Part 14 (1/2)
”How impeccable?”
Randolph smiled. ”A hundred gold pieces.”
The duke raised an eyebrow. ”Impeccable indeed. And the other man?”
”I've no idea. He doesn't look like a local to me.” Randolph stared down at Deanna. ”And the lady-if she is a lady-is also a stranger.”
”I see.” The duke sat a little straighter in his seat. ”In which case, it's clear that these two scoundrels from out of town attacked one of our local merchants of fine repute and tried to rob him. Isn't it?”
”Quite clear,” agreed Randolph.
”Well, we can't stand for that.” The duke made a gesture, and Riker's arms were gripped by two of the guards. A third seized hold of Deanna. ”I think we'd better make an example of this pair. Toss them in the dungeons for now. I'll consider what to do with them later.” He stared at Riker. ”Something lingering for you, I fancy. With boiling oil in it. And as for you”-his eyes fastened hungrily on Deanna-”perhaps I shall temper your fate with ... mercy. Off with them!”
”Do you call that justice?” snarled Riker.
”I call everything I dispense justice,” the duke said evenly.
”Quiet,” Volker added, slapping Riker across the face. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Riker quieted down and allowed the guards to lead him out of the room. When the doors closed behind them, Volker sighed. ”You were trying hard to get yourself killed there,” he said. ”Arguing with the duke isn't very smart. Now-I'm sorry for you, but it's down to the cells with you now.”
Deanna stared at him curiously. ”You don't seem like such a bad person,” she said candidly. ”Why do you work for that swine?”
”Because it's a lot safer than working against him,” Volker snorted.
”Is safety everything?” she persisted.
”Without it, nothing else is worth very much,” he replied. ”I'm sorry for the both of you. You seem decent enough. But that Hagan clearly knows Randolph, and Randolph's the duke's adviser. You can't beat that.”
”I suppose not.” Riker let the guards lead him to the closed doorway. He saw that it was locked. Volker nodded, and one of the guards used a large key to unlock the door. As he reached to open it, the door exploded outward, hurling him aside.
Several howling maniacs poured out of the doorway and threw themselves onto the guards.
Picard managed to doze astride the horse. Kirsch sat behind him, arms about the captain to prevent his falling from the saddle, and guided the beast as it trotted gently back toward Diesen. Miles, still unconscious, was tied to the rough travois they had lashed together. Data kept up an easy lope beside the animal. Kirsch couldn't help marveling at how relaxed the homunculus appeared to be.
”I do not burn energy in the way that your body does,” Data explained to him. ”I have a small power pack built into me that keeps a constant level of power, whatever my requirements.”
”Are there many more wonders like you wherever you and Lukas come from?” asked Kirsch, amazed.
”There are indeed many things you would find astonis.h.i.+ng,” Data replied. ”But they are not like me. Please do not ask me any more questions on this matter. I am forbidden to answer any further.”
”Ah! A magical geas!”
”No.” Data shook his head slightly. ”It is merely a rule that I have agreed to uphold because I believe it to be the wisest course of action. Merely revealing myself as a nonhuman being has stretched to the limits the information I may impart to you.”
Kirsch considered this. ”I don't see what harm it has done to tell me.”
”Nor do I, at this moment,” Data agreed. ”But we rarely get to see all of the consequences of our actions immediately.”
”You and Lukas do hold some strange beliefs.” Kirsch sighed. ”I know that there must be much more that you could tell me, if only you would.”
”This is true. But we believe that it is better for you to discover these things for yourself, rather than to be given them.”
Kirsch grinned. ”Ah! My father would no doubt agree with you there.”
”Indeed?”
”Yes. He's quite wealthy, but wouldn't give me money to support my studies. He believes that a person values money more if he earns it than if he's given it.”
Data nodded. ”The principle is somewhat similar. You value knowledge more when you discover it for yourself rather than if it is handed to you.”
The student laughed. ”Ah, I've caught you out there, my friend! If that is indeed the case, then surely we should teach our children nothing and let them discover all about the world for themselves-if they live long enough!”
”We are talking of different kinds of learning,” Data replied. ”Teaching your children what you know is one thing; teaching your people what I know would be something very different.” Before Kirsch could question this, Data added: ”If I could explain what I mean by that, I would. But I am constrained from doing so. Please accept that what I know is of a very different order from what you know.”
Kirsch thought it over and then nodded. ”You know magic, being a creature of magic. I am a student of the sciences, and therefore untrained in magical lore.”
Data allowed this statement to go unchallenged. It was, after all, merely an example of Clarke's Law in action: Any sufficiently advanced technology will appear to be magic to outsiders. It was best to allow Kirsch to discover his own answers-however incorrect they might turn out to be.
The access tube was groaning and moving slightly about Beverly as she dragged Barclay's unconscious form inch by inch backward. It was clearly in imminent danger of collapse. If one of the panels fractured, the sharp edge could cut her suit open, at the very least. She'd be dead before anyone could reach her. And if the tube shattered around her, she could be torn to pieces by the wreckage. She tried to force all the images of chunks of razor-sharp metal falling on her from her mind. It was by no means easy. She concentrated on moving Barclay and crawling backward, focusing her energies and thoughts only on the task at hand.
She was sweating badly, and there was a terrible itch at the base of her spine. In the suit scratching was impossible. Besides, it had to be pyschosomatic. To be honest, it had to be fear. Crawling down an access tube that was filled with gas and ready to break apart any second was playing havoc with her courage. She glanced over her shoulder. Just a few more feet ... Her sweat was clouding up the inside of her helmet's faceplate. The suit was doing its best to clear the moisture from the suit, but it couldn't handle this amount. Taking a deep breath, Beverly tried to calm down.
A section of the wall beside her ruptured with a hiss of escaping gas. She flung herself aside as the metal curled and slashed at her as if it were alive. Sparks danced across the exposed gap, and one of the neurone net crystals shattered. The tiny slivers showered across her suit. If one of those hit her with any force ... Involuntarily she closed her eyes. She had to will them open again.
The sparking died away, and there was no further movement. Beverly swallowed, realizing how close to death she had been. Her hands were clamped tightly about Barclay's ankle, and she carefully unclenched one. Gently she brushed the shards of shattered crystal off her suit and away from the section of the tube she'd have to drag Barclay across. It was pains-taking, nerve-racking work. If one shard was left, it could well rupture their suits as they slid over it. But she had to hurry in case any more of the tube ruptured while they were still inside it.
Finally she was satisfied, and she began her weary journey once again. To her relief, after a few more feet, her foot slapped against the outside of the airlock door. Bracing herself carefully, she got a grip of Barclay's belt and pulled him toward her. She'd have to get him into the airlock and then wait for the cycle to complete and the technicians outside to remove Barclay before she could get to safety herself. She loathed the idea, but there was not room for two in the tiny airlock. As gently as she could, she managed to push Barclay into the small chamber. As she did so, she saw his face through the helmet's plexigla.s.s. It was white and strained, but he was breathing. A faint spider-web crack in the gla.s.s showed just how close he'd come to death. If the plastic had suffered a little more impact, it would have broken completely.
The small airlock seemed to take forever to flush out the argon and then flood with the air mixture that the s.h.i.+p used. Waiting inside the tube, the door to the airlock closed on Barclay, Beverly could hear the access shaft creaking and groaning. She wondered if it was going to come apart about her.
Then there was the sound of a thump from the lock, and sc.r.a.ping noises. That had to be Hinner taking the unconscious Barclay out of the tube. Then the outer door closed again. Twisting around, Beverly tapped in the commands on the keypad to begin the cycle again. After another eternity the inner door swung creakily open. The joint was getting worse, she noted. The tube was still suffering stress forces. She wriggled into the airlock and closed the door. Then she used the keypad to order the argon flushed.
A red light flashed. ”The inner door must be fully closed before airlock procedures may commence,” the computer announced.
”d.a.m.n!” Beverly pulled at the hatch, but it appeared to be fully closed. Then she saw that there was a gap along the upper part of the seal. The hatch had warped too much to close properly. Now what?
She was about to signal Hinner when Geordi's voice sounded over the s.h.i.+p's communications broadcast. ”Bridge to all decks: Prepare for action.” The red alert siren began to howl.
Beverly started to worry seriously now: There was another gravity bomb attack under way, and she was stuck inside of the malfunctioning access tube... .
Then the airlock door behind her exploded outward. Beverly fell backward, into waiting arms. Hinner lowered her to the deck as the second ensign slammed the door closed and latched it again before too much argon could leak out.
”I gathered you were having problems, Doctor,” Hinner said seriously.
She gave him a thankful smile as she unsealed her helmet. ”Bless you,” she murmured. Then she turned to Barclay, who was on a portable null-gee stretcher. ”I'll get the rest of the suit back to you later,” she promised. ”Right now I'm taking Mr. Barclay down to sick bay.” Without waiting for a reply, she powered up the stretcher and pushed it before her.
The s.h.i.+p shuddered about her. The attack had begun again.