Fortune's Light Part 11

"What was so important that only you could hear it?"

"I think I've got a lead."

"Oh?" She took a seat on the couch. "Tell me more."

"There we were," said Geordi. "One mangled shuttle and three apple green rookies, lucky to be alive. The d.a.m.ned photon storm made communications impossible, so our s.h.i.+p had no idea which Beta Bilatus satellite we were on-and Beta Bilatus happened to have twenty-two legitimate planets, not to mention a whole mess of oversize moons. Our food dispenser was squashed in the crash, we had one working phaser among us, and the local fauna had decided we looked tastier than lemon meringue pie."

"Sounds rough," observed Guinan, seeming to absorb the story with every pore in her body. n.o.body listened the way she did. "What did you do?"

"Glad you asked," said the chief engineer, plunking his gla.s.s down on the bar. "The first thing I did was calm my buddies down. The two of them were as fidgety as guinea pigs at a python convention. Then I phasered us out a hole underneath the shuttle. The wildlife couldn't move the twisted hulk to get at us, and it was easy enough to defend a little hole from unwanted intrusions."

"What did you do about food?" asked Guinan.

Geordi s.h.i.+vered a little, remembering. "Sometimes you eat the lemon meringue pie," he said, "and sometimes the lemon meringue pie eats you."

Surprisingly Guinan didn't seem put off by the idea. She just smiled that knowing smile of hers.

"Fortunately," said Geordi, "we weren't there long enough to get bored with the menu. As it turned out, our planet was the third one on the search agenda. Our phaser was still three-quarters charged when the cavalry arrived."

"I see," said Guinan. She paused. "You know, it's funny."

Geordi looked at her. "What is?"

"This story of yours. I could swear I've heard it somewhere before." She gave it some thought, then nodded. "I have. On Starbase Eighty, while I was waiting to be picked up by the Enterprise." Her brow wrinkled ever so slightly. "If I'm not mistaken, it was told to me by someone named Stutzman. Jake Stutzman, I think it was."

Geordi felt an unwelcome heat creep into his face. "Oh?"

"Yes. You don't know him, by any chance, do you?" Geordi was starting to feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Actually," he said, "he was one of the other two rookies."

Guinan made a sound of mild surprise. "Small galaxy," she remarked. "But you know, the really funny thing is that this Stutzman fellow told the story differently, as if it was he who'd had to calm down his companions." She shook her head. "And now that I think about it, he also took credit for making that hole." A sigh. "Can you imagine? I guess some people just let their egos run away with them."

"Right," said Geordi. The jig was up. He could see it in her eyes. "Uh, Guinan ... ?"

"Mm?"

"Maybe I mixed up a few of the facts."

She regarded him. "You? Of all people?"

"You're laughing at me," he said.

"I never laugh at people," she corrected. "Only with them."

"It's all right," he said. "I suppose I deserve it." He leaned closer. "But do me a favor, will you? Don't let it out that I ... um, embellished the story a little." With a tilt of his head, he indicated the young medical officer to whom he'd related his tale the night before. "I kind of impressed her, I think-and with the shape my love life's in, I need all the help I can get."

Guinan clucked softly. "Geordi, Geordi, Geordi. All you need to do is be yourself. When will you learn that?"

He grunted. "When myself starts seeing some romance. So-will you keep this in confidence? Or do I have to admit to that nice young lady that I'm not the hero of Beta Bilatus Seven?"

"I'm your bartender," said Guinan. "Whatever you tell me is strictly confidential." However, something about her expression told him she wasn't going to let the subject drop.

Guilt, he mused. Just what I needed. "Fine," he said flatly. "I'll tell her the truth. But you're the one who's going to have to listen to me after I ask her out and she laughs in my face."

"If it comes to that," said Guinan, "I'll be here."

Geordi was so wrapped up in his own life's drama that he hardly noticed Wesley's approach. It was almost as if the boy had materialized at his side-a stunt he wouldn't quite put past Transporter Chief O'Brien.

"Hi," said Wesley, acknowledging both Geordi and Guinan. He claimed an empty stool, but not with his usual alacrity.

"Hi, yourself," said the Mistress of Libations-a sobriquet Will Riker had bestowed on her in one of his more jocular moments.

"Looks like you've got something on your mind," remarked Geordi.

"Actually," said Wesley, "I do. I've been researching Imprima. You know-to see if I can figure out what Commander Riker's up to."

"And?" prompted Geordi. He'd been a little curious about the first officer's mission himself, though he'd known better than to press Captain Picard for details.

Wes filled them in as best he could. And, no surprise to Geordi, he'd done a pretty thorough job of researching the matter.

"Interesting," observed the chief engineer.

"That's what Data said."

"Data?" echoed Geordi.

"So much for Priority One secrecy," said Guinan. Wesley shook his head ruefully. "No need for concern. The mission's still a secret." He sighed. "I still can't figure out what Commander Riker's doing down there. I mean, I was doing pretty good until I spoke with Data, but since then I haven't made any headway at all."

"Is that the reason for the long face?" Guinan asked.

The boy looked at her. "Not exactly." He paused, then turned to Geordi again. "I guess I'm a little worried."

"Worried?" said the chief engineer. "About Commander Riker?" He dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. "Listen, Wes, if there's one thing I've learned since s.h.i.+pping out on the Enterprise, it's that Will Riker can take care of himself."

Wesley frowned. "Normally, I'd agree with you. But studying their history ... under that veneer of civilization, the Imprimans can be a pretty tough bunch. Especially during carnival time."

Guinan leaned forward across the bar. Her bar, Geordi couldn't help but think. "Is there something in particular that's got you worried, Wes?"

The boy's expression suggested he was reciting from something he'd memorized. "During the carnival," he said, "the influx of foreign elements into normally placid Besidia drives the mortality rate up more than two hundred percent. Street violence-including certain forms of dueling permitted by law-is the most common cause of death."

"Statistics," said Geordi. "Never yet met one I liked."

Wesley looked at him and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I am taking it too seriously. It's just that I've got this feeling ..."

Geordi clasped his shoulder and gave it a rea.s.suring shake. "Take it from me, Ensign. Whatever's going on down there, it's nothing Commander Riker can't handle."

Wesley regarded him and nodded. "You're probably right," he conceded.

"I'm definitely right," said the chief engineer. "Trust me on this one."

Chapter Seven.

RIKER HAD HEARD ABOUT the Maze of Zondrolla on his first visit to Imprima-as in "You really should see the maze while you're here. Just make sure to go in with a guide; otherwise, we may never see you again."

The maze had been built on the heights overlooking Besidia by the first official of Madraga Porfathas, to please a wife some twenty years his junior. The young woman, whose name was Zondrolla, was inordinately fond of puzzles-especially children's puzzles-and it was her husband's greatest delight to present her with one she had never seen before. Toward this end, he sent his retainers ranging across the face of Imprima, searching every last p.a.w.nshop and gallery, every warehouse and museum.

As time pa.s.sed, of course, it became harder and harder to find a gimcrack or doodad that would make Zondrolla's eyes light up. After all, how many puzzles could there be in the world? So the first official got smart-or so he thought. He stopped looking and started building. And by the time the dust cleared, he had built Zondrolla a prodigious maze-a puzzle she could actually set foot in herself, and one it would take her a lifetime to tire of.

Zondrolla, the story goes, was delighted. As a result, so was her husband-until the bills for the maze started coming in. Not too much later, Porfathas-hardly one of the more stable madraggi to begin with-went belly up bankrupt, and its holdings were eagerly divided among its rivals.

Worse-for the first official-Zondrolla wasn't cut out for poverty. When the madraga lost its wealth, she ran away with one of the builders who'd grown wealthy constructing the maze.

The structure itself was allowed to stand, as a reminder of what might happen when one put one's personal interests before those of the madraga. Some four hundred years later, it remained a monument to their foolishness.

And the warnings about getting lost in it? Actually, Riker had found them a bit exaggerated. The walls were marked at intervals with indelible color coding so that one could find one's way in and out. Patterns in red and yellow took one closer to the heart of the maze; green and purple guided one to an exit. Quite a dependable system, once one got used to it.

The lower level was a little trickier. One needed a portable light source to see the colors on the walls. What was more, the corridors-tunnels, really-were narrower and more confusing than those above. The air was cold and dank, and there seemed to be too little of it, and every now and then something not entirely wholesome skittered by. So if one was p.r.o.ne to fits of nervousness, one was better off staying on the upper level and not venturing below ground at all.

In any case, the worst parts of both levels were inaccessible-blocked off by stone-support collapses during an earthquake a century or so ago. When Riker's acquaintances suggested he visit the maze, those weren't the sections they'd had in mind.

"d.a.m.n," said Lyneea, her eyes hard and glittery in the bright sunlight. "This place is even bigger than I remembered."

They stood before the maze's south entrance-or exit, depending on how one looked at it-the closest one to the slope they'd ascended to get here.

Actually, there were two entrances in front of them, as there would have been wherever they tried to get in. That was just the way the maze had been designed.

"Are you sure about this, Riker?" Lyneea's breath froze and billowed on the air. "Are you certain you want to spend the time required to search this thing-on the word of some nameless, faceless ascetic?"

He nodded. "I'm sure."

Lyneea didn't think much of the idea of searching the maze. If she'd had another lead, even a tenuous one, she would have refused to trudge up here. Riker was certain of that.

But of course, she didn't have another lead, so she came along, grumbling at each and every opportunity. Apparently she saw this moment as her last chance to make her feelings known, and she wasn't about to pa.s.s it up.

"You're not going to listen to reason, are you?"

"Nope."

Lyneea sighed. She considered the dual-entrance setup. "All right. Which one?"

"This one," said Riker. He indicated the one on the right.

They entered. Immediately the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. With the gray walls of the maze rising five to six meters from the ground, the sun's rays couldn't quite reach them, and Riker s.h.i.+vered. He could feel his mustache crusting up with ice.

And this was only the upper level.

He looked around. Ahead, on the right, he spotted a dash of color. Approaching it, he saw how little of the horizontal bar was purple and how much of it was green. It was just as it should have been-exactly the kind of symbol he'd expected to see near an entrance.

It was rea.s.suring to know his memory was working so well. Wrapping his cloak more tightly about him, Riker followed the curve of the stone pa.s.sageway.

There wasn't room for them to walk side by side, but Lyneea was only a step or two behind him. He noted that she'd stopped grumbling, at least.

It was unlikely that Teller Conlon would have hidden the seal-or himself, for that matter-in one of the un.o.bstructed pa.s.sages. Hardly anyone ever visited the maze during carnival time, but why would he take a chance of being found by a casual stroller, especially when the collapsed sections offered so much more in the way of seclusion?

So they concentrated their efforts on the areas ruined by the earthquake. They sc.r.a.ped and clawed their way past fallen rocks and rubble, lowered themselves into wells of darkness with only their beamlights for illumination, dug like moles into hard ground that looked as if it might have been disturbed with a shovel or something similar.

And came up empty.

It was frustrating as h.e.l.l, and Lyneea finally said so. "This is ridiculous, Riker. We would need every retainer in Madraga Criathis to comb this place effectively."

Her words echoed slightly. Or was that some crawling thing making its exit, disturbed by the sound?

He thought about Norayan and shook his head. "We've got to keep this under wraps." The sunlight was receding steadily up the stones. Outside, it had to be approaching sunset. "Look, let's get as far as we can. If we don't find anything, we can come back tomorrow and search again."

"You come back," said Lyneea. "I've had it with this burrowing. Somewhere in Besidia, there's a real lead, and we're not getting any closer to it by playing with rocks."

Riker felt a gobbet of anger rise into his throat. "All right," he said, surprising himself with the calm in his voice. "I'll pursue this by myself." And he walked on ahead.

"You've been duped," called his partner, standing her ground. "We've been duped. The robed one deceived us, Riker-can't you see that? She sent us up here to throw us off. Who knows? Maybe Conlon hired her."

He kept walking. The pa.s.sage turned abruptly to the left, and he followed it. Lyneea's voice followed him.

"d.a.m.n it, Riker! What makes you so sure that beggar knew anything? Just tell me that, will you?"

He couldn't-he'd already said so. Up ahead there was some debris. Evidence of another collapse-a small one?

The sound of Lyneea's boots sc.r.a.ping on the floor. "Don't walk away while I'm talking to you, Riker. Who in the name of ten thousand credits do you think you are?"

Arriving at the brink of the cave-in, he knelt and peered into the blackness, then took out his beamlight and activated it.

"I thought we were partners," rasped Lyneea. She was coming up behind him-and fast. "That implies some kind of trust, don't you think? Some duty to let the other partner know what in blazes is going on?"

The beam sliced open the hole's black belly. At first glance, there was nothing-the same nothing they'd found in all the other holes they'd slithered through. He moved the light around.

"Chits and whispers, Riker. At least have the decency to look at me. I mean, I-"

He must have gasped then. Or shouted. That's what he told himself later. At the time, however, he wasn't aware of having done either. The blood was pounding too hard in his ears, like a heavy surf thundering on a rocky beach.

Ice blue eyes, staring unflinchingly at the light. High cheekbones, a cleft chin. The reddish blond hair that had become its owner's trademark.

Teller. No ...

He played the beam over his friend's features again and again. Hoping that what he saw was only an illusion, a trick of the way the rocks had come to rest on one another, and if he looked at them long enough, he'd find a way out of the nightmare... .