Star Trek - Survivors Part 6

"Indeed," Data replied. "Either they did not expect us to be monitoring them yesterday-"

"- or they didn't think we were capable," Yar mused.

"The shuttle isn't," Data confirmed. "Not the weak signals Treva's broadcast system puts out. I enhanced them. At our present distance, though, they expect us to be watching." He looked over at her with puzzled innocence. "Why would Treva's press present a distorted picture of us yesterday, but an accurate if incomplete one today?"

"A free press likely wouldn't," Yar replied. "It's evidence, although not absolute proof, that Nalavia controls what is broadcast."

Data gave one of his mechanical nods, indicating that he was storing information he had not yet a.n.a.lyzed, and turned back to the screen. Watching him in profile, Yar saw again the resemblance to her former mentor-but until the moment yesterday when she had blurted it out she had not been conscious of it. Even if Data's skin were flesh-colored, no one would take him for Dare-but they were the same type: medium height, slender build, with striking similarities of feature. Both had the sharp brow bone, heavy-lidded eyes, large straight nose, and firm jaw, although Data's chin was not as strong as Dare's. Their mouths were completely different, Dare's his saving grace, the full, curving lips producing a smile so devastating no woman could resist ... but when he was angry a snarl that made brave men search for cover.

Data had neither of those expressions. His lips were pale and thin-although Yar knew from experience that they could be exquisitely sensuous when applied topically. But the android never smiled broadly, never grinned. Life experience had not yet taught him the feelings to provoke those expressions. Likewise, she had never seen Data more than mildly angry-perhaps no more than annoyed. No one would ever look into Data's face and see it as frightening, threatening. Darryl Adin's anger was both-and the memory of that expression was seared into Yar's memory, for he had worn it both the first time she had ever seen him, and the last. The first time his anger had been directed at the rape gang on New Paris. The last time, it had been at her.

Data turned, looking puzzled, and Yar realized she had been staring intently at him. His wide light-gold eyes with their large pupils were his least human feature. She wondered if, as he fumbled toward humanity, they would eventually lose their rather flat appearance, develop the depth of the brown eyes that still occasionally haunted her dreams. Was it possible for an android to rise to such emotional heights, to crash to such devastating depths? She sighed. His programming probably prevented it-to keep him from becoming dangerous, treacherous, devious and untrustworthy ... like his "brother."

Like Darryl Adin.

"Tasha?"

"Yes? Do you have our ETA calculated?"

"One hour, seventeen point three minutes." He paused, then added, "You are concerned. Should we send a message to the Enterprise about what we have observed?"

"Definitely," she replied, glad he had misinterpreted her introspection. They were not due to report to the Enterprise again until after they had landed ... but right now they had the time to compose a detailed message. Data included the two news broadcasts, and they both tried to explain their misgivings.

When they were satisfied, Data dispatched the message. The Enterprise had been warping away from them all this time, so each message would take longer to reach the stars.h.i.+p. Thus far they had received two routine "message received" signals to their first progress reports. It would probably take another day before they had a reply to this one, and since they would not be aboard the shuttle by then, the flight computer would simply store it until one of them came aboard.

Then it was time to communicate with the s.p.a.ceport in Treva's capital city, and bring the shuttle down. It was quickly directed into a hangar, where Data and Yar emerged to find themselves surrounded by men and women in uniforms of black with large areas of red, blue, or greenish gold. They were not exact attempts to copy Starfleet uniforms-but at a distance, Yar realized, these people would give the impression of a platoon of Starfleet personnel. Were the natives so stupid as to believe they had all come out of one small shuttle?

There was a crowd of people, held back by soldiers, at the edge of the tarmac. Data and Yar, however, were hurried past them at some distance, into a waiting groundcar. They drove through streets from which traffic had obviously been cleared, followed by other vehicles carrying the people who had met the shuttle. Behind barricades, people lined up to stare at the visitors.

The Presidential Palace was a short distance outside the city, set in beautiful parklike grounds. Their groundcar was pa.s.sed quickly through the security perimeter. Yar automatically took note of the design, one she knew half a dozen ways to circ.u.mvent. To her surprise, no one asked for their phasers, either there or when they entered the palace.

Nalavia was waiting for them in a reception room, extending a hand to each in the human manner ... before a battery of cameras. It was a showpiece, Yar recognized. She searched her mind for rules of protocol, which had never been of much interest to her except for the military protocol of Starfleet. The Trevans were in transition from a sort of benevolent tyranny to a parliamentary democracy, the change begun two generations ago. As a result, cla.s.s distinctions were blurring, and so were customs. There was no neat set of rules by which to interpret Nalavia's behavior.

Except one: hereditary or elected ruler, this woman was the head of her planet's government. Yet she had been waiting for them, rather than having them ushered into the reception room and then making an entrance. She met them as equals, which they were not. That meant she wanted her people to think they were.

Treva's President wore a wine-red form-fitting outfit that sketched a tribute to being a military uniform by sporting epaulets and a cl.u.s.ter of gold brooches on the left bodice. It was two-piece, the top tightly belted over a skirt split to well above the knee. With it Nalavia wore knee-length boots with tall, thin heels that brought her to Data's height but made Yar wonder how she managed not to fall off them.

On a wide ribbon, she wore about her neck a golden badge, the symbol of the Presidency ... but the length of the ribbon caused it to dangle precisely between b.r.e.a.s.t.s whose lush inner curve was exposed by the deep cleavage of her bodice, beneath which she wore neither blouse nor s.h.i.+rt.

The color, Yar noted, suited Nalavia's pale skin and black hair, but was wrong with her eyes. Oddly flat green eyes, yet although "reptilian" sprang to mind, it was the wrong description. Cat's eyes they were certainly not; no wide-eyed clarity here. Something about those eyes nagged at Yar, but she could not decide what was wrong with them.

The meeting was brief and very formal. Nalavia had a prepared greeting; Data had a prepared response. Yar was glad he outranked her and therefore had to handle this part of the proceedings; she hated public speaking. It also gave her the opportunity to note something in Nalavia that just might be frustration. Now what could cause ... ?

Then she realized what Captain Picard had done: to face a woman so voluptuous that her sensuality reached through a recorded message to trigger every male hormone on the Enterprise bridge, he had sent a woman and an android! Yar smothered a grin at her captain's perspicacity.

When the public meeting was over, Data and Yar were shown to their quarters. Each had a suite of two rooms and a bath, on opposite sides of a wide corridor sporting paintings, statues, and well-armed guards.

Yar found that her belongings had already been put in the drawers, closet, and bathroom cabinet. And probably thoroughly searched in the process. But there was nothing to find. She carried her phaser, tricorder, and combadge.

Dinner with Nalavia was scheduled in an hour and a half, so Yar bathed and put on her dress uniform, taking the time to put on makeup in deference to the formal occasion. She was glad she didn't have to wear a formal gown, although she was certain Nalavia would.

A few minutes before they were due, Data appeared at her door to escort her to the private dining room where they hoped they would learn more of what was really happening on Treva. The android was also in dress uniform. "I suppose it is safe to leave our phasers in our rooms," he said.

"You seem as uncomfortable without it as I do," Yar observed. "Have you checked your room for listening devices?"

"There are none. However, I wish Counselor Troi were with us," he replied. "Even I sense that we are not being told the truth-and neither are the people of Treva. What do you sense, Tasha?"

"The same. And that you frustrated Nalavia today."

"Frustrated?"

"You didn't react to her charms. Hmmm. Data, do you know how to flirt?"

"I am programmed in a broad variety of pleasuring techniques. Among them are 234 forms of flirtation."

"Then I suggest you try a few of them on Nalavia. Give her a bit of her own medicine, and see what happens."

"What happens? Tasha, if I do so, she will undoubtedly expect-"

"No!" Yar said sharply. Then, "I mean, not tonight. If you give her what she wants immediately, there will be no reason for her to give you what you want."

"Which is?"

"The truth. What's really happening on Treva. You do understand that we can't ask her directly?"

"Yes, Tasha," he replied with his slight smile. "Even I am not that naive. I have lived among humans for twenty-six years."

Yar could not resist. "You've been around the block a few times, you weren't born yesterday, you're no longer wet behind the ears-" And she had the delight of seeing Data's smile widen.

"Please do not steal my act," he said softly. "So far, it is the only one I have."

"Oh, no, it isn't," she said, and kissed his cheek. He was designed to be nice to touch, as she well remembered: warm, soft, with underlying strength. Up to now, Yar had regretted her seduction of Data under the influence of the uninhibiting virus. Perhaps what she ought to regret, though, was her instruction that "It never happened."

When their mission was over, after all, there would be another long journey in the shuttlecraft, just the two of them, alone together....

She put such thoughts out of her mind, and settled down to the business of dinner with the President of Treva. Nalavia met them in a small salon, offering wine and c.o.c.ktails. Yar accepted a gla.s.s of wine; Data did not. That was odd; alcohol had little or no effect on him.

"Now that we are alone," said Nalavia, "we can speak as friends. My planet is in great trouble. I am sure you know that the saddest of all wars is that which sets people against their own brothers. That is happening on Treva."

"Civil war," said Yar. She knew only too well how horrifying constant guerilla warfare was. It had been the norm where she grew up. "The Federation is grieved to hear that such a thing is happening to people we were hoping to welcome among us."

"Then surely the Federation will send help!" said Nalavia. "The people want peace, and a say in their government-but terrorists are murdering their elected officials. The legislature has been forced to suspend its meetings, just at the crucial time when the new const.i.tution must be tested and amended."

They were interrupted by the information that dinner was ready-a sumptuous feast during which Nalavia played the gracious hostess, refusing to discuss the purpose of their visit until they were once more in her parlor, sipping Saurian brandy.

"What do these terrorists want?" Data asked.

"A return to the old ways, warlords ruling by force rather than the rule of the people through duly elected officials."

"Warlords?" Yar asked suspiciously.

"They have united under the rule of one man now," Nalavia explained. "Rikan. Many of the country folk have joined his army, either out of fear of change and a yearning for the old ways ... or because they believe he will win and are in terror for their lives and those of their families should his wrath then fall upon them."

"But this is an internal matter," said Data. "What can Starfleet do?"

Nalavia sat forward eagerly. "We know the location of Rikan's fortress! Our ground forces have attempted several times to take it, but Rikan has an impregnable position. For our weaponry. But for yours-all you need do is send a single stars.h.i.+p, to blast his fortress from the sky! He cannot shoot down a stars.h.i.+p as he does our small aircraft. In minutes you can free us from this tyrant-and Treva will bless you and eagerly join the Federation."

"That is not how Starfleet operates," said Yar. "We believe in the prevention of war. To be forced to use a weapon is itself a form of defeat."

Nalavia stared at her in ill-concealed frustration. "You would have us lie down like dogs, let this tyrant rule?" Her bosom heaved with emotion. "But then, you have not seen what the warlord's troops do to innocent people." She stood and walked to a wallscreen, pressed some switches, and scenes began to appear. First, the bomb in the marketplace which they had seen on the news broadcast. "This happened only yesterday," said Nalavia.

"Your army does not seem very efficient," Data observed.

"What army is, against an enemy that attacks civilians?" Nalavia replied. "Our troops cannot be everywhere. If Rikan would meet us in fair battle, we might have a chance. But these are his methods."

Another scene played, this time of what appeared to be an omnibus full of local people on a busy city street, suddenly erupting with armed men shooting pa.s.sers-by at random. More armed personnel a.s.saulted a school, forcing children out at gunpoint, to be carried away in ground vehicles. A child tried to break from the line and was shot down. Others began screaming-and those who panicked and tried to run were shot in cold blood.

Yar pulled her mind from the scenes of slaughter just as Data was asking, "How is it that cameras-"

"How is it that the ranks of your army have not swelled with volunteers," Yar spoke over his voice, "when there is such a terrible enemy attacking your people?"

Data glanced at her, and nodded. He would not pursue his question now, and Yar could only hope that he would not try again later. They must not let Nalavia know they had noticed that these "atrocities" were at least staged, if not faked entirely.

But the woman was ahead of them. "Since the attacks began, we have placed surveillance cameras throughout the capital city, to mobilize our forces against attack as quickly as possible. As to volunteers, Treva's citizens have been truly free for less than a generation; tradition tells them to let their leaders take care of them. We are trying, my friends, we are trying desperately-but if we are not to succ.u.mb once again to the tyranny of the warlords and the rule of eternal war, then we must have your help." Nalavia sounded as if she was fighting back tears.

Yar looked at Data and mouthed "Now." He looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded.

"A most affecting argument," said the android, going to Nalavia and taking her hand as if to lend her strength. "Starfleet will be very much interested in what you have told us, and in what we find here. But we can do nothing tonight. You must put aside these images of tragedy. You called us friends, Nalavia. I hope we will soon prove good friends indeed."

Yar blinked. G.o.d, Data was good! Nalavia took his hand in both of hers, and looked up at him, bravely blinking back tears. Yar smothered a smirk. Treva's President was no slouch in the flirtation department either. By the time she had watched the two of them for half an hour, Yar felt smothered in whipped cream and was beginning to worry slightly. Surely Data could not really be taken in by the heaving bosom, the batting lashes, the helpless act-?

Nah. Data was a machine. He couldn't possibly let feelings overcome his judgment.

Still, he acted as if he had feelings.

Oh, come on, Tasha-he had to ask your opinion about whether Nalavia is beautiful, she reminded herself, and excused herself after the brandy, pleading a long day and her habit when planetside of getting up at dawn to exercise in the morning light.

Nalavia graciously wished her a good night, but her attention was only too obviously on Data. I really must try out his flirtation program myself, Yar thought as she walked the long corridors back toward her room. Her Security Officer's mind noted with amus.e.m.e.nt that the guard seated near her door was asleep on the job, but she resisted the temptation to wake him. Let his replacement or his senior officer find him that way.

She opened her door, flicked the light switch-and nothing happened.

Instantly she whirled back toward the corridor, not even taking the time to add one plus one odd event- It was already too late.

Strong hands pulled her back inside her room.

Her fighting was instinctive. There were two attackers, for someone closed the door behind her as she kicked out against the one who had grabbed her, garnering a satisfying yelp as she connected with his knee.

The drapes, which she had left open, were now closed; for some moments Yar's attackers had the advantage while her eyes adjusted after the brightly-lighted corridor. But she had often practiced fighting blind.

And there were only two. No problem usually, but these moved like trained fighters, and they were both larger than she was.

But she took no time to think, spinning out of the first kick to jab the man by the door in the ribs.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!" he gasped, and Yar grinned in the darkness.

Her next kick took the wind out of her other opponent, but as she was thus off-balance the first man kicked her standing leg out from under her.

She stumbled but managed not to fall.

Recovering, she felt hands grasp her arms-and before she could orient to break his hold a strong hand closed where her neck met her shoulder.

Only then did she think to scream-too late. She got out only a tiny squeak as she blacked out.

Yar came to in her worst nightmare. She was tied hand and foot and being carried roughly over someone's shoulder, her face smothered in a hood.

For a terrible moment she was on New Paris, in the clutches of the rape gang!

Then the present came back. She had been kidnapped from Nalavia's palace.

d.a.m.n-if only she had tried to wake the guard and found he was out cold! No. If only's wouldn't help.

How much time had pa.s.sed? Were they still on the palace grounds?

Testing her bonds alerted the man carrying her. "She's comin' round."

"He said she's tough," said the other voice. "d.a.m.n it-I'm gonna limp for a week!"

"Yeah, well, me ribs'll be sportin' a nice bruise, but you don't hear me complaining. "

"He jests at scars that never felt a wound."

Yar's captor laughed, and s.h.i.+fted her. "She's heavy fer such a little thing."

"Want me t'take her?" The other man didn't sound very eager.

"Nah-we're here."

In a few more steps, Yar felt a sharp turn, and the sense of entering a room. "We got 'er!" her captor said brightly, and dumped her unceremoniously to the floor.

"Get that thing off her head!" a new voice exploded in fury.

Only it wasn't a new voice- "Okay, okay-didn't want her t'see the way, did we?" protested the one who had carried her, pulling off the hood covering Yar's head.

In disbelieving dej vu she found herself nose to toes with s.h.i.+ning black boots, then managed to turn onto her back, her eyes following long legs up, farther up, past a torso clad in black and gray, to a cruel and angry face staring down at her. The expression was the same one seared into her memory from the last time she had seen ...

... the face of Darryl Adin.