Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

by Peter David

  "There's the ship they came in." Tang

  pointed. Sure enough, situated on top of the

  building was a small Sindareen vessel, of the

  style commonly called a Spider, so nicknamed

  for its odd sectional style and eight leglike

  extensions.

  "Can you pick it off from here? Disable it?"

  Tang studied Riker for a moment and said,

  "Yes. Do you want us to?"

  Riker pondered that. "No. It wouldn't be a

  good idea. Then they'll be trapped, and

  desperate. The first thing we have to do is secure the

  safety of whoever's inside."

  Tang nodded briskly and Riker

  realized that the veteran spacer had already come to the

  same conclusion. For some reason, Riker felt a

  brief flash of pride. But his mind was already

  racing ahead. "Who's your communications expert?"

  "Hirsch," said Tang, and before Riker could

  say anything further, Tang tapped his

  communicator and said, "Hirsch--haul your butt

  over here."

  Riker studied the building as they waited for

  Hirsch to show up. "Do we know how many people are in

  there?"

  "Not for certain, sir. Some people on the lower

  floors managed to get out. One of the more

  sensitive mind-types said she detected about

  thirty or so locals, and about nine Sindareen--which

  would be consistent with the known crew complement of ten for a

  Spider."

  Hirsch, a stocky brunette woman, ran

  up to them. She was cradling a small phaser

  rifle, but also had with her a portable comm unit.

  Of greater power and range than the standard portable

  communicators, it was also capable of more functions.

  "Yes, Sergeant?"

  Tang merely pointed to Riker, and she turned

  to face him, waiting.

  "I want to talk to the Sindareen," said

  Riker. "The odds are that they left someone behind in

  the ship with whom they're in communication, to be their

  eyes and ears outside."

  "You want me to find the frequency they're

  talking on and break in so you can come on?"

  "That's right. Keep in mind their communications

  might be scrambled."

  Hirsch's contemptuous expression showed

  precisely what she thought of Sindareen

  scrambling capabilities. "No disrespect,

  Lieutenant, but I thought you were going to give me

  something hard to do." She dropped down to one knee,

  removing the large comm unit from her equipment

  pack and studying the frequencies registering over

  it. Her fingers flew over the touch padds.

  "Got it, Lieutenant," she announced after

  less than thirty seconds. "Just need a few

  more moments to unscramble." She smirked.

  "Apparently they think we can't do it."

  "Enlighten them, Hirsch," said Riker, "as

  to the error of their ways."

  The Sindareen who had cut off Deanna and

  Chandra's escape was apparently the

  leader of the group. As was mostly the case with the

  Sindareen, his hair was tightly swept back and

  coal black. His skin was pale, virtually to the

  point of the chalk white shade of an albino.

  Although he possessed a mouth, it existed

  exclusively for eating. Speech issued from the

  nictating membranes on his long throat.

  "Baytzah!" he snapped to others of his

  group. "Zroah! What are you standing around for?

  Charoset, you and Chazeret get to the other room and

  clear that out. And you others--move! We don't have

  all day!"

  The Sindareen were moving through the great museum,

  carrying with them large cases. They hurriedly

  pulled paintings off the wall, shoved glittering

  sculptures into the cases. Each action was

  greeted by gasps and audible protestations by the

  Betazoids--which were quickly silenced by the leader's

  subtle movement of his weapon in the direction of the

  prisoners.

  "My dear Betazoids," he said, sounding

  unexpectedly reasonable. "I am called

  Maror. If you would be so kind as to cooperate,

  we can do this briskly and without serious difficulty

  for any of you."

  "But why!"

  The uncontrolled outburst had originated from

  Deanna, who had said it without thinking. Chandra

  tried to pull her back into the relative

  obscurity of the crowd, but it was too late. She

  had attracted Maror's attention. Somehow,

  though, surviving the emotional trauma of being

  shoved, courtesy of a blaster in her mouth, had

  emboldened her.

  Maror's gaze wandered along the lines of her

  body in a manner that made Deanna suddenly

  feel dirty. She derived the feeling purely

  from the surface, however. She found that she couldn't

  get an empathic lock on any of them, which was

  unusual and frustrating for her. The

  uncontrolled, and unwise, question had been a

  manifestation of that small but aggravating defeat.

  "But why what?" asked Maror. Behind him the

  rest of his men continued with their task. "Why should you

  not interfere with our little procedure?"

  Deanna, keep quiet! Chandra's

  voice rang in Deanna's head. But she knew

  that wasn't possible. Her outburst had already

  attracted the Sindareen's attention. Besides ...

  some part of her genuinely wanted to understand

  what in the world could be motivating these beings into these

  destructive acts.

  She called on the image of her mother, who had

  never seemed intimidated by any situation. She

  squared her shoulders and firming up her voice,

  demanded, "Why are you stealing our art treasures?

  They can't hold any meaning for you. They're works

  that spring from the hearts and minds of Betazoid

  artists."

  Maror made a noise that must have been the

  Sindareen equivalent of laughter--it was a more

  rapid fluttering of the membranes,

  unaccompanied by any noise other than the

  flapping sound. "Are you really under the

  impression," he asked when he had recovered

  himself, "that we are going to sit around and look at the

  pretty pictures? Don't be ridiculous.

  What we have is a client who is a very avid

  collector, with a taste for one-of-a-kind

  pieces. And he is very wealthy, and very willing

  to pay whatever it takes to obtain those things that have

  struck his fancy. You should be flattered that your work

  has attracted his attention--he's very

  discriminating."

  And now whatever fears Deanna might have had were

  overwhelmed by a fundamental sense of indignation.

  "You would deprive a people of their cultural

  heritage just to satisfy the greed of an

  individual? What sort of beings are you?"

  His mouth turned up slightly as he replied,

  "Entrepreneurs." Then he stepped back,

  clearly ending the discussion, or at least his interest

  in it. He tapped his wrist comm unit and said,

&
nbsp; "Karpas. Report."

  Over the comm unit came back a voice,

  saying, "There's a fairly large assemblage

  on the street. Typical bunch of Betazoids

  --everyone standing around, trying to understand how everyone

  else feels about the situation, and nobody doing

  anything about it."

  "Yes, that is typical," grunted Maror.

  "Anything else?"

  "Yeah. What appears to be a squad of

  Starfleet security men. Apparently they're

  taking charge of the situation."

  "Let them. I know their regs. As long as

  we've got the hostages in here, they won't dare

  make a move against us. Keep the engines

  primed. I estimate we have another three

  to four--"

  But before Maror could complete the instruction,

  another voice broke in on the comm unit.

  "Attention, Sindareen raiders. You are

  completely surrounded and cannot escape. Surrender

  is your only alternative."

  Deanna's dark eyes widened and she looked

  at Chandra, who immediately knew what was going through

  Deanna's mind. For the briefest of moments,

  Deanna wanted to shout out, "Will! I'm trapped

  in here with them! Do something!" But fortunately, and

  wisely, she held her tongue. Riker

  certainly did not need personal involvement

  dragged into the middle of all this.

  Maror, for his part, bubbled in fury. "Who is

  this!" he demanded.

  "Lieutenant Riker, of Starfleet," came

  the stern reply. "Who is this?"

  "Maror of the Sindareen. So tell me,

  Starfleet man ... where's your ship? We

  didn't see it coming in, and there's none within

  light-years of here. We checked."

  "A ship isn't necessary to deal with this situation."

  "You flatter me," said Maror sarcastically.

  "No. I warn you. I have an entire squad

  of men, with more on the way. The entire area has

  been sealed off. You cannot escape. If you

  surrender now, your cooperation will be noted."

  ""ationoted."' How nice. That will make a

  lovely tombstone: "Here lies Maror. He

  cooperated."' I think I'll take my chances,

  Lieutenant, thank you. Now if you're

  interested in taking chances, then I invite you to try

  and impede our departure." Then Maror's voice

  grew cold and harsh. "And you can explain the three

  dozen Betazoid corpses to your superiors! Do

  we understand each other, Lieutenant?"

  Riker's reply was firm and unyielding. "You

  will not escape."

  "You will not stop me," shot back Maror.

  "Now get off my comm unit."

  "We are scrambling your transmissions. You

  will not be able to communicate with your ship for as long as

  you refuse to cooperate."

  "Oh, really." Without hesitation, Maror

  swung his weapon around and squeezed off a shot.

  The blast struck Chandra in the upper thigh.

  She went down with a shriek that echoed throughout the

  museum and certainly was audible over the comm

  unit. Deanna dropped to the floor with her,

  Chandra clutching her leg and whimpering.

  An ugly carbon-scored gash was across her thigh.

  "Did you hear that?" demanded Maror. "I could

  have killed her just then! That is the extent of the

  cooperation you'll have from me, Lieutenant! The

  next time I fire it's going to be at

  somebody's heart, and I assure you, Riker,

  I hit what I aim at! Now unclutter my

  transmission or somebody dies in the next ten

  seconds--and that's on your head, Lieutenant

  Riker. Yours!"

  There was only the briefest of pauses before

  Riker's voice came back. "In the interest

  of cooperation, I'll put you back in touch with your

  ship. I anticipate you'll extend further

  good-faith courtesies in the future."

  A moment later, Karpas's concerned voice was

  back on the air. "They're going to give us

  trouble, Maror! Did you hear what they--"

  "Of course I heard, you idiot," snapped

  Maror. "And what's more, they're going to hear.

  Namely, they'll hear everything that's being said over this

  frequency. I don't need them eavesdropping!

  Maintain radio silence except in case of

  extreme emergency! Maror out!"

  He lowered his comm unit and turned to the

  Betazoids. Deanna had ripped a length of

  cloth from her sleeve and wrapped it around the burn

  that was blistering the skin on Chandra's leg. She

  looked up at Maror with anger and defiance

  flashing in her eyes. Maror, for his part, looked

  utterly calm, and again Deanna met frustration

  in being unable to get any sort of feeling for what

  was going through his mind. Something in his psychological

  makeup--in the makeup of all of them, in fact

  --rendered them impervious to Deanna's empathy.

  Or at least, for the moment it did.

  "Your rescuers," said Maror, "are only

  going to make matters worse for you. I suggest you

  pray to whatever gods you believe in that the

  Starfleet security and their noble lieutenant are

  less effective than they think they are. Because their

  effectiveness will be measured entirely in the

  number of deaths that arise because of them."

  CHAPTER 24

  Riker turned away from Hirsch and looked at

  Tang with frustration. "That could have gone better,"

  Riker said.

  "It could have gone worse," replied

  Tang. "At least nobody's dead."

  "We have to determine what they want. What their

  demands are."

  "No, we don't. We know what they want,"

  said Tang reasonably. "It's whatever is in this

  building. We know what their demands are--they

  demand we let them get away with it. The only

  question becomes, do we let them?"

  Riker's face was set. "No. We

  don't."

  "Even if people die?"

  "We try to avoid that at all costs,"

  Riker said slowly. "But the bottom line is that

  if we let them get away, we simply invite

  them to continue their activities at the expense and

  lives of other innocent people. It has to stop here and

  now."

  At that moment, Gart Xerx appeared at

  Riker's side, his huff+ and puff+ indicating that

  he had been running the entire way. "Sindareen

  raiders!" he gasped out.

  Riker glanced at him and said, "Yes, sir,

  we know. We're handling this. Now if you'll just--"

  "Chandra's in there!"

  "What?" Riker turned back to him. "How do

  you ..." And then he caught himself, remembering with

  whom he was dealing. "Yes, of course you'd know,

  wouldn't you. Is she all right?"

  "She's been hurt. The bastard shot her in the

  leg."

  Riker's face darkened, thinking of the sweet,

  eager bride he'd seen all those weeks back.

  "Is she all right?"

  "As all right as can be expected, considering

  she's been shot," said Xerx evenly. Clearlyr />
  he was trying to fight down the panic that threatened

  to overwhelm him. He was obviously searching for that

  place of central calm that Deanna had told

  Riker about. And then, almost as an afterthought, Xerx

  added, "Deanna's with her. She's bandaging the

  wound as best she can."

  Riker tried not to show his reaction to this latest

  bit of information. In fact, instead of acknowledging

  the news, he merely said, "Good." But the way

  Xerx looked up at him spoke volumes

  to Riker; Xerx must have immediately intuited

  precisely what was going through Riker's mind, and

  what his true feelings about learning of Deanna's

  presence were.

  Riker was determined to remain all

  business. "Can you communicate with her? Find out

  information?"

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Everything."

  Deanna dabbed at the wound with the cloth, the

  bleeding having slowed down significantly. She

  looked up at Chandra, ready to offer some ^ws of

  comfort, but she saw from Chandra's expression that her

  friend's mind was not on the trouble at hand. At first

  she assumed that Chandra had merely separated herself

  in order to spare herself the pain. But then she

  realized precisely what was going on: Chandra was

  communicating with someone outside. Chandra took a

  moment to glance at Deanna and nod slowly in

  confirmation.

  Maror came up behind them and looked at them

  once before no.ing brisk approval. "Good. No

  whimpering. Keeping things to yourself. That's what we like

  to see. You're making this much easier on all of

  us." Then he raised his comm unit to get a very

  brief assessment from Karpas as to the movements

  of the Federation personnel ... brief since he was

  perfectly aware that Riker was doubtlessly

  monitoring every ^w.

  "Precisely thirty-two of our people in there,"

  said Xerx to Riker. He wasn't looking at

  Riker, but instead seemed to be staring off into thin

  air. "There are nine of the Sindareen. This Maror

  you spoke to is definitely the leader. They aren't

  threatening the hostages beyond telling them to keep out of

  trouble. They seem intent on stripping the museum

  of its works for the purpose of selling them to some

  private collector." Xerx shuddered

  slightly. "What a barbaric idea."

  "Compared to some of the things I've heard about the

  Sindareen doing, that's positively civilized,"

  replied Riker. "They're probably the only

  race in the galaxy that the Ferengii actually