Here There Be Dragons Part 12

Picard threw himself flat as the dragon struck. The gaping jaws crashed together where he had been standing, and he was sprayed with spittle from the impact. Rolling forward, he managed to regain his feet and rushed under the belly of the huge creature. The head jerked around as the dragon searched for the missing morsel. Spotting Picard running for his life, the dragon whipped its tail and slammed it down.

It barely missed as Picard flung himself back against the rocks. He was close to the body of the rider now. He tried not to notice the shredded flesh where the teeth had torn, or the stench of blood. He pulled the soldier's sword from its scabbard and turned to face the dragon once again. The three feet of cold steel in his grip wasn't much of a weapon against the monster, but he felt better having something he could use.

Data, meanwhile, had snapped the chains binding Kirsch. The astonished man staggered free. He was clearly tempted to run for his life. But he managed to control his fear and began dragging the other freed slaves to their feet. Most of them didn't have Kirsch's problem-they fled for their lives without a backward glance. Data found Miles, alive but barely conscious, at the bottom of the heap.

"Thank you for your a.s.sistance," Data said to Kirsch.

"What kind of a man are you?" the scholar whispered.

"I think you had better reserve your questions for a more auspicious time," Data replied. Having freed the slaves, he turned his attention to helping the captain. When the rider had been thrown from his horse, he had dropped his whip. It lay in the pathway now, beside the dragon. As the creature advanced on the captain, Data ran forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the whip.

Picard stood his ground. On the periphery of his vision, he could see the slaves running for their lives. Well, they and he were free of the chains and the mines. All they had to do was to survive the attack of this behemoth. The dragon closed in on him, striking out with one huge claw.

He threw himself to one side, hacking out with the sword as he fell. The talons whistled over his head, and he felt a shudder in his arm as the sword struck the tough skin. He couldn't tell if he'd cut the creature or not. He slammed into a wall of rock-the side of the valley-that left him momentarily stunned.

The dragon roared again and stomped down at the tiny creature that had caused it pain. It barely missed crus.h.i.+ng Picard. Flattened against the wall of the valley, Picard fought to regain his breath and senses. The dragon's head shot down toward him, and Picard found himself watching huge, saw-edged teeth heading directly for his body.

There was a crack of a whip, and then the dragon screamed in pure agony. Picard vaguely saw the metal-tipped whip lacerate the creature's eye. Ichor splattered out, and the dragon reared back. Then Kirsch was beside him, his arm about Picard, helping him to move. Wearily Picard allowed the scholar to lead him away. Covering their retreat, Data inflicted blow after blow with the whip he wielded. Each strike brought a fresh welt to the creature's hide. In a matter of moments it looked as if it had developed red stripes down the length of its body.

"I do not wish to continue hurting you," Data said to it. "If you would withdraw ..."

Screaming and roaring, the dragon refused to give in. It kept lunging at Data with its head. One eye was useless, and there was a great cut down its neck and jaw. Picard was bone-weary, but he couldn't allow Data to face that monster alone. He shook off Kirsch's support and surveyed the area. The fight had brought them close to the valley wall. Fallen rocks would provide him some footing... . Ignoring his wounds and pain the best he could, Picard started climbing the rocks.

The dragon was not stopping its attack. It was either too hungry or too stupid to realize that its chosen prey were not the easiest targets. Hissing and howling, it jerked its head forward, lunging for Data. The android-unaffected by fatigue that a human would have felt-danced aside to avoid being injured. As the dragon reared up to strike at Data again, Pieard seized his opportunity.

Gripping the sword in both hands, he leapt from the rocks directly at the creature's neck. The exposed skin here was not as tough as the hide on the rest of the body. Picard felt the blade puncture the skin, and his weight behind the thrust buried it deeply in the monster's neck. The force of the blow shook his grip from the hilt. He fell awkwardly. The dragon's rising paw slammed into his back, throwing him to one side. He hit the ground and all the breath was battered from his body.

The dragon was badly hurt by the sword-thrust. Data snapped the whip, opening a huge wound in the creature's leg. The monster screamed again in pain as the shattered leg gave way. It fell forward. As it hit the ground, the sword was driven deeply into the dragon's neck. It gave a shudder, and then nothing.

Picard felt strong arms helping him up. He concentrated hard, willing his aching body to ignore the pains and cuts. His back felt almost broken, and he knew he was bleeding in a score of places. But he was still alive. The yellow blotches finally stopped dancing across his vision, and he could begin to make out the carnage.

The dragon was dead. Blood was still flowing from its neck and trickling from the gashes the whip had opened. "This is extremely regrettable," Data said, looking at the dragon's corpse. There were several fallen human bodies, also. Kirsch was still alive, though, and helped Picard to his feet. Data, curling the whip, walked from the fallen monster to join them.

"Are you injured?" the android asked.

"Yes." Picard winced at the pain as he moved. "But it's bearable. I'm certainly in better shape than those poor devils." He took several deep breaths. "It's good to see you again, Data-Dieter."

"And you, also, Lukas."

Kirsch was staring at Data in astonishment-and not a little fear. Picard followed the man's gaze and groaned. In the fight some of Data's makeup had smudged. His yellow-tinged skin was quite visible in patches on his arms.

"What manner of man are you?" Kirsch asked in a whisper.

"I am French," Data said evenly.

Picard shook his head. That was not going to work here. Well, he'd worry about that later. Data had been exposed, that much was certain. At the moment only Kirsch had seen this. Maybe the situation could be salvaged. Right now Picard needed information very badly. "Do you know what happened to Ro?"

"I was reliably informed that she has been purchased by the grand duke," Data replied.

"Terrific." Picard turned to Kirsch. "Does that mean she'll have been taken to the castle?"

Kirsch jerked his attention away from Data's skin. "Uh-yes. The duke has a room there that he keeps pretty girls in. That's where she'll be."

"Right." Picard glanced at Miles. Data had made him comfortable. It looked as if the security officer had broken his arm in the fall. Other than making him as comfortable as possible, there was little else they could do right now. Picard sighed. He didn't like what he was going to say next, but there wasn't much choice. "Data, contact the s.h.i.+p. We're going to need to get back to town as fast as possible."

Data looked at Kirsch but didn't object to the order. He tapped the brooch holding his cloak in place. "Data to Enterprise. Mr. O'Brien?" There was only the hissing of static. "It appears that we are cut off, Captain."

"Oh, that's just wonderful." Picard sat down heavily on a rock. "I really don't feel like a walk back into town." He looked up at his android officer. "By the way, Mr. Data-where did you learn to use a whip like that?"

"If you remember, I had mentioned studying the history of art. I was quite intrigued by the twentieth-century art form known as motion pictures. The whip was the favored weapon of one of the fict.i.tious action heroes of that time, one Indiana Jones." Data c.o.c.ked his head to one side slightly. "His adventures were most farfetched but quite imaginative." He stared at the fallen dragon. "Curiously, that creature bears a striking resemblance to giant dinosaurs that appeared in several of the lower quality monster movies, particularly the works of Irwin Allen and Roger Corman. In fact-"

"Mr. Data." Picard sighed. "This is not the time or place for a dissertation on twentieth-century motion pictures."

"No, sir." Data blinked several times, a sign that he was concentrating. "If I might make a suggestion, sir?"

"Go ahead," Picard said with a wave of his hand. "I could use a few suggestions right now."

"I suggest that I attempt to capture the fallen man's horse. You could then ride it on the return trip to Diesen."

Picard managed a smile. "An excellent idea, Mr. Data." Picard liked the idea of riding back rather than walking. He also had a great fondness and admiration for a good steed. And they could construct a makes.h.i.+ft travois to carry Miles. "Make it so."

Data nodded. He turned and started off back down the trail in the direction the horse and other slaves had taken. Picard, left alone with Kirsch and the bodies of the fallen, shook his head. "And what do you make of all this, friend Michael?"

The scholar still looked shocked. "What manner of men are you?" he repeated. "Your companion Dieter calls you Captain. And he is certainly not a man such as we are, is he? How could be have found us here? And he fights with such strength. And his yellow skin ..."

Picard stood up, wincing at the pain in his back. "No, Dieter isn't very much like us." He moved over to the dead rider. He tried to ignore the terrible wounds as he unstrapped the scabbard from the dead man and fastened it around his own waist. "I've a feeling I may need this when we return to Diesen," he explained. He crossed to the fallen dragon. It was hard work, but he managed to pry the sword loose from the wound. "I wish it hadn't come to this."

Kirsch obviously wasn't sure whether Picard was referring to the dragon's death or the exposure of Data's nonhuman nature. "You are going after your other companion?" he asked. "The lady Rosalinde?"

"Yes," Picard replied. "You're free to do whatever you wish, now."

"Then I wish to accompany you, Lukas."

"Back to Diesen?" Picard raised an eyebrow. "Won't they just arrest you again?"

"Only if they see me." Kirsch shook his head. "Lukas, I'm a student. Everything about the world fascinates me. But nothing as much as you and your friends. I'm willing to risk being caught if I can get some answers from you."

Picard winced. He was caught on the horns of a dilemma here. He could hardly tell Kirsch nothing-yet, neither could he break the Prime Directive and explain everything. Besides-how could he possibly elucidate twenty-fourth-century concepts to a man who effectively belonged a millennium in his past? "Michael," he said, gently, "I'm afraid I may not be allowed to tell you all that you wish to know. But I am the captain of a s.h.i.+p whose mission is to explore. Dieter and Rosalinde are members of my crew. I have an obligation to save her."

"Perfectly understandable, friend Lukas." Kirsch nodded. "You are honor-bound to her. But-what is Dieter?"

"He's ..." Picard struggled to find the right words. "He only looks like a human being. He's actually an artificial construct. That is why he doesn't tire, and how he managed to track us down." Data must have followed their tracks, he knew, and managed to do so on the run. Data would not have needed to rest and would have had little problem in catching up with the slow-moving slave chain.

"Ah! A homunculus!" Kirsch grinned. "I had heard that some magicians have the power to animate the unliving. Are you such a wizard, Lukas? Can you make the inanimate animate and command obedience from such a one?"

Picard snorted. "I did not create Dieter. And he obeys me only because it is his choice, not because he is forced to do so."

"Whatever you say," agreed the scholar amiably.

Glancing at him sharply, Picard wondered if he had already said too much. Kirsch was no fool simply because he was ignorant of science. But just how much of this could he follow? And was this a breach of the Prime Directive?

The door to Ro's cell creaked open. Keeping her eyes almost shut, Ro feigned sleep while watching the guard enter. He was armed with a short pike, which he used to prod her with, none too gently.

"Come on, wake up," he growled. "The duke doesn't want you to rest."

Ro had no intention of resting. She grabbed the end of the pike, exploding to her feet. The manacle-which she had unfastened and then loosely draped about her wrist to make it look as if she were still a captive-clattered free. Before the startled guard could react, he was jerked forward. Ro chopped down hard on his neck, and he fell to the floor. He didn't get up.

Feeling very pleased with herself, Ro started for the door of the cell. Then she paused. She was freezing in the short dress, and her feet were still bare. She poked the guard with the pike to be certain he was out cold. Then she stripped off his trousers and boots. They were both a little too big, but the man's belt helped keep the pants up, and she tore rags from his dirty tunic to stuff in the toes of the boots. Feeling a lot warmer, she closed the door behind her. The keys were still in the lock. Ro couldn't help grinning.

Time to start a little interference play here. She locked the cell, then went to the closest locked cell. Peering inside it, she saw it was a virtual duplicate of her own cramped quarters. This one held a heavily bearded man, who looked terribly thin and exhausted. "Heads up," she called softly. When he started at her, she tossed him the keys. "See if you can do something with these, friend."

He stared at her in astonishment. Then he began to wheeze. After a second, Ro realized that he was trying to laugh. With surprising agility, he pounced on the keys and began feverishly trying them one at a time in his manacles. Ro nodded, then slipped away. He'd free himself, then perhaps a few of the others. If they escaped, all well and good. If they didn't, they would be returned to their cells. In either event, it was bound to cause some confusion among the guards. And any confusion was bound to help her.

Once the prisoners were free, they'd head for the nearest exit. Naturally, the guards would a.s.sume she'd joined them. Just as naturally, she had absolutely no intention of doing that. The best course of action at the moment was to do the unexpected.

Ro knew the last place they would think of looking for escaped prisoners was deeper in the dungeons. She turned and made her way down the corridor.

Chapter Sixteen.

GEORDI CAUGHT HIMSELF-and not for the first time-rapping his fingers on the arm of the command chair. He forced himself to stop. "Mr. Van Popering-"

"Nothing yet, sir."

Sighing, Geordi glanced around and saw Beverly looking at him with sympathy. "I hate waiting," he told her.

"We all do, Geordi," she replied. "I'm worried, too. This interference with the communications isn't helping at all, but-"

The communicator beeped. Geordi jumped, then realized it was the internal system. "Bridge."

"Barclay here," came the response. "I'm entering the core approach now."

"Be careful, Reg."

"Believe me," came the fervent reply, "I'm gonna be very careful indeed."

As Hinner paid out the safety rope, Barclay eased himself into the maintenance tubeway that led to the main core. The protective suit he was wearing would s.h.i.+eld him from the radiation inside the tube, as well as allow him to breath in the argon atmosphere. The suit was designed to regulate his body temperature as well, but Barclay was sweating. It was nothing to do with heat-the sheen was a result of fear. Barclay knew only too well what would happen if the field disruptions caused even the slightest rupture in the containment fields. It was nothing more than his own too-vivid imagination, but if even a particle of antimatter escaped, the resulting explosion would vaporize the tube and him with it-and then start a chain reaction that would annihilate the Enterprise nano-seconds later.

Shutting images of impending destruction from his mind, Barclay eased forward, the Jeffreys probe in his right hand. The shunt he was looking for was only twenty feet inside the tube, but it seemed to take forever to crawl the distance. Finally, his heart beating wildly, Barclay made it to the panel. Placing the probe carefully beside him, he set to work unfastening the panel. It took just seconds, and then swung open. As he reached for the probe, Barclay stared in horror.

It was juddering in place, rattling on the metal tubing. There was some kind of vibration inside the tubeway... .

"Geordi!" he called frantically. "I'm getting vibration in the core approach!"

"Get out of there, Reg!" Geordi commanded.

"But the readings-"

"That's an order, Mr. Barclay."

He wished he could obey it. Being trapped inside the core tubing was a nightmare Barclay didn't even want to think about. But without the probe readings, they wouldn't be able to tell what was happening in the containment fields. "Sorry, Geordi," he muttered. "I'm getting communications interference. Didn't hear what you said." He plugged the probe into the panel and tapped in the activation codes. He could feel the vibrations of the tube now, conducted through the suit. His teeth began rattling, and not entirely from the fear that was twisting at his stomach.

"Reg, get out of there!"

He ignored Geordi's insistent calls and began to transmit the readings back to the main panel in engineering. "Geordi, shut up a moment, will you?" he snapped. "I'm getting the weirdest signals down here." The tube creaked. He prayed it wasn't the onset of structural failure. "The field distortions aren't an internal problem. There's some kind of external force being exerted upon us that's causing the stressing." He began to run the second-level diagnostic. "According to the probe, we're being subjected to polarized gravitic interference."

Geordi was silent for a very long two seconds. Finally he said: "Reg, you know that's a theoretical impossibility."

"Tell me about it." Barclay saw the CONFIRM configuration. "But the computer insists that's the case."

"Okay. Now get outta there!"

"I hear you," Barclay confirmed. As fast as he could, he detached the probe. He couldn't afford to make a mistake, but the tube was clattering about him now. The interference was affecting the containment fields, and the stresses were being conducted down the approach paths-this tube being the main one. He fastened the panel and started crawling backward. Hinner was taking up the slack on the rope.

There was a horrible sound of shearing metal as the stresses on the tubeway exceeded its tolerances. A jagged edge of metal tore free barely two feet from his faceplate. Then the tube twisted, and he felt a terrible pain in his leg. Clenching his teeth to bottle up the scream that wanted to escape, Barclay glanced back. The tube wall had ruptured, trapping his ankle.

The shaking became worse, and he knew that he was barely moments away from a containment field breakdown and the utter destruction of the Enterprise... .

"What's wrong, Geordi?" Beverly asked, her face pale.

"We're under some kind of attack," he snapped. "Worf, red alert. s.h.i.+elds to maximum."

"Confirmed." The klaxon began to howl.

Leaping to his feet, Geordi ran to the Ops panel, pus.h.i.+ng Van Popering aside. His fingers flew over the panel. "d.a.m.n! Reg was right."

"What is it?" Beverly was at his shoulder, staring at the readings without understanding them.

"There's some kind of device outside the s.h.i.+p that's generating phased gravity waves."

"Isn't that a theoretical impossibility?"

"Yeah." His fingers tapped again, bringing up a whole mess of flas.h.i.+ng red lights. "But I'll worry about that later. Right now we're in real serious trouble."

Worf called out from his own board: "Engine overload. Fifteen seconds to core integrity breach."

Beverly didn't need to be told what that meant.

Geordi snapped: "Rea.s.sign the s.h.i.+elds to Ops. Now!" His fingers flew faster than Beverly could follow. "I'm attempting to rephase their settings."

The s.h.i.+p was starting to shake as the internal gravity compensators began to break down. Beverly clutched at the railing behind her, helpless to do anything but watch. She didn't even have the time to become terrified.

"Eight seconds," Worf reported. "Core temperature rising."