“Jason was a present. He isn’t for sale.”
“The boy had a price,” persisted Deelor.
“Because he hasn’t been named yet. Jason is different; we like him too much to give him up.”
“If you are fond of Jason, you will return him to us. He should be with his own people.”
“Go away, Wild Ones!” Deelor tried to respond but the Choraii drowned him out. “Your notes are ugly. We will not sing with you anymore.”
“They’ve severed communications contact,” said Lieutenant Yar.
“Moving away at warp one,” added Data.
The ambassador looked to Picard for his reaction. “If we try to stop them, your ship will be placed in danger.”
The captain nodded gravely. “Yes, I know, but we have some new tricks of our own for dealing with the Choraii.”
“Do what you can, then,” said Deelor, leaving command of the ship to Picard, just as promised. “I won’t interfere.”
At Picard’s command, the Enterprise sprang forward in pursuit of the retreating alien ship. The Choraii, unprepared for the acceleration of their enemy, called forth a burst of speed, but not soon enough to escape the rays that latched on to four bubbles in the cluster.
“Tractor beams locked on,” said Lieutenant Worf. The Choraii ship shuddered in place. A dimple formed in the center of the cluster, then deepened into a hole, creating a ring. The ring spread out, thinning its sides until the line of the circle was only one sphere thick. Four tractor rays swiveled in tandem with the moving spheres, firmly attached to their individual targets. The ring swiftly reformed its structure. Two spheres detached from each, other and flew apart, forming the single-file line that had overloaded the previous tractor lock.
“As predicted, no increase in energy consumption.” Worf’s theoretical model was now fact.
Picard signaled Yar to open a hailing frequency to the alien ship. “This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. We repeat our previous request. Let us bring Jason over to the Enterprise.”
The bubbles regrouped and parted, whipping through a series of geometric forms, but none of the variations shook the grip of Worf’s energy lock. As a last resort, one of the trapped spheres was detached entirely. It floated loose, dragging the beam with it. Within seconds Worf had switched the wandering beam back to the main cluster. The maneuver was not repeated.
The bubbles drew together into a clumped mass. Lieutenant Yar tried to initiate radio contact, but the B Flat was silent as well as still.
“They don’t give up easily,” said Riker. “They’ll try something else, maybe the energy matrix.”
Picard shook his head. “Our phaser fire discouraged the use of that particular tactic. Remember, they’ve lost four spheres now, a loss which reduces the size of their ship.”
“And of their status,” said Deelor. “Evidently each ship begins as a cluster of three or four bubbles, but as the crew matures, more bubbles are added. Grown, as far as we can determine. A larger ship commands respect by virtue of its age.”
“So what’s next?” asked Riker. “How do . . . “
The bridge deck rocked violently, shaking the crew from side to side. Yellow Alert sirens flashed into life, and Picard immediately picked up the escalating whine of the ship’s engines. Overload indicators spread like fire across Worf’s console.
“Report! All stations,” shouted Picard, clutching at the arms of his chair to keep in place. “What is happening?”
Geordi La Forge was the first to pinpoint the cause. “The B Flat is trying to pull out of the tractor beam with their warp drive.”
“Data, how long can we hold them?” asked Picard.
The bridge had regained an even keel, but it was still trembling in place as the engines fought to maintain the starship’s position. The scream of their effort deafened his ears.
“Unknown. The duration is dependent on their maximum speed, which has not been measured.”
“Warp nine-point-nine,” said Deelor, then smiled wryly. “That’s highly classified information, by the way.”
Data tilted his head in contemplation of his completed equation. “In that case, our energy reserves will be depleted in approximately fourteen point six minutes.”
Picard rose to his feet, bracing himself for the rolling movement of the deck. “Yar, prepare to fire on the Choraii.”
“Phaser power at forty percent capacity, Captain,” answered the lieutenant.
“If we divert power to phasers,” said Data with a swift recalculation of his figures, “we will deplete our energy reserves in five point two minutes.”
“Captain, look!” Riker pointed to the viewscreen. A violet globe had appeared among the orange bubbles of the Choraii ship.
“Damn,” swore Picard. “They’re going to hit us with everything they’ve got.”
Riker turned to the captain expectantly, “Now what, sir?”
“Worf, maintain tractor beams.” Even as he issued the command, Picard’s mind sifted through the remaining alternatives. He could try Data’s energy-field neutralizer, but the probe had never been tested. If the tactic failed, his ship could be destroyed.
Picard took a deep breath and broadcast a second order through his communicator. “All hands. Prepare for sudden acceleration. Engineering, cut power—”
Suddenly, there was a tremendous surge of forward motion as the Choraii ship shot away, pulling the unresisting starship in its wake. Inertia dampers absorbed part of the shock, but they couldn’t prevent a severe jolt. Picard was thrown back into his chair with a force that knocked the breath out of him. On the viewer, stars were transformed to streaks of light.
“Warp two,” said Data. His grip had kept him at the helm. And dented the edges of his ops panel with the imprint of his fingers. “Warp five.”
Picard tried to speak again and managed a hoarse whisper. “Damage reports.”
“Minor damage only,” replied Riker as the information filtered through to the bridge. “All essential systems fully operative.”
“Warp nine,” called out Data.
Yar’s report came next. “Captain, weapons power is back to full capacity.”
“Sickbay to bridge.” Dr. Crusher’s voice stormed over the intercom. “What the hell was that all about? A two-second warning isn’t my idea of proper notice. I’m receiving injury reports from all decks.”
“Not now, Dr. Crusher.” Picard’s breath had finally returned. He snapped shut the connection with sickbay. Casualty reports would have to wait until later. “Lieutenant Yar, lock narrow phaser fire on the edges of the cluster, but steer clear of any spheres with life-sign readings.”
“Warp nine-point-seven,” warned Data.
Yar selected an uninhabited sphere at random. “Phasers locked and ready.”
“Fire!” cried Picard.
Just as before, the target exploded at the beam’s first touch and its interior atmosphere sprayed out from the shattered shell. Globules of liquid boiled away into the vacuum of space. Picard held his breath, waiting for the enemy’s reaction.
At first there was no change. Then the deck lurched.
“The Choraii are reducing speed to Warp eight,” said Data. “Warp six.”
“They’ve given in,” said Riker with an admiring grin. “I knew you could outsmart them.”
The captain smiled back and tried to hide his own relief at the outcome of the struggle. Data’s count continued downward, keeping pace with the slowing of Picard’s pulse.
“Wild Ones, enough!” came the message from the B Flat when it had coasted to a full stop. “Take Jason, only stop your fire.”
“Agreed,” answered the ambassador before Picard could speak. With the starship at rest, Deelor was back in control of the mission. He turned to the aft bridge. “Lieutenant Yar, prepare to board the Choraii ship.”
“Alone?” asked Yar. Her eyes widened.
“I have no intention of going over myself, Lieutenant.” Deelor glanced uneasily at the viewer. �
��The Choraii bear close watching during a trade, and I can best observe their actions from the bridge.”
Riker was quick to jump to the defense of his away team member. “Request permission to accompany—”
“Denied, Commander,” said Deelor flatly. “This isn’t an invasion. And if Ruthe can handle these transactions by herself, I’m sure Lieutenant Yar can muddle through also.”
The security chief reacted just as Picard knew she would. And as Deelor must have predicted as well. “I’ll go over, sir. If there’s any problem, I can signal for backup.”
The captain protected Yar in the only manner open to him. “Mr. Riker, Mr. Data. Accompany the lieutenant to the transporter room.”
As the turbolift compartment dropped downward, Data described the curious composition of the Choraii ship’s environment in greater detail. Yar listened calmly to the detached clinical terms which were unconnected to the terror of submersion. Her composure was put to a greater test when they reached the transporter room; Dr. Crusher was waiting there and her advice went to the heart of Yar’s fear.
“Don’t fight against breathing in. Force as much air out of your lungs as you can, then inhale.”
“I’ll beam you in a few spheres away from Jason,” said Data, taking over the transporter controls. “That will give you time to adjust to the environment.”
“Let’s go, then,” said Yar, leaping onto the platform. She didn’t want time to dwell on what was ahead.
Yar materialized in the calm sea of the Choraii atmosphere. Regardless of Crusher’s instructions, she immediately held her breath. Her every instinct fought against exhaling the air in her lungs.
Treading in place with fine movements of her hands and feet, she concentrated on orienting herself in the alien surroundings. She was suspended in a sphere some ten meters in diameter. Music echoed faintly all around her, and a reddish glow radiated from the curving walls, filtering through the clear liquid to the very center of the orb. She could see no openings.
Yar knew she could hold her breath for several more minutes, possibly long enough to find her way through the next sphere and even to return the captive to the Enterprise. If all went well. If not, she would have to breathe in eventually. Better to do so now before her fear grew too strong to overcome. She quickly blew out a stream of air bubbles, then inhaled. Her mind was clouded by a momentary panic as her lungs filled with a thin, warm liquid, but against all expectation she did not suffocate. She took another deep breath. The fluid flowed in and out of her nose, more noticeable than air but just as breathable. The scent of cinnamon lingered behind.
A butterfly stroke carried her to the small flat circle that marked the intersection of two spheres. The opaque membrane was smooth and cool to the touch. Yar pushed the palm of her hand against it and felt the surface give slightly. She pushed harder but couldn’t break through. Remembering Riker’s narrow beam assault against the exterior of the spheres, she tried again with palms and fingers pressed together in a diver’s pose, and this time her hands passed easily through the membrane. A swift kick sent her entire body gliding into the next compartment. It was empty, but the one after it was not.
A man was there, floating, eyes closed, listening to the lulling song of the Choraii that reverberated in the chamber. Yar’s entrance stirred the fluid interior, and a current brushing against his bare skin alerted Jason to her presence. She expected him to flee at the sight of a stranger, but he swam toward her instead, curious and trusting. His age was difficult to determine. He was plump, with the smooth, unlined face of a child, but his brown hair was streaked with silver. When he reached her side, she signaled the Enterprise.
The embrace of warm liquid gave way to the sharp bite of air and the dragging weight of her body’s return to gravity. She wasn’t prepared for the shock of transition. A harsh flood of white light blinded her eyes.
Yar tried to breathe. She stumbled to her knees on the transporter platform, coughing convulsively as fluid and air mixed together in her lungs. Racking spasms choked her throat. Seconds later, she passed out.
Chapter Eleven
DR. CRUSHER’S CALL alerted the medical department to incoming casualties from the transporter room. Following her hurried instructions, a team of paramedics and nurses prepared for new patients.
Data was the first to arrive. He ran through the doors of sickbay with Tasha Yar’s unconscious body. The lieutenant had pitched forward off the transporter platform into his arms and, rather than wait for a stretcher, he had carried her in himself.
“Over there,” directed a waiting paramedic, pointing to an empty table.
Data swung the woman onto a scanner bed. Her uniform was sopping wet; her hair was plastered flat against her head.
“Swimming accident?” asked the nurse, but she was too busy checking the diagnostic output to notice that Data did not reply. “Readings approaching normal. Lungs clear of water.”
“Tathwell, I want a chemical analysis of that liquid,” gasped Crusher, coming up behind them. She could smell the lingering scent of cinnamon on Yar’s skin and clothing. When Ruthe and the child had returned to the Enterprise, the Choraii atmosphere had been odorless.
Riker was the last to enter sickbay and hand over his burden to the medics. He had refused Data’s offer to carry both Yar and Jason—however, the effort of keeping up with the android had left the first officer badly out of breath.
“If you’re going to hyperventilate, do it somewhere else,” said Crusher, pushing Riker aside so she could read Jason’s scanner results. “I can’t deal with more than one patient at a time.”
Too winded to reply, Riker let Data ask about Yar and Jason’s condition.
“Stable,” she replied. Like the captive child, Jason had flailed about in confusion when he was beamed aboard, and Crusher’s only recourse had been to sedate him. By the time the doctor could turn her attention to Yar, the lieutenant had already passed out.
“The captain will expect a prognosis for their recovery.” Riker’s chest was still heaving from the exertion of carrying Jason, but he could finally talk.
“Later,” said Crusher brusquely. “After I’ve had a chance to examine them more closely.” She was too preoccupied with monitoring her two patients to spare Riker any further attention, and dismissed him and Data from her mind as soon as they walked out of sickbay.
“Dr. Crusher!” Nurse Tathwell called out changing vital signs as Yar edged back toward consciousness. The lieutenant came awake with a strangled gasp as if she were fighting for air.
“Tasha,” cried Crusher catching hold of the woman’s shoulders. “You’re back on the Enterprise.” The doctor didn’t release her grip until Yar had stopped struggling and her eyes had focused, but Crusher noted that the pupils were still dilated.
“I must have been dreaming.” Yar’s voice quavered as she spoke. “I thought I was drowning.”
“You’re just not used to breathing a liquid atmosphere,” said Crusher with a reassuring smile, brushing a damp curl of Yar’s hair off her forehead. Yar was still breathing rapidly, but the colored lights of the diagnostic panel had stabilized. Her physical condition was good; her emotional recovery would take a while longer.
“What about him?” asked the lieutenant, nodding toward Jason, who lay prone on a nearby medical table. “Is he all right?”
“He’ll be unconscious until the effects of the sedative wear off.” Crusher signaled two nurses to carry Jason into another ward for continued observation, then turned back around at the sound of a metal latch coming undone. Yar had swung up the cover of the diagnostic scanner and was scrambling down off the table. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m fine now,” said Yar even as she grabbed the edge of the platform to steady herself. “I should be at my post.”
Crusher saw the woman’s pallor give way to a flush of embarrassment at the thought of her collapse. Yar would have been further mortified to know that Data had carried her to sickbay. �
��You have been relieved of duty, Lieutenant. I want you under medical observation for a full twenty-four hours.”
“But I was unconscious for only a few minutes.”
The doctor knew Yar’s stubborn temperament and didn’t waste time on gentle persuasion. “Tasha, if you don’t get back on that bed, I’ll have you sedated.”
The threat lacked finesse, but it achieved the desired effect. Dr. Crusher had no intention of letting the officer go until any ill effects from her exposure to the Choraii environment had been ruled out. And the spicy aroma had been explained.
“Lieutenant Yar passed out?”
“She seemed to be having difficulty breathing, sir.” Data’s intention may have been to reassure the captain that the rescue attempt had been successful, but his graphic description of the scene in the transporter room only heightened Picard’s alarm.
Ambassador Deelor, however, appeared satisfied with the knowledge that the lieutenant and the captive were in sickbay. “Lieutenant Worf, open a channel to the B Flat,” he ordered, then drummed his fingers impatiently as the Klingon looked to Picard for confirmation of the command.
“Thieves!” The Choraii were as one in their accusation. “This wasn’t a trade.”
“Well, let’s see if I can salvage some shred of good accord,” whispered Deelor to Picard. He raised his voice to answer the Choraii accusation. “The extra lead is still yours. We offer payment for what we have taken.”
“Keep your metal, only let us go!”
Picard heard the disharmony in their voices and recognized the futility of the ambassador’s attempt. “If we hold their ship any longer, the Choraii may resume fighting.”
“Very well,” said Deelor after a short pause. “Release them.”
An impassive Lieutenant Worf cut power to the tractor beam. As soon as the four rays retracted, the B Flat shot away at full speed. The entire crew watched with fascination as the bubble cluster shrank to a pinpoint size on the viewer, then disappeared entirely.
“Moving out of long-range sensor range,” announced Worf. “Gone.”
THE CHILDREN OF HAMLIN Page 12
