THE CHILDREN OF HAMLIN

by Carmen Carter

  The angle of the starship’s tractor beam widened to cover the changing shape. Bridge lights flickered as more power was diverted to Worf’s console. Overload indicators rippled across instrument panels as the bubbles stretched into one long strand.

  Riker rejoined the captain on the command deck. His brow was furrowed with anger and frustration. “At this rate, we’ll be forced to tap into our emergency power reserves. Even then I don’t think we can hold them for long.”

  “This enemy is certainly full of tricks.” Picard couldn’t keep the admiration out of his voice. His praise raised a surprised double take from Riker. “There’s no shame in recognizing a worthy opponent, Number One.” The shame lay in losing. Picard considered what effect another phaser attack would have on the alien ship’s struggle for escape.

  “Captain,” called out Data. “Sensors show that the Ferrel’s primary hull is badly damaged and the atmosphere-containment liner shows signs of rapid weakening at stress points. It could rupture at any moment.”

  A wave of the captain’s hand signaled Worf to cut loose the tractor beam. Picard’s voice hoarsened with urgency. “Yar, all power to the transporter stations. Commence immediate transport of the Ferrel’s crew with wide beam coordinates. Bring over anything that moves. Hurry.”

  Turning back to the viewscreen, Picard watched the alien ship glide away with increasing speed, like a beaded necklace slipping from the grasp of its owner.

  Old Ziedorf was deaf and slept through the commotion, but the other Farmers awakened in their strange beds amid the lights and noise of a nightmare. The shouts and cries of mothers and uncles clutching on to their sleep-dazed children drowned out the calm instructions given by the ship’s computer. The Farmers would not have listened to the disembodied voice anyway, especially since it asked them to stay in their cabins.

  Men and women poured out of the passenger suites into the connecting corridor, crying out in their confusion. One man among them, who had learned something of the ship’s operation, turned down the volume of the nearby intercom speaker, the better to hear his neighbor. Nobody answered the entreaties of the security officer’s voice, which was now reduced to a faint whisper.

  Children who absorbed the undercurrent of excitement in the crowd struggled free of any constraining grip and darted away, eager to play at this unaccustomed hour. Others who were less hardy of temperament responded to the words of fear and added their own wails to the clamor.

  Dnnys threaded his way among the adults with difficulty. One after another they grabbed him by the elbow or the shoulder and demanded an explanation for the ship’s strange behavior: to them, his notorious familiarity with the Enterprise made the situation his responsibility. Still, he was only a child, so there was no sense in listening to his answers, especially when he urged them to return to their cabins.

  Again a hand caught hold of him, and Dnnys threw it off. Then he saw who had reached out and he wriggled over to his cousin’s side. Her light brown hair was too curly to show signs of an abrupt awakening but the tails of her blue workshirt were hanging loose outside her jeans.

  “I can’t get into your mother’s room,” said Mry. “She, of course, stayed put just as she should. But when she didn’t come out, everyone else went in after her.” Of the hundred and twenty Farmers, nearly fifty had crowded into the suite. The rest milled aimlessly in the corridors.

  “You should have stayed in place, too,” scolded Dnnys.

  “Tomas made me come. He said we had to protect both our own mother and yours since she was all alone.” Mry frowned suddenly. “I reminded him that you were with Patrisha, but I can see I was wrong.”

  Dnnys ignored the reprimand. He knew that his cousin wouldn’t tell anyone about his absence. “Wesley says a Yellow Alert isn’t too serious, but we should . . . ”

  The young ensign’s advice was never heard. Flashing amber lights turned red, and the Farmers’ raised their voices to shout over the sound of the klaxon.

  A piercing scream thickened the knot of people peering out the clear windows that lined the outer wall. Those who could see called out a muddled description that passed from person to person through the crowd, growing less comprehensible with each retelling. A single damaged starship was transformed into a derelict plague ship, a drifting graveyard of ghost ships or a rampaging pirate fleet, depending on who was asked.

  When blue fire cascaded over the transparent surface of the ports, the crowd that had surged forward reversed its direction. Mry and Dnnys were swept apart by the stampede of people finally convinced of the wisdom of returning to their cabins.

  To anyone sensitive enough, the panic emanating from the passenger section of the starship was like a dense fog. And panic was contagious. As she drew nearer to the Farmers’ quarters, Counselor Troi fought down her instinctive empathy, repressing the desire to flee back to the safety of her own cabin. She cast about for a familiar mind and set in that direction.

  Dnnys was alone in a corridor, face pressed against the crackling glass. Troi ran up to him and pulled him back. “Come away from there.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. It just sort of tickles.” Dnnys demonstrated by placing a hand against the humming panel. “Where’s the blue light coming from?”

  “We don’t know what it is,” said Troi sharply, diverting the thrust of his question. “And it may be dangerous.” He was only a boy, with a boy’s fascination with the unknown. An adult Farmer should have taken charge of him, but the adults all seemed to be cowering in their rooms. Perhaps, in their fright, they would speak to her now. So far the reclusive colonists had rebuffed her attempts to make them welcome. As a result, she knew few of their number by name and little of their customs. “I must speak to the leaders of your community.”

  Dnnys laughed at the request. “We haven’t got any leaders.”

  “But I spoke to a woman in charge when your people first came onboard.” Troi hadn’t asked the woman’s title, respecting the Farmers’ reticence on such a personal matter, yet she possessed an unmistakable air of authority. “Her name was Patrisha.”

  “Oh, you mean my mother.” The boy’s smile dissolved into a frown. “But she isn’t a leader. Nobody has to obey her.”

  Troi sensed his defensiveness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” She gingerly felt her way to a less emotionally charged definition of what she sought. “I meant only that people seemed to listen to what she says.”

  “Oh, that’s different. People always listen to my mother,” said Dnnys proudly. He pointed to a door farther down the corridor. “Go on in, she’s got plenty of company right now.”

  When she had reached the threshold of the cabin, but before she had stepped inside, Troi felt a stab of disappointment coming from Dnnys. She glanced back to the far end of the passageway where he stood.

  The blue light had disappeared from the port window.

  Chapter Three

  CAPTIAN MANIN SCRAMBLED over the shifting rubble that had once been the USS Ferrel’s bridge. He heard the moans and dry coughs of his dying crew, but he couldn’t see them through the smoke and swirling dust. Less than a minute remained of his last command, but the seconds stretched ahead of him like an eternity. He had tried to spare everyone the pain of a prolonged destruction. Deelor had stopped him. Manin pushed aside his anger; it was a waste of what time he had left.

  Reaching out blindly for another hold, the captain’s hand brushed against a body; the skin was cold to the touch. His fingers groped the outlines of the slumped figure and finally traced the slender shaft of an antenna. Only one Andorian had been on the bridge, which established the identity of the dead officer. Wishing Godspeed to his pilot, to whatever afterlife she was bound, Manin edged away from the helm in search of his command chair. When death came, he would meet it there. He took another step and his boot struck something soft.

  The something kicked back. “Go away. I don’t want company,” said Ruthe, then broke out in a fit of coughing.

  Her anno
yance was ludicrous under the circumstances, and Manin was still alert enough to appreciate the humor of the situation. His laugh brought a gush of blood to his mouth. He wiped away the trickle that escaped his lips. If the translator was here, then Deelor’s body was not far away.

  “A phaser death is clean, Deelor,” said the captain softly. “You got off too easy.”

  Stars blurred and shifted their position on the viewer as Data enlarged the image of the USS Ferrel to fill the screen. Picard and his first officer stood side by side on the bridge, watching the death throes of the Ferrel. Removing the energy matrix had come too late to prevent the starship’s final destruction. Riker stirred uneasily as the metal hull jerked and quivered, its supporting structures collapsing from within.

  The captain was the first to speak. “Merde. We’ll never make it in time. It’ll take at least twenty minutes to beam the entire—”

  “There she blows,” announced La Forge from the helm.

  A plume of white vapor spewed out from the underside of the saucer, dispersing instantly in the vacuum of space. Debris from the interior, wrapped with the frost of crystallized water, glittered and twirled outside the hull of the ship.

  “Worf, launch every shuttlecraft we’ve got,” called out Picard. He knew such a rescue attempt would be useless, but it must be tried. “Data, focus a short-range scan sweep around the Ferrel. There may be survivors among the wreckage.”

  “Not necessary, Captain,” announced Tasha Yar. “The transporter chief reports the entire crew is aboard.” She paused, stunned by the count. “All thirty of them.”

  Picard felt the shock of her words like a physical blow. Thirty lives out of a crew complement of hundreds. He had lost the Stargazer nine years before—he knew that pain—but his crew had not perished along with the ship. He turned to Riker and saw his own alarm mirrored in the first officer’s eyes; anyone who accepted the responsibility of command was aware of all that could go wrong at that level. Picard knew better than to dwell on the disaster. Dread could turn to paralyzing fear. “Number One, check the transporter stations. Find the captain, or the most senior officer among the survivors, and have that person report here immediately.” The errand would end the first officer’s role as a helpless observer.

  “Right away, Captain,” said Riker, moving quickly toward an exit.

  The rescue mission was far from over, but Picard could feel that the height of the crisis had passed. During the battle, his attention had been tightly focused; his mind had filtered out all distractions. No longer. The staccato beat of Red Alert grew more irritating by the second. It was also a reminder of an unresolved conflict. “Lieutenant Yar, how far has the hostile traveled?”

  “According to my sensors, the alien ship appears to be gone, Captain, passed beyond scan range.”

  Her statement brought a protest from La Forge at the helm. “But, Tasha, it can’t have left the sector already, not in that short a time.”

  “The matrix did leave an ionized cloud of residual energy,” noted Data with interest. “It is decomposing rapidly, but scan readings may have been affected.”

  “What do you make of the energy matrix they threw over us?” asked Picard. This trap had been foiled, but the next one might not be escaped so easily. He had an uneasy feeling that another encounter was likely.

  “The field did not operate like a standard tractor device, but given the unusual structure of the alien ship, it is not unreasonable to presume that this adversary possesses a much more advanced, or radically different technological base.”

  “A better mousetrap,” mused Picard.

  “No, sir, a better tractor beam.”

  Picard chose not to respond to the comment. He also chose to stifle his smile as he caught Geordi’s exasperated sigh. Data’s face creased in puzzlement at the subtle criticism, but he appeared unable to pinpoint his offense.

  “Yar, return the ship to general quarters,” ordered Picard. Even if the alien ship’s absence proved to be the calm before a gathering storm, he would take advantage of the lull.

  The security chief gently tapped the surface of her console. The flashing red lights faded, but the troubled look on her face remained.

  The captain stood to address his crew. “Thank you all for your comments. Given the possibility of a renewed attack, I am certain you will remain especially vigilant despite our peaceful status.” If they were attacked again, he had scant knowledge with which to build an effective defense. Picard allowed the bridge officers wide latitude for discussion, but he also recognized the limits of their speculation. He needed facts now, not theories.

  Deanna Troi scanned the impassive faces of the Oregon Farmers gathered in the suite. Clamoring voices had fallen silent as soon as she crossed the threshold. If nothing else, her entrance had shifted the emotional spectrum of the room’s inhabitants. Their agitation was now giving way to suspicion.

  “I’m Counselor Troi.” She smiled in a desperate attempt to slow the gathering wave of resentment. “The bridge reported that you have been alarmed by—”

  “Warmonger!” Several of the standing Farmers moved aside to reveal a stout man with a shortly cropped beard. He looked much the same as the other men in the room, but he was far more pompous. “The fighting must stop at once. I demand it.”

  “We’re not at war,” protested Troi. “This is only—”

  “Liar!” shouted a woman by the man’s side. She was skinny and much older, but despite the difference in stature and age the two bore a family resemblance. “Your own self-serving machines have revealed the infamy of your actions. Listen!”

  In the silence that followed the woman’s imperious order, the even drone of the computer alert instructions could finally be heard by everyone.

  “We are currently engaged in combat with a hostile agent. Please remain in your cabin until the Red Alert signal has ended.”

  Troi made a mental note to review with Data the computer system’s passenger interface. His insistence on accuracy was not necessarily in the best interests of the passengers. Surely a more diplomatic and less informative phrasing would have lessened their fears.

  “The message is just a precaution,” said Troi. “We have encountered an unknown vessel. An inability to communicate with them has resulted in a misunderstanding that will be settled soon.” To her relief, the Red Alert signal faded as if on cue. The next words from the computer were more reassuring.

  “Red Alert is now over. You may resume your normal activities.”

  Another Farmer stepped forward from the crowd, one Troi recognized as Dnnys’s mother. Patrisha’s features were too strong to be called pretty, too arresting to be called plain. Her graying hair was braided into a single plait which trailed down her waist. Years of hard work had roughened her hands and thickened her frame, but she carried herself with poise.

  “Thank you for your visit, Counselor Troi.”

  The speaker had issued an obvious dismissal. Though Troi could detect no personal animosity from this woman, the hostility from the other Farmers had not lessened. Sensing that her continued presence would only aggravate the passengers further, Troi quietly took her leave.

  “We should never have left Grzydc!” said Tomas as soon as the outsider was gone. He tugged furiously at the tufts of his beard.

  “We weren’t given the option of staying,” Patrisha reminded him, but she knew Tomas had no interest in discussing their exodus from that planet. Too many in this room were aware that his continual disagreements with the Grzydc government had contributed to the friction between the Farmers and their adopted world.

  “Somebody must speak to the captain concerning this outrage.” The man’s emphatic statement was greeted with a murmur of consent from several of the other Farmers. “He must be made aware of our position.”

  An outsider might have assumed that Tomas was volunteering for that task, but Patrisha knew better. Somehow, by the time a group consensus was reached, she would be the chosen delegate. She could ref
use, of course, but in her own way Patrisha was just as predictable as the other Farmers. Rather than let Tomas antagonize yet another authority, she would take on the responsibility herself.

  Andrew Deelor had lain flat on his back, staring up at a featureless sky for what seemed like a hundred years before gathering enough strength to turn his head. “Heaven is a transporter room. How quaint,” he said weakly.

  “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

  With great effort he turned in the other direction and saw the blurred outlines of Ruthe sitting crosslegged beside him. He tried to fit her into his new world. “And you’re an angel now.” She made a beautiful angel, though a severe one; high cheekbones set in an angular face emphasized her large, dark eyes above.

  “What are you talking about?” Ruthe asked sharply.

  “I should be dead, but this place looks very much like a transporter room.” One which reeled and swayed from side to side, but Deelor suspected he was merely dizzy. He closed his eyes and felt the deck beneath him steady its wild movement.

  “I heard someone say we’re on board a ship called the Enterprise.”

  “Ah, that explains it.” He must have drifted out of consciousness for a time because when he next opened his eyes, his vision had cleared. He could see the huddled figures of other casualties on the deck Then an unfamiliar voice drew Deelor’s attention to the starship officer standing beside Dr. Lewin.

  “I’m looking for the commanding officer of the Ferrel” announced the stranger. He stepped aside as Lewin directed the removal of a loaded stretcher out through the doors of the transporter room.

  “Isn’t that you?” Ruthe asked Deelor, drowning out the doctor’s reply. Fortunately, Ruthe never raised her voice so the officer didn’t hear her. “Weren’t you in charge?”