Keiko lay in the darkness, all desire for sleep driven from her. To keep the dogs of panic at bay, she went over their meager inventory of equipment in her mind, searching for items that could be adapted to broadcast a signal strong enough for the Enterprise to pick up. She tried to remember what she had seen in Tanaka’s electronics kit, although she feared all the tools had been trampled into the sand by the Jarada who destroyed his tent. Still, if there was anything she could use, if she could recall just one object that might help her, she would brave being caught by the Jarada to find it.
Twice while she lay there she heard the sound of Jarada voices. Once a group, possibly the ones who woke her earlier, passed along the beach headed for the Jarada encampment. Later she heard loud yelling and the thunder of running claw-feet on hard ground as a group of the insectoids charged through the meadow. Keiko did not need to see those Jarada to know that they, at least, were insane.
Fifteen minutes later Keiko noticed that one side of her tent seemed lighter than the others. Frowning, she shook her head to dispel the illusion, but the effect intensified. She glanced at her chronometer, even though she knew it was many, many hours to sunrise. The brightness couldn’t be moonrise, because BelMinor’s small moons were too inconsequential to give much light. The only illumination should have been the ruddy glow of the gas giant, now almost directly overhead, but that would not cause the sudden glow she had noticed.
A sudden gust of wind, heavy with smoke, shook the tent walls. Unable to help herself, Keiko began coughing. She had been trying to ignore the possibility, hoping that if she didn’t think about a forest fire, the trees wouldn’t burn. When she recovered her breath, she decided that she might as well look outside. If any Jarada were in the area, her coughing had already alerted them to her presence.
Once outside, she saw the extent of the disaster. To the north, where the road entered the area from the highway, the forest was a smoldering ruin. Keiko shuddered, realizing what would have happened if she and Tanaka had stayed in the trees near the road. As it was, the breeze off the lake had blown the fire north, away from their camp, while she and Tanaka had slept. Now, however, the wind had shifted direction, pushing the flames back toward the lake. One tongue had raced ahead, spearheading the onslaught, although most of the nearby forest was as yet untouched. At the edge of the meadow a tree exploded in flames, shooting sparks and smoldering brands in every direction. Satellite fires blossomed in the meadow, dancing among the stalks of grass.
Keiko checked the distance from the edge of the meadow to her tent. It was nowhere near adequate, even if she had had sufficient warning to soak down the fabric beforehand. In fact, she wasn’t sure if the entire beach was wide enough, especially when her life was at stake. She stared at the lake, chewing her lip thoughtfully. The water offered their only refuge from the fire, but she wasn’t sure how long she could keep them both afloat. Still, they didn’t have any other options.
Tanaka was heavier than she had thought, his unconscious body dragging like so much dead weight. She hauled him outside, straining with the effort. Once he was clear, she retrieved their canteens for the purified water they contained and collapsed the tent, hoping against hope that it might escape the fire. By then, all but the fringe of trees nearest the meadow were in flames, and the crackle and roar of the fire almost deafened her.
Summoning strength she didn’t know she had, Keiko grabbed Tanaka and lunged for the water. Once she got him moving, the sand made it easier, slipping under his boot heels instead of grabbing at them. She staggered into the water, shivering as the cold soaked into her uniform. Tanaka thrashed and fought, splashing them both thoroughly, but couldn’t free himself from Keiko’s hold around his shoulders. When the water reached up to her waist, she knelt, submerging herself to the neck and letting Tanaka’s legs trail to the bottom.
A ring of flames marked the edge of the meadow, little dancing, spinning orange and yellow demons that mocked her with their cheerfulness. Beyond the grass fires the trees were a solid wall of flames too intense to look at. Even at this distance she could feel the heat blistering her face.
A loud explosion boomed across the meadow. Cascades of sparks fountained into the air, shooting in every direction. Slowly, a huge tree toppled toward the lake, its crown aimed straight at Keiko and Tanaka, flames streaming upward from every limb. Guessing its height and trajectory, Keiko scrambled to her feet. Gulping a deep breath, she pushed off on a diagonal, away from the shore. Tanaka hung in the water, his weight a drag on her movements, but at least he offered no resistance. Perhaps the cold water had shocked him to enough wakefulness that he would let her do the work.
She risked one glance toward the shore, just as a large, blazing limb landed across the tent. Unable to withstand direct contact with that much burning wood, the fire-resistant tent melted and its contents smoldered into flames. The falling tree hit the ground, bounced, and shattered into blazing fragments. One chunk arched out over the water, falling toward Keiko. She kicked desperately, trying to pull Tanaka out of the danger zone, but she knew she didn’t have the strength to move both of them that fast.
Gulping a deep breath, she dived, pulling Tanaka down with her. The orange reflections in the water over her head spread farther and farther as the burning log fell toward them. The mirror splintered and the water erupted into a boiling froth. A red-hot chunk of wood seared her arm, and Tanaka jerked as another piece hit him. Then, at the moment when Keiko felt the last hope abandon her, the familiar tingle of the transporter wrapped itself around her and lifted her from the water.
Chapter Twenty-one
WORF COULDN’T DECIDE which was the greater pleasure —frog-marching the sane Jarada to sickbay for Dr. Selar to examine, or stunning the insane Jarada as they boiled off the transporter pads and charged anything that moved. Either way, it felt good to be the one in control.
By ones and twos O’Brien locked on to the insectoids near the forest fire and beamed them to safety. So far they had rescued almost thirty Jarada in varying conditions, and Worf felt admiration for Data’s skill in retrieving them. It was a difficult task, separating out the insectoids’ life-form readings from the thermal background noise and from any creature that belonged in that forest. He had expected at least one large predator to get beamed up despite their precautions, but so far only Jarada had materialized on the pad.
“Why don’t we just let them fry?” O’Brien muttered during a brief lull in the work. “They’ve made off with our people and I say we don’t owe them anything.”
Worf grunted. “I believe the captain wishes to question them. A wise commander uses all available sources of intelligence.”
“This lot doesn’t know anything.” O’Brien’s scowl deepened. “Why should we waste our time rescuing them when they turn around and attack us?”
“Because the captain ordered it.” Worf’s tone rejected any possibility of disputing Picard’s wisdom in the matter.
“These are the last two,” Data’s voice said over the intercom. “And they seem to be moving.”
O’Brien adjusted the controls, checked his settings against Data’s readings, tweaked one of the levers marginally, and energized. Two drenched humans and several gallons of water materialized on the pads. Keiko was clutching Tanaka as though her life—or perhaps his—depended upon the strength of her grip. Worf did not understand much about human relationships, but he knew instantly that in his present mood O’Brien would find the worst possible misinterpretation for this scene.
“Keiko! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” O’Brien, his face flushed a brick red, stared at her as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
For a moment Keiko stared back at O’Brien, her expression starting at confusion and shifting in visible steps toward anger. Then Tanaka gasped, struggling for air. Keiko tore her attention away from her husband and lowered Tanaka to the floor, laying him on his stomach and turning his head to the side. When she hit his back with her hands, water
gushed from his mouth.
Worf tapped his communicator. “Medical emergency! Doctor to the transporter room!” He glanced at O’Brien, but the transporter chief was still locked in mortal combat with his temper, so Worf started over to help Keiko.
Her second blow shoved more water from Tanaka’s lungs. She was preparing for a third try, when he started coughing. That forced out more liquid and Tanaka lay on the transporter pad, gasping. Worf frowned, wondering how a human could recover so quickly from inhaling that much water.
Keiko started to stand, but swayed dizzily from the sudden change in position. Before Worf could steady her, she had slumped to the floor, retching. With clinical detachment he noticed that she had not eaten anything recently.
The medical team charged through the door and descended upon their patients. Wisely, Worf executed a tactical retreat. It was never wise to get between a doctor and her patients. Selar ran her tricorder over both Tanaka and Keiko, then ordered them taken to sickbay. As Tanaka was lifted onto the stretcher, Worf got a clear look at the gash on his leg. The Klingon suppressed a growl, wondering what had caused that wound and why he had not known of such a threat on the planet’s surface. The security chief was supposed to prevent dangerous aliens from attacking the ship’s crew.
Keiko recovered enough to argue with Selar’s orders, but the doctor was adamant. Even so, Keiko refused to get on the stretcher and, instead, walked from the room with unsteady strides. O’Brien watched her, furious now because Keiko had ignored him after his angry greeting. Humans! Worf thought in disgust. They always seemed to go out of their way to cause trouble for themselves. To avoid getting drawn into this particular family row, he headed for the bridge to report this latest development.
“Ms. Ishikawa and Ensign Tanaka?” Picard repeated Worf’s words for confirmation.
“Yes, sir,” the Klingon replied, straightening his shoulders to rigid attention. Behind him the image of the burning forest still occupied the bridge’s main viewscreen. “They have been taken to sickbay for examination. Ensign Tanaka has a bad wound on his leg, but Ms. Ishikawa appears uninjured.”
“Thank you, Worf. Carry on with your arrangements for our other—guests.” While I decide how we’re going to get out of this mess, Picard told himself. By now he had to have all the answers at his fingertips, but it felt as though one of the key pieces to the puzzle was still lying facedown, where he couldn’t see the vital clue.
“Captain, we are receiving another message from Commissioner T’Zen.” Data’s voice was flat, a perfect study in boredom. “It is the same as all the previous ones, requesting to know if you have transmitted the draft agreement yet.”
Picard suppressed a grin, thinking that the monotonous repetition of T’Zen’s message had finally given the android a handle on why humans resented tedium so much. Had it really been only twelve hours since they had forwarded the agreement to the Federation Council? Thinking of everything that had happened since then, Picard was tempted to slap a quarantine on the Beltaxiyan system and leave. If Riker and Crusher weren’t still on the surface, unaccounted for, and if they hadn’t just rescued twenty-nine Jarada from the fire zone, the temptation would have been even greater.
Before he left the system, though, Picard wanted to know why things had gone so wrong. Clearly, his first hunch, that he and the Enterprise—and the Federation—had been set up, was correct. For his own peace of mind he needed the answers to the mystery. With a shake of his head he pulled his attention back to the android’s statement. “Mr. Data, tell Commissioner T’Zen yet again that she should already have received the draft agreement, and that we cannot answer for the validity of the translation or the sincerity of the Jarada.”
Data’s hands flew over his board as he sent the message. “Captain, do you believe this repetition will in any way influence Commissioner T’Zen’s actions in the future?”
Picard stood, unable to resist the desire to pace the deck any longer. “Probably not, Mr. Data. The commissioner seems remarkably impervious to our opinions.” He circled the bridge, stopping beside the android to study the sensor readings. Data was far more capable than he was of interpreting the information, but on occasion Picard still liked to see the reports as they came in.
After a few moments the captain resumed his circuit of the bridge, stopping again between the forward stations. “Open a channel to the planet. Let’s see if Zelfreetrollan will speak to me this time.”
The viewscreen shifted to blank, waiting for the Jarada’s reply. As Picard expected, it remained dark. “No response on any channel,” Data said finally. “I have repeated the message five times on all frequencies.”
“In that case, record a message that we have thirty-one Jarada aboard the Enterprise and wish to speak to the Council concerning their—disposition. And repeat it at five-minute intervals until further notice.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Picard started back for his chair, wondering what to do next. Judging from Worf’s expression when he had returned from the planet, Picard was sure his security chief would like nothing better than to take an armed force into the Council Chambers and “persuade” Zelfreetrollan at phaser point to give them the answers. The problem with Worf’s method was that it was a little too blunt to work with anyone who did not view things in the same stark light as a Klingon.
Data’s voice interrupted Picard’s thoughts. “Captain, I am picking up an anomalous burst of energy from a location in the mountains a hundred and fifty kilometers south of the city.” The android’s fingers danced over his board, adjusting the settings. “And, Captain”—he paused again to confirm the readings— “I am scanning two humans in close proximity to the signal.”
A sigh of relief and of triumph washed through the bridge. Data had found both Riker and Crusher! “Relay the coordinates to the transporter room, Mr. Data. Tell Mr. O’Brien to beam them home.”
“I don’t understand his reaction!” Keiko’s voice was shrill with indignation. She shifted her shoulders, as if trying to find a comfortable position on the diagnostic bed. After a moment she turned her head toward Troi, her mouth compressing into a stubborn line. “And I don’t see why I need to be here either.”
“Your husband has been very worried about you,” Troi said in a gentle voice. “Men often react with anger to cover the fact that they are relieved.”
“Damn stupid reaction! Why couldn’t he have just said he was glad to see me?” She changed position again, and this time Troi sensed that her discomfort was mostly emotional. “And why is the doctor keeping me here anyway? I’m not sick.”
Troi debated what she should tell Keiko. Anything close to the truth would probably be unwelcome, she decided after a few moments. That left Troi with the option of trying to devise a plausible lie. “That burn on your arm is not trivial. Besides, Dr. Selar wishes to examine you thoroughly, in case you brought any unknown diseases back from the planet. We know so little about this system that every bit of information is useful.”
“If there was anything harmful on the planet, the transporter would have filtered it out.” Keiko’s voice slipped into the didactic tone of someone who doesn’t like children but is trying to reason with a four-year-old. “I feel fine. I don’t need to stay here.”
Troi glanced at the monitors behind Keiko, reading the confirmation for what she had already sensed. No, Dr. Selar did not intend to release this patient until someone, preferably a human doctor, had a long talk with her. Summoning her best professional smile, Troi patted Keiko on the shoulder. “Consider it an unexpected vacation while your husband is getting control of his temper.” And you, of yours, Troi added to herself. “Besides, given the shape Ensign Tanaka is in, I think the doctor would like you to stay here for now.”
“I don’t want to!” Despite the defiant words, Keiko’s face suddenly went pale and she clamped her hand over her mouth. She swallowed several times, fast and hard.
A commotion at the door interrupted Troi’s reply. With reli
ef she broke off the argument as Beverly Crusher herded a limping Will Riker into the room. Troi gasped as she got a good look at them. Crusher’s left arm was bandaged from wrist to elbow in heavy gauze, the dressing a textbook example of emergency field care on a primitive planet. Riker had two off-white sheets tied around his body. They were adequate to protect his modesty but did little to hide the numerous scrapes and bruises that covered almost every inch of his body.
“I won’t take any more arguments from you, Will.” Crusher pointed him toward an empty bed with a gentle push on the shoulder. “You are on the sick list until the swelling goes down in that knee.”
“What about you, Beverly? Are you going to relieve yourself of duty until your arm heals?” He paused, but not long enough for her to interrupt him. “The captain needs me on the bridge to help sort all this out.”
“Wrong! What information the captain needs he can ask you for shortly. But you’re not going anywhere. There’s too much risk of serious complications from bruises as severe as yours, particularly since they weren’t treated promptly.”
“Complications?” To take the weight off his swollen knee, Riker sat on the edge of the surgical bed, but he showed no signs of being ready to lie down. “Hardly anything more severe than would happen to your arm if it started bleeding again, I should think.”
“Practicing medicine without a license, aren’t you, Commander?” Suddenly, hands gripped him from behind and Selar guided him backward onto the bed. Crusher swung the biomedical unit into position over his torso and locked it in place while Selar brought a smaller unit for his knee. “To answer your question— yes, those bruises are more dangerous because blood clots could develop and then break loose into your bloodstream. The quicker we take care of you, the better I like it.”
Riker rolled his eyes, his expression telling her that he still thought she was overreacting. “And what about your arm?”
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