Star Trek - Survivors Part 13

Rikan said, "I know what Nalavia has told you. We have seen those terrible pictures, too, of innocent people attacked, little children murdered. All this she blames on me and those who fight against her tyranny."

"Data and I already know those raids were faked," said Yar. "Or at least staged or edited, just as she edited and slanted the information about Data and me, and Starfleet itself. I trust Dare has told you it's not a war fleet?"

She glanced back at her former love, who lounged in his chair with the sneer that met any mention of Starfleet. This morning he was dressed in an outfit similar to the one last night, but today's s.h.i.+rt was a silky black material with a pattern of silver running through it. On the breast pocket of a more square-cut jacket was a symbol etched in silver. It was a stylized helmet, Yar realized, such as had been worn by medieval knights on Earth. The Silver Paladin.

Rikan answered Yar's question, "He has told me Starfleet will not do as I feared: take up Nalavia's invitation to come here and destroy our resistance, and then turn on her as well so as to take control of our planet for the Federation."

"Oh, no-surely you must know that is against both the rules of Starfleet and the laws of the Federation!"

The old man nodded. "So I thought, from the research we did many years ago. I was a member of the Council when Treva sought to join the Federation. But since Nalavia came to power she has contradicted what we learned. Her evidence suggests that the Federation gobbles up planets by making them protectorates, lulling them into a sense of security, then annexing them and taxing their products and natural resources. Then, when they can no longer produce enough to satisfy the Federation's greed, stripped and gutted of their resources, they are left to die, their people to starve."

Tasha was horrified. "Dare-"

"I've told him that's not true," he replied. "The Federation certainly have their faults, but if anything they lie in the opposite direction: there is so much of everything to go around that people grow weak with indulgence. No one has to struggle to survive anymore-and without struggle there is no strength."

"Dare," said Tasha, "your own strength gives the lie to that statement."

Rikan said, "This corresponds more closely with what I saw when I visited the Federation years ago-but as I saw only four planets, I could have been fooled, you see."

Sdan spoke up for the first time, "She's tellin' the truth. The Federation's not evil; it just has its problems with people that don't fit into convenient niches."

"What do you mean?" Yar asked. "There are so many different worlds, so many different cultures-how could anyone be so different as not to find a home somewhere?"

Barb gave a derisive snort.

Sdan grinned sardonically. "Try bein' a mix of Vulcan, human, Romulan, Orion, an' maybe a touch of Aldebaran sh.e.l.l-mouth fer the stubborn streak!" he replied. "Then throw in bein' the black sheep of the family besides, an' you may just have a bit o' trouble fittin' in."

Well, now she knew why he didn't act like the Vulcan he appeared to be. "Did you break Federation law, Sdan?"

"Only me family's. Hate t'study, y'see-can't stand bein' cooped up indoors all the time, seein' life through a computer screen. Come from a line of mathematicians, scientists, doctors, researchers-but I'm a throwback to me great-grandad, it seems. He was a free trader, human, married an Orion woman an' started this whole parcel of hybrid vigor." He chuckled. "Lotsa vigor, it seems. Got me three brothers and five sisters, and the Great Bird knows how many cousins runnin' around. Ever' last one of 'em a scholar's scholar. Not me! I need adventure, or I'll shrivel up an' die."

"Quiet to quick bosoms is a h.e.l.l," Poet put in.

"Did you consider Starfleet?" Yar asked Sdan.

"Too many rules," he replied. "Rules was made to be broken-but Starfleet don't think that way."

"So you have joined Dare in making a career of breaking the most important rule of all." But she was looking at her former lover as she spoke.

Dare was making a great show of concentration on peeling a piece of fruit, but at that he set it down on his plate and looked directly across the table at Yar. "For what it's worth, I have never broken the Prime Directive. All our jobs have been strictly by invitation, and none have been on primitive planets where our presence could disrupt the evolution of native culture."

"You mean no primitive culture has the wherewithal to pay your price," Yar said scornfully.

Something had happened to Dare's quick temper. It seemed to smolder rather than flame now, but its containment might actually produce greater heat.

Instead of flaring at Yar, he smiled-but it didn't reach his eyes. "That is true. I am paid very, very well ... and I'm worth every credit. But there are certain things I will not do, no matter how high the price." The smile became a smug grin. "Think about it, Tasha: who on Treva could offer me a higher price, Rikan or Nalavia?"

"Which one actually made you an offer?" she countered.

He emitted a bark of laughter, but now there was something about his humor as artificial as Data's. "Rikan," he admitted.

Aurora spoke up. "We could have approached Nalavia for a counter-offer. Or, we could have refused Rikan's as we have dozens of others since I have been with Dare. However, it became clear once we investigated the situation here that Nalavia is a ruthless tyrant who must be stopped while there is still time."

Rikan shook his head sadly. "The time may be past. I do not know what has happened to the independent spirit of Treva's people. The country folk still have it-but those who have succ.u.mbed to the lure of soft living in the cities seem to care about nothing except good food, soft beds, strong ale, and entertainment" He frowned. "Nalavia makes intoxicants available cheap, and people spend the time when they're not working in a stupor. No one plays sports except professional athletes. People don't even go to the games-they watch everything on video. Natasha, this change has taken place within only three years, after Nalavia had entrenched her powers. As she suspended civil rights, then free elections, I thought the people would rise up-but only those outside the cities seem to care. So ... I sent for help."

"Why didn't you ask the Federation?" Yar asked.

"I no longer represent the Trevan government. In the last election I was turned out of office, along with every other legislator who opposed Nalavia's schemes. My personal efforts to contact Federation officials met with bureaucratic stalling, and ultimate refusals. When I returned home I found myself charged with interfering with the actions of the duly-elected government, and my pa.s.sport revoked."

There was a pause. Then Barb said, "What he ain't gonna tell you is that he spent two months in one of Nalavia's prisons. Woulda died there if some of his people hadn't broke him out. I been in places like that-rats live better. We freed a bunch of political prisoners that day, an' all of 'em are workin' with us now."

"Us?" Yar asked. "You are Trevan? I thought you were one of Dare's ... people."

"Oh, Barb is one of my ... gang," Dare supplied the word Yar had diplomatically avoided. "She took the prison break as a private job while we were between a.s.signments. Of all of us, Barb is the least tolerant of inactivity. I don't care what outside jobs she takes, so long as they're brief and she neither gets herself killed nor brings reprisals down on the rest of us. She came back with Rikan's invitation, and a report of what she had seen on Treva. So here we are."

Yar no longer trusted her instincts about Darryl Adin, but Rikan seemed sincere, and she had seen the video broadcasts and the advertis.e.m.e.nts for intoxicants. Her instincts certainly told her to distrust Nalavia.

"I am beginning to believe you," she said. "Let me go back to Nalavia's palace-it's considerably west of here, isn't it? Give me my combadge to contact Data, and possibly I can figure out how to get back in. Ah! The sleeping guard-"

"He wasn't asleep," said Sdan. "He was nerve-pinched."

"Doesn't matter. I'll claim whoever was on guard this morning was asleep when I went out to run. If one of you can lend me clothing that could pa.s.s as exercise gear, I can get through the perimeter defenses while Data creates a diversion. But we must hurry, or it will be too late to claim I have been out running. Data and I will tap into Nalavia's computer if he hasn't done so already, and find out what's really going on. If you'll give me a frequency on which to contact you-" she said, pus.h.i.+ng her chair back from the table.

"Sit down, Tasha," Dare said flatly.

"But there's no time-"

"Sit down. You are not going anywhere, and you are not contacting the android."

"Couldn't anyway," Sdan added. "Nothin' wrong with yer combadge; there's jamming on all Starfleet frequencies."

"If that is true," said Yar, "Data will verify it. That makes it even more important that I go back-"

"You are not going back," said Dare. "I have a job to do here, which I will not abandon because you or your android reports my whereabouts to Starfleet. You are not going anywhere, Tasha, until either you believe what I say and help me to help Rikan ... or I have done the job without your help and got clear of Treva and Starfleet's jurisdiction."

Lieutenant Commander Data adjusted the frequency on his combadge one more time. Static. Although he was virtually certain Nalavia was jamming Starfleet frequencies, it could be a most inconvenient ion storm in the vicinity of Treva.

Whatever the reason, he could not contact Tasha and he could not patch into the shuttle's more powerful radio to send a message to the Enterprise.

So Nalavia considered Data and Tasha hostages ... and had lost track of Tasha. That was the last thing Data had expected; he had thought Nalavia had Tasha imprisoned. While he worked on the combadge, Data kept his tricorder's circuits open to Nalavia's communications center, hoping to pick up a clue to what had happened to Tasha. There was much concern, and fear of Nalavia's retribution, but no hint of the Starfleet Lieutenant's whereabouts.

But where would Tasha go? And why had she not left some message for Data? Or ... had she?

He crossed the hallway to knock at Tasha's door, for the benefit of the guard. "Not back yet," the man spoke up.

"That is strange," said Data. "We are having dinner with the cabinet members in an hour."

"Groundcar mighta broke down," the guard suggested.

Different s.h.i.+ft, different guard. Data hoped this one found nothing suspicious in his saying, "I must borrow something; Lieutenant Yar will not mind," and entering her room.

Tasha's tricorder was gone. Of course; Nalavia's people had obviously searched the room while the President kept Data occupied. If she had left him a message in that obvious place, it was coded so that no one else could read it-but neither could he without the instrument.

But it had been here this morning. So he had been in here before the search, although after someone else had discovered Tasha missing. Whatever evidence had been here then was now scuffed about, turned over, muddled by the searchers even though they had carefully put everything back except the tricorder.

Data, however, had a perfect record in his memory banks of how the room had looked this morning. Remembering that he had told the guard he had come in to borrow something, he picked up Tasha's shoe polisher and returned to his own room, making sure the guard looked up and saw him enter ... for he did not expect to stay there long.

Quickly, he ran through the morning's images of Tasha's room. Nothing at ordinary focus. Wait ... the chair by the door was at an odd angle. He focused in on the carpet, and could see the impressions its legs had left where it usually sat-where it sat once again this evening-along with a scuff mark where it had been shoved out of place.

A human would have had to squat down and examine the carpeting with special equipment. Data was able to magnify and home in on every square centimeter he had looked at, even with peripheral vision. There were the prints of three different sets of shoes-Tasha's Starfleet issue boots, one set belonging to an average-sized humanoid male or rather large female who had wandered all over the room, and one set belonging to someone very heavy for the size of his feet, who had stood near the door, back against the wall, for some time.

Immediately in front of the door, Data's own small but deep footprints walked straight through the signs of a fight-many footprints at various angles, other marks caused by other parts of bodies. .h.i.tting the floor.

The carpeting held impressions best, but now that he knew what he was looking for Data found the scuffs on the door and walls. Tasha had fought two opponents who had been hiding in her room, waiting for her. Why hadn't the guard heard?

Because he was part of the scheme? No, Nalavia didn't have Tasha.

Because he was paid off? Unlikely-Nalavia's displeasure did not seem worth the risk.

Because he was either away from his post or unconscious, then.

Data replayed his own return last night. The guard seemed to have been just waking up, rubbing his neck- If he had been drugged he would probably have stayed unconscious. If he had been hit on the head he would have had pain. But a cramp in the neck where it joined the shoulder- He had been put out with a Vulcan nerve pinch, then, which accounted for the heavier-than-human person in Tasha's room. But ... a Vulcan? On Treva without the Federation's knowledge? Oh, no ... not a Romulan, please!

This was no time for fruitless speculation. A Vulcanoid person and probably a human had kidnapped Tasha. They were not Nalavia's people, which meant she was not on the palace grounds. Either she was hidden in the city, or she had been taken elsewhere. That depended on who had taken her.

There was only one likely prospect: Nalavia's enemy, the warlord Rikan. He had a stronghold somewhere to the east of here. Data accessed the information on Rikan he had gleaned from Nalavia's computers. Too far for her captors to have taken her on foot. Groundcar or flyer, then.

Data had no groundcar, but he did have a shuttlecraft ... hangared at the city's landing field.

Even if he was wrong about who had taken Tasha, he needed the shuttle's radio to inform the Enterprise of today's events. It would not be a wasted journey even if once there, where he could also access the aircraft control records, he found nothing that indicated a journey in the right direction.

All of this took less than five minutes. In forty-seven minutes, Data was expected at dinner. Soon thereafter, Nalavia would send someone for him-but by that time he planned to be far away from her Presidential Palace, "hot on the trail" of Tasha Yar.

Taking both phaser and tricorder, Data went out through the floor of the bath again, carefully fitting it back above him to leave his method of escape a mystery. He worked his way to the back of the palace, beneath the kitchen, where as he expected he found an opening to the grounds. It was twilight, an excellent time to fool humanoid eyes. Full day or full dark, while Data's uniform was not bad camouflage amid the browns and greens typical of cla.s.s-M planets' vegetation, his pale face and hands would stand out far more than human coloring, even though he deliberately smeared dirt on them.

Switching to infrared vision again, he set out across the grounds, dodging from one ornamental planting to another and avoiding open lawns. The perimeter defenses were primitive by Starfleet standards; Data observed the visual scanners until both in range of him were turned away, then sprinted between them. The touch-sensitive fence he merely leaped over. Then he set out for the landing field at a run.

Data could not run much faster than the fastest human; the shape of his body determined that. His advantage lay in his inorganic substructure, which would not fatigue and force him to slow or rest. He maintained the speed of a sprinter all the way to the landing field, actually moving faster afoot than they had in the groundcar on their arrival. He took alternative roads to avoid populated areas, but the map of the city he had accessed from Nalavia's computer showed him a route shorter than the one on which the visitors from Starfleet had been displayed. The only breaks in his journey came when he hid to allow cars to pa.s.s.

He had to slow at the landing field, for there were people about. Unfortunately, a dirty android was as conspicuous in a crowd as a clean one.

So he crept through the shadows, every sense alert for alarms. It seemed he had not yet been missed, for surely the shuttlecraft was the first place they would look for him. He found the hangar unguarded. It was locked, but there was no need to risk attracting attention by using his phaser; the simple external lock broke easily under android strength.

The shuttlecraft was gone.

There were many times that Data wished he were human, but none more so than when he needed an outlet for frustration. As false as his laughter was, his rare attempts to use expletives were even more so.

He should have known!

Wherever Nalavia had had the shuttle moved, he was quite sure it was not here at the landing field.

Which was more important, finding the shuttle and sending a message that the Enterprise would not receive for days, or locating Tasha? His friend and fellow crew member was certainly in danger. His first duty was to rescue her.

Except that he had only a ... was this what humans called a "hunch"?

No, it was a logical deduction. Nalavia and Rikan were enemies. If Nalavia did not have Tasha-then the laws of probability said she was most likely in Rikan's clutches.

Data surveyed the flyers tethered nearby, chose a small, fast, versatile one, broke the external lock, picked the lock on the power source with a set of tools he found inside-although the owner probably had no idea they could be used for that purpose-and accessed its...o...b..ard computer. In seconds he knew who he was supposed to be-and in minutes had filed a flight plan this craft had flown many times before, was cleared with field control, and was wished a speedy flight as he took off into gathering darkness. He flew on the flight plan until he was out of sensor range, then sped east.

The flyer's scanning system did not notify him of the sensors at the outer perimeter of Rikan's territory, but they showed on his tricorder, which he had set to monitor all bands. A sophisticated system, much newer than anything at Nalavia's palace, but all such systems had their blind spots around the projectors. Few human pilots could have maneuvered a strange craft through the tiny null zone, but Data skimmed easily through it and continued toward his goal.

Rikan's stronghold sat on a cliff overlooking a steep chasm. Data sought access to computerized control of the small landing site ... but there was none! His infrared vision told him people were there instead, ready to fight off any aircraft that got through the perimeter defense, or perhaps guide an expected flyer down with lights.

How could they operate that way? Not all nights were as clear as this one; that tiny landing site would be inaccessible to most pilots much of the time without a guidance system. Might there be sensors here neither the flyer's nor his own equipment could detect? The people stood or walked casually about, seemingly unaware of him. They were too far away for even Vulcans to hear the soft swish of the flyer's antigravs, and he had turned off the running lights as soon as he pa.s.sed through the perimeter defenses.

He kept his distance, studying the layout of the buildings and grounds ... and the Starfleet shuttlecraft inside a wooden shed, hidden from normal vision but not infrared. So Nalavia had not moved the shuttle; Tasha's captors had.

Giving the impression that Tasha had left on her own.

Or ... was it only an impression?

No-Data had seen the signs of her struggle, and she was far too good an officer to leave without reporting to him. The presence of the shuttlecraft confirmed that Data was not on a "wild goose chase."

Still, there were personnel watching the skies, and some rather wicked-looking anti-aircraft weapons in one of the outbuildings. Data dared not circle Rikan's castle closely; he would have to leave the flyer and go in on foot.

Go up on foot.

Data found a clearing in the forest and set the flyer down, pulling the light craft in as close under the trees as he could, then piling branches over the parts still in the clear. If he and Tasha could not recapture their shuttle, they would have secondary transport.

But he had to find Tasha first.

It was a steep climb up to Rikan's castle, difficult for humans but not for an android. Data watched for surveillance devices, but no infrared glows indicated cameras, light beams, or other sensors. Rikan probably antic.i.p.ated attack by air, this approach was hardly suitable for an infantry a.s.sault.

Data finally reached the top of the plateau, and saw the castle through the trees. He crept forward, drawing his phaser as he approached the clearing- And was suddenly grasped from all sides at once, enmeshed and entangled and lifted into the air, to the accompaniment of raucous clanging!

Netted!

It took only microseconds for Data to realize that a net of natural fibers, the same temperature as the ground cover, had been hidden under leaves and twigs. It triggered when he stepped onto it. Bells attached to the ropes made the awful clangor when he moved.

Data's weight held the springy trees bent over, but he was nonetheless helpless as their motion dragged him to and fro.

Hopelessly tangled, Data flopped onto his back and struggled to bring his hands to grasp a section of rope and tear it apart. It was amazingly resilient, but could not hold against his android strength.

When it parted, though, it made only one tiny hole in the net-it would take too long to tear through the strands necessary to make a slit large enough to crawl through. He would have to phaser it.

His phaser was lying on his chest, the springy net hindering his attempt to grasp it. The bells clashed and clanged with every movement. Even as he tried to escape, people converged on him, weapons pointed.

He was surrounded by six people, male and female, armed with phasers, disruptors, and similar hand weapons. One of them of a Vulcanoid race, presumably the same man who had helped capture Tasha, moved in front of him. "I'll take that phaser now-and don't get no fancy ideas, Robot. You might get me, but trussed up like that you ain't takin' out n.o.body else before my friends get you. Don't know what yer made outta, but I'd bet it can't take a blast from five weapons."