looked no less menacing after the stadium lights were turned on. Then came the wind and the sheeting downpour, and by the time the ground crew rolled out the tarpaulin, the pitcher's mound and the base paths were the color of rich, dark cocoa.

Now Data knew what the clubhouse man had meant when he'd questioned the weather before the game. Apparently he'd seen this kind of meteorological phenomenon before.

In any case the android didn't have to sit through the delay. He could have stopped the program and picked it up again after the deluge was over. Certainly he wasn't honing his prowess as a baseball player by huddling in the dugout.

But only a couple of the other Icebreakers had retreated into the clubhouse. Most of them remained out here despite the swirling wind and the rain, speaking in soft voices and regarding the vast, empty field. Occasionally they would laugh, and the laughter would ripple down the bench from player to player until it was finally lost in the shusharush of the elements.

This was part of the experience, Data told himself. Part of what Commander Riker had built for himself, and as such, he could not overlook its possible value.

Still, as time pa.s.sed, and the players' exchanges became more and more like those that had gone before, the android found his mind drawn elsewhere. It kept returning to matters outside the holodeck and, in particular, to the goings-on in Besidia.

Why had the first officer been called down there? And was he truly out of the woods now, as Dr. Crusher had informed the captain? Or, as Wesley seemed to think, did other dangers await him?

Throughout the worst of the storm, Denyabe had been sitting next to Data, his fists jammed into the pockets of his warm-up jacket. He hadn't spoken a word to the android or anyone else. He just followed the clouds in their pa.s.sage and smiled from time to time.

So the android was unprepared when Denyabe elbowed him in the ribs-or what would have been his ribs if he'd truly been Bobo Bogdonovich, and not Dr. Soong's creation.

"Hey," said the second baseman. "You look down. Like your best friend just died."

Data looked at him. How perceptive, he thought. Especially in view of the android's limited capacity for facial expression.

"In fact," he told Denyabe, "a friend was severely injured recently. But I am told he is recuperating."

The second baseman nodded. "Good." He turned back to the field, where the rain had lightened to a drizzle and the wind seemed all but spent.

Just when Data thought their conversation had come to an end, Denyabe nudged him again and pointed to something. The android followed his gesture past the left field wall to the mountains rising in the distance.

"See that?" he asked.

Data wasn't sure what he was referring to. He said as much.

"The light," said Denyabe. "The sun's trying to come out-way up in the mountains."

The android saw it now, though he was a little surprised at the acuity of his teammate's vision. Most humans could not see well at such great distances.

"It's the Light," said Denyabe.

"The Light?" echoed the android.

"Yes. The Light, the golden radiance that pierces the clouds at the end of a storm." The second baseman's eyes narrowed. "Back where I come from-or anyway, where my people come from-it's supposed to be an omen of good luck. The Light touches you, the G.o.ddess Fortune lays her hands on your shoulders, and you're blessed. You'll become wealthy, you'll have a big family, you'll be surrounded by love and happiness. The same with the land. Where the Light falls on it, the crops will grow strong and tall."

Out among the mountains, the shafts of light were easily visible now. As the storm receded, they seemed to be approaching the stadium.

"An interesting theory," said Data. "And probably one with some basis in fact. Light, after all, is a-"

Denyabe stopped him with a shake of his head. "No. It's a lie. The G.o.ddess Fortune, the Light, the promise of wealth-all lies." He smiled at the android. "Fortune doesn't turn double plays. She doesn't knock me in from second base. And she sure as h.e.l.l doesn't grow crops." He hawked and spat. "Wealth? I'll tell you what wealth is. It's you and me, here and now. It's people working on something together-something they can be proud off." He grunted. "People can't depend on Fortune, Bobo. They've got to depend on one another." A pause. "You understand?"

Data nodded-slowly at first, tentatively, and then with more a.s.surance. He hadn't comprehended all of it, to be sure. There was still much for him to ponder. But he had grasped the essence of it.

The second baseman winked. "All right, then. You remember all that and maybe you'll hit a home run today."

The android winked back-it seemed to be the appropriate response. "I certainly hope so," he said, as the ground crew trotted out to uncover the playing field.

Even though Riker had some idea of where he was going this time, the pa.s.sageways were still narrow and confusing, and he needed his wits about him. The color codes wouldn't help him much if he read them incorrectly.

"How's the arm?" asked Crusher, a few steps behind him.

"It isn't throbbing as much as it did before," he told her. "The effect of the cold, maybe?"

"Or else your regenerated nerves are deteriorating. But more likely it is the cold." She looked around. "You know," she said, "this place seemed a lot more romantic when I was listening to Wesley describe it. It's hard to be enchanted when you're so concerned with staying alive."

Riker was concerned, too. He'd been looking over his shoulder since the moment they left their hotel suite. There had been no sign that anyone was following them-but then, a real professional would have been sure not to leave one.

And now that they were in the maze, it would have been easy to kill them as Teller was killed-and just dump their bodies in the hole beside his.

"Are we getting close?" asked the doctor.

"Very close," he told her. "In fact, if memory serves ... " They negotiated a sharp bend in the pa.s.sage and there it was-the pit created by the cave-in. "We're here," he said.

It was no different from a dozen other pits they'd pa.s.sed on the way-at least, at first glance. Crusher said so as they approached.

"Nonetheless," Riker insisted, "this is the one."

They shone their beamlights down into the darkness. To her credit, the doctor didn't gasp at what she saw within. She didn't make a sound. In fact, her only overt reaction was a flaring of her chiseled nostrils.

Teller was just as he and Lyneea had left him. Perfectly preserved by the cold, more like an ivory statue than the remains of a man.

"I'll go first," said Crusher. "You're going to need some help getting down."

Nor was the irony of role reversal lost on the first officer. Normally Riker, with his greater strength and agility, would have been giving the doctor a hand. But this was no time for machismo.

"You've got to hang on to that flat rock," he instructed, indicating the stone with his beam. "Then drop. There's a slope below it."

She walked around the hole until she had a better view. "I see it," she told him. Then, stas.h.i.+ng the beamlight in her tunic, she latched on to the rock and lowered herself over the brink. A moment later he heard the crunch of her boots on the gravel.

"All right," she called softly-out of deference for the dead man? "Do your best. I'll try to keep you from hitting anything."

Riker stowed his own beamlight. He sat carefully on the edge of the cave-in and took hold of the rock with one hand. Then he let himself slip in and down.