FORTUNE'S LIGHT

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Climbing out of the dugout, he wandered out near the pitcher’s mound and scanned the stands for an empty chair. Not an easy task, considering how full the place was. Spotting a vacancy just a couple of rows behind the third base line, he headed in that direction.

  It was no trouble at all to vault the rail that separated the spectators from the field. And though made of hard plastic, the seat was more comfortable than it looked.

  “All right,” called the captain. “Resume program.”

  Suddenly the stands were awash with the sounds of the crowd. In the seat to Picard’s right, a child looked up at him wide-eyed.

  “Daddy,” he said, tugging at an elbow on the other side of him, “there’s a man there.”

  The youngster’s father glanced at the captain. “That’s right, Robby. There’s a man there.”

  “But, Dad, he wasn’t there before.”

  “Sure he was. He just got up to get a hot dog or something.”

  “I don’t think so, Dad. I think he wasn’t there.”

  “Ssh,” hissed his father. “Look—Giordano is up. He tore the cover off the ball last time. And—what is it, Katie?”

  “Daddy, I have to go.”

  “Jeez, Katie, can’t it wait? Giordano . . .”

  Picard grunted softly. Children. He turned his attention back to the game.

  As it happened, Data was standing closer to him than any other player, guarding the third base line, as one was supposed to do in the late innings. What’s more, the captain noted, the android looked comfortable at his position—slightly crouched, weight forward, as if about to charge home plate, his glove low to the ground.

  Having observed that much, Picard peered into the Icebreaker dugout, where he was able to catch a glimpse of Terwilliger’s less-than-noble visage. He shook his head.

  The man hardly looked like the sort who could lead. But then, not every great leader looked the part.

  Just then the crowd moaned—a huge sound, almost frightening if one was unprepared for it—and got to its feet as if it were one colossal entity. Unable to see, Picard got to his feet as well—in time to see a Sunset player rounding the bases.

  Apparently he had missed something. A home run, if the Sunset player’s leisurely trot was any indication. There were boos from the crowd, to which the base runner responded by doffing his cap. The boos got louder.

  Hardly an example of good sportsmanship, the captain mused. On either side.

  And then he noticed a flurry of activity along the Icebreaker bench. He jockeyed for a better look. Finally, peering between two other spectators, he saw what was happening.

  It was Terwilliger. With a bat. And he no longer seemed interested in concealing himself. Rather, he was intent on destroying a water cooler at the far end of the dugout.

  The process didn’t take long. A moment later, the cooler’s water-filled container exploded with a loud crash, sending water and glass flying in every direction.

  Picard looked at Data. The android must have sensed his scrutiny somehow, because he looked back—apologetically, as if it were he who had annihilated the water cooler. The captain consciously softened his expression.

  “Freeze program,” he said quietly.

  As before, everything came to a halt. He climbed past the statuelike spectators, vaulted the rail again, and approached Data.

  The android anticipated his remarks: “It is his nature, sir. And it was the go-ahead run.”

  Picard glanced at the Icebreaker bench. It was a study in chaos—an umpire standing at the top step, gesturing dramatically. Terwilliger holding the bat aloft, as if threatening to strike the umpire next. The players and coaches clustered at the opposite end of the bench, having sought protection there from the exploding water cooler.

  “Data,” he said, turning back to his fellow officer, “there is no justification for such behavior. Certainly not from one who has been designated a leader.” He took the time to choose his words carefully, and the android remained patient, if troubled-looking. “As I understand it, your . . . affinity for this program has much to do with that man. But I fail to see how he inspires such dedication. Such loyalty.” He frowned. “Without question, you are entitled to your opinions. However, it concerns me that you have selected this Terwilliger as a role model. Is he really worth your time? Your respect?”

  The android shook his head. “It is not a matter of respect, sir. It never was.”

  Picard regarded him. He searched those golden eyes, that childlike countenance.

  “No? Then what is it that inspires you so?”

  Data’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly. “I believe, Captain, that it is called compassion.”

  That put matters in an entirely different light. Picard nodded, then breathed a small sigh of relief. He had feared that the android might be losing his moral perspective, enthralled by some inexplicable fascination with Terwilliger.

  But it was quite the contrary. The android’s moral perspective was coming along quite nicely.

  “Sorry,” the captain said. “Again. I should have known better than to doubt you, Data.”

  “Do not give it a second thought,” replied the android. “It is easy to jump to conclusions, sir.”

  Picard wondered if he’d been rebuked. What the hell. I deserved it, didn’t I?

  “I am going to return to the stands now,” he told Data.

  “That would be best, I believe.”

  And they went back to their respective positions.

  They had set out immediately after Riker made his report to the captain. The streets were dark and deserted, hushed, blanketed by a newly fallen snow. The only sound was the homing device’s soft but insistent beeping.

  After some trial and error, they were able to determine the general direction of the signal’s source. And to follow it, along silent, winding streets that seemed to resent their intrusion.

  Riker had never seen Besidia at this hour. There was a certain calm, an elegance almost, that he would never have associated with the carnival town.

  Lyneea seemed different, too. Softer, more vulnerable. As if she wasn’t quite awake enough yet to be as hard-boiled as she would have liked.

  Slowly but surely the signal took them away from the heart of the city. Away from the shops and the hotels and the taverns into the residential neighborhoods, which became more and more well-to-do as they progressed.

  And finally it led them here—to this eight-foot-high stone wall that blocked their passage.

  Riker stood before it, Teller’s homing device nestled in the palm of his gloved hand. Snow was falling; a couple of fat flakes hit the tiny digital display and clung there, turned ruby red by the illumination.

  He touched the device’s lowermost plate with the forefinger of his other hand. The thing started beeping again, a little louder than the last time they’d activated it.

  Lyneea nodded. “This is where it wants us to go, all right.”

  The human considered the barrier. He could see shards of broken glass embedded in the concrete at the top of it. A primitive but effective way of ensuring privacy.

  He grunted. “Who would go to the trouble of putting up a wall here?”

  “Who indeed,” added Lyneea, “but a madraga?”

  “Then this is part of an estate,” said Riker.

  “So it would seem. And only one madraga has holdings in this part of town.” She looked at him. “Terrin.”

  He nodded. Now that he knew who owned the place, he began to recognize the grounds. He’d been here before, of course, though he’d never approached the estate from this side.

  “That’s interesting,” he said, “considering Terrin’s the madraga that Criathis is merging with.”

  Lyneea nodded. “Your friend hid the seal under the noses of the people most likely to be offended by its absence.”

  “But why would he do that?”

  His partner shrugged. “We can only speculate. Perhaps he just appreciated the irony. Perhaps he plan
ned to expose the seal’s location at some point, thereby making it look as if Terrin had stolen it, and ensuring that the merger would never go through.” She bit her lip. “At any rate, an interested third party, such as Madraga Rhurig, wouldn’t really have cared if it had the thing in its possession—only that Criathis didn’t have it. Conlon could have been paid just to hide it until the merger fell apart.”

  Riker pondered the possibilities. “Good point,” he told her. He regarded the wall. “But there will be plenty of time to sort this out after we recover Fortune’s Light.”

  “Agreed. Can you make it over the wall?”

  “With a little help.” He slipped his arm out of the sling.

  “You’ve got it.”

  Planting herself by the base of the barrier, Lyneea bent down to give the human a step up. He took advantage of it, balancing on her back before finding a space relatively free of glass shards and clambering up as best he could. Once again he remarked inwardly on her deceptive sturdiness.

  “Up?” asked Lyneea.

  “Up,” he answered. “Need a hand?”

  “No.”

  His offer refused, he slithered down the far side of the wall. The snow had drifted deeper here; it was up to the tops of his boots. He replaced the sling.

  A moment later Lyneea joined him. She landed like a cat, gracefully.

  They looked out on the rolling fields that constituted the grounds of the estate. The place was pristine, beautiful, interrupted only by a few tall, stately trees. In the distance there was a stone house, not all that big but classically intricate in its design.

  It brought back memories.

  “Let’s try the device again,” said his partner.

  Riker activated it, expecting to hear the beeping. There wasn’t any. But a change had come over the digital display. It now showed only three numerals: seven, four, and three.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Lyneea. “Don’t tell me the damned thing’s broken.”

  “I’m not sure,” he told her, “but I think it switched over to another mode—automatically.” He looked around. “Maybe because we’ve gotten within a certain radius of the transmitter.”

  He took a few steps away from the wall, and the three became a two. Another few steps, and it turned into a zero.

  “Anything happening?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve got a three-digit number here, and as we get closer to our objective, the number decreases. Or at least, that’s how it looks.”

  “Then theoretically,” said Lyneea, “when it gets down to zero, we will have reached the seal.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  Riker went. And as he did, the number continued to decline. The display read five-nine-nine before he realized the direction in which they were going.

  “You know,” said Lyneea, “we’re heading toward the house.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he told her. “But it’s not as if we’ve got a choice. Let’s just be as careful as possible, and hope we’re not spotted.”

  It made sense, didn’t it? Using the house as a heading now, he kept his eyes open for Imprimans, checking the homing device only from time to time. The number kept on diminishing at a steady rate.

  “At this rate,” observed Lyneea, “we’ll be in the house before we’re finished.”

  Riker estimated the distance. He shook his head. “Not quite. I think we’ll wind up by that tree there.” He pointed. “The last one.”

  She made a derisive sound. “That’s almost in the house, isn’t it?”

  “Want to turn back?”

  His partner scowled. It didn’t make her any less lovely, he noticed. “I’ll shut up,” she assured him.

  By the time they reached the vicinity of the tree, they were down to a single digit on the readout. And then, as they got near enough to touch it, the digit became zero.

  “All ashore,” said Riker.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “An old Earth expression. It means we’ve reached our destination.” And still no sign of a guard or anyone else. They’d been lucky so far.

  Lyneea pointed to the ground at their feet. It was a smooth patch, nestled between two of the tree’s immense roots and covered, like everything else in Besidia, with snow. “Here?” she asked.

  “Here.”

  She removed a pouch from her belt, knelt, and emptied its contents on the frozen ground. It was a small sharp-bladed shovel that came in two parts. As Lyneea put them together, she surveyed the spot.

  “He couldn’t have buried it too deep, right? That would have taken too much time.”

  Riker shrugged. “I don’t know. If he was using a blaster, it might not have taken much time at all.”

  She looked up at him. “Now there’s a cheery thought.” Then she shook her head. “No. A blaster would have scarred these roots. And I don’t see any scars.” She jammed the shovel blade into the earth. “Why don’t you keep an eye out while I do some work?”

  As she bent to the task, the human surveyed the grounds of the estate. They were as tranquil as deep space, as serene as an uninhabited planetoid. A light breeze tickled the hair on his chin where it jutted out from his hood.

  The house might have been empty, it was so quiet—though, more likely, it was just that no one was up yet. On the side of the structure that faced them there was a large oval window. Inside it Riker could see the well-appointed library that he and Teller had once visited.

  He watched the window for a couple of seconds, just to make certain no one was looking out at them. Satisfied, he turned away.

  But as he did so, he glimpsed a movement out of the corner of his eye. Ducking instinctively behind the tree, he took another look.

  This time there was no mistaking it. Someone was on the other side of the window. And not just anyone.

  A Ferengi.

  “Damn,” he said.

  When Lyneea saw him take cover, she’d hunkered down a little lower herself. “What is it?” she asked. “Have we been seen?”

  Riker shook his head. “That’s not what made me jump.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the house. “There’s a Ferengi in there.”

  Lyneea regarded him. “Are you certain?”

  “Take a look for yourself.”

  She peeked around the side of the tree. And cursed.

  “There aren’t supposed to be any Ferengi on Imprima,” said Lyneea. “Under penalty of law.”

  “But there’s one here,” said Riker. “Smuggled in somehow as the guest of Madraga Terrin.”

  She took a breath, let it out. It dissipated on the wind. “Treachery,” she concluded.

  Riker nodded. “Terrin hasn’t fared well under the Federation treaty, has it?”

  “Not as well as when we were trading with the Ferengi. But that was the whole point of the merger—to put Terrin in a better position to benefit from the Federation agreement.”

  “Obviously the Ferengi made them a better offer.” He thought about it. “Terrin is the wealthier party in the merger, isn’t it? So its first official, Larrak, would be first official of the newly merged entity as well. With that kind of power, he could cut any number of deals with the other madraggi.”

  “Enough to vote the Federation out and the Ferengi back in.”

  “Not exactly what Criathis had in mind, eh?”

  “Far from it.”

  He had a thought. “And Terrin may have killed Teller as well. If he came here to bury the seal and screw up the merger, and noticed the Ferengi as we did . . .”

  “They’d have killed him for it. Without a second thought,” said Lyneea. “Just as they’ll kill us if they find us here.” Her eyes narrowed. “But then, what was Conlon doing in the maze?”

  “That’s probably just where they chose to dump him. They couldn’t have anticipated that Norayan would think to look for him there.” He pursued the thought to its logical conclusion. “It was just dumb luck tha
t she found his body. And those settings on the device, for getting out of the maze—they must have been left over from his lovers’ trysts.”

  As they spoke, another figure came into view on the other side of the window. He was taller than the average Impriman, and even slimmer. Nor had he changed much in five years.

  “Larrak,” spat Lyneea. “And he’s greeting the Ferengi.”

  “That cinches it,” said Riker. “We’ve got to alert Criathis.” He started to move away, but she grabbed his good arm.

  “What about the seal?” she asked.

  “Leave it here for now. What’s the difference? When Criathis finds out what Larrak has in mind, they won’t want to go through with the merger anyway. Then, when all the dust clears, you can recover it at your leisure.”

  Lyneea frowned. “Fortune’s Light isn’t something that’s needed only for the merger. Nor is it merely a family heirloom. It’s the heart and soul of the madraga—the most precious thing we own.” Her frown deepened. “We can’t just let it lie in the ground, not when we’re so close to recovering it.”

  He sighed, moved back toward the tree. “All right. Let’s just be quick about it.”

  “That was my intention,” she told him.

  She resumed digging. In the meantime, Riker watched Larrak and the Ferengi. Fortunately they were too engrossed in their conversation to take any notice of what was going on outside.

  After a while, Larrak poured a liquid—probably a liqueur—into a couple of ornate goblets. The Ferengi said something, and they put their goblets together in a toast.

  It made Riker’s stomach turn. To murder someone for the sake of profit . . .

  “Ah,” said Lyneea. Thrusting her blade into the earth one last time, she put her weight on the handle and used it as a lever. A moment later, something rose from the earth with great reluctance. It was small, covered with some rough variety of hide.

  “You were right,” he noted. “He didn’t bury it too deep.”

  “A fact for which I am most grateful.” Laying aside her shovel, she began to unwrap the package. Suddenly she raised her head and looked around. “What’s that?”

  He tried to follow her gaze. “What’s what?”

  “That sound. Like . . . oh, no.”