Star Trek: ALL - Seven Deadly Sins

by Dayton Ward

  Beverly disagreed. “Captain Picard, as chief medical officer, I must protest. You saw what just happened. Mister La Forge suffered a severe neurological shock. His vital signs are spiking. We have to call off this dangerous experiment.”

  “It’s too late now,” Geordi pointed out. “We’ll never find our way out of this maze unless I stay hooked up to the interface. It’s the only way.”

  Picard turned to Deanna. “Counselor?”

  “Geordi believes he can do it,” she informed him. La Forge appreciated her vote of confidence.

  “Very well then.” The captain focused on the way ahead. “I appreciate your concerns, Doctor, but Mister La Forge is correct. We cannot turn back now.”

  The doctor bowed to the inevitable. She extracted a hypospray from the pocket of her long blue lab coat and applied it to La Forge’s carotid artery. “This will help with the pain.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured. The open blisters stung like blazes; his hands felt like he had been petting a Horta. He winced every time he touched the control panel. Straightening out the stern, he pushed forward through the daunting obstacle course ahead. “Only a little farther.”

  Without warning, a glowing filament drifted directly into the Enterprise’s path, forcing Geordi to veer hard to port. Picard and the others were thrown to the side, almost tumbling from their posts. A loose padd crashed to the floor. Deanna gasped. Worf snarled in annoyance. The ship glided past the filament, missing it by less than fifty meters. Geordi shook his head at their narrow escape. That had been a close one.

  “A little more warning next time, Mister La Forge.” Picard tugged his rumpled uniform back into place. “If you please.”

  “Yes, sir,” LaForge said. “Sorry, sir.”

  This had better not be another trap, he thought irritably. But, no, he didn’t really think that anymore. He trusted Snollicoob. Like I told him, we engineers have to stick by each other.

  “We are within visual range of Rorpot,” Data announced.

  About time, Geordi thought. It felt like we were never going to get here.

  “On-screen,” Picard ordered. “Full magnification.”

  The ill-fated freighter appeared on the viewer, drifting rudderless in space just as the Pakleds had claimed. Rorpot bore a definite resemblance to the vessel Geordi had visited years ago. Its triangular contours lacked the graceful lines of the Enterprise, looking crude and clunky by comparison. Its dull orange hull was scored and charred. Unpatched hull breaches appalled the engineer in Geordi. A torn metal canister was clamped to one side. An open chute beneath the freighter revealed where the warp core had been ejected; there was no trace of the core itself, which had presumably been atomized by the violent matter/antimatter explosion. The entire ship, which was dwarfed by the Enterprise, was rotating slowly on its axis. No running lights were evident along the freighter’s exterior. Its transparent portholes and windows were dark. Rorpot looked like a ghost ship.

  “It would appear,” Picard observed, “the Pakleds were not malingering.”

  Data scanned Rorpot to be sure. “Shields are down. Impulse power inoperative. Life-support functioning only at a minimal level.”

  “Weapons?” Worf asked suspiciously.

  “Rudimentary and disabled,” Data reported. “As expected.”

  “Or so they would have us believe,” Worf growled. “What of the masking field they employed before?”

  During their previous encounter, the Pakleds had employed a sophisticated masking field that made them appear much more damaged than they actually were. It had concealed their offensive capabilities in a way that Worf had clearly not forgotten.

  “Sensors do not indicate the presence of such a field,” Data stated, “although, of course, masking fields are elusive by design.”

  “Indeed,” Picard said. “Maintain shields, Mister Worf.”

  “What about life signs?” Beverly asked.

  “I am detecting many faint life signs aboard the freighter,” Data said, much to Geordi’s relief. “Subspace interference makes attaining an exact count problematic.”

  Deanna closed her eyes in concentration. “I am sensing muted fears and apprehension. The impressions are foggy and incoherent, like bad dreams.” She opened her eyes. “The Pakled crew are sleeping uneasily.”

  “I don’t blame them,” La Forge said. “I’d be nervous, too, in their shoes.”

  At least they’re still alive. Barely.

  He slowed to impulse. The Enterprise came to a stop within transporter range of the smaller vessel. He was tempted to turn off the interface and switch back to normal vision, but decided against it. He needed to stay alert for any drifting filaments.

  “Well done, Mister La Forge,” Picard said. “Let us hope we have arrived in time to revive Captain Aadnalurg and his crew.” He contemplated the seemingly lifeless ship on the viewer. “Can we beam them directly to sickbay?”

  “I would not advise it, sir,” Data replied. “The extreme subspace fluctuations preclude locking onto multiple individuals with any degree of accuracy. I would recommend attaching combadges to each subject before attempting to transport them aboard.”

  “Let me do it, Captain.” La Forge rose from the conn. He was anxious to check on Snollicoob. “Beam me over there.”

  “With all due respect, Geordi,” Data said, “I believe I am better suited to endure the inhospitable conditions aboard Rorpot at the moment. The extreme cold and thin atmosphere will not impair my performance as they would an organic life-form.”

  Picard agreed. “Data will beam over first. Once he’s gotten the lay of the land, and perhaps brought the life-support systems back up to speed, we can send over reinforcements to assist him.”

  La Forge had to admit that Data’s plan made more sense. He nodded at his friend. “Take care of yourself over there.”

  “I will endeavor to do so.” Data turned ops over to Ensign Wruum. He marched briskly toward the turbolift. “I will procure a quantity of surplus combadges en route to the transporter room.”

  Worf scowled. “I remind you, Captain, that it will be necessary to lower our shields to transport Commander Data over to the Pakled vessel.”

  “A necessary risk, Mister Worf,” Picard said gravely. “We have not come this far only to hesitate upon the brink.”

  The Klingon conceded the point. “In that case, Captain, might I suggest a reasonable precaution . . .”

  “I’m listening, Mister Worf.”

  The dazzle of the transporter beam briefly illuminated the darkened bridge. Data materialized upon Rorpot with his phaser raised and ready, in the unlikely event that an ambush was in store. The probability of a hostile reception was extremely low, given the lack of life support, yet Data did not intend to be taken unawares. He swept the bridge with the beam from a handheld light. A pouch of combadges was slung over his shoulder.

  He found the bridge both silent and deserted. Frost coated the abandoned pedestals and consoles. Frozen blood spackled the floor and walls. Extensive damage confirmed the Pakleds’ account of their difficulties. The wreckage was real and tangible, not an illusion generated by a masking field or holoprojector. The main viewscreen had gone black. His footsteps echoed in the sepulchral gloom. A deep breath confirmed that oxygen levels were far below that needed to sustain most humanoid beings.

  Sometimes there were advantages to being an android.

  Data lowered his phaser. He tapped his combadge. “Data to Enter-prise.” He reported his findings to Captain Picard. “The bridge is unoccupied. Life support is barely functioning. I will now commence a search for the captain and crew.”

  “Very good, Mister Data.” Picard’s voice emanated from Data’s badge. “Stay on your guard. We don’t want another hostage situation.”

  “That would not be advantageous to our mission,” the android agreed. “Data out.”

  He attached his phaser to his side. A tricorder picked up faint life signs coming from deeper inside the freighter. He foll
owed the readings until he came to what appeared to be the crew’s barracks. Rows of sturdy metal bunks, stacked two high, ran along both sides of a wide corridor in a cramped tunnel aft of the bridge. The spartan quarters lacked the amenities available aboard the Enterprise. A metal grille clattered beneath his boots as he walked the length of the barracks. He observed the occupants of the bunks with interest.

  The Pakleds appeared to have retired to their bunks to await the Enterprise’s arrival. They lay flat upon their backs, their arms at their sides. Frost glazed their bodies, which were cold and rigid to the touch. According to the tricorder, their respective metabolisms had indeed been slowed to a remarkable degree. If not for the readings before him, confirming almost negligible evidence of life, the motionless bodies could have been easily mistaken for corpses. The barracks were as cold and inhospitable as a morgue. Data suspected that a human would have found the atmosphere distinctly eerie. He understood the concept, if not the emotion.

  “Data to Enterprise. I have located the Pakleds.” He placed his fingers gently against a sleeping Pakled’s throat. It was several seconds before he felt a pulse. “As anticipated, they are frozen in a state of suspended animation.”

  “Excellent,” Picard responded. “Doctor Crusher and her staff are standing by in sickbay, ready to revive them. Are all the Pakleds accounted for?”

  Data surveyed the long rows of bunks. “I do not see Captain Aadnalurg at this location. It is probable that he has separate quarters elsewhere aboard the ship.”

  “Rank has its privileges,” Picard acknowledged. “I suspect you will find him in a private stateroom.”

  La Forge intruded on the discussion. “What about Snollicoob? The chief engineer? Is he okay?”

  “I have not yet attempted to identify every Pakled at this site,” Data admitted. He understood that Geordi was concerned about his fellow engineer. “I will notify you as soon as I come across him.”

  “Thanks, Data,” Geordi said. “I’m sure he’s in good hands now.”

  “Begin preparing the Pakleds for transport to sickbay,” Picard instructed. “You can locate Captain Aadnalurg later. If he is any captain at all, I am certain that he would wish us to see to his crew’s safety first.”

  “You may be giving him too much credit, sir.” Data had formed his own impression of Aadnalurg’s character by observing his conduct during the crisis. “But I will proceed as ordered. Data out.”

  He put away the tricorder and opened the pouch of combadges. The generic badges, which were intended for visiting civilians, lacked many of the advanced functions available to Starfleet personnel, but would allow the Enterprise’s transporters to lock onto the wearers despite the subspace interference outside. He walked to the end of the barracks, intending to work his way back to the bridge. Chances were, Captain Aadnalurg’s personal quarters were located near the freighter’s command center.

  But before he could affix the first of the combadges to a hibernating Pakled, Data spotted an inert figure lying atop a metal grille at the rear of the barracks. A closer look revealed that the sprawled Pakled was in fact Snollicoob, the engineer. Unlike his compatriots, Geordi’s colleague had not made it safely to his bunk. He was sprawled on the floor as though he had collapsed without warning. Data noted that Snollicoob was no longer wearing the spacesuit he had donned earlier. He hoped, for Geordi’s sake, that the engineer was not dead or injured.

  Data hurried forward to investigate. He did not wish to alarm Geordi until he had fully ascertained Snollicoob’s condition. He was less than a meter away from the stricken Pakled, however, when the grille beneath his feet gave way. Gravity seized him and he plunged through the trapdoor, landing hard on a scuffed steel floor one deck below. The impact jarred him all the way to his artificial, polyalloy endoskeleton. Internal gyros failed to preserve his balance. He found himself facedown on the floor.

  His positronic brain, securely cradled in a skull of solid duranium, quickly recovered from the fall. Conducting a rapid self-diagnostic, he determined that he had suffered no significant damage to any major component, although a more thorough inspection would be in order once he returned to the Enterprise. He rolled onto his back and sat up. Cool golden eyes surveyed his surroundings, which appeared to be a communal mess hall. Tables and chairs were scattered haphazardly around the unlit chamber. Fallen plates and cutlery littered the floor. Tilting his head back, he observed the open gap through which he had fallen. The loose grille hung down on one side. Data made a mental note to be more careful of his footing in the future.

  “Do not move, Starfleet!” an electronically amplified voice sounded behind him. The muzzle of a disruptor pistol was pressed against the nape of his neck. “You are my prisoner.”

  Data recognized the voice, and uncomplicated speech patterns, of Captain Aadnalurg. The Pakled commander, who was evidently not hibernating like the rest of his crew, confiscated Data’s phaser and combadge. The android did not resist.

  “The threat of violence is unnecessary,” he stated calmly. “We are here to assist you.”

  “Turn around,” Aadnalurg said. “Let me see who you are.”

  Raising his hands above his head so as not to provoke the armed Pakled, Data did as instructed. He saw that Aadnalurg had donned the primitive spacesuit that Snollicoob had worn before. The suit shielded him from the subzero temperature and oxygen-deficient atmosphere. A built-in microphone allowed him to threaten Data despite the thin air. He kept the disruptor pointed at his prisoner as he crossed the room to a lighted control panel by the door. He keyed a command into the panel. A low hum indicated that Rorpot was not completely without power.

  “Snollicoob fixed the shields,” Aadnalurg explained, “before I hit him. He is smart.”

  Data found his use of the present tense encouraging.

  Confused brown eyes squinted at Data.

  “You are not a human.” Aadnalurg tapped Data’s golden countenance with a gloved finger. “What are you?”

  “I am an android,” Data explained. He realized that he had fallen for a rudimentary snare, employing Snollicoob’s unconscious form as bait. His brain wasted not a nanosecond on regret, but instead began calculating a number of probable outcomes. A preliminary analysis indicated that his situation was serious but not critical. Careful handling of the volatile captain might yet defuse the situation. “Lieutenant Commander Data of the Starship Enterprise.”

  “A machine?”

  “That is correct,” Data said.

  Aadnalurg grinned broadly. “I like that idea. Make machines to do all the work.”

  “You are mistaken,” Data informed him. “I am an autonomous individual, not a labor-saving device.”

  The Pakled had a different view. “We need machines like you. To do our work.” He examined Data from a safe distance. “That would be good.”

  Data chose not to debate the issue. “Your ship is in jeopardy,” he reminded Aadnalurg. “Your efforts to hold me hostage are ill-timed.”

  “My ship is broken,” the captain said. His grin faded. “I want yours.”

  “Captain!” Troi called out from the tactical station. “Rorpot has raised its shields.”

  “What?” Picard reacted. This did not bode well. In theory, the freighter’s entire crew should have been cryogenically frozen.

  “We’re being hailed, Captain,” Deanna said. “Via Data’s combadge.”

  Picard eyed the screen warily. The Enterprise had restored its own shields immediately after beaming Data over to the freighter. “Put it through.”

  A familiar voice came over the loudspeakers. “This is Aadnalurg. I have your machine. Do not try to take him back or I will break him.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” La Forge exclaimed from the conn. “Not this again.”

  “He is serious, Captain,” Deanna reported. “I can sense his hostility.”

  “I doubt it is any match for mine,” Picard said, his indignation evident. “May I remind you, Captain Aadnalur
g, that we have come in answer to your distress signal, and at no little risk to ourselves, I might add. Such treachery is unworthy of you . . . and reckless in the extreme.”

  But the Pakled captain could not be shamed. “My ship is broken. I want yours. I will trade you the machine for the Enterprise.”

  Picard was taken aback by the man’s audacity. Surely he did not expect them to turn over a Federation starship in exchange for a single hostage? “First, I want proof that my officer is unharmed. Let me speak to Lieutenant Commander Data.”

  “Uh-huh,” Aadnalurg said. “But no tricks!”

  Data’s voice replaced the Pakled’s. “I am still intact and functional, Captain, but I’m afraid that Captain Aadnalurg has the upper hand at the moment. He is holding a disruptor pistol on me.”

  “I see.” Picard was glad to hear that Data had not been injured yet, but he did not intend to let Aadnalurg get away with this betrayal. Fortunately, he had thoroughly reviewed the Enterprise’s files on the Pakleds during the voyage here. “You are not smart, Aadnalurg. You are a fool to think that we would trade the Enterprise for a mere machine.” He cringed inwardly at the deliberately callous words, but took comfort from the fact that Data had no feelings to hurt. “Surrender or I will unleash our dreaded crimson force field!”

  The latter was a bluff that Commander Riker had successfully employed against the Pakleds during their first encounter. By back-flushing ionized hydrogen gas through the Enterprise’s Bussard collectors, he had produced a spectacular—if harmless—pyrotechnic display that had cowed the Pakleds into submission. Picard hoped the tactic would suffice a second time.

  Aadnalurg laughed harshly. “That is an old trick. You cannot fool me. I am too smart!”

  So much for that ploy, Picard thought. Apparently the Pakleds had seen through the ruse at some point. He fished for time . . . and information. “Where are you?” he demanded. “Why can’t I see you?”

  “We are not on the bridge,” Aadnalurg admitted. “We have no viewer.”

  Interesting. Picard saw a way to turn that intelligence to their advantage. “You don’t want the Enterprise, Captain. We hit too many quantum filaments on our way here. We are too badly damaged. Worse than your own ship.”