Debtors' Planet Part 11

"Absolutely," Offenhouse said. "We'd charge less. You'd make more money."

"Trust you we do not," Verden said. He leaned against the rough, dark wall. "Aliens you are, like the rateyes. To take and take their only wish is. Why should we think you from them differ?"

"What have you got to lose?" Picard asked. He felt puzzled; there was something odd about Verden's grammar, as if he didn't speak the same dialect as the other Megarans.

Verden looked him over. "Everything to lose we have," he said. "Our homes, our lives. For charity you do not come here; things to take you will find. Even more will we lose."

"Guess again," Offenhouse said. "We want to get rid of the rateyes. That's our profit. Now-"

"No profit for you!" Chudak said. Picard turned his head and saw the Ferengi emerge from the Great Hall. He held a phaser. "Trying to sell me out, Verden? Break our contract?"

"No, never," Verden said.

"I don't believe you!" the Ferengi grated. "I ought to kill you now, you debt-ridden, overpriced piece of native-"

A phaser whined and Chudak toppled to the stone floor. The door to the Great Hall slammed shut as a pair of men ran into the corridor. They were dressed like native servants, in rough gray coveralls, but they both carried hand phasers of non-Ferengi design.

Verden drew a phaser from inside his robe, then spoke to the guards. "Search the Federation spies and take them to a cell. I will get the interrogation drugs." He nudged Chudak's unconscious form with a booted toe. "And put this rubbish somewhere-comfortable."

Verden returned to the Great Hall as the two guards herded Picard and Offenhouse down the corridor. They went up a spiral staircase, and when they reached the end of a second hallway the guards searched them with a tricorder. Picard lost his communicator badge, while the amba.s.sador was relieved of his cane, sash, and several items from his pockets. Then they were locked in a cell.

Picard inspected the cell at once. It was three meters square and two meters high, and quite solid. The door was locked on the outside with a primitive but effective iron contraption, while a small window in the back wall was blocked by thick iron bars. There was an electric light in the corridor, and its glow came through the cracks around the doorjamb. There was a heap of straw on the floor.

Offenhouse seemed unimpressed by the cell. "D'you think this dump is bugged?"

"Certainly with vermin," Picard said, "but if you mean are we being monitored, I think the answer is no."

"Really? Why not?"

"There's no point," Picard said. "An eavesdropper couldn't learn anything that a skilled interrogator couldn't discover-and whatever else Verden is, I imagine he's a skilled interrogator."

"Yeah," Offenhouse said. "He acts like the boss here. What do you think he is, Picard? A renegade human?"

"Perhaps," Picard said. "I noticed that he doesn't talk like a native. However, what matters now is that we're his prisoners."

"Good point," Offenhouse said. Picard saw his dim shape inspect the door. "What would Dixon Hill do in a fix like this?"

"He'd wait for his secretary to post bail," Picard said.

"Too bad you don't have a secretary," Offenhouse said. He went to the window, grasped a bar and tugged. "Any chance of Riker beaming us out of here before Verden comes back?"

"It's not likely," Picard said. "And all things considered, I doubt we'll survive the interrogation. We know too much; Verden's only question may be how to kill us without exposing himself."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Offenhouse removed his stovepipe hat and tore off its brim. He went to the window and rubbed the brim's edge against a bar. Picard heard a quiet rasping noise. "Funny thing about people," the amba.s.sador said. "They'll get so wrapped up in looking for high-tech answers that they forget about low-tech approaches."

"I beg your pardon?" Picard said.

"Kidnapping is an old Ferengi business practice," Offenhouse said. "I figured that if Chudak grabbed us, he'd take our communicators and whatnot, but I didn't think he'd look for files or saws. After all, you'd expect Federation types to use modern equipment. Looks like that logic applies to Verden, too."

"Your hat brim is a saw?" Picard asked.

"Sealed in plastic for camouflage. Makes me glad I used to watch those James Bond movies. Now this"- he patted the stones-"is one of the castle's outer walls, so once we cut the bars there's nothing between us and freedom."

"Nothing other than Verden and his forces," Picard said. "Suppose we encounter them?"

"I've got a plan," Offenhouse said. He began sawing on a second bar. "If it makes you feel any better, why don't you go carve a phaser out of a bar of soap?"

Picard chuckled at that; Dixon Hill had used a similar ploy to escape from an abandoned warehouse. A moment later Offenhouse stopped sawing, grasped a bar with both hands and pulled. Picard joined him, and the soft iron bent under their efforts. After more cutting and pulling, the second bar curled out of the way, leaving an opening big enough to pa.s.s two men.

Picard climbed out first. The night was almost impossibly dark, but the stars gave just enough light to reveal the ground, four meters below the window. The edge of a forest was a dark swath, five hundred meters from the castle. Picard dropped to the ground, and a few seconds later Offenhouse followed him. "You mentioned a plan," Picard asked. "What is it?"

"We run like h.e.l.l," Offenhouse told him.

"It works!" Geordi exclaimed. Gakor laughed and slapped the display panel in triumph. The rippling gravity waves were causing the neutron-decay process to emit neutrinos that weighed nine-tenths of an electron volt. While neutrinos came in several ma.s.ses, none occurred in nature with that weight. The gimmick was working far better than the engineer could have hoped. "La Forge to bridge. Commander, we've got the bugs worked out of the detector. We'll be ready for a full-scale test in an hour."

"Understood," Riker answered. "Hurry it up."

Geordi looked at Gakor, who gave him a very human shrug. "You just can't please some people," the Tellarite said.

"Things must be heating up," Geordi said. He switched off the oscillator and its annoying vibrations ended. He and Gakor walked over to the oscillator. "I figure it'll be easier to mount this beast outside a shuttle-bay door."

"No, we should reconfigure the hull mooring plates," Gakor said, jumping on a chance to argue.

"We'll just have to reconfigure them again after we're done," Geordi said. "That's a lot of work for one test."

"But if the test works, we won't want to reconfigure," Gakor said. "And the mooring plates are already plugged into the computer. Adjustments will be easier than with this oscillator, and the mooring plates can emit more powerful gravity waves."

"The trouble is, Riker wants us to hurry," Geordi said. He tapped the oscillator's base with a toe. "Besides, I'd just love to boot this thing out the airlock."

Gakor laughed heartily. "At full power it would interfere with the s.h.i.+p's artigrav systems, even placed outside. The whole s.h.i.+p will feel that grauko buzz, and that won't make us popular."

Geordi threw up his hands. "You've convinced me. We'll use the mooring plates."

"That will be time-consuming," Gakor said, smoothly changing his side in the argument. "We're only after proof-of-principle now, and if we don't get it, we'll have wasted our time and effort."

Geordi laughed. "Gakor, if I said suicide was a bad idea, I honestly think you'd talk yourself into trying it."

"Me? Never," the Tellarite said. "But if you were to try it, it would improve my chances for promotion... . "

Laughing, the two engineers went to the computer station and set to work on the mooring plates. These were powerful artigrav generators, placed at strategic points around the s.h.i.+p's hull and used to anchor the Enterprise in s.p.a.cedock. They weren't designed for any other purpose, and Geordi could see that they would need extensive modifications before they could serve as gravity-wave emitters. Cross-connections-new circuit modules-sensors and controls-"We've got our work cut out for us," he said happily.

"It should keep us out of trouble for a while," Gakor agreed. He called up a master circuit chart on the computer display and highlighted points around the s.h.i.+p's hull. "I think we'll do better if we work together."

"No, we can get this done faster if we work separately."Geordi smiled. "But first things first. La Forge to Alexander Roshenko."

A rasping, grating noise answered him. Like father, like son, Geordi thought, hearing the Klingonese snore. He could wait until tomorrow to tell the kid that the test had worked. "Let's get going," he told Gakor.

Something had happened to put the entire castle in an uproar. The Vo Gatyn had vanished into her battle hall, and servants and guards scurried everywhere. The guests were leaving quickly, getting out of harm's way.

Odovil felt calm amid the uproar, as though her meeting with Chudak had broken something within her-or thrust her into a state beyond terror. When she had entered the hall this evening, she had argued with the outworlder, telling him that she could not blame a couple of trainees for defective alloys. Chudak had agreed with her reasoning-and had ordered her to discharge four of her people tomorrow morning, as a warning against sloppy work. Grab the last four who come through the gate, Chudak had said, and take away their work permits; latecomers are usually the laziest workers anyway, and deserve to starve.

She was not going to do it. It was time to gamble. These outworlders were Chudak's enemy, and they might be the key to destroying him. Enlisting their aid might be a problem, but she thought she could do it. If she failed-no, she would not think about that. She would not fail.

Odovil was standing in the mouth of a corridor, watching the commotion in the Great Hall, when a corporal strode by her. "Stop," she said quietly, touching his elbow. "What trouble there is?"

"Prisoners of the tall outworlders the Vo made," the man said. "Treachery they planned, and now escaped they have."

She nodded. "And now you the outworlders hunt?"

"Yes," he said, tightening his sword belt. Ferengi night-goggles dangled around his neck. "This escape to you nothing is, worker."

Odovil almost smiled as she saw the speculative look in his eyes. She had seen that gleam before, in people who had their price. Bribery-eyes, she called it; corruption had become common since the Ferengi took over. Odovil began to toy with her bracelet. The small jewels and silver facets glittered in the Great Hall's light. "The outworlders you will catch," she said. "How I do not care. When you do, with them I would speak."

"Hard that would be," the corporal said. "Other guards will look, and the outworlders to the Vo at once we must bring." His eyes had fallen to her bracelet. The corporal lacked all subtlety, and in a moment Odovil had made her arrangements with him. The bracelet vanished into a pocket, and he hurried away.

Hoping that he would not keep the bribe and betray her, Odovil went down the corridor. Stairs took her into the castle's underrooms, and after a few moments she found the laundry room. Piles of clothing lay heaped near the sonic machinery. Odovil picked through them, ignoring the Vo Gatyn's finery and the tailored garments of her soldiers and personal servants. At last she found a gray coverall that would fit her. Odovil changed into it, hiding her own yellow dress amid the soiled garments after she had transferred her jewelry and possessions into her coverall pockets. She regretted losing the dress, which had cost her dearly, but it would only attract attention now.

The castle's remaining guards seemed nervously alert, and Odovil kept in the shadows as she slipped toward one of the posterns in the outer wall. The small gate was barred but not locked. She had a bit of luck, and found several glowmoss sticks resting in the brackets by the door. Odovil took them and snuck through the gate.

The night was black, with only the stars and the s.h.i.+mmer of the moss to light her way. She found the hunter's trail and followed it, hoping that the corporal had kept to their deal. It would be hours before she knew. With luck, the man had already captured the outworlders and was taking them to the yeoman's hut hidden in these woods ... a hut that had been a popular place to meet one's boy, when she had been a girl.

Odovil laughed nervously as she recalled stories about the witches and bandits who lurked in forests. The thought of meeting such creatures did not frighten her now. None of them could be as dangerous as the Ferengi.

When Wesley entered the sickbay he found Data standing next to Shrev's biobed. "You are recovering, Shrev?" Wesley asked quietly.

"Yes, thank you," she answered, her voice firm by Zhuik standards. Her torn, bloodstained tunic had been replaced with a loose hospital smock. "And yourself?"

"Just a scratch," he said, gesturing at his forehead. Wesley glanced at the indicators above the Zhuik's head. He didn't know the proper ranges for Zhuiks, but all the pointers floated within their green zones, so she had to be all right. That filled him with relief. She had accompanied him to Megara at his request, and he felt responsible for what had happened. "I imagine Commander Data has questions for us," he whispered, with a glance at the android.

"That is correct-" Data stopped, c.o.c.ked his head, then spoke in a low voice that matched Wesley's and Shrev's. "We will begin this debriefing with an account of your experiences, Ensign."

"Yes, sir. We arrived in a street ..."

Wesley listened patiently while Shrev spoke. From time to time Data asked him to describe the conversations he'd had with different Megarans. Data was efficient, Wesley noted, and ten minutes after the start of the debriefing his questions had brought them up to the fight. "Perhaps you should speak with Counselor Troi," Data said, when Shrev described the native's death at her hands. "Killing is always a traumatic event."

"It is," Shrev agreed, and Wesley saw how puzzled she looked. "But I must tell you, sir, it is too late for Counselor Troi to have words with my traumatized a.s.sailant."

Wesley strangled a laugh. "Shrev, I believe Commander Data is concerned with your feelings."

Her wiry antennae squirmed in obvious confusion. "Indeed? I thank you for your concern, Commander, but I am not troubled, even though the man I fought was unforgivably rude."

"He didn't give his name when he attacked her," Wesley told Data. Then he thought of something that had been nagging him. "That woman in the robe."

"What about her, Wesley?" Data asked.

Wesley fought to put what he knew into words. "I'm not sure what this means, sir, but the robe looked ... bright, like there was a light s.h.i.+ning on it."

"Perhaps a trick of the sunlight-" Data stopped. "No, the lighting conditions make that improbable. I will note this as another oddity. Wesley, you mentioned obtaining paper money, with the purpose of a.n.a.lyzing its information content. I would like to see this money."

"Yes, sir." Wesley was still in his civilian clothes, with the pouch belted to his waist. He opened it and gave Data the money.

The android flicked through the wad of paper in a matter of seconds. "Fascinating," Data said. "When viewed in the ultraviolet portion of the spectrum, it would appear that numerous printing processes were employed here, using many types of ink and paper. All but one type is of low quality."

That touched a memory from a book Wesley had read. "Counterfeiting?" he asked.

"That is the logical conclusion, Cadet," Data said. He returned the money to Wesley. "a.s.suming that the money with the best-quality paper and ink is genuine, then one-third of this money is counterfeit."

"That is a large proportion," Shrev said.

"That is correct, Ensign," Data said. He looked thoughtful. "This suggests an unusually high level of criminal activity on Megara. In addition, this amount of counterfeiting would seriously destabilize the Megaran economy."

"And things are already bad down there," Wesley said. "Most people are paid just enough to live. I've never seen anything like it," he added helplessly. "It's like somebody is trying to destroy these people."

"Neither the Ferengi nor the Carda.s.sians are known for their charitable natures," Data said. "Yet if they are exploiting Megara, this behavior does appear counterproductive."

"Perhaps it is a side effect of whatever they plan," Shrev said. "Yet I also find it hard to imagine that this destruction serves a purpose."

Dr. Crusher approached the group. "Shrev, you've had enough excitement for now."

"I feel in excellent health, thanks to your ministrations," Shrev said.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Dr. Crusher said. She ran a scanner up and down Shrev's left side. Her cardial tubes were muscular, multichambered cylinders that ran from above her hip to the base of her skull, and the knife wound had caused extensive damage to the pseudoheart's muscle tissue. "There's still a lot of swelling, but if you stay quiet I may let you leave in the morning."

"As you wish," Shrev said. Her eyes remained open, but the pointers on her biobed monitor drifted downward, and her antennae curled back against her head.

Dr. Crusher looked at the readings. "Good. Dormancy will help her heal."

"Is she all right?" Wesley asked.

His mother nodded. "She'll be fine. And you can stop whispering now; she can't hear you."

"Okay-" Wesley stopped, cleared his throat and raised his voice to a normal level. "Okay, Mom."

"I may wish to question Ensign Shrev tomorrow," Data said to Wesley, as they stepped away from Shrev's side. "I am still puzzled by certain facets of your experience, especially this brown-robed woman. Several other people saw such a person immediately before the trouble began."

"They sound like clergy," Dr. Crusher suggested.

"That is not the only possible deduction," Data said. "There are indications that hooded robes are a traditional form of Megaran dress, at least among the lower social cla.s.ses. The garb may be affected by xenophobic agitators as a political statement."

"That makes sense," Wesley said, while wis.h.i.+ng that Data's maker had given the android a clearer speech style. "But why are you puzzled?"

"None of our people observed the robed individuals at any time before the attacks," Data said. "Lieutenant Somek, whose Vulcan memory is quite reliable, saw nothing. It is as though the agitators appeared out of thin air."

Wesley shrugged. "Maybe they didn't put on the robes until just before they started making their speeches."

"That is possible," Data admitted. "If you will excuse me, I will report to Commander Riker now. Thank you for your cooperation, Cadet." Data left the sickbay.

At a gesture, Wesley followed his mother into her office. "It sounds like you and Shrev are getting along famously."