FOREIGN FOES

by Dave Galanter

  “Worf to Captain Picard. Come in.” Worf tapped at the comm badge again. “Worf to Picard. Come in.”

  Kadar grabbed at Worf and pulled him around. “Your plan has failed, Worf. Your captain has abandoned you.”

  Worf yanked himself free of the Klingon commander’s grip. He felt his muscles knot and turned away before he released that tension with a blow to Kadar’s face. “You are delusionary,” Worf said. “Communications are merely down.”

  “Again?” Kadar growled. “Or is it an excuse to ignore you? Did you not adjust your communicator frequency?” Kadar gestured to the form of his fallen comrade as he wrenched Worf around again. “We are falling one by one! Your captain has left us here to die! I gave you the time you wanted and you have failed. Now I say we will act.”

  Face hot, jaw tight, Worf narrowed his eyes and glanced at the deflated shell of the Klingon that had died at the Hidran’s hand. He then turned back to Kadar and spoke slowly, evening his angry tone with forced composure. “The death of your crewman was not random. I was the target of the attack.”

  Kadar jerked his grip from Worf as if he’d been touching some infected leper. “You do not know that, Earther. You speak the lies of a Terran—you do not know the truth and you do not know the Hidran.”

  His scowl still grinding into Kadar, Worf tapped his comm badge again. “Worf to Connors.”

  “Connors here, sir.”

  “There has been a murder in the Klingon security cell. Please notify the captain. I am unable to reach him.”

  “We’re on our way to you, sir. The captain is being held by the Hidran.”

  Worf and Kadar shared a gaze, less mutually antagonistic than before, but more annoyed and angry. “Understood,” Worf said, and jabbed his comm badge off. Questions, demands, flooded his thoughts. With communications what they were, however, it would have been foolish to ramble off those thoughts. He’d have to wait until his men showed up, and if they knew what was good for them, that would be quickly.

  “Do you see now?” Kadar began in a low growl. “Will Picard see? The Hidran are insane. There is no honor with them. They will destroy us here, and then they will move to destroy the Empire.”

  “They could not destroy the Empire.”

  Kadar looked at his remaining men a moment, then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Do not be so sure, Worf. They could wreck such havoc that the Empire would not be able to defend many of its worlds.” The Klingon commander shook his head and gnashed his teeth together in disgust. “Don’t underestimate them. Don’t trust them. They have been building their military strength while claiming these economic troubles and power failures. Five hundred war ships have been built! They have planetary defense bases now that can knock a starship from orbit! Their economy is market—its recessions small—its productivity too high. They are liars—they have no troubles save for those in their minds. And, as you can now see, they strike without reason.”

  “There was a reason,” Worf said, his voice its normal pitch. He refused to play Kadar’s game of secrecy. “I believe he meant to kill me. Did you not hear him call my name?”

  Eyes cold and dark, Kadar croaked his answer: “All I heard was the death of another of my men.” He took Worf by the arm and pointed him to the body. “There is the second Klingon who has died under the guise of trying to avenge one Hidran death. How much would you wager that if the Hidran had their way, you would be the very last Klingon killed . . . because you’d be the last left alive? It is you they will end with, Worf—it is the Empire they wish to destroy first.” Kadar’s grip on Worf’s arm tightened. “We must act now—to preserve the Empire!”

  The hatch hissed open, and both Worf and Kadar turned, tense.

  Connors and Mackenzie entered, nodding their salutes to Worf.

  “Report,” Worf ordered habitually. Off duty or on, under arrest or not, to them he was in charge, and he knew that.

  Connors stepped forward. “Sir, the captain was taken by Urosk. We were caught off guard—”

  “Excuses will be discussed later,” Worf snapped, and got the flinch he wanted from his men. They’d been sloppy. “Report the situation.”

  “Yes, sir,” Connors continued. “Stalemate for now, Lieutenant. Phaser fire was exchanged. The captain was stunned, as was Doctor Hollitt. They retreated back into their chambers, with the captain as a hostage, when security reinforcements arrived. We have three of our team and two of Doctor Hollitt’s for-hires guarding to assure no movement.”

  Worf nodded. “I see.” Perhaps Kadar was right—perhaps the Hidran were fools without reason. What did they hope to gain by abducting the captain. It would merely anger their only allies: the Federation. “Has Commander Riker been found?”

  “No, sir.”

  Worf nodded. “What command officer is left on the planet?”

  Connors shook his head. “Just Dr. Crusher, sir.”

  The captain was being held hostage. The first officer was missing. The second officer could not be reached. The chief engineer could not be reached—nor any one else on the Enterprise. The ship’s doctor . . . was a ship’s doctor. “I will need a phaser,” Worf said. “I am returning to duty.”

  “Aye, sir,” Connors said, handing Worf a phaser.

  “Possibly the ship has been attacked if it is no longer responding to hails.” Worf glanced at Kadar, torn. Part of him needed to work for the captain’s release . . . and part wanted to keep an eye on Kadar. His threat to take action was not idle.

  Finally, Worf turned back to Connors and MacKenzie. “How many teams are still searching for Commander Riker and the Counselor?”

  “Two, sir,” Connors said.

  “Call one back. I want two guards stationed outside this door at all times.”

  “Worf!” Kadar protested angrily.

  “For your protection, Captain,” Worf said, taking just a bit of delight in the moment.

  “Arm us for our protection!” Kadar barked.

  “No,” Worf said simply. “You will remain here in protective custody. I will see to the safety of Captain Picard, and we will remedy this situation per his orders.”

  “You, Worf,” Kadar spat, “are a Terran fool.”

  “Perhaps,” Worf said as he nodded Connors and MacKenzie out the hatch. “But for now I am the fool in charge.”

  Data was in charge, and DePotter had to follow the commander’s orders.

  “Ensign, are the defense systems energized?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then please plot a course within phaser range of the Klingon vessel.”

  Okay, maybe he was just a know-nothing ensign who could count his hours of bridge duty on two hands and a foot, yet . . . all this seemed wrong.

  But DePotter couldn’t disobey such an order. If he did, there would be no more bridge duty. No more duty ever.

  DePotter tapped at his console. “Course plotted and on the board, sir.”

  “Hail the Klingon vessel and lock phasers on target, Ensign.”

  “Hold, Ensign. Belay that order.”

  Swiveling around, his hands still on his board, DePotter saw Lieutenant Wyckoff enter from the fore turbolift, flanked by three security guards. Their phasers were drawn.

  Data stood and confronted them. “That is not within your purview, Lieutenant. Your actions constitute mutiny. You are relieved of duty.”

  Wyckoff shook his head.

  What the hell was he doing? What should DePotter do? Sit back—wait? Follow his order? Which order? Why was this happening on his shift?

  “Commander,” Wyckoff said, “you can’t relieve me of duty. Your actions lead me to believe you’re either ill or under an alien influence. In accordance with Starfleet regulations, I’m turning command of this vessel to the duty officer until Captain Picard returns.”

  Data nodded, almost sympathetically, or knowingly, or something. DePotter couldn’t be sure if anything was really there. He seemed so calm. Anyone else would be livid.

  “Lieuten
ant,” the android said, “this is mutiny. I seriously doubt your interpretation of that regulation would be upheld.”

  “Maybe, sir. I’ll let the captain and Starfleet decide. You can, of course, file a complaint when we reach the nearest Starbase. Until then, I’ll have to confine you to quarters. If you don’t come with me now, I’ll have to make that confinement to the brig.”

  Silence reigned as Data seemed to consider the weight of the threat. DePotter didn’t know if he should defend the Commander or what. Sit. Wait. See what happens. He knew there was such a regulation. He could always lean on that. Somehow that didn’t comfort him though—his palms were sweaty and his heart thumped loudly in the absence of speech.

  Finally, though, Data answered. “Very well, Lieutenant,” he said, and quickly stepped past them to the turbolift.

  Wyckoff turned, nodded his guards to stay behind, and followed the android into the lift.

  “It’s been a long time,” Geordi said to himself. Then he looked up at where he thought the guard still was. If the security man didn’t move often enough, the impulse from the proximity vest would just blend in to the background of the wall. “Why don’t we check on him?”

  Perhaps the man nodded—Geordi wished people’d stop doing that. In any case, the man agreed—his comm badge chirped. “Computer, locate Lieutenant Wyckoff.” The guard was still near the cabin door.

  “Lieutenant Wyckoff is in turbolift five.”

  “Computer,” Geordi chimed in, “heading of turbolift five?”

  “Turbolift five’s heading is deck two.”

  “He’s headed back here,” Geordi said.

  “Yes, sir. He decided that confinement to quarters would be enough.”

  Geordi leapt up. “Damn! We’re talking about Data here—not some skinny ensign. You can lock me in my quarters and you might be able to keep me there. You’d have no chance with Data.”

  The man probably nodded again. “Let’s meet them at the lift.”

  Swoosh. The lift doors opened—Geordi could feel the rush of air.

  The guard gasped.

  “What?” Geordi snapped. “What’s wrong?” To his proximity detector, the lift felt empty. “Where are they?”

  “Lieutenant? Are you okay?” The guard’s voice now came from Geordi’s feet.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Sir, Mr. Data is gone, and Lieutenant Wyckoff is unconscious.”

  Damn! Geordi pulled the old hand comm out of his pocket, glad he’d remembered to keep it. He snapped the grid up. “Computer, locate Commander Data.”

  “Commander Data is on the Battle Bridge.”

  The rustle before Geordi was the guard’s uniform as he rose. “Emergency medical team to deck two section 31-A!”

  Geordi reached out, grabbing the guard and pulling him forward. “I need my freedom. I think my case is proven.”

  “Yes, sir. You sure have.”

  “Good.” Geordi yanked back the communicator and barked, “La Forge to Engineering! Priority one! Disengage power to Battle Bridge. Now!”

  “Sir?”

  With Wyckoff in the turbolift, Geordi had no choice but to head for the next one. Using the proximity vest as his only guide, he began a blind rush down the corridor—literally. And he didn’t have time to explain his actions to Engineering. “That’s a direct order, Mr. Cheng. Follow it!”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Geordi bounced into three people on the way to the turbolift. “Report, Cheng.”

  “I’m trying, sir. Someone’s overridden with manual control.”

  “Damn!” Where was the turbolift when he needed it? The doors wouldn’t open for him. Unless . . . Data sealed off the lifts! “Cheng, make sure all civilian personnel report to the saucer section on the double if they’re not already there. And override any initiation of saucer-sep, you got that?”

  “Aye, sir. Will do!”

  Geordi slammed his fist against his thigh and spun away from the closed lift door. There was a ladder around the corner with his name on it. Whatever Data was doing wouldn’t go down this flawlessly. Not on a bet. As he ran faster than the proximity detector could handle, he bumped into a wall or two, but pushed off and kept on going.

  Gracelessness under pressure.

  “Computer,” Geordi barked, beginning to pant, “unlock all secondary hatch pathways deck seven to deck twenty-seven.”

  “Access denied.”

  No, no, no, Data . . . It’s not that easy. “Override on authority of Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge, access La Forge: Theta two-nine-nine-seven.”

  “Secondary hatch pathways now available.”

  Geordi couldn’t help but laugh. “Now that’s the computer we all know and love.” Before lifting the hatch on the secondary path he closed the communicator and—where was his tool kit?

  Left behind somewhere. Damn. Three “damns” in as many minutes. It had been that kind of day.

  Geordi scurried down the Jeffries tube. Deck eight by now? He’d go down one more to make sure—if he’d lost count he could be left behind. That wouldn’t do.

  Hand under hand . . . foot under foot . . . he had done this quickly a million times without looking—why couldn’t he do it blind?

  “Red alert. General Quarters. Saucer separation in ‘T’ minus one minute.” The computer droned on, klaxons sounding. At least Data was making sure the civs and the non-essential personnel were off the battle section. That was the odd part—something was wrong with his best friend—he was obviously damaged, yet he seemed to still care what happened in most respects. He actually sounded concerned when he ordered security to find me, Geordi thought.

  He jumped down to the deck, stumbled a bit, then straightened himself. He pulled out the hand communicator and flipped it open. “La Forge to Engineering. Cheng, report.”

  “Commander Data has overridden all Engineering access, sir. I can’t stop the saucer sep.”

  “Status of the sep?”

  “Lift, umbilical, and SIF interconnects are separated. Docking latch servo seals are counting down to sep.”

  “Do what you can, Cheng. Force the warp core output to less than ninety percent! Make him override everything to get what he wants. Buy me some time. See if you can’t stall some turbolifts between the two sections. La Forge out.” He rushed toward the nearest door, banged into the jam, and cursed himself for rushing to the point where he actually was beginning to slow himself down. He composed himself, tried to get his bearings, and spoke into the comm again. He nearly collided with the next door and grumbled an insult at it. “Computer, relinquish all control of engineering subsystems to Engineering. Authorization: La Forge.”

  “Access denied.”

  “Override! Personal authority, La Forge: Theta two-nine-nine-seven!”

  “Access denied.”

  “Dammit!” The communicator clenched in his fist, Geordi reached out to pound the wall, missed, and stumbled. He fell to his knees, then yanked himself up and steadied himself. He was getting too worked up—funneling his adrenaline into anger rather than action.

  “Computer, pinpoint location of this communicator. What deck is this?”

  “Deck Eight, section five.”

  Battle bridge on this deck—weapons conduits not far. Data could control the computers—he couldn’t control the crew. He’ll need automation to fire any weapons . . . and those systems would have to fail.

  “One way or another, Data,” Geordi said to himself, “I’m going to have control of this ship.”

  Ships were big, but not this big. Riker had never seen one like this—there wasn’t one.

  “We’re not on a ship,” Riker said breathlessly, losing himself in the distance. He gripped the handrail and slowly turned back to Deanna.

  “I don’t understand. What is all this?”

  “Look,” Riker said, pointing to the clean lines of machines and bins . . . somethings doing something. They pumped and hummed and grunted in effort. At what? There was no way to kno
w without interrupting them, and he wasn’t going to play that game again. “We didn’t beam up . . . we beamed down!

  “Will—” Deanna said as she stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the rail with her other. “Of course! I’ve had the same lack of empathy here as on Velex.”

  “Because this is Velex. You were right, Deanna.

  Nothing on this planet is alive. Nothing! It’s all machinery.” Riker turned from the amazing view, strength somehow filling his legs again. “This changes everything.” He gripped his arms, almost smiling, for there was hope now, where there had been none. “We must be kilometers underground . . . and we have to get back. Find the room we arrived in—if that’s a transporter room then we don’t have to worry about beaming ourselves into space. If we’re lucky.”

  He looked into her eyes, those dark and tired wide orbs.

  She nodded. “Why? Who—”

  Boooom!

  Behind them, the wall exploded, a bubble of white heat spreading over the corridor. They were tossed against the railing and Riker dropped to his knees. He looped his arm through one of the rail bars and gripped on to Deanna as the wall behind them vaporized into metal dust.

  As Rover the Eighth pushed through the downpour of debris, Riker forced Deanna away and fired. Again his beam was reflected off to one side, and the Rover moved forward, unharmed.

  Riker turned to run down the corridor. Deanna was well ahead of him. His leg was bellowing agony to his brain. He pushed it out of the way. Don’t think about the pain—it doesn’t exist. Pain is a myth—an evil fantasy someone once had.

  The corridor extended up against the rail for at least a city block, curving around at an angle. Riker fired, hoping to blast Rover off balance at least—maybe knock the robot into a wall or into the handrail. He missed once, twice, and again . . . there was just no way to get a clear connecting shot between the curve of the corridor and bobbing of the Rover.

  “Move, move!” Riker barked at Deanna. Speed would be their only advantage . . . if Riker could keep his up. And he couldn’t forever. They’d run out of phaser settings, and out of options. If they couldn’t find a way to the surface . . . well, there was no place else to go. They might avoid the Rover for a while, but without defense, without a way to destroy the robot, they were as dead as the planet they were on.