Strike Zone Part 26

Tossing Tron over his shoulder, Worf headed for the nearest holding cell.

"Worf, what's going on around here?"

"The Kreel and Klingon amba.s.sadorial parties are endeavoring to kill each other." That was all Worf had any interest in saying. When he got to the holding cell he heaved the Klingon in and activated the force screen.

"But-but Worf!" said Wesley. "He's bleeding in there!"

"So what?" replied Worf as he tapped his communicator. "Worf to bridge."

"Picard here."

And Wesley suddenly said, "I know what to do!" Worf's angry scowl did not even begin to quiet him. "We do an internal sensor scan, find all the Klingons and Kreel, beam them all into one transporter room and you have them all rounded up!"

Picard overheard this and said tightly, "Thank you for your insight, Mr. Crusher. How nice of you to rejoin the living, at least temporarily. However, the transporters are down. The power coupling circuitry has been destroyed in engineering."

Immediately, Wesley called to mind the schematics for the transporter. "All right," he said, and it was as if his thoughts were a million miles away. "All right ... give me five minutes and I can rewire a transporter console. A cargo transporter would be best. It's got the largest circuit board. It's the easiest to work with. And it's the largest capacity, which is what we'll want."

"Captain, did you hear all that?" asked Worf.

There was a momentary pause and then, with great reluctance, as if bowing to the inevitable, Picard said, "Yes, I heard. Worf, can you get him there?"

"Of course," replied the Klingon. He turned to Wesley and said tersely, "You have a bodyguard. Let's go."

On the bridge, Picard was shaking his head and he turned toward Deanna Troi, who had arrived scant minutes before. "That's all we need," he said. "Mr. Crusher saves the ship ... again."

"It would certainly be grist for Dr. Pulaski's mill," agreed Deanna. "But better to-"

Suddenly, her head snapped to the side, and her back arched in the chair. Immediately, Picard was on his feet. "Counselor!"

"They're coming!" shrieked Deanna. "I feel them! Loathsome! Hideous!"

"Who's coming, Deanna?" Picard shouted. "Who!" At that moment on ops, Dykstra said, "Captain! I've tracked down three more Kreel! They're ... "

"On the bridge."

Aneel had completed the sentence. He and the other Kreel had their phasers out and aimed directly at Picard and his crew.

"Back away," said Aneel. He waved his phaser at the seated officers at conn and ops. To their credit, they looked to Picard for guidance. He made a subtle gesture that they should rise from their seats and back up, which they did.

"What do you want?" Picard said slowly.

"We want your ship," replied Aneel. "All for us."

"It's what you wanted all along, isn't it?"

"Yes, Captain. Exactly what we wanted. With the kind of technology that can make us great."

"The kind of technology you're not ready for."

"Oh, how kind of you to be concerned for us." Aneel's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Place your hands behind your head. That's right. That's better." He eyed Troi in particular, as she did so, and grinned that broken-toothed grin.

"I want you off my bridge," said Picard with barely-contained fury.

Aneel was impressed not at all. "I'll just bet you do," he replied. "I'll just bet."

But now Picard wasn't even looking at the Kreel. His attention was drawn to the tall, ethereal-looking youth who stood at the back of the bridge, quivering in misery. "Jaan?" he said. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Oh him?" said Aneel indifferently. "He sold us himself, a little piece at a time. Don't worry. It didn't hurt." He studied the small cl.u.s.ter of humans carefully. "We promised him a cure for his disease in exchange for his help."

Jaan closed his eyes in pain. There went any hope of his ever recapturing his past life. Then again, what was there to recapture?

"Poor, pathetic b.a.s.t.a.r.d," said Aneel. "You know, he's worked so hard for it. I think I should give him his cure right now."

He swung the phaser around at Jaan and aimed.

It took Jaan a full second to realize what was happening. In that instant, Picard lunged for the Kreel leader, only to be knocked back by Deni. Troi tried to shout out a warning, for all the good it would have done.

The phaser beam lashed out and surrounded Jaan. Even as it did, in a last ditch effort he reached out for Aneel. He hadn't made it half a step when Jaan, with an agonized shriek, saw the world split apart.

Then there was nothing, no sound at all except the noise of air rushing in to fill the vacuum that the Selelvian had left.

Aneel made a satisfied grunt. "So that's how 'kill' works on this thing. Any other takers?"

"You ... monster!" shouted Picard in outrage.

"You still say that? You insult me, Captain. All you had was a stinking traitor in your midst. I helped isolate and eliminate him for you. And I didn't even lie to him, really. He wanted a cure for the Rot. Well, death cures everything, doesn't it?" And he laughed that coa.r.s.e laugh.

And at that moment, a familiar voice came over the intercom.

Unaware of the crisis that had occurred on the bridge, Worf's voice came over the speaker saying, "Worf to bridge. Come in, Captain."

Picard hesitated, realizing that silence would bring the security squad on the run. He saw Aneel aim the phaser at him in a no-nonsense manner, and then Aneel suddenly swung the phaser around and aimed it directly at Deanna Troi. His intention was unmistakable, as was his expression.

"Picard here," he said carefully. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"We made it to cargo Transporter Room C, sir. Wesley is working on the transporter circuitry now. In a few minutes, if all goes well, we'll be prepared to transport all the Klingons and Kreel here. That should effectively end the crisis."

"Good work, Lieutenant," he said. "Picard out"- and he broke the connection before Worf could inadvertently give anything else away.

It was too late, however. Aneel spun around and snarled at the others, "You stay here! I'll get down to the transporter room and put a stop to this!" He grinned. "Worf. How marvelous. I've wanted a piece of that smug Klingon b.a.s.t.a.r.d from the moment I got on this ship."

The transporter chief was shaking his head in amazement as Wesley worked under the console, rerouting the relays so that the blown-out circuitry in engineering was being completely bypa.s.sed. "Amazing," he was saying.

"Quiet!" snapped Wesley, trying to keep everything straight in his head. He had been muttering almost constantly since he'd started, trying not to lose track of anything as he went. If he did the results would be seriously unpleasant.

At that moment a sudden alarmed cry came over the communicator. Wesley sat up so fast he slammed his head against the underside of the console.

"La Forge to transporter! Beam me up! Quick!"

Worf immediately tapped his communicator and said, "La Forge, the transporter is down. We're working on repairing it. What's wrong?"

No answer.

"Geordi! Come in!" This from Wesley, shouting urgently to the man who had become his mentor. "We're trying to fix it! Can you hang on a few minutes more?"

No answer.

"Oh G.o.d," moaned Wesley, and dropped beneath the console once more. And now his fingers seemed to fly across the circuitry with a life of their own. Inside of two minutes, he called out, "Okay! Try it now!"

The transporter chief manipulated the controls, and a familiar hum began to fill the chamber. But it was unsteady, its beams flickering in a most unhealthy manner. "I'm trying surface-to-ship," called the transporter chief. "But I'm not getting sufficient gain. There isn't a steady enough signal to calibrate around."

"One thing at a time," shot back Wesley. "Try ship to surface. Beaming down."

The transporter chief reversed the beam, and this time Worf, who was standing a couple of feet away, thought that the beam looked stronger, steadier.

"That's it," called out the Klingon. "That's better. That's ... "

The Kreel's entrance was so swift, so savage, that it even caught Worf off-guard. The door was blasted open, and the transporter chief spun to shout a warning cut short as he was struck dead-center by the phaser and vanished into nothingness.

The Kreel darted across the room even as Worf whipped his own phaser around and fired. The blast sent sparks and debris flying from the wall behind as the Kreel darted behind the transporter console. The beams were still activated, shimmering blue lights rippling on the platform, projecting downward although there was nothing in them to go down.

Worf dodged to one side, and fired even as he went into motion. His phaser (unfortunately, he would later decide) was not set on kill. Only stun. He winged the Kreel, sending the hideous alien's phaser flying from his grasp in one direction while the Kreel himself fell behind the transporter console. Worf saw the phaser skid across the floor, safely out of the Kreel's reach, and congratulated himself on a excellent shot.

He couldn't see the Kreel from behind the console, but it didn't matter. He advanced on him, calling out in his deep voice, "Surrender."

"Death first!" came the Kreel response and then suddenly he sprang up into view. He had one arm around Wesley's neck. The other was against the boy's head, prepared to shove it very quickly and very efficiently.

"Now you surrender, Klingon. Before this boy's shoulders become lonesome for his head."

"Let go of the boy," said Worf warningly, his phaser never wavering, "and back away slowly, or you'll regret it."

"Not as much as he will," said Aneel. "Isn't that right, boy?"

He shook Wesley slightly, and Wesley groaned fearfully in his ma.s.sive grasp.

"Worf," he gasped out, "get him."

But Worf couldn't bring himself to move. His phaser still didn't waver, but he made no approach.

"One step," said the Kreel. "Take one step and, snap, he's gone. Just like that." He moved so that Wesley remained between himself and Worf. "You think I'm helpless because I don't have a phaser?"

"I think you're helpless because you need a young boy to hide behind," said Worf with a sneer.

"Really? Well I should warn you, Klingon. I've killed one young boy today. A second will be even less of a challenge."

There was dead silence in the transporter room, broken only by the humming of the transporter beams.

"What ... young boy?" said Worf very slowly, very dangerously.

"The elf," laughed Aneel.

Wesley froze as if his blood had turned to ice water. "You're ... you're lying."

"The elf," repeated Aneel. "The one called Jaan. I blasted him out of existence myself, and enjoyed watching his face as he vanished. And you'll be next, boy, if you move. Now, Klingon ... drop your weapon."

"You're-you're lying."

"Shut up, boy. I'm not talking to-"

"YOU'RE LYING!"

Furious, horrified beyond all imagining, Wesley suddenly planted his feet against the transporter console and shoved backward with all his strength-strength augmented by an overwhelming need to get his hands on the Kreel, to wring from him a confession that he had been lying, that Jaan was alive, was hale and hearty, that it hadn't all been useless. It had to be a lie. It had to!

It was as if Wesley had suddenly been jolted with a live wire. Given strength by hysterics, he started struggling wildly in the grip of the Kreel, totally oblivious to danger. He stomped, he kicked, he smashed his head against the Kreel's face, he did anything and everything and all the while screaming over and over-"You're lying! You are! You're lying!"- Over and over, like a chant.

Worf moved in quickly as Aneel found to his shock that he couldn't hold the boy anymore. And now there was no time, for Worf was upon him. There was no time to reposition his broken grip on the boy, so he did the only thing he could: He grabbed Wesley by the arm and flung him with all his strength against the far wall. Wesley slammed into it at high speed and slumped to the ground.

Aneel barely had the chance to bring his arms up to defend himself as Worf smashed into him, driving him back and slamming him against the wall. The Kreel brought his feet up, coiled like a spring and planted them against Worf's chest. Then he uncoiled, sending the Klingon staggering back with a grunt. He took two steps and leaped, covering the distance and grabbing Worf by the throat, pulling him down.

Worf's phaser flew out of his grasp, sailed across the room and into the transporter beams. It promptly vanished, projected down to the planet surface below.

Worf brought his fist around with high speed, bashing it into the Kreel's face repeatedly. His first blow broke the Kreel's nose, and the second and third caused a huge welt to swell up over the Kreel's right eye. It didn't slow down Aneel in the least, as he pounded at Worf with all the brute strength he had at his command.

They struggled, standing, throwing their full weight against each other, each trying to bear the other down. Suddenly Worf brought his leg around behind the Kreel's, jamming it backward and causing the Kreel's knee to bend forward. The Kreel slammed to the ground and then Worf was on top of him, and it was wonderful, just wonderful as his warrior blood sang to him and he dug his fingers into what pa.s.sed for a neck on a Kreel. His corded muscles rippling, Worf started to squeeze in on the neck of the self-proclaimed murderer, on the enemy of the Klingons, on the stinking b.a.s.t.a.r.d Kreel.

The Kreel pig eyes bulged with alarm as he could no longer get enough air to breathe. Worf bore down on him and there was no pity in his eyes. His teeth were clenched and he felt his pulse pounding in his head, the pounding that demanded revenge, revenge for himself, for his parents, for Jaan and Wesley and who-knew-who-else, revenge all wrapped up in this beautiful complete package.

And the Kreel managed to grunt out one word.

"Mercy," he said.

Worf froze. Blood from ruptured capillaries in the Kreel's neck was already welling up through his mouth, covering Worf's hands. Aneel was choking, gagging under Worf's iron grip.

So easy. Just a quick twist. Just like in the holodeck. Remember how satisfying that had been? This would be even more so.

Just ... so easy.

And, to Worf's astonishment as much as that of the Kreel, the pressure began to ease on the Kreel's throat.

"Mercy," said Worf, as if trying on a new shoe to see if it fit. "Mercy."

The instant he was able to take a deep breath, the Kreel brought a fist up straight into Worf's face.

Worf's head snapped back as if on strings, and blood gushed out of his nose. Another blow to the chest, and Worf fell over and landed on his back several feet from the transporter platform.

The Kreel scrambled about and leaped forward, bringing his knees down into Worfs gut and knocking the air out of him. Worf, the world spinning around him, tried to ward off the Kreel as he brought a series of furious punches raining down on Worf's unprotected head.

"This is for the years of oppression!" howled Aneel in a paroxysm of fury. "This is for my murdered fellows! This is for our slaughtered people! And this! And this!"