Here There Be Dragons Part 17

"Can you beam up two people?"

O'Brien paused. "I could if they were wearing communicators to lock on to."

Picard smiled. "Send me four communicators down, if you would."

"Aye, sir."

Picard smiled at Kirsch, who was completely amazed by everything and clearly understood none of what was happening. He jumped when four golden badges suddenly shimmered into existence on the floor.

"Magic," he whispered.

"Not quite." Picard bent down and picked up the devices. He attached one to his tunic, then turned to Randolph.

"What are you doing?" he yelped.

"I'm going to have you and your friend there beamed aboard the Enterprise so I don't have to worry about you." He clipped the communicator onto the struggling man.

"But it's going to be blown up any moment!"

"That seems only fair to me. You began the attack. Now you can sweat it out with my people." He clipped the second communicator onto Hagan's robes. "If there's anything that you can tell me to help me stop the attack, now would be a good time."

"I told you I can't stop it!" Randolph was on the verge of tears. "Picard, I beg of you-don't do this! It's murder!"

"No," Picard replied. "It's justice. If you wipe out my crew and ship, you'll die with it. You had better pray, then, that I can somehow stop the attack." He triggered his own communicator. "Do you read me, Mr. O'Brien?"

"Loud and almost clearly, Captain."

"Beam up the other two communicators that I've activated, together with their wearers. And have a security team escort them to cells."

"Aye, sir. Energizing!"

As his voice died away, columns of light surrounded the screaming, hysterical Randolph and the slightly more dignified Hagan. Kirsch's jaw fell open when the light shimmered and vanished, and the men were gone, also.

"Are they ... dead?" he asked, awe-stricken.

"No, Michael," Picard replied gently. "They're now on my ship. They've committed some serious crimes while they were here, and we are going to punish them for their actions. a.s.suming my ship survives the attack that Randolph triggered."

At that moment the doors to the hall burst open, and several guards rushed in, weapons at the ready. They looked wildly around before dashing across to the three men. In seconds Picard was held by two soldiers, and a sword at his throat.

"Where is Randolph?" the leader of the men asked. "He was in here."

"Gone," Picard replied. "He will not be back."

"d.a.m.nation." The guard spat on the floor. "He must have gotten wind of the duke's death somehow. That black magician of his, no doubt." He thought for a moment. "Well, if we don't have their heads to take to the captain, we have yours." He nodded to his men. "Kill them."

Chapter Twenty-one.

THERE WAS no doubt at all about the alien nature of this room. Riker's neck was aching from all the craning he'd done as he'd stared around the place. It was ma.s.sive. It looked as if the Preservers had taken a gigantic natural cavern below the surface of this world and then turned it into a huge room by spraying glowing metal all over.

The floor was perfectly level, stretching several hundred feet in all directions from the entrance where they stood. The ceiling of the room was almost as high overhead. Stalact.i.tes hung down, each of them perfect, but of glittering metal instead of stone. The rocks in the walls and roof stood out clearly. The room had a warmth and light throughout it. Most caves Riker had ever ventured into were cool and damp, and more than a little fusty. The air here was perfectly balanced. Though there was no sound of machinery, he knew that there had to be an air purifier at work somewhere.

Around the walls and at regular intervals across the floor of the metal cavern were banks of machineries. He couldn't begin to guess at their purposes. Lights glittered and danced across them. The strange, spidery raised script of the Preservers adorned every piece of machinery. Riker-like all Starfleet academy students-had seen the examples from Miramanee a hundred times. It was the same style, and just as obscure here as it had been there. The only thing that Riker could recall about it was that it was somehow based on a system of musical tonalities.

It was weird, watching all of this activity taking place without a single being anywhere. What could it all be for? Was it somehow monitoring the world above them and recording information for the Preservers? Was it, even now, linked to similar machines on other worlds? Was it possible that the Preservers themselves could somewhere be watching them?

Deanna stepped into the room, her face a radiant mask. The sound of her footfalls echoed about the vast cathedral to science. "This is where they once stood," she breathed. "They were here, and a portion of them resides here still."

"You mean the machines that they left?" asked Riker gently. He followed her out onto the floor.

"No." Deanna looked at him with hungry eyes. "I can feel a part of them resting here. A fragment of their minds. It's not easy even for me, Will, but I can almost get through to them. It's hard to get their attention." She shook her head. "We're like insects to them. They see us, but they don't quite understand us."

Riker shuddered. "Is that what all this is?" he asked her, appalled. "Is it like some giant ant farm to them? Is that what the people on the surface are to them?"

"No, not like that," she replied. "It's much more complex than that." A tear trickled out of her eye. "I can't quite grasp it. I can't ..." She shivered. "Will, we're not supposed to be here. This world should be left alone. That's why it was placed here-to protect it from us."

"They know about us?" snapped Riker.

"Not specifically. They only know that what they are doing is very delicate. It's like an artist at work, much more than a scientific experiment. I get the definite impression that what they are doing is more like painting a masterpiece than studying an experiment. But we're the wrong colors. We may be damaging to the picture."

Ro frowned. "Do they want us to leave? Or are we a mistake to be erased?"

Deanna shook her head. "I can't tell. It's a kind of stray thought. Not focused. It's just there. The Preservers don't see us, exactly. They're like gardeners, who've discovered a mold growing on a prized plant. They don't see the individual cells, just the blight itself."

"I don't like the sound of that," Ro said to Riker. "It suggests we're in for a dose of weed killer."

"I don't like it, either." Riker gripped Deanna by the shoulders. "Deanna. Imzadi. Listen to me. Can you speak to them at all? Can you give them a message?"

Deanna struggled to focus on him. "No. They can't hear me. My mind is too quiet, too small for them to hear. I can only understand them because there's just a tiny fraction of their substance here. If there were more, I'd be overwhelmed. I simply feel some of what is going through this small part of their minds."

"Are they planning to do anything about us?" Riker demanded. "Are we in danger here?"

"Danger?" Deanna sounded as if she were far away. "Yes, I feel something about danger." Then she suddenly snapped back to full awareness. "Will-it's the Enterprise! There's some kind of attack under way against the ship!"

The deck under Geordi was shaking like a dog with fleas. Both Ops and navigation had red lights flickering all over them. Van Popering struggled to maintain his position. Jenny Mancini had somehow braced herself in her seat and was carrying out course corrections as needed to keep the Enterprise in motion.

"Shields down to forty percent," Worf read out. His feet wide apart, he stood unmoving at his board. "Forward shield number four is failing."

Geordi tried to ignore this bad news. "Change to heading two one four mark seven," he called. "Keep us moving, Mancini."

"Course laid in," she responded through gritted teeth. "And engaged."

The deck shuddered again. Geordi could hear the strains the movement produced. He was itching to call engineering to discover how well the containment fields were holding up through all of this stress. But he knew that the last distraction they needed right now was him demanding a report.

Besides-the fields either held or collapsed. There was nothing he could do even if he had warning of the latter. He gripped the arms of the command chair and held on for dear life as the gravitational fluxes tore at the ship.

"Fields down to thirty-five percent," Worf intoned. "Forward shield four is down. Three and five are straining to compensate. They will both burn out in fifteen seconds."

One shield down was bad enough. Three shields would lose them almost a fifth of their cover. The remaining shields would never be able to maintain the phase guarding against the polarized gravity waves. Geordi listened helplessly as Worf counted down to disaster.

And then- "We're through!" Van Popering yelled. It was a breach of bridge etiquette, but Geordi couldn't fault him for it. The juddering in the decks fell away.

"Shields have held," Worf reported. "We need an immediate repair team on shield four."

"Okay." Geordi tapped the communications panel. "La Forge to Engineering. What's it like down there?"

"You don't want to know," came the reply. "But the fields held. It's getting closer to disruption every time, though. I can't guarantee we'll survive another attack. The engines are overheating as it is, and I've lost five technicians to burns and other injuries."

"Can you get a repair team onto forward shield four?" Geordi asked.

"I've n.o.body left to spare. There's a hundred repairs we should be doing right here, but there's no one to do them."

"Okay. Do your best." Geordi flicked off the intercom. "d.a.m.n. There's n.o.body to do the repairs."

"Without shield four," Worf pointed out, "we place too great a strain on three and five. If there is another attack, they will not hold."

Geordi didn't need to be told; he knew it better than anyone here. But if there were no techs to spare, he couldn't make one sprout up out of thin air. Now what could he do?

Barclay groaned as he levered himself to his feet. His broken ankle was in a brace to complete the strengthening. Dr. Crusher had warned him not to move for two days, or it wouldn't set correctly. He hated to ignore her instructions, but if things went on like this, the Enterprise didn't have two hours left, let alone two days. Trying to ignore the pain, he limped out of the ward, hoping he wouldn't be spotted. There were, after all, over fifty other patients in here, and Crusher and her staff were working like lunatics to attend to them all.

Naturally, she glanced up just in time to see him. "Reg!" she yelled, irritated. "I told you to stay off that foot."

"Right," he agreed, wincing in pain. "And I will, later. Right now I've got too much to do." Dr. Crusher finished using the hypospray on the technician on the diagnostic bed. The technician had blisters that were already suppurating from the scalds she had received repairing a fractured coolant line. "I'm not arguing," Beverly snapped.

"Then don't." Barclay hobbled up to her. "Geordi's got more than he can handle on the bridge. And there's n.o.body to spare to repair forward shield four. If that fails us, then you may as well kiss this life good-bye. I'm the only one who can possibly get it up again, so I'm going. See ya." He was past her and out the door with an amazing speed considering his condition.

Beverly swore under her breath. She was tempted to go after him and sedate him-except this girl needed her help. And, d.a.m.n it, he was right: If that shield failed, all of this was pointless, anyway.

"Stop!"

The blade at Picard's throat eased away slightly. He could feel a slight trickle where it had penetrated his skin, but he was safe from immediate execution, it appeared.

Volker marched into the main hall, his face clouded with anger. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

The guard's leader glanced at him uncertainly. "We were just executing these three-"

"n.o.body told you to execute anyone!" snarled Volker. "Release them immediately."

Picard straightened up, shaking the guard's hands from him. "Thank you, sir," he said. "I appreciate the a.s.sistance."

"You may not," replied Volker. "I can still have them kill you. Now-who in Hades are you, what are you doing here, and where is Randolph?"

"My name is Lukas," Picard replied. "This is Dieter, and that is Michael Kirsch, a scholar."

Volker studied Kirsch. "Didn't the duke send you into slavery?" he asked. "I recall something about heresy."

Kirsch managed a wan smile. "You have an exceptional memory, Captain. Fortunately, Lukas and Dieter saved me when the slave train was attacked by a dragon. They slew the beast."

"Really?" Volker snorted in disbelief. "Then they're more exceptional than they appear to be. They don't look capable of slaying a fly, let alone a dragon."

"They are not what they seem to be," Kirsch a.s.sured him. "Lukas is a sorcerer of mighty powers, and Dieter is his homunculus."

Volker threw himself into the duke's chair and looked at Picard. "You appear to have made a singular impression on the heretic here. Is what he says true?"

Picard was caught in a serious dilemma here. He was forbidden to tell these people the truth, and yet it was quite plain that he would be murdered casually if he didn't have some kind of story to offer them. "The truth?" he repeated, stalling for time. Then an idea came to him. "In a sense, I suppose what he says is quite correct, yes."

Volker looked slightly amused. "Would you care to perhaps demonstrate some magic for me? Or is it a private act?"

"If I may have a minute to confer with my-ah, Dieter?" Picard requested. When Volker nodded, he took the android aside a few paces. "Data," he said in a low voice. "I think I have a way to get out of this without breaching the Prime Directive. These people sincerely believe in the power of magic, don't they?"

Data nodded. "It is ingrained within their culture, Captain."

"Then if we explain everything in terms of magic, we will only be conforming to their cultural norms, won't we?"

"Indeed, Captain."

"I'm glad that you agree." Turning back to the Guard Captain, Picard said: "Kirsch does indeed speak the truth about us, sir. I am a powerful magician."

"But powerless against cold steel, I'll wager. My man almost killed you moments ago."

"It only appeared that way, Captain," Picard replied. "But-we are reasonable men, you and I. I could prattle on all day, and it would prove nothing. Let me instead offer you proof for your eyes and mind."

"Now we seem to be getting somewhere." Volker settled back, wondering what trickery this smooth-talking humbug was going to trump up.

Picard turned back to Data and said: "Open your chest access panel."

Data raised an eyebrow. Then he reached up and pulled at his tunic. It tore across his chest, revealing his golden skin below. The guards gasped but stood firm. Data then unclipped his panel, swinging it down. It revealed the circuitry, hydraulics, and motors within.

Volker leapt to his feet and hastily made the sign of the cross. "What witchery is this?" he whispered.

"As Kirsch said, my companion is not a human but an animation," Pieard answered. "You can see here that he has no human heart beating in his chest. He is powered by my magic."

Volker stared suspiciously at Data. "And you control him? Is he safe?"

"He won't hurt you," Picard a.s.sured him. "But I wouldn't get too close to him. The-ah-magic might affect you. It renders the inanimate living, and I wouldn't want to take a chance that it would render the living inanimate."

"Very well." Volker moved warily back to the seat. "For the moment I will accept your claims. But why are you here? And what have you done with Randolph?"

"I came here specifically to find him and his accomplices," Picard answered. "They have broken our laws and tried to interfere in your village life. They caused corruption and greed, seeking to influence the grand duke with their evil ways. I have sent them magically back to my ship, which is moored a good distance out to sea. We come from ... another continent and must return there. We will punish Randolph for what he has done here."

Volker considered the matter. "Very well," he agreed. "You can do what you want with him, as long as he never returns here again." It didn't matter what happened to the man, as long as he didn't interfere with Volker's own plans. "Meanwhile, the duke is dead. I am going to appoint myself in his place, I think."

"My condolences on your loss," Picard said dryly. "And congratulations on your promotion."