Part 19 (1/2)
”Like Corzanium!” declared Grof. ”Which one is it in?”
Enrique muscled past them in his bulky suit and approached the first upright container. He opened a tricorder and took readings. ”Right here. It's all going as planned.”
Suddenly there came a loud cras.h.i.+ng sound from directly behind them-in the transporter room. Big man though he was, Grof whirled around like a dancer and bolted down the corridor. Sam and Enrique jogged after him.
When they reached the transporter room, they were all horrified to see the mining probe lying on the transporter pad, many of its external components broken and smashed. No one needed to ask what had fallen over.
”What happened?” roared Grof, shaking his fists.
Shonsui looked at Woil, and the Antosian shrugged. ”When I cut the stasis field, then it ... I don't know.”
”Cutting the stasis field had nothing to do with it,” said Chief Shonsui on the transporter controls. ”I take full blame. I didn't have it adjusted for the correct weight of the empty probe, which is something I wouldn't have to do with a Federation transporter. I mean, you don't expect to empty a probe and have it weigh more.”
”You idiot! Up to this point, it was going perfectly!” Grof stomped around like a little boy denied his dessert at suppertime.
Sam knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't help himself. ”I wouldn't say it was perfect. I had to compensate to hold our position, and that wasn't in any of the models.”
Now the Trill glared at him. ”And you didn't say anything? Imbeciles! I'm surrounded by imbeciles!” Grof stormed out of the transporter room, and they could hear him shouting all the way down the corridor.
Sam looked at his crew and shook his head. ”I'm personally proud of you that you managed to pull that off so well. In one day, we've collected more Corzanium than anybody else in two quadrants, and that's using Carda.s.sian equipment, with a gun pointed at our heads! Screw that old goat.”
”Yeah, so we had a few minor glitches,” said Enrique. ”That's to be expected.” Still, there was no way to look at the damaged probe without thinking they had made a grave error-one that might cost them their lives.
Taurik appeared in the doorway, looking nonplussed by the mess on the transporter pad. ”I will prepare another probe.”
As the Vulcan hurried off, Sam sank against the bulkhead. He was disheartened by the realization that they would have to go through that tense procedure again and again until they had collected a h.o.a.rd of Corzanium. He looked around and could tell by the stark faces that his crew knew the truth: they were still slaves, even with a s.h.i.+p at their disposal. This tanker was nothing but a floating jail, with a lunatic as the jailer.
”Get another probe out there,” said Sam. ”But don't worry, we're getting out.”
Chapter Thirteen.
RO LAREN, GEORDI LA FORGE, AND JEAN-LUC PICARD stood in the transporter room of the Orb of Peace, with La Forge at the transporter controls. The room's nonthreatening, welcoming atmosphere was severely tested by the sight of four bodies piled like firewood on the transporter pad. Picard tried not to think of the other three piles of corpses which had lain there in the last hour. Very badly, he wanted to wash his hands, but he wasn't done yet.
This pile of bodies was a mixture of two of his crew and two dead Romulans. Whether they would appreciate the burial rites, he didn't know. The captain's face drew tight as he performed his least favorite duty.
”We commit these bodies of our comrades-and our enemies-to the void of s.p.a.ce, to which they dedicated their lives. I only wish they could have experienced more of the joyful, awe-inspiring aspect of s.p.a.ce exploration, rather than the senseless destruction of war. But no matter how advanced the races of the galaxy, we still suffer from greed and bloodl.u.s.t.”
The captain sighed, bereft of words to explain what had happened to these young people-and so many other young people who were dying at that very moment in the far-flung theater of war. He knew why they fought, and what they fought to preserve, but excuses for killing were beyond Picard at that moment.
”May their beliefs in the afterlife be fulfilled,” concluded the captain.
He nodded to La Forge, who turned the pile of corpses into a glittering funeral pyre for a few brief seconds until they disappeared entirely.
Picard strode to the door. ”I wish there were time to reflect and mourn, but there's not. Since there's only three of us, we have to conserve our resources. One of us must be sleeping while the other two are on duty-one in the engine room and one on the bridge.”
As they followed the captain down the corridor, Ro asked, ”What about the one-armed Romulan?”
Picard stopped to consider the question. Against all odds, their prisoner hadn't died ... yet. When it came to first aid, none of them were Beverly Crusher, but they had apparently done a satisfactory job of patching him up. It helped that he was a fit, young Romulan. But if he kept recovering, he would soon become a problem.
”Lock him in the captain's quarters,” said Picard. ”Whoever is stationed in Engineering will pay periodic visits and keep him sedated.”
”I volunteer-” began Ro.
”No,” answered Picard with a smile. ”You steered us through the Badlands, and you must be exhausted. I'll take the bridge, La Forge Engineering, and Ro-you get the bunk. And that's an order.”
”Aye, Captain,” she answered with weary resignation. ”Do you think we can do this by ourselves?”
”We have to,” said Picard with determination. ”There's no one else.”
Collecting three more loads of Corzanium without incident had mollified Enrak Grof somewhat. The Trill sat in the mess hall, playing with his newest toy, a fist-sized chunk of Corzanium, while Sam drank a cup of coffee. Although Grof hadn't liked it, he had agreed to give them a rest break for two hours. Everyone needed it.
Grof hefted his golden rock, then removed his hand, letting it float in the air. ”This is amazing stuff,” he told Sam. ”If we had enough of it, we could build shuttlecraft that required only a slight push to get them off a planet. We could shoot probes into the largest sun and have them come out again on their own power. In fact, gravity-resistant probes would make mining Corzanium itself a snap.”
He squinted at the floating rock. ”I wonder if it will ever be possible to replicate this stuff?”
Sam yawned. ”Grof, do you ever stop thinking about getting ahead?”
”No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Progress is my business. The rest of the universe may be content with the status quo, but I never am. Most of our greatest achievements are only beginnings, halfway measures until the real thing comes along. I'm going to be famous someday, Sam. You'll be able to brag to your grandchildren that you knew me.”
”Only if we escape from here,” said the human, staring pointedly at the Trill.
For once, Grof met his gaze. ”What do you want from me? Some pointless act of patriotism that won't stop the juggernaut of the Dominion for one second? You think I don't hear your little whispered conversations and plots? I do. Of course, Sam, I've heard you talking about escape for several days now, and I think it's just talk. Just by doing your job, you're getting closer to freedom-by earning it instead of being stupid. If there's such a big difference between us, I'd like to know what it is.”
”You think it's just talk,” murmured Sam, worried that the Trill could be right.
”Let me put it this way: I'm a man who looks for options, and thus far, you haven't presented me with any.” Grof s.n.a.t.c.hed his floating rock from the air and stalked out of the mess hall.
Sam watched the collaborator go, thinking that, for once, he was right. The time for talking and waiting was over.
Commander Shana Winslow led the way through the aquarium, which was part of the Natural History Exhibit on Starbase 209. Will Riker followed behind her, marveling at what had been done in such a small s.p.a.ce to give the feeling of an aquatic world. There were magnified tanks of starfish, seahorses, and neon-orange coral fish, letting a few aquatic animals stand in for many. He paused in a round anteroom, where a school of hundreds of glinting sardines swam around the amazed visitors, moving like electrons in their circular tank.
”Beautiful, aren't they?” asked Winslow. ”At one time, they were a staple food source for our ancestors.”
”Seems like it would take a lot of them to make a meal,” observed Riker.
A cacophony of excited voices diverted his attention, and he and his date stepped out of the way as a gaggle of schoolchildren walked through, talking and pointing excitedly at the whirl of sardines. Since he was taller than them, his view was un.o.bstructed; still Riker found himself watching the school of children instead of the school of fish. Some of them looked distracted, sad.
When the group had moved on, he turned to see a melancholy look on Winslow's face. ”What's the matter?” he asked.
She sighed and s.h.i.+fted her weight onto her natural leg. ”Most of those kids are war orphans whose parents are not coming back. This base isn't really at the front lines, yet we're filling up with war refugees, orphans, and the like. You brought us almost a hundred of them. I don't know how much longer we can go on before we start busting at the seams.”
”Aren't there any transports out?” asked Riker.
”Not very many of them. The commercial s.p.a.ce routes are all shut down, and Starfleet's s.h.i.+ps are all too busy. There was a time when we could ask a s.h.i.+p like the Enterprise to ferry some of these folks for us. I don't suppose you'd like to take a side jaunt to Earth or Bajor before you go back into action?”