Part 27 (1/2)

But as Riker had learned, the mutant knew how to take care of herself. She countered with a gesture of her own, destroying the missile with an explosive flash of blue-white lightning.

Even before all the debris had fallen to the ground, Rahatan hurled the other chunk of earth. But Storm created another lightning bolt and demolished that one as well.

By then, Rahatan's allies must have decided the combat wasn't going their way. One of them, a specimen with luminous eyes, raised his Draa'kon disruptor rifle and took aim at the airborne mutant.

But before he could press the trigger, Riker nailed him with a phaser beam. The transformed slammed into the mound of earth behind him, his weapon sliding out of his hands.

Turning to Rahatan's other supporters, the first officer fired at each of them in quick succession. The one with the green pocks on his forehead was knocked senseless, while the female's s.h.i.+elding protected her from a second beam.

She raised her weapon to fire back at him, but Riker wasn't about to stand there and provide an easy target for her. Dropping and rolling, he squeezed off another blast. It caught his adversary in the midsection, doubling her over this time and taking her out of the fray. Apparently, her s.h.i.+elding could only take so much.

But there was one more around, the first officer told himself. A powerfu-looking Xhaldian in some kind of natural body armor. Some sixth sense told him to turn around. Whirling, Riker saw Rahatan's last remaining lackey charging at him.

The first officer sidestepped the charge successfully-but in the process, his foot caught on a piece of upturned pavement, causing him to stumble and fall unceremoniously. Even worse, he lost his grip on his phaser. As he watched, it clattered away and fell into a crack in the pavement.

Seeing how vulnerable he was, the strongman dove in an attempt to pin him, but Riker threw himself out of the way and scrambled to his feet.

Unfortunately, he was nowhere near where his phaser had fallen. And without it, he was clearly overmatched.

Or was he?

As the Xhaldian in the body armor got up and charged him a second time, the first officer bent and picked up a rock. Then, before the transformed could veer off, Riker reared back and let it fly-striking his adversary square in the forehead.

At first, he thought it might not have been enough. Then the transformed's knees buckled and he fell forward on his face.

The first officer had no time to congratulate himself, however. On the other side of the ruined street, Storm was still facing off with the earthmover.

By that time, the Xhaldian had to know how badly he had underestimated his opponent. Still, it didn't seem to daunt him a great deal. With a battle oath worthy of a Klingon, Rahatan tossed his head back and raised his hands, which had clenched into white-knuckled fists.

Unbelievably, the ground beneath him began to rise and roll forward, in the manner of a mammoth wave breaking on a seash.o.r.e. Except the wave had a target, and that target was Storm.

The Xhaldian rode forward on the wave's unchanging crest, legs spread wide for balance, fists clenched at his sides. He had a look of almost maniacal glee on his face.

But Storm didn't move. She simply floated on her updraft above the mighty creva.s.se, as if she had already resigned herself to her fate. And all the while, Rahatan's wave of earth and debris rolled closer, threatening to bury her under its weight.

Finally, just as her adversary was about to descend on her, the mutant raised a hand to the heavens. As Riker watched, a hail shower seemed to come out of nowhere, pelting the Xhaldian with tiny b.a.l.l.s of ice.

Rahatan threw his hands up to protect himself from Storm's onslaught. At first, it looked as if he might be able to stay on his feet and endure it. Then the rain of icy pellets grew heavier and heavier, until the barrage drove the earthmover to his knees.

But Rahatan wasn't done yet. Though battered and bruised, he still possessed the strength to try one last gambit.

The crest of his earth wave, with him on it, seemed to topple backwards for a moment. Then, like a catapult, it shot forward-flinging the Xhaldian across the gulf between Storm and himself.

And why not? He was bigger than she was, and more powerful. If he could get his hands around her throat, it wouldn't matter that she was a mutant. He would throttle her in no time.

But once again, Storm proved more than equal to the challenge. Before Rahatan could reach her, he was caught in a swirling twist of wind. It wrenched him skyward, spinning him around as he ascended, until he was a hundred meters or more above the ground.

The earthmover screamed for help, but he didn't get any. His compatriots were all unconscious. So Rahatan kept spinning around, faster and faster, until at last he stopped screaming and went limp in the twister's grasp.

Only then did Storm relent. Gradually, with remarkable gentleness considering how recently the Xhaldian had tried to kill her, she lowered his unconscious form to street level. Finally, when he touched the ground, she put an end to the cylconic winds altogether.

It was over. And, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the mutant had won.

Chapter Thirty.

PICARD GRITTED HIS teeth and battled to keep his pod upright as it descended through layers of cloud, its tractor beams locked on the Draa'kons' deadly cl.u.s.ter missile.

His eyes were stinging from heat and perspiration, his uniform soaked through and through, but he wouldn't allow himself to lose his focus. Not when tens of thousands of lives were depending on him.

At the same time, Archangel was contending with the whipping winds and the frustrating lack of visibility to make his way to his objective. As the captain watched, the mutant was buffeted to one side or the other, but over and over again he fought his way back on course.

Picard had seldom seen such courage or determination. It was even more remarkable when one considered that the mutant had been in sickbay less than an hour earlier.

Teeth clenched and bared, wings beating with raw power, Archangel got close enough to the cl.u.s.ter to reach for one of its limbs ... to close his fingers around it ... and finally, folding his wings at just the right moment, to swing himself into the weapon's innermost network.

That done, he found the access plate the captain had told him about. His hair whipping about his head, he took out the phaser Picard had loaned him after they set out. Then he activated it and trained its crimson beam on the plate's lock.

Gently, thought the captain, gently. One wrong move by the mutant and they would both be vaporized. Worse, Verdeen would become a city of ghosts.

Fragments of clouds flew up past Archangel, obscuring him for a moment. When the captain caught sight of him again, he was putting away his phaser-a good sign, Picard thought.

Then, with the utmost care, the mutant slid open the access plate. The captain cheered inwardly. They were halfway home.

But only halfway. The next step would be every bit as tricky as the first. Inside the compartment, Archangel would find the cl.u.s.ter's photon-based power source and its trigger mechanism. His goal would be to deactivate the trigger without disturbing the photon pack.

According to the shuttlepod's sensor readouts, there was only one way to accomplish that-by pressing a single stud. But it was one of several such studs on the body of the trigger mechanism and pressing the wrong one would bring on disaster.

Grimly, the mutant put his hand inside the compartment. Picard watched him work, his throat bone-dry, his eyes feeling as if they had been sc.r.a.ped raw. The heat in the cabin was like a furnace, blistering and unrelenting.

But he still had a mission to perform. If Archangel were to succeed, the captain would have to persevere as well.

Seconds pa.s.sed, with no relief. On his monitor screens, Picard could see the planet's surface looming closer and closer. What's more, he told himself, the aliens' explosive might have been set to detonate before it reached the ground.

Meanwhile, in his perch on the missile, the mutant continued to probe its delicate inner workings. He worked slowly, cautiously, his face a window on his frustration.

The captain glanced at his board again. They were less than five kilometers from Verdeen. Five kilometers and a single minute-at the outside.

If Archangel were to disarm the missile, he would have to do it in the next few seconds. Otherwise, Picard would have to take matters in his own hands and try to wrench the weapon away from its target, as reckless a maneuver as that might be.

Suddenly, the mutant and the alien weapon were lost to Picard's sight, blanketed in clouds. Cursing, the captain tried to make them out again, tried to discern even their outlines through the mask of water vapors.

But he couldn't. And his sensors weren't telling what he needed to know, either.

Grinding his teeth, Picard reached for his thruster controls, intent on veering off to the side and attempting to take the cl.u.s.ter with him. But before he could effect the course change, he saw something loom out of the clouds.