The Sky's The Limit Part 10

Ontra turned away from him. The rest of the Askarians came forward and formed a circle with her. They whispered among themselves, too quietly for the translator to pick up. When they broke out of the circle, their down had turned light blue again, which La Forge hoped was a good sign.

Ontra said, "You recovered a s.h.i.+p?"

"Yes. It's in orbit."

"Thank you. Families were split up among the s.h.i.+ps. There may still be descendants who wish to perform burial rites." She looked away for a moment, then back. "I'll take you to the lift. I just hope your crewmates are safe."

La Forge couldn't let go of Ontra, no matter how tightly the squid's tentacles held him. When Ontra had said she'd take him to the elevator, he'd a.s.sumed they'd take the airs.h.i.+p. But the airs.h.i.+ps, as their Askarian name said, just floated. They could be steered a little bit, like when they had rescued La Forge, but that was all. To go someplace fast or against the wind, you needed to take a flyer.

Ontra had gathered together five of her people, including Ruro. After suiting up, getting their comm systems to work together, and refilling La Forge's oxygen tank, they'd crawled into the pink tentacles of six waiting flyers, with La Forge riding behind Ontra. The flyers had quickly spun their sails high into the air to catch the right wind. There was a lot of tacking and circling to avoid wind shears and lightning storms, and La Forge had finally done the VISOR equivalent of just closing his eyes.

"I can see the lift," Ontra said. "There are two people on it, in suits like yours."

La Forge reactivated his VISOR. Although it made his stomach lurch, he loosened his grip around Ontra's waist so that he could lean over to look around her. He could see Troi and Worf on the platform, but there was something about the way they stood, almost back to back, that bothered him.

Then Ruro said, "Raiders!"

La Forge caught a glimpse of two other squids with riders circling down on the far side of the elevator, closing on the away team. That's why they had taken a defensive posture.

"Take them," Ontra said icily, and she urged her flyer forward. They raced in with their superior numbers, but the raiders didn't retreat.

The air quickly turned into a confusion of circling squids and crisscrossing sails. The colors of the clouds blended together, and La Forge could barely keep track of whether he was looking down into the yawning depths or up into open sky. The squids' sail lines would tangle, break, and be respun, sometimes they were even shared, momentarily entwined sails pulling flyers off in unexpected directions. He wasn't sure how this was supposed to capture the raiders but a.s.sumed it would involve more of the squid silk. Once, Ontra's flyer was forced to sever all its lines, doing so as it pulled into a tight spin and launched itself high above the elevator. As it reached the peak of its trajectory, it erupted with silk, spinning a full sail in record time as it began to dive back into the fight.

In the middle of this aerial ballet, La Forge caught another glimpse of Troi and Worf on the elevator. He switched back to the standard Starfleet frequency. "La Forge to Troi."

"Geordi, I don't believe it, we thought we lost you! We scrambled a shuttle, but lightning drove it back." She was yelling, but La Forge didn't mind. "Where are you?"

"I'm on one of these crazy flying squids. The two that came after you first are the raiders-"

Worf's deep voice broke in. "Which side does that belong to?"

A shadow suddenly covered the platform as a float descended from the clouds. The two raider flyers quickly retreated behind it. The crew in the float's rigging held primitive weapons, which La Forge realized were crossbows.

He switched his comm frequency. "Ontra, we've got to pull back."

But the air was already full of projectiles, simple but deadly, especially in this environment. An arrow plunged into one of Ontra's people. A fog of oxygen rushed out of the breach in her suit as subzero hydrogen rushed in. She was dead in moments, and her terrified flyer turned and sailed away. Ruro retaliated, moving against the airs.h.i.+p itself, rocketing forward as his squid severed all its sail lines. Slamming into the skin of the airs.h.i.+p at speed, the squid sank its clawed tentacles deep, letting its momentum carry it forward, tearing three deep gashes several meters long.

The entire airs.h.i.+p flinched as it vented freezing gas from the wounds. Ruro and his squid were blasted free, and the flyer quickly spun a new sail as it fell. The float rolled forward, listing steeply as it lost buoyancy, pitching four of its crew out of the rigging. As they tumbled downward, Worf and Troi grabbed one to the elevator, and they collapsed in a heap on the floor of the platform. The others continued falling toward the deeps.

Their two riders rushed after them, the squids shooting silken ropes down to catch them. Two were snared by the sticky lines, but the last disappeared into the clouds below.

La Forge watched the depths for a few seconds, but no other rider dared pursue. He looked back up at the wounded airs.h.i.+p, which had started to slowly sink. "Ontra," he said.

She did not respond but turned away from the float. Through his grip around her waist he felt her go limp.

He resisted the urge to physically shake her. "The float is sinking!"

"Yes. A hundred more will slowly fall to their deaths."

"We can save them. Spray silk between the float and the elevator."

After a pause she said, "That could work." She straightened up. "Everyone, follow my lead." They swooped in close, her flyer letting loose a long silken spray that spread from the tether to the float. Her remaining team, Ruro included, came in close behind, adding their silk to the first line. As they circled around, La Forge saw the raiders join in.

Looking back at the wounded airs.h.i.+p, La Forge saw that the strain put on its skin by the silk lines was opening the wounds farther. "Let me off," he said.

"What do you mean?" said Ontra.

"Drop me on top of the float."

After adding another strand between tether and float, Ontra guided her flyer in close, pulling up at the end to give La Forge a short drop. He landed on both feet, the surface of the airs.h.i.+p sinking beneath him, then rebounding. Stumbling, he fell on his back and slid across the rounded surface, gaining speed until he grabbed one of the stalk cl.u.s.ters.

"Geordi, you will not fall again," Worf growled, having adjusted his comm frequency to match the Narsosians'.

"You can't order me not to fall. I outrank you." He scrambled to his feet and moved closer to the center of the float, struggling to keep his balance on top of the shuddering animal.

"I can order you," Troi said. "I can pull medical rank by questioning your sanity."

"Well, all right, if it's doctor's orders..." La Forge stopped and looked around, trying to see the flyers. "Ontra, Ruro, aim for my feet. These anchor points won't open the wounds more."

They followed his directions, and soon all the flyers were spraying lines wherever he pointed. The strain on the float was now pulling the wounds closed, and the float started excreting a slimy film over them to stop the leaks. The silk stretched, then held, and the float's descent halted.

"We did it!" La Forge walked to the tether, attached his safety line, and slid down to the platform where Troi hugged him as much as could be done in an EV suit, while Worf clapped him on the back. Their reunion was cut short as armed guards from the airs.h.i.+p arrived to escort them away.

In the wounded float's oxygen chamber, its leader, Fushol, yelled, "There has never been an attack on a float!"

"Your people fired first," Ontra said, her quiet voice as full of anger as Fushol's shouting. "I lost a great hunter and friend today."

"And we lost a technician, and our float is seriously wounded." Fushol stomped in a circle around Ontra, Ruro, La Forge, Worf, and Troi. He stopped near Ruro. "A flyer skirmish is one thing, but to endanger an entire float? That goes against everything."

Ruro started to respond, but Ontra stopped him with a glance. She stepped between him and Fushol. "Yes, a flyer skirmish is one thing, but firing on flyers from a float is something else entirely. As is raiding a communal garden."

The two stared at each other nose to nose, silent and fuming, rapid waves of color was.h.i.+ng across their down.

"Both of you have legitimate complaints," Troi said. "If you let me mediate-"

"You?" Fushol turned and glared at Troi. "Your crewmate flew with those who tried to sink us."

"It was that same crewmate who saved you from sinking."

"You know nothing about our laws," said Ontra. "How could you mediate?"

La Forge said, "Listen, everyone-" But Ontra and Fushol were back to arguing. "Ontra, please." The float leaders moved off to the side of the chamber, ignoring La Forge. He looked at Worf.

Worf simply nodded and then bellowed, "Be quiet!"

The command was so loud it startled the float, which flinched around them. Everyone stumbled and looked at Worf, who shrugged and gestured to La Forge.

"Okay, now that I have your attention. For you to keep arguing when-"

"This is between us," Ontra and Fushol said in unison. Then everyone went quiet as a shudder moved through the float.

Troi said, "The float didn't do that."

"Data to La Forge."

This can't be good, La Forge thought. "La Forge here. What's going on?"

"The scramjet is losing orbit. If the float's wounds have not sealed completely, it could still be losing buoyancy and adding more ma.s.s to the tether. I will put a tractor beam on the scramjet to stabilize it."

"Belay that." Even as La Forge said it, the airs.h.i.+p began to list noticeably. "They want us to mind our own business."

Troi looked nervous but said nothing. Worf gave La Forge a wicked smile. As La Forge turned to Ontra and Fushol, the airs.h.i.+p suddenly dropped a full meter, sending them staggering, guards and captives alike.

Data's tone was as concerned as the android could sound. "Geordi?"

"Stand by, Data," La Forge said, as he struggled to keep on his feet. He staggered back toward Fushol and Ontra. "We can help as much or as little as you want. We can reunite you with the grounders or keep you separate. We can introduce you to the whole Federation or leave you here alone."

The airs.h.i.+p dropped again, at least two meters, throwing them all to the floor. Before they could get to their feet, it tilted about thirty degrees, tumbling everyone into the wall. The bioluminescent glow in the room dimmed considerably.

"Geordi, I suggest we activate the tractor beam."

"Go ahead, Data."

"Activating tractor now." Slowly, as the float was pulled to its previous alt.i.tude, the floor leveled off.

La Forge got up and then held his hands out to Ontra and Fushol. "It's your decision."

They exchanged looks and, while keeping an eye on each other, allowed La Forge to help them to their feet. With a tilt of his head, Fushol led Ontra aside to again talk between themselves. Troi and Worf joined La Forge to wait for the outcome. Over the next several minutes, the dim light pulsing through the walls of the float increased to its regular level. Fushol's voice raised a couple times, but Ontra calmed him down. La Forge watched them as closely as he could without being too obvious. The riot of colors across their down eventually quieted, and they both became a soft shade of blue. After a couple more minutes of hushed talking, they returned to face La Forge.

Ontra said, "We'll call a meeting of all the float leaders. Together we'll recommend choosing representatives to talk with you and the grounders."

"I'm happy to hear that." La Forge turned to Worf. "Could you help Fushol contact the other leaders? Some atmospheric probes might speed the process."

"Aye, sir. I'll work with Data on those probes." Worf gestured for Fushol to follow him. Fushol looked at Worf as if for the first time. The tall Askarian glowered down at the Klingon. Worf glared back until Fushol appeared almost to laugh, and then he followed Worf to a quiet side of the chamber.

"Ontra," La Forge said, "would you consider letting Counselor Troi help the meeting stay on track?"

"On your word, Geordi, I'll present her to the leaders." She gave Troi an appraising look. "I'll get you some background on our laws and customs. I'll see what Fushol has here. If need be, I can send Ruro back to my float for more records." The leader headed off.

Troi smiled at La Forge. "You're quite pleased with yourself."

La Forge nodded. "Yes, I am. Listen, about the tractor beam business...I'm sorry if I scared you."

She shrugged. "I knew what you were up to, of course. Unlike some diplomats I've met, I knew you wouldn't force the Askarians to agree with you before you activated the tractor beam. But the situation was a bit unpredictable."

"Are you talking about their decision or the decaying orbit?"

"Yes." They both laughed at that.

"Well, I'm an engineer, not a diplomat. I like to use technology, not people."

Troi gave him another big smile and a pat on the shoulder, then followed after Ontra.

La Forge contacted Enterprise. "La Forge to Riker."

"Riker here."

"It'll take a while, but we're going to have several more delegates for your negotiations."

"Congratulations, that's great news."

"And my delegates will be representing a lot more people than yours, so..." La Forge smiled. "I win."

Thinking of You

Greg c.o.x

Historian's note:

This tale unfolds concurrently with the episode "New Ground," during the fifth season of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

GREG c.o.x.

Greg c.o.x is the New York Times bestselling author of numerous Star Trek novels and short stories, including The Q Continuum, The Eugenics Wars, To Reign in h.e.l.l, a.s.signment: Eternity, and The Black Sh.o.r.e. He recently contributed a novel to Star Trek Mirror Universe: Gla.s.s Empires. He has also written the official movie novelizations of Ghost Rider, Daredevil, Underworld, and Underworld: Evolution, as well as the novelizations of two recent DC Comics miniseries, Infinite Crisis and 52. Over the years, he has written books and stories based on such popular series as Alias, Batman, Buffy, Fantastic Four, Farscape, Iron Man, Roswell, Star Trek, Underworld, Xena, and X-Men.

He lives in Oxford, Pennsylvania.

Personal log, Lieutenant Reginald Barclay, Stardate 45376.3 As a favor to the Betazoid amba.s.sador, Captain Picard has dispatched Ensign Ro and me to rendezvous with Amba.s.sador Troi's private yacht, the Cataria, in order to provide technical a.s.sistance while she conducts delicate trade negotiations between Betazed and the Tadigeans. The Cataria has been newly fitted with a holodeck expressly for this meeting...

"LOOK SHARP," RO LAREN SAID AS THE CATARIA CAME INTO view. The Bajoran ensign piloted their shuttlecraft while Barclay rode shotgun beside her. Lwaxana Troi's personal vessel soon filled the c.o.c.kpit's front windows. Over fifty meters long, the sleek, warp-capable yacht dwarfed the smaller shuttle. "Time for our command performance." Her dark hair met in a widow's peak above the ridges of her nose. "How exactly does Counselor Troi's mother rate our services, anyway? Since when does Starfleet loan out its officers to Betazed's trade commission?"

"The amba.s.sador is a c-close personal friend of the captain's," Barclay stammered, attempting a professional tone to mask the apprehension he felt as they drew nearer to their destination. He had been dreading this rendezvous the whole way here. "Besides, it's always in the Federation's interest to promote closer relations between different worlds, especially in cases like this. The Tadigeans are notoriously xenophobic; increased trade with Betazed might encourage them to overcome their mistrust of strangers."

"I suppose," she said, sounding dubious. New to the Enterprise, Ro had a p.r.i.c.kly edge that made her hard to get to know. Their voyage to this sector had been full of uncomfortable silences, at least as far as Barclay was concerned. For all he knew, Ro liked it that way. "Anyway, here we are."

Already? He swallowed hard and wiped his sweaty palms upon his trousers. If only I could have gotten out of this mission, he thought glumly. He had tried to talk Geordi into delegating someone else, but the Enterprise's engineering chief had insisted that Barclay was the right man for the job. Especially since I couldn't admit to him the real reason I wanted out of this a.s.signment...

The shuttle docked with the Cataria, and Barclay thanked the fates that at least they weren't beaming over to the other s.h.i.+p. One of these days, he knew, he would have to do something about his transporter phobia, but right now that was the least of his worries.