Captain's Peril

by William Shatner

  Nilan’s site was the ancient city of Bar’trila, lost for millennia, and rediscovered in recent times when a flash flood had dislodged several meters of sediment along the slope of an old river valley. Picard’s research had only revealed that the handful of primitive clay tablets that were uncovered by the flood were marked with the symbol of the lost city’s library, and that plans had been made at once to commence a major effort to map the ruins from orbiting sensors, and then to begin physical digging. That first endeavor had ended with the Cardassian occupation, and the subsequent destruction of Bajor’s network of communications and sensor satellites.

  Picard did manage to locate the holographic images of the exposed foundations of Bar’trila’s city center—the only images recorded from the ground before the Cardassians had used antimatter charges to open a river channel, allowing the Valor Ocean to flood the valley in which the ancient city had been found. This was the origin of Bajor’s Inland Sea.

  The Cardassians had claimed the change in drainage patterns was necessary to advance Bajoran agriculture, but the resulting new sea also effectively ended any attempt by Bajoran scholars to discover more about their planet’s past. Over the decades of the occupation, the farmland supposedly protected by advanced Cardassian techniques became barren plains of clay, stripped of topsoil. Millions starved before the ensuing, mass relocation. Under such conditions, scholarship and the study of history became dead arts to be preserved. Certainly not living sciences to inspire a civilization.

  In proposing this destination for a captain’s holiday, Picard was well aware that Kirk had banked on the special fondness his friend felt for Bajor. Kirk knew that Picard’s troubled past with Captain Sisko had kept the planet of ongoing interest to him, and that the revelations Sisko had helped bring to the Bajoran people had continued to both intrigue and delight. Picard considered Sisko’s premature death a tragedy, and sympathized with those who believed the good captain had passed on to a new existence in the Celestial Temple. Though Picard wished he could believe as they did, his knowledge of wormhole mechanics made such belief difficult.

  But whatever the troubled history of the archaeological investigation of Bar’trila, whatever the hopes and dreams of Professor Nilan Artir, none of it had any relevance. At least according to Corrin Tal.

  Their Bajoran rescuer had informed Picard and Kirk that Nilan was dead, killed less than two days ago when a sabotaged energy cell had fatally discharged.

  Whoever the murderer was, he had vanished. Disappearing into the trackless desert, Corrin said, leaving six archaeologists and their support staff without power, without communications, and with no idea if their expedition leader’s death was the killer’s only goal, or if other deaths could be expected.

  Picard held on grimly as the transport shuddered over a deep-fissure gully, even as he heard Kirk’s gleeful whoop behind him. For a moment, the suspicion entered his mind that everything their Bajoran driver had said might simply be part of some elaborate scheme Kirk had designed. For his and Picard’s pleasure. Perhaps a week at an archaeology camp had been too dull for Kirk to contemplate. So he had arranged a fake dig with a fictional crime, all to intrigue Picard. Jim knows how much I enjoy solving crime puzzles on the holodeck. As I know how much he dislikes entertainment via holodeck. Picard leaned over the back of his seat, spoke loudly enough to be heard by Kirk, but not by their driver.

  “Jim…is this all part of some crime-solving puzzle you’ve set up? For me?”

  Kirk stared at him. No hint of comprehension.

  “You know,” Picard elaborated, “like a real-life version of a holonovel?”

  Kirk frowned. “Complete with us coming within five seconds of digging into the Bajoran desert when my suit failed?”

  “Well, that obviously was an accident. It doesn’t change what’s waiting for us at the camp.” Picard smiled to encourage confession. “You can tell me. It won’t affect my enjoyment of the mystery.”

  Kirk reached out, patted Picard’s arm. “I’m honored you think I’m that clever. But this is what it is. No artifice. No ulterior motives.” He leaned closer so he also wouldn’t have to shout. “Though I suspect that we’ll find Professor Nilan died in an ordinary accident.”

  Picard let his puzzled expression ask the obvious question: How did Kirk know?

  Kirk nodded toward their driver. “Why send one person after a murderer? If the others at the camp really believed a killer was on the loose out here, someone else would have come out with Corrin Tal, just for protection.”

  Picard ended the conversation right there, returning to his previous position, facing forward, back to Kirk. He had walked enough kilometers in the shoes of Detective Dixon Hill to know there was another plausible explanation for Corrin Tal going into the desert by himself, professing to look for the murderer: Their Bajoran driver was himself guilty of the crime.

  Picard pushed back against his seat, in a futile attempt to brace for more of the appalling shocks and bumps as the transport growled its rough way through the desert. No wonder Jim takes things moment by moment, he thought. It was too easy to get caught in a circle of questions and overanticipation. He held his body rigid as the transport thumped over a series of rippled dunes, the hard white clay having suddenly changed to softer, sandy soil. Then again, at least I was distracted, Picard thought, in an attempt to see the positive side of his need to analyze every situation in detail, even when his starship and his crew weren’t at risk.

  He closed his eyes as the transport leapt over a small rise and slammed back to the ground, now hurtling downhill, all engines whining. Only as they achieved somewhat level ground, though still slanting downward, did he open them again. Just as he did, he felt the tap of Kirk’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Up ahead,” Kirk shouted. “There it is.”

  Picard looked down the gradual slope to the pale green waters of Bajor’s Inland Sea. And to what was haphazardly grouped about fifty meters up from the shore: a collection of badly faded orange bubble tents interspersed among several stacks of shipping crates—some with Federation markings, most with Bajoran cargo stickers. To one side of the camp Picard saw what had to have been a Cardassian power converter, though its access panels were open and various component parts appeared to have been removed and scattered recklessly. And directly at the shoreline, beached just above the reach of the gentle waves, two small watercraft and a larger platform on pontoons.

  Picard’s eyes tracked a flock of Bajoran gulls—small swift aquatic fowl with dark-green and bright-white dappled feathers—as they jostled for position along the roof line of the platform’s control cabin, no larger than a turbolift car. The gulls’ high-pitched squawks reminded him of a hundred different seas on a dozen different planets. Humanoids were not the only common life-form that appeared to have been seeded through the galaxy in antiquity.

  At last the rumble of the wheel-engines faded as the Cardassian transport slowed. It was heading for what was likely its usual parking area, Picard guessed, in a clear area near the tents, beside a large collection of supply crates and a second, smaller power converter, most probably for recharging the transport’s engines. Picard also noted six tall tent poles that marked the parking spot, with fabric stretched across them, to protect the transport from the sun.

  Picard’s gaze swung back to the bubble tents as he realized he hadn’t yet seen anyone in the camp. How unusual. As if— And then he saw an inner shadow move across the taut, curved fabric wall of a tent.

  Someone was intentionally staying out of sight.

  As the transport slowed almost to a stop, then turned in place to steer into the shade beneath the tent poles, Picard leaned to the side and just for an instant caught a glimpse of a young Bajoran woman watching him in return. Her hair was tied back, face streaked with soot. She wore a plain brown tunic whose long sleeves covered her arms, and a skirt of coarse brown fabric which reached to the ground. In this heat, Picard thought. Then the transport rocked forward and the figure o
f the woman was lost among the tents.

  Picard twisted around to face Kirk, questioned him with a look. In the flurry of arriving at the camp, Picard only now realized he’d heard no reaction from his friend. Not a word since Kirk’s questioning of their Bajoran driver’s story.

  Kirk nodded, the gesture communicating to Picard that Kirk had also seen the woman, and noted the absence of any other members of the camp.

  Corrin Tal powered down the transport, and then, quite unnecessarily, Picard thought, announced, “We’re here,” as he leapt easily from his operator’s seat to the ground.

  “Corrin, where is everyone else?” Picard asked as he extricated himself from the passenger seat, dropped stiffly to ground-level, and then straightened his back with some effort.

  Corrin glanced toward the tents as if he hadn’t noticed the absence of his coworkers, and was unconcerned in any case. “Probably on a dive.”

  Kirk jumped down from the transport and took up position beside Picard. To Picard’s chagrin, Kirk’s dismount rivaled that of the transport driver. “I saw a small boat and a powered dive platform on the beach,” Kirk said to Corrin. “Do you have more equipment than that?”

  Again, the Bajoran seemed not to have noticed the dive equipment was not being used. “No.” He looked back to the tents. “I wonder where they are.”

  Picard exchanged a wary glance with Kirk, then they walked toward the tents, their rescuer in the lead.

  “That woman by the tents…” Picard began.

  “That would be Dr. Rowhn I’deer,” Corrin said, without glancing back at him. “She’s the only woman on this dig. She’s worked with Professor Nilan for years. Excellent translator of the lost languages of this region.”

  Kirk beat Picard to the next question. “How’s that possible? The woman we saw seemed to be barely twenty.”

  This time Corrin looked back at Kirk and Picard. “Oh. That would have been Lara.”

  “So,” Picard said evenly, “Dr. Rowhn is not the only woman in the camp.”

  Corrin shrugged. “She’s the only archaeologist who’s a woman. Lara…well, she’s just the cook. Keeps things organized. She came with the transport and the camping equipment. A package arrangement with the outfitters.” Corrin came to a halt and turned to face them. “Where shall we go first? Your tent? Or the mess tent?”

  Picard’s surprise was matched by Kirk’s.

  “Actually,” Kirk said, and Picard, from long experience, could detect his friend’s efforts to remain polite, “I’d prefer to see what’s left of your communications equipment. Perhaps there’s something I could do to patch it back into working order.”

  “Could you? That would be wonderful,” Corrin said. “Captain Jean-Luc? Would you like to see if you could fix the equipment as well?”

  “Captain Picard,” Picard corrected. “Our names are—”

  “Of course,” Corrin interrupted. “Backward.” His smile was apologetic. “Or should I say, the reverse of Bajoran tradition. Captain Picard.” He turned to Kirk. “And Captain Kirk. You must have thought me far too familiar. I intended no offense.”

  It was clear to Picard that the transport driver had had limited access to non-Bajorans. He, and then Kirk, accepted Corrin Tal’s apology by saying there was no need for it.

  “The communications equipment is in the tent closest to the main power converter,” the Bajoran said, helpfully pointing the way.

  “That’s fine for Jim,” Picard said. “Uh, Captain Kirk,” he quickly amended, not wishing to confuse their driver further with strange, offworlder practices. “But…if I may, I’d prefer to see Professor Nilan’s body.”

  Though Corrin had seemed grateful for Kirk’s offer to check the communications equipment, he now seemed upset at Picard’s suggestion. “Wh-why?” he stammered.

  “To…check on…how he died,” Picard said, equally disturbed by Corrin’s apparent reluctance.

  The Bajoran flushed and rocked back on his heels, as if Picard had just slapped him. “I told you how he died, Captain Picard. A power cell was sabotaged. The inputs were deliberately switched. The overload cut-off was fused in the closed position. The insulating cover was cut through. When Professor Nilan placed the cell into the converter for recharging, he was transtated. Lethally.”

  Corrin’s defensiveness told Picard what his problem was. The Bajoran believed Picard was calling him a liar.

  After a quick glance at Kirk, who was keeping his own counsel, Picard spoke to the Bajoran in as nonthreatening a manner as he could. “I have no reason to doubt any of what you’ve told us, Corrin, I’m just curious to see what other details I might notice.”

  “That I haven’t?”

  Picard certainly wasn’t looking for a fight, but neither was he going to give up investigating a possible crime simply to avoid insulting his host. “Have you investigated many murders?” he asked.

  The Bajoran’s demeanor shifted from defensive to wary. “Have you?”

  “Dozens,” Picard said emphatically, declining to add the detail that most of those murders happened to take place in a holodeck recreation of 1930s San Francisco. “I have also served on innumerable Starfleet tribunals investigating a wide variety of crimes and accidents.”

  The Bajoran’s hands balled into fists.

  “This was no accident,” he said challengingly.

  “I don’t doubt that,” Picard said firmly, no longer a visitor to this camp but a commander exercising his authority. “But under Starfleet regulations, absent Bajoran officials, I am authorized to assert jurisdiction over any suspected criminal investigation. Which I am now doing.”

  Picard watched in fascination as the nest of white scars at the side of Corrin’s neck seemed to writhe as their driver’s features twisted to reflect his silent anger. He felt, rather than saw, Kirk quietly and protectively move to one side of him.

  “You…are an alien,” the Bajoran finally managed to spit out, as if it was the worst name he could call anyone. “How can you have authority on Bajoran soil?”

  Picard held his ground. He made a sweeping gesture to encompass the stacks of crates with the globe-and-laurel symbol of the UFP marked on their sides. “Bajor has a number of administrative treaties with the United Federation of Planets, which obligates me as a Starfleet officer to uphold Bajoran law until Bajoran authorities can be notified.”

  Corrin glared at Picard, then turned to Kirk as if to ask for help. “Is that true?”

  Kirk nodded. He looked calm to Picard, but also reassuringly ready for any unexpected developments. “It’s not as if my friend is claiming authority over Bajoran interests. He’s…protecting Bajoran interests until Bajoran officials can arrive to take control. So, the sooner I can see your communications equipment…”

  Corrin nodded, slowly regaining control of his emotions, behaving as if he considered Kirk to be the only reasonable alien in this group of two. “Very well.” He stared hard at Picard, again. “First the communications equipment. Then Professor Nilan. If necessary.”

  Corrin wheeled and strode swiftly around the closest tent, causing Picard and Kirk to almost jog to keep up with him.

  “Seemed a good thing not to continue the argument,” Kirk said in a low voice to Picard.

  Picard saw no harm in agreement. “A few more minutes’ delay couldn’t possibly hurt,” he agreed.

  Kirk looked at him suddenly, frowning as he did so. “That’s the sort of thing I’ve been known to say, and then regret.”

  “So have I,” Picard said as an unwelcome thought came to him.

  What if both of us are right again?

  Chapter Twelve

  BAJOR, STARDATE 55596.2

  KIRK STOOD UP from the wooden workbench in the stifling heat and stretched. Just about now, eight hours after his abrupt rendezvous with the unyielding Bajoran desert, his body would no longer deny the strain of demands that had been met by every joint and muscle.

  “If I can move tomorrow,” Kirk said, “I will consider it
a miracle.”

  Over where he sat on the edge of a wooden cot, Picard was gingerly exploring the range of movement left in his neck. Obviously, he, too, was finally enjoying the same aftereffects. Beside him on the cot’s worn gray blanket was a disassembled civilian tricorder, a tool kit, and a small padd on which a tricorder user’s manual was displayed.

  “Any luck with that?” Picard asked, with a nod toward the portable field-communications console on Kirk’s workbench.

  Kirk shook his head, then froze as he felt the sharp, hot pinch of some previously insignificant nerve in his own neck. “No luck at all.” His hand went to the back of his skull to massage the pain, then dropped back. No point in trying to deal with one sore spot—everything hurt. “There definitely are signs of a transtator-current surge. The isolinears are completely fused.”

  “Can they be replaced?” Picard asked. “We might be able to scavenge suitable parts from Corrin’s transport.” He picked up the small padd he’d been using. “Or even from a few of these readers.”

  But Kirk wasn’t hopeful. “The transport’s Cardassian. This communications gear’s Bajoran—at least twenty years old. And I have no idea where those readers came from. Even if we could cannibalize enough spare parts to make a simple distress beacon, the other circuits in this chassis are long gone. And even if they weren’t, we have no power source.”

  Picard sighed. “So many dead ends. I think we’re looking at a deliberate pattern.”

  Kirk had reached the same conclusion. “I agree. Maybe a sabotaged power converter could deliver a fatal charge of transtator current to someone in direct contact with it. But what I don’t understand is how the resulting surge could make it through the overload cut-offs in this console.”

  Picard joined Kirk at the workbench, peered into the smoke-blackened interior of the open communications device. “You suspect there were two separate surges?”