Star Trek - War Drums Part 18

Gregg nodded. "I have a hunch. Even if I'm wrong, it'll be a good hiding place, because it's the last place they would look for us. And it's close by."

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a key chain. "Master keys," he said with a smile. "One of the advantages of being the ex-security chief. Come on."

Once again they tried to look as natural as possible as they stepped into the eerie salmon-colored lights of the compound. People were running to and fro, and three more people in a hurry didn't raise much suspicion. They walked briskly down an adjoining street and followed Gregg as he dashed toward a doorway that was bathed in shadows. He tried the door, found it locked, and fumbled with his key chain for the magic key. As he did, Ro read the nameplate on the door.

Doctor Louise Drayton, the sign said.

Gregg cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the keys, but he finally got the door open, and they slipped inside. As Gregg had suspected, Louise Drayton was not at home. Too busy playing the new security chief, thought Ro.

Gregg brushed his hand over a panel on the wall and turned on a few lights, then rushed to the only window in the small cubicle and closed the curtains tight. At once, he began moving the bed, couch, and other furniture, searching for something on the floor.

"How do you know Drayton is the spy?" asked Ro. The nasty entomologist would certainly be her first choice, but she had seen no evidence.

"I had my first suspicions when we were aboard your s.h.i.+p," answered Gregg. "When we questioned that Klingon who saved our lives on the beach he said something about Balak. I asked who Balak was, and Drayton immediately answered that he was their leader. How did she know that?"

Myra suggested, "Maybe the boy said that when he was our captive."

Gregg shook head. "I was present every time we questioned him, and he never told us anything that useful. My suspicions were confirmed when Drayton turned on us outside the radio room and ordered that Ro's communicator be confiscated." He sank down to his knees and ran his hands over the floor. "Now where is that d.a.m.n thing? It's gotta be here."

"What are you looking for?" asked Myra.

The only other room in the tiny studio apartment was the bathroom, and Gregg Calvert jumped to his feet and ducked into it. Myra and Ro ran to the doorway and peered curiously over his broad shoulders. The bathroom had an ugly brown carpet on the floor that wasn't fastened down, because Gregg grabbed a corner and easily peeled it off. Under the carpet, resting on the cement floor, was a metal plate about a meter square.

"Bingo!" exclaimed Gregg Calvert. He grabbed the chunk of sheet metal and threw it off. There was a gaping black hole underneath.

"Wow!" gasped Myra. "A tunnel!"

"Yeah," said Gregg, "I couldn't figure out any other way she could get past the guards and the wall." He got down on his hands and knees and peered into the narrow abyss. "There's a ladder," he said, "and what looks like a lantern and some other stuff at the bottom."

"How did she dig it?" asked Myra.

Ro answered, "It wouldn't be much problem with a phaser. She could carve it out in a couple of nights if she knew what she was doing."

"She knows what she's doing all right," muttered Gregg. "She's destroying New Reykjavik by pitting the Klingons and the colonists against each other. But why?"

Ro frowned. "So the Federation and the Klingons will both clear out and leave Selva to the Romulans."

They stood in silence for a few seconds, mulling over the ramifications of their discovery. They were so silent they could hear the latch turning on the outside door. Ro motioned them back into the bathroom, and they stepped gingerly around the exposed hole. They barely got the bathroom door shut before the small dark woman entered her quarters.

"What's this?" Louise Drayton muttered to herself. "What happened to my furniture?"

Ro decided not to let her make any more discoveries. She stepped boldly out of the bathroom, one hand behind her back.

"Hi!" said the Bajoran cheerfully.

Drayton gasped with surprise, then a smile crept across her ageless face. Ageless, thought Ro, thanks to a substantial amount of plastic surgery that had turned her from a Romulan into a human.

"Aren't you the cheeky one," said Drayton with a begrudging admiration.

"Where's the real Louise Drayton?" asked Ensign Ro. "Is her body buried on some far-off planet?"

The scientist smiled. "I think I'll go tell President Oscaras you're here."

"Please do," replied Ro. "I've got something to show him in the bathroom."

That wiped the smile off the woman's face. She started to reach into her jacket pocket, but Ro was prepared. She whipped the spray bottle from behind her back and shot a burning stream of ammonia into the spy's face.

"Aaagh!" shrieked Drayton, staggering backward, ripping at her eyes. Despite her bad ankle, Ro charged across the room and smashed her fist into Drayton's face, sending the woman sprawling to the floor. Ro quickly grabbed the phaser from the woman's jacket pocket and leveled it at her. Her hand hurt from the blow she had delivered, but she felt awfully good otherwise.

"Where's my comm badge?" Ro demanded.

"I don't have it," Drayton muttered. "Oscaras has it." She started to get up on one elbow.

"Don't move," cautioned Ro. "I haven't checked this phaser, but knowing you, it's probably set to kill." She checked it and saw that it was, in fact, set to kill. She changed the setting to heavy stun.

Gregg and Myra stepped out of the bathroom, and Gregg's balled fists made it obvious that he wouldn't mind punching the doctor, too. "What's going on out there?" he demanded.

Drayton blinked. "You don't know?"

"They haven't exactly kept us informed," said Gregg. "What's going on?"

The doctor leapt to her feet and made a dash for the door, but Gregg stretched out a long leg and tripped her. That gave Ro time to paralyze her with a blue phaser beam. Louise Drayton lay crumpled on the floor.

Ro slumped into Drayton's couch and muttered, "She'll be out at least an hour."

Gregg shrugged. "I doubt she would've told us anything, anyway." He pointed to the bathroom. "There's our way out of here. Do you still want to take it?"

"We have to," said the ensign. "When she doesn't return they'll come looking for her. And sometime they'll figure out we escaped, if they haven't already. But let's take her with us."

Gregg Calvert was the first to lower himself into the tunnel, and he made a couple of interesting discoveries. "This halogen lantern will be useful," he said. "And here's the costume she used to seduce the Klingons. There's also some kind of whip."

"Let me see the whip," said Ro. Gregg handed it up, and the Bajoran admired the peculiar device. "This is no ordinary whip. I'm not sure how it works, but we need every weapon we can find." She curled it up and stuck it into her belt, not far from Drayton's phaser. "Are you ready for me to send down the doctor?"

"Sure," answered Gregg, turning on the lantern and filling the hole with an eerie green-tinged light.

Ro smiled at Myra. "Come on, you can help me."

Fortunately, the diminutive doctor didn't weigh very much, even as a limp body, and Ro and Myra were able to carry her to the hole and lower her into Gregg's st.u.r.dy arms. He had to duck to enter the tunnel with her, but he and the doctor were soon out of sight.

He returned a moment later and called up, "Let's go! You first, Myra. Ro, will you turn off the lights and see if you can cover the hole?"

"Right," she answered. The ensign quickly shoved the furniture back into some semblance of order, locked the door, and turned off the lights. She lowered herself into the tunnel, feeling for the ladder with her feet. There was no way she could pull both the metal plate and the carpet over her head, so she opted to cover the hole with only the carpet. If somebody walked in to use the bathroom, they would get a rude surprise, but that couldn't be helped.

Once she had pulled the carpet over the hole and climbed down the rest of the way she felt like a mole in its burrow, despite the green light that emanated from the lantern only a few meters away. She could see Gregg and Myra silhouetted in its strange glow, plus the limp body of Doctor Drayton in Gregg's arms.

The tunnel had not been dug but rather vaporized with a phaser, leaving smooth walls that would have been the envy of ancient tunnel diggers. Nevertheless, a few roots and furry lichens poked their way through the soil, and the smell of damp earth was overpowering. Drayton had made the tunnel for herself, and Ro had to duck to keep from touching the wet things growing over her head.

Gregg spoke in the darkness. "Myra, can you pick up the lantern and lead the way?"

"Sure, Dad!" said the girl excitedly. "Gee, this is cool!"

Cool it was, literally, and Ro s.h.i.+vered as they walked along. The light bobbed ahead of her in Myra's hands, but Gregg's hulking body cut off most of it. He warned them to keep their voices down, because they would be pa.s.sing under the wall soon, and he had no idea how close the tunnel pa.s.sed to a guard tower. Ro thought it was doubtful anybody could hear them down here. Her main concern was that Selva would pick this moment to have a major earthquake, and they'd be buried alive. She tried to tell herself that the earthquake faults were a thousand kilometers away and posed no danger, except for the resultant tidal waves, but the dank earth all around whispered to her of an early grave.

She walked bent over in the darkness for what seemed like a dozen kilometers but was probably less than one. No question about it, thought Ro, Louise Drayton-or whoever she was-had had guts to come down into the blackness and carve out this tunnel, even if she had a phaser to do the hard work. It was also quite an a.s.signment for one woman to rid an entire planet of a Federation colony, but Louise Drayton had nearly succeeded. In fact, she might yet. The primitive planet would be a perfect place for a hidden Romulan base, especially after a Federation colony had failed there. Its location would allow them to monitor both Federation and Klingon s.p.a.ce.

Finally Myra stopped and pointed the beam upward. "There's a ladder here," she called. "It goes straight up."

"Let me go first," said Ro, shouldering her way past the Calverts.

Maybe she was just eager to get out of that pit, but Ro climbed the ladder as quickly as she could and pushed back a flap covered with leaves that hid the opening. Without much regard to what she would find she poked her head out.

She found only darkness and rows of black tree trunks reaching upward to black boughs, where not the slightest speck of light penetrated. The forest reminded her uncomfortably of the tunnel she had just come from. They might as well have been a million kilometers away from New Reykjavik, because there was absolutely no sign of it.

"It's okay," she called down to Myra and Gregg, hoping that was really true. They were no longer in the realm of frightened and deceitful colonists but in the realm of murderous Klingons raised in the wilderness. She s.h.i.+vered at the cold and climbed out of the hole.

She helped Myra up first, then the two of them reached down and pulled the unconscious form of Doctor Drayton to the surface. Gregg Calvert climbed out, looking more frightened than either of the two females. He flinched at a rustling sound overhead, even though it was obviously just some nocturnal animal on the prowl. He turned off the halogen lantern.

"Well," said Gregg, "any idea how to find your friends?"

"No," answered Ro glumly. Wandering around in the unfamiliar woods at nights would be the height of lunacy.

Once again, there was nothing to do but wait.

Chapter Sixteen.

BY THE TIME the first rays of dawn seeped through the canopy of leaves that spanned the forest, the party of twenty-one Klingons, a Betazoid, and an android was already on the march. It was a surly group, thought Deanna Troi, made more so by the fact that they had been celebrating much of the night and hadn't eaten anything since the day before. Worf had promised them food upon reaching the settlement, and that was enough to get them going. Although they would never admit it, Deanna suspected the Klingons had already been spoiled by the meals furnished by the Enterprise; they had little stomach for their usual fare of grubs, dried chuck meat, mussels, and whatever greens they could dig up.

The young Klingons gripped the knives in their belts nervously as they trudged through the forest, looking like people headed to their own funerals. On another occasion, thought Deanna, they might have been leaping through the trees, but now they were walking like the clumsy flat-heads. At first she had tried to a.s.sure them they would be welcomed by the colonists, but she soon gave up that approach. The Klingons were going in, and perhaps their gloomy air of resignation was based more on the fact that they were giving up their way of life than that they were giving in to the colonists. This was a walk into the unknown, a journey into a new life, and there was no way she could make predictions about their future.

So they walked in silence, listening to the twitterings of birds and the chattering of animals, which sounded more cheerful this morning than ever before. Perhaps they sensed that sole possession of the forest was returning to them. Deanna had some vague feelings of unease, but she attributed them to the fact that the Enterprise and Captain Picard were light-years away and they had to complete this mission on their own. Without Worf's determination they would never have been able to do so. If there was ever a right man for the job, he was it.

In short order they saw the glimmer of metal through the stark tree trunks, and Deanna was surprised that they had reached the village in what seemed like only an hour. Of course, they had never walked directly between the mound and the village before, and the youths' hutches were spread out all over the forest. Such a short distance, she thought, separated these two groups, yet what chasms of experience and expectations separated them. It was indeed time to close those gaps and heal the wounds.

As they drew closer they saw the sun glinting off the high metal walls, makingthe structure appear totally alien next to the earthy black and greens of the forest. The Klingons stopped and began to fade back, murmuring in the guttural tones they had used before remembering their language.

"Be brave," Worf encouraged them. "A Klingon holds up his head and does not look afraid."

They didn't exactly hold up their heads and look unafraid, but they did continue onward, and a man waved to them from the guard tower beside the gate. "I'm opening the gate!" he called cheerfully. "Just step forward, single file."

Worf took the lead to set an example, and Wolm and Turrok fell into step behind him. The others followed in a more or less orderly fas.h.i.+on, and Deanna found herself drifting back to the rear of the column, where Data had stationed himself. A plethora of emotions was a.s.saulting her, ranging from fear and anxiety to unrepentent hatred. She tried to tell herself that such feelings were normal-on both sides-but it was still difficult to confront so many raw emotions at one time.

Noticing her discomfort, Data asked, "Are you all right, Counselor?"

"I ... I think so," she mumbled. "There's so much fear, from both sides. It's a little overwhelming."

"If all goes well," answered Data, "it will subside gradually, will it not?"

"If all goes well," she repeated numbly. Why was she beginning to think that all was not going to go well? It wasn't so much the youngsters' fear that was disturbing as it was the waves of hatred emanating from within those steel walls. Worf had already pa.s.sed through the fortified door, and the young Klingons were dutifully following. It was too late to turn back. Nevertheless, Deanna told herself she was going to get to the radio as soon as possible and ask Captain Picard to return.

She and Data were the last to pa.s.s through the metal walls, and she heard the door clanging shut behind her. It was an ominous sound. Also ominous was the deserted appearance of the courtyard, as if all the colonists had been told to remain safely in their homes. Finally a small welcoming party led by President Oscaras approached them from the far end of the square and stopped a considerable distance away. Broad smiles graced their faces, and Deanna felt a little bit better.

"Welcome!" said the beaming Oscaras, although he made no movement to come closer. "Is this all of them?"

"Yes," answered Worf, standing before a group of scrawny, unkempt youngsters who huddled meekly together. They hardly looked like the fearsome savages who had kept two-hundred colonists terrified for months. "I promised them food," said Worf. "Could that be arranged?"

"Of course!" said Oscaras. "Thank you for bringing them here, Lieutenant. You saved us a lot of trouble." He raised his arm over his head and shouted, "Fire!"

At once a handful of colonists sprang up from each guard tower, and dozens more fanned out from behind each building. As soon as they aimed their phaser rifles they fired, and blinding beams streaked across the courtyard. Some of the haphazard beams crossed each other and scorched the air with blistering explosions.

"You betrayed us!" screamed Maltz, drawing his knife and lunging for Worf. But a blue beam cut him down before he had taken a single step, and he crumpled at Worf's feet. The lieutenant snarled and started to draw his own phaser. But to the colonists, a Klingon was a Klingon, and he was blasted in the crossfire. He staggered a few steps, then slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Standing at the rear, Deanna was frozen in horror. The youngsters ran in circles, shrieking and trying to escape, but the gate was shut and the walls were too high to vault. Now she knew what the Earth saying "shooting fish in a barrel" meant. One by one the young Klingons were felled, and their bodies littered the courtyard.

Only Data remained calm. He drew his hand phaser and meticulously picked off every settler in the guard tower that overlooked the gate. Then he made a superhuman leap into the tower itself and threw the latch that opened the gate. But it was too late. No Klingons were left standing to escape. Deanna made a dash for the open door but was cut down herself. Her last memory before blackness was the grimy dirt that struck her face when she hit the ground.

Data could do nothing more than he had already done, and he knew it. He didn't fear the stun blasts that were felling the others, but one of the colonists might crank up his phaser rifle to full and vaporize his circuitry. So Data picked up a phaser rifle in each hand and leapt over the wall. Beams blasted the dirt at his heels, but he reached the cover of the forest without harm.

"Data!" called a voice among the trees.

He whirled around, expecting he would have to defend himself. Instead he saw the concerned face of Ensign Ro.

"We must remove ourselves from this place," said the android.

Ro motioned him to follow her. "What's going on in there?" she asked as they moved through the trees. "We heard the explosions and shouting, and I ran over to investigate."

"Without knowing the colonists' intentions," answered Data, "I would say they have taken the Klingons, Counselor Troi, and Lieutenant Worf prisoner."

"So that's what they were up to," muttered Ro. "You convinced the Klingons to turn themselves in, and that's what you got in return. Oscaras is as treacherous as a pit mantis."

"I would agree with that a.s.sessment," answered Data. "He told us you were sedated in sickbay when you failed to answer my hail."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" snarled Ro. "At least we're not totally alone."

They reached a small clearing where Data was moderately surprised to find three humans-a tall blond man, a female child, and a dark-haired woman who was bound and gagged and propped against a tree. Ro made quick introductions, and they exchanged stories of their separate ambushes and escapes.

Data considered the dark-haired woman. "So you are the G.o.ddess," he remarked. "I observed you engaging in s.e.x with Balak. You are the cause of much of the enmity on Selva."

"No kidding," grumbled Gregg Calvert. "We know she's a spy, but is there any way to find out if she's a Romulan who's had plastic surgery?"

Data c.o.c.ked his head and answered, "Yes. Plastic surgery is seldom performed on the hands, and Romulans have a tiny bone spur at the base of their palms that is missing in humans. May I examine her?"

Drayton struggled when he bent down to inspect her hands, but it took him only a moment to locate the telltale bone spur. "She is a Romulan," he declared. "Do you have her displacer?"