Fortune's Light Part 24

"Bogdonovich?" echoed the wiry man, his anger and surprise giving way to curiosity. "He give you a pa.s.s or something?"

"Why, yes," said Picard. "As a matter of fact, he did." He pointed to a rectangle of blue sky balanced at the top of a short flight of steps. "He's not up there, is he?"

The man screwed up his face. "Of course he's up there. What didja think? They're playin' a d.a.m.ned game, right? And he's one of the players, so where the devil else would he be?"

The captain smiled. "Thank you," he said, and started for the patch of blue.

"Just hold on there a second, buddy." The man interposed himself between Picard and the exit. "You can't just go out there, no matter what kind of pa.s.s you have. That's the dugout, fer cryin' out loud."

The captain took stock of the situation and realized it might be a difficult one. "Suspend program," he said. Abruptly the wiry man fell silent, though his mouth remained open, in mid-argument.

As he straightened his linen sport jacket, Picard walked past the frozen figure and up the stairs. Shading his eyes against the brightness of that blue sky, he almost b.u.mped into someone huddled on the topmost step-someone apparently trying to peek out of the aperture without being seen himself.

The man was in a uniform; logic dictated that he was part of a team. But he was certainly no athlete-not with that belly hanging over his belt. A suggestion bobbed up from the depths of Picard's memories. Wasn't there something called a batboy in these baseball games? Maybe that was this one's function.

No. Batboys were youngsters, weren't they? And this grizzled specimen was anything but young.

Negotiating a path around the man, the captain came out on the dugout level. From here he could see the playing field-a stretch of green that, from his eye-level perspective, seemed to go on forever.

"Greetings, sir."

Picard looked up and saw Data standing to one side of the dugout. He was dressed in the same uniform as the man on the stairs. One hand held a leather mitt; the other dangled by his side.

The captain smiled by way of acknowledgment. "h.e.l.lo, Data. I hope you don't mind my coming by. I just wanted to, er-"

"To see what I was up to," suggested the android.

"That's right."

"Then Mr. Worf's report was insufficient?"

Picard chuckled. "How did you know I sent Worf?"

"He told me so," explained Data. "Though perhaps not in so many words."

The captain nodded. "You know, Data, you really are becoming quite perceptive."

"Thank you," said the android. "But truthfully, your intent was not difficult to deduce. After all, given my recent efforts with Lal in one of the holodecks-"

"Yes," Picard interjected, not wis.h.i.+ng to rehash a topic Data might find painful. Or was it he who might find it painful? "I see that you have antic.i.p.ated my concern."

The android nodded. "But perhaps not far enough in advance. When I began spending so much time here, I should have apprised you of what I was doing. I should have set your mind at ease."

The captain shrugged good-naturedly. "Water under the bridge, I say. And in point of fact, it was more than concern that drew me here. It was curiosity as well."

Data looked at him. "Curiosity, sir?"

"Indeed. You see, I have heard bits and pieces about this program. From Mr. Worf, of course. And also from Commander La Forge. I thought I should see it for myself-that is, of course, if you don't object."

The android shook his head. "Certainly not. After all, it is only on loan to me in the first place." He paused. "Do you wish to partic.i.p.ate in the game? I could alter the program to-"

"No, Data. That will not be necessary." He looked out at the sea of humanity in the stands, gestured across the field. "I think I'll just take a seat and watch. Like everyone else."

"As you wish, sir."

"But first, perhaps you could point someone out to me." He surveyed the faces in the dugout. "Someone named Terwilliger, I believe. The man in charge of your team."

"Of course," said the android. "That would be the individual just behind you. The one hiding in the stairwell."

The captain turned to take a second look at the man. It was no more impressive than the first.

"This," he said, "is Terwilliger?"

"Yes," maintained Data. "The manager of the Fairbanks Icebreakers. And now, sir, if you don't mind, I would like to see the program continued."

Picard forced himself to regain his composure. "Sorry," he said earnestly. "I will find a seat immediately."

Climbing out of the dugout, he wandered out near the pitcher's mound and scanned the stands for an empty chair. Not an easy task, considering how full the place was. Spotting a vacancy just a couple of rows behind the third base line, he headed in that direction.

It was no trouble at all to vault the rail that separated the spectators from the field. And though made of hard plastic, the seat was more comfortable than it looked.

"All right," called the captain. "Resume program."

Suddenly the stands were awash with the sounds of the crowd. In the seat to Picard's right, a child looked up at him wide-eyed.

"Daddy," he said, tugging at an elbow on the other side of him, "there's a man there."

The youngster's father glanced at the captain. "That's right, Robby. There's a man there."

"But, Dad, he wasn't there before."

"Sure he was. He just got up to get a hot dog or something."

"I don't think so, Dad. I think he wasn't there."

"Ssh," hissed his father. "Look-Giordano is up. He tore the cover off the ball last time. And-what is it, Katie?"

"Daddy, I have to go."

"Jeez, Katie, can't it wait? Giordano ..."

Picard grunted softly. Children. He turned his attention back to the game.

As it happened, Data was standing closer to him than any other player, guarding the third base line, as one was supposed to do in the late innings. What's more, the captain noted, the android looked comfortable at his position-slightly crouched, weight forward, as if about to charge home plate, his glove low to the ground.

Having observed that much, Picard peered into the Icebreaker dugout, where he was able to catch a glimpse of Terwilliger's less-than-n.o.ble visage. He shook his head.

The man hardly looked like the sort who could lead. But then, not every great leader looked the part.

Just then the crowd moaned-a huge sound, almost frightening if one was unprepared for it-and got to its feet as if it were one colossal ent.i.ty. Unable to see, Picard got to his feet as well-in time to see a Sunset player rounding the bases.

Apparently he had missed something. A home run, if the Sunset player's leisurely trot was any indication. There were boos from the crowd, to which the base runner responded by doffing his cap. The boos got louder.

Hardly an example of good sportsmans.h.i.+p, the captain mused. On either side.

And then he noticed a flurry of activity along the Icebreaker bench. He jockeyed for a better look. Finally, peering between two other spectators, he saw what was happening.

It was Terwilliger. With a bat. And he no longer seemed interested in concealing himself. Rather, he was intent on destroying a water cooler at the far end of the dugout.

The process didn't take long. A moment later, the cooler's water-filled container exploded with a loud crash, sending water and gla.s.s flying in every direction.

Picard looked at Data. The android must have sensed his scrutiny somehow, because he looked back-apologetically, as if it were he who had annihilated the water cooler. The captain consciously softened his expression.

"Freeze program," he said quietly.

As before, everything came to a halt. He climbed past the statuelike spectators, vaulted the rail again, and approached Data.

The android antic.i.p.ated his remarks: "It is his nature, sir. And it was the go-ahead run."

Picard glanced at the Icebreaker bench. It was a study in chaos-an umpire standing at the top step, gesturing dramatically. Terwilliger holding the bat aloft, as if threatening to strike the umpire next. The players and coaches cl.u.s.tered at the opposite end of the bench, having sought protection there from the exploding water cooler.

"Data," he said, turning back to his fellow officer, "there is no justification for such behavior. Certainly not from one who has been designated a leader." He took the time to choose his words carefully, and the android remained patient, if troubled-looking. "As I understand it, your ... affinity for this program has much to do with that man. But I fail to see how he inspires such dedication. Such loyalty." He frowned. "Without question, you are ent.i.tled to your opinions. However, it concerns me that you have selected this Terwilliger as a role model. Is he really worth your time? Your respect?"

The android shook his head. "It is not a matter of respect, sir. It never was."

Picard regarded him. He searched those golden eyes, that childlike countenance.

"No? Then what is it that inspires you so?"

Data's brow wrinkled ever so slightly. "I believe, Captain, that it is called compa.s.sion."

That put matters in an entirely different light. Picard nodded, then breathed a small sigh of relief. He had feared that the android might be losing his moral perspective, enthralled by some inexplicable fascination with Terwilliger.

But it was quite the contrary. The android's moral perspective was coming along quite nicely.

"Sorry," the captain said. "Again. I should have known better than to doubt you, Data."

"Do not give it a second thought," replied the android. "It is easy to jump to conclusions, sir."

Picard wondered if he'd been rebuked. What the h.e.l.l. I deserved it, didn't I?

"I am going to return to the stands now," he told Data.

"That would be best, I believe."

And they went back to their respective positions.

They had set out immediately after Riker made his report to the captain. The streets were dark and deserted, hushed, blanketed by a newly fallen snow. The only sound was the homing device's soft but insistent beeping.

After some trial and error, they were able to determine the general direction of the signal's source. And to follow it, along silent, winding streets that seemed to resent their intrusion.

Riker had never seen Besidia at this hour. There was a certain calm, an elegance almost, that he would never have a.s.sociated with the carnival town.

Lyneea seemed different, too. Softer, more vulnerable. As if she wasn't quite awake enough yet to be as hard-boiled as she would have liked.

Slowly but surely the signal took them away from the heart of the city. Away from the shops and the hotels and the taverns into the residential neighborhoods, which became more and more well-to-do as they progressed.

And finally it led them here-to this eight-foot-high stone wall that blocked their pa.s.sage.

Riker stood before it, Teller's homing device nestled in the palm of his gloved hand. Snow was falling; a couple of fat flakes. .h.i.t the tiny digital display and clung there, turned ruby red by the illumination.

He touched the device's lowermost plate with the forefinger of his other hand. The thing started beeping again, a little louder than the last time they'd activated it.

Lyneea nodded. "This is where it wants us to go, all right."

The human considered the barrier. He could see shards of broken gla.s.s embedded in the concrete at the top of it. A primitive but effective way of ensuring privacy.

He grunted. "Who would go to the trouble of putting up a wall here?"

"Who indeed," added Lyneea, "but a madraga?"

"Then this is part of an estate," said Riker.

"So it would seem. And only one madraga has holdings in this part of town." She looked at him. "Terrin."

He nodded. Now that he knew who owned the place, he began to recognize the grounds. He'd been here before, of course, though he'd never approached the estate from this side.

"That's interesting," he said, "considering Terrin's the madraga that Criathis is merging with."

Lyneea nodded. "Your friend hid the seal under the noses of the people most likely to be offended by its absence."

"But why would he do that?"

His partner shrugged. "We can only speculate. Perhaps he just appreciated the irony. Perhaps he planned to expose the seal's location at some point, thereby making it look as if Terrin had stolen it, and ensuring that the merger would never go through." She bit her lip. "At any rate, an interested third party, such as Madraga Rhurig, wouldn't really have cared if it had the thing in its possession-only that Criathis didn't have it. Conlon could have been paid just to hide it until the merger fell apart."

Riker pondered the possibilities. "Good point," he told her. He regarded the wall. "But there will be plenty of time to sort this out after we recover Fortune's Light."

"Agreed. Can you make it over the wall?"

"With a little help." He slipped his arm out of the sling.

"You've got it."

Planting herself by the base of the barrier, Lyneea bent down to give the human a step up. He took advantage of it, balancing on her back before finding a s.p.a.ce relatively free of gla.s.s shards and clambering up as best he could. Once again he remarked inwardly on her deceptive st.u.r.diness.

"Up?" asked Lyneea.

"Up," he answered. "Need a hand?"