Debtors' Planet Part 18

"It does seem paradoxical," Picard said. Data heard a rising note of interest in his voice. "But perhaps they do not need a formal alliance. If a hostile force arose on Megara, the Federation would be required to respond to it, whether or not it had a treaty with the Carda.s.sians. We would have to reinforce our border and station wars.h.i.+ps here."

"Which would tie up some of our forces," Offenhouse said slowly. "We wouldn't be able to use them against the Carda.s.sians when they attack. That would give the Carda.s.sians an advantage, kinda like taking a rook off a chessboard before a game starts."

Odovil's face had clouded. "My people as weapons they use?"

"That's how it looks," Offenhouse told her. He rubbed at his eyes, and Data noticed the fatigue on his face and in the slump of his shoulders. "It's the same sort of c.r.a.p the superpowers used to pull back in the Cold War. We'd give a small country a gazillion dollars' worth of weapons and turn 'em loose. Cuba, Libya, Iran, contras, mujahideen, Palestinians-it was a great way to wage war. You could attack somebody, or threaten their interests, and not put your own country at risk."

"And the Carda.s.sians have expanded upon this concept," Picard said, leaning back in his chair. "They've gambled a great deal on this operation-but it seems they've lost this wager."

"Also my world has lost," Odovil said bitterly. She stood up and walked over to the ready room's window. She looked down on the cloudy expanse of her homeworld. Radiation-induced aurorae flickered over the crescent of night at the horizon as though a cold fire were slowly consuming the world. "Into monsters we are made, for the good of others to fight and die."

"I know," Offenhouse said. He brushed at a smear of dried mud on his jacket. "We've stopped the Carda.s.sians before they could pull it off, but the mess they left down there stinks worse than me and Picard put together. Straightening it out-" Offenhouse fought down a yawn. "Odovil, right now we could all use a meal, a bath and sleep. Picard, could you get Counselor Troi to fix up a cabin for the lady?"

The meeting ended then, and Data left the conference room for the bridge. Although both the captain and the amba.s.sador had accepted his hypothesis as correct, Data felt dissatisfied with his work. Somehow his theory did not seem complete, as if he had overlooked a factor.

Of course. Megara was close to the Federation border, and the Carda.s.sians must have known that discovery of this project was always a possibility. They would have planned for that eventuality, and while Data could not yet deduce their plans, he knew they could only work to the detriment of the Federation.

Geordi was halfway buried in the access hole as he worked on the s.h.i.+eld generator. "Okay, Al, give me the readings on the polyphase coupler," he said.

Alexander looked at the readout on the unit he held. "Five-point-four ... four-point-six ... four-point-one ..." The numbers dropped steadily as Geordi adjusted the s.h.i.+eld generator. "Zero-point-zero," Alexander said at last. "It's in phase now."

"Great." Geordi squirmed out of the access hole and sat on the crawlway decking. "La Forge to bridge. The forward s.h.i.+eld is back at one hundred percent now."

"Is everything fixed now?" Alexander asked, as Geordi closed the hole's cover plate.

Geordi nodded. "Thanks for lending a hand, Al. You helped me get everything done faster."

"I like doing this," Alexander said. He knew that Geordi hadn't really needed his help; the engineer had wanted to keep him busy so he wouldn't worry about his father. On the other hand, Geordi had let him do some real work on the s.h.i.+p's systems, as if he were a trainee instead of a nuisance. That was something he liked about the engineer. Most adults seemed annoyed by kids, as if they were a life-form that hadn't quite evolved intelligence, but Geordi always took him seriously.

Alexander watched him put his tools back into his repair kit. "Geordi? Why does my father do all these crazy Klingon things?"

Geordi seemed unsurprised by the question. "You mean, like beaming back into a fight? A lot of humans would do that, too, for their friends."

Alexander shook his head. "Humans would stop to think of a better way to help their friends. Father just charged in there."

"Well ..." Geordi sat down and rested his back against the bulkhead. "I think he's trying to prove that he's really a Klingon."

"Why would he have to do that?" Alexander asked. "He is a Klingon."

"I mean he's trying to prove it to himself," Geordi said. "He was raised by humans, and sometimes he must feel confused about what he is."

"Oh." Alexander could understand that. Most of the time he wasn't sure whether he was human or Klingon, and his emotions often grappled like a pair of Triskelion gladiators. Even now, when he knew he had to talk about his problems, he still felt like he should go off by himself and brood. At least the need to talk was winning out now. "I guess that's why he wants me to act like a Klingon. He can't stand to see a Klingon act human."

Geordi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't think that's it, Al," he said. "I know he feels mixed up sometimes because of how he was raised. Maybe he thinks that if he raises you like a Klingon, you'll have an easier time than he did."

Alexander thought that over. "It won't work," he said. "I'm part human."

"I know," Geordi said. "I guess he can give you a hard time over it."

"No," Alexander said quickly. "Well, not on purpose. He's just got this way of acting when I do anything too human ... like he's trying real hard not to let it upset him. He doesn't even know he does it. Counselor Troi's talked with us about it, but ..." He shrugged, unsure of just what to say.

"But she can't help as much as you'd like," Geordi said. "I guess it isn't easy for Klingons to take emotional advice."

"What do you mean?" Alexander bristled. "We can take it when we have to."

"I know," Geordi said. "Maybe the trick is to get your dad to take it without knowing he's taking it."

Alexander felt blank. "Huh?"

"Strategy," Geordi said. "When one approach doesn't work, try something else. You've been acting human around him. Maybe you should try acting Klingonese. Really Klingonese."

"You mean, overdo it?" Alexander asked.

Geordi nodded. "It won't seem right, so maybe that'll show him it's okay for you to act part-human."

Alexander thought it over. It might take a while for that to work ... but it could be fun. He'd have to check the computer library and see how a Klingon kid was supposed to act-and that might give him some ideas. "Thanks, Geordi," he said as they stood up. "You know, for a human, you really know a lot about strategy."

Geordi chuckled as he picked up his toolbox. "Thank your dad for that. He's a good influence."

"I'll say this one more time," Beverly Crusher told the people gathered in transporter room three. Wesley was among them, adjusting the medical kit belted to his waist. "None of you are doctors, so don't try anything fancy. When you find an injured person, just stabilize them and call for help. Okay, De Shay, they're all yours."

The relief team beamed down in groups of six. I'll have my work cut out for me in an hour, Beverly thought as she hefted her field kit. As the radiation from the battle cleared, the s.h.i.+p's sensors had located over a hundred injured people in the area around the destroyed castle. She knew that many of them would need surgery to survive. The explosion would have insulted their bodies with radiation, heat and blast effects-burns, fractures, shock, marrow damage, retinal scarring and Hiros.h.i.+ma eyes, weakened immune systems-plus surprises, of course; battles always seemed to create novel kinds of hurts- One problem at a time, Bev, the doctor thought as she stepped onto the transporter stage. That was the key to handling a disaster: concentrate on the problem in front of you, and don't think about the scale of the problem. Relief workers who tried to think about the big picture usually became emotionally overwhelmed.

She beamed down onto a forest trail. Worf stood two meters from her, and a number of Megarans sat on the ground. Beverly scanned Worf at once with her tricorder, although his most serious injury was obvious to the naked eye. Several of his scalp ridges had been crushed, and drying violet blood clotted the flesh. Other than that he was fine; the armorlike Klingon skull had done an admirable job of protecting his brain from damage. "I'll have you fixed up in no time," the doctor promised.

"The others are more severely injured," Worf said as she worked on his head. "My injury is minor."

"Sure, it's just a head wound," Beverly said in annoyance. She started to mend his injury with a protoplaser. "Hold still, Lieutenant. If you want to enjoy pain, do it while you're off-duty." She looked around as he growled at the joke. "What happened to the others?" she asked.

"They were flash-blinded," he said.

"That should be a temporary condition," Beverly said. She had a sudden, shuddering thought that half the planet might have been blinded-no, haze and dust in the atmosphere would have filtered out much of the light from the explosion, even under cloudless skies. Even so, many people would have had the bad luck to have been looking straight at the Carda.s.sian s.h.i.+p when it blew up, barely a million kilometers from Megara. She might have to treat thousands of blinded people- One thing at a time, she reminded herself. "It looks like some of these people have other injuries," she said.

"I met them with enthusiasm," Worf rumbled. "You must tend to the one-armed man first. He is a valuable ally."

"Whatever you say." She finished with Worf's scalp and gave him a final scan with her tricorder. "You're fine now, Lieutenant. Just stay off your head for a few days."

Beverly moved on to treat the nearest person on the trail, the man with one arm and one eye. "You must be Kardel Anit," she said as she scanned him. The tricorder found some inflammation in his retina and elevated pressure in the vitreous humor, along with several dietary deficiencies. "My son Wesley mentioned meeting you yesterday."

"Him I remember," Anit said. "He much gold spent."

The man sounded tense. Xenophobia, Beverly guessed, plus the shock of going blind. "Your sight should return to normal in a moment," she said as she gave him an injection. "Replacing your arm and other eye will have to wait awhile." She gave him a second injection to make up for his lack of a.s.sorted minerals and vitamins.

" 'Replacing'?" Anit repeated. "Understand this I do not."

"We can probably restore what you've lost," she said. "But it's going to be a few days before I can start on that."

Anit looked impatient, as though he felt she had misunderstood him. "Why this you would do?"

"Why not?" she replied, and then recalled some of the horror stories Wesley had told her about Megara last night. The man must have thought there would be strings attached to the offer. "Worf can explain it better than I can," she said.

Worf, however, was not ready to offer explanations. As Beverly approached her next patient, she noticed that the Klingon had dropped into a crouch, his phaser in his hand as he peered into the woods around the trail. The doctor was about to say something when a pair of phaser beams lanced out of the woods. They struck two of the blinded men sitting on the trail; their bodies exploded as the high-intensity beams tore into them.

"Down!" Beverly shouted. "Everyone down!" She heard Worf crash off into the woods as she flattened herself against the dirt trail. She heard frightened cries from the men around her; if there was anything worse than being in a battle, she thought grimly, it was to be blind and helpless during an attack. "Enterprise," she called, "send down a security detail!"

Beverly drew her phaser, checked its stun setting and looked around. The blasts had touched off several small fires in the foliage, but over the crackle of flames she heard other noises. Lying flat on the ground, she could see almost nothing. She didn't mind. She wasn't about to draw attention-and a shot, perhaps-by standing up for a look.

She heard the whine of phaser shots, and then a Megaran stumbled onto the trail from among the trees. When Beverly saw him she hesitated until she saw the phaser in his hand. She stunned him and felt grim satisfaction as he dropped. That'll teach you to kill my patients, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, she thought.

A second Megaran charged out of the woods, stopped on the trail and looked at the stunned man. He killed the man before Beverly could stun him, and then Worf's phaser beam caught him and sent him sprawling.

Worf stepped onto the trail as a security team materialized. Beverly joined them around the fallen man. Worf was already busy stripping the man of weapons and other equipment. "He's a Carda.s.sian," she said as she scanned him. "He isn't hurt."

"Regrettable," Worf said, and gestured to one of his ensigns. "Take him back to the s.h.i.+p and place him in a security cell. The rest of you will form a defensive perimeter."

Beverly watched as the ensign and prisoner dematerialized. "He killed his own man," she said in surprise.

"And another as well," Worf said. "Carda.s.sians do not allow themselves to be captured."

"You sound like you approve," she said.

Worf scowled. "It is an-honorable inconvenience. I have questions which demand answers."

"At least you have one prisoner," Beverly said. She looked at the people waiting on the trail. "And I still have patients."

"Yes." Worf's scowl turned thoughtful. "Treat the woman next, Doctor-"

"I'll set the medical priorities here, Lieutenant," Beverly said sharply.

"You will treat her first," Worf rumbled. "She is the Vo Gatyn."

"You think-" Beverly began.

"I do not think the Carda.s.sians found us by accident," Worf said. He looked at the woman, who sat on a fallen tree trunk, despair heavy on her face. "I believe they wished to a.s.sa.s.sinate her."

"And you want to get her to safety before they can take another shot at her," Beverly said. Put that way, the Klingon's request made sense.

Worf nodded. "If they seek to kill her, it must mean she could be useful to us."

"Of course," Beverly said with a sigh. And I thought he was getting soft. She went to take care of Gatyn.

Chapter Fifteen.

MEGARA WAS a fat crescent outside Ten-Forward's viewpoint. Radiation from the battle still flooded its magnetosphere, and the ionized particles painted the night sky below the stars.h.i.+p with eerie aurorae. Although Deanna Troi's people had no legends about ghosts and goblins-strange lights and b.u.mps in the night could not trick their empathic sense-the eldritch light somehow made the Betazoid woman think of lost souls.

Guinan brought a chocolate sundae to Deanna's table and sat down facing her. "You look melancholy," the hostess said.

"I feel melancholy," Deanna said. She stared idly at the sundae. "We have a Megaran woman on board. I've just spent some time with her, and ..."

"... and she has a lot of problems," Guinan concluded.

"Problems which are beyond me," Deanna said.

"I doubt there's such a thing," Guinan said. "You have a knack for finding answers, Counselor."

"Odovil Pardi suffered a bad mental hurt some ten years ago," Deanna said. "Have you ever seen a tree that was bent as a sapling? It grows into a distorted shape. Odovil's hurt has shaped her personality in much the same way."

"I can guess what Data would say if he heard that," Guinan said. " 'Your a.n.a.logy is erroneous, Counselor. People are not trees.' "

Deanna smiled wanly at the hostess's imitation of Data's speech pattern. "I know, Guinan. The trouble is that helping her could, will, take years, and I'm not even sure where to begin."

Guinan looked up as someone entered the lounge. Deanna had her back to the door, but she sensed Ralph Offenhouse's presence as he approached her table. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked as he slid into a chair. He had bathed and put on clean clothes, although Deanna sensed he was still tired and hungry. She decided that he had something important on his mind if he would postpone his meal and sleep. "I wanted to ask you about Odovil."

"Did you have a particular question, or is this idle curiosity?" she asked.

"I want your professional opinion," he said. "I know something's wrong with her; she's as tense as a politician on a polygraph, and I can't figure out why."

"And that's important to you?" Guinan asked him.

"Yeah, because I need to know how it could affect her judgment," Offenhouse said. He looked needled by the sly amus.e.m.e.nt in her voice. "I'm the amba.s.sador to Megara. She runs a major industry down there, and she has a lot of connections, so I'm going to have to work with her. Any idea what's eating her?"

"It has to do with her education," Deanna said. "The Ferengi needed a high literacy rate to create a technological society, but most Megarans were illiterate when they took over. Under normal circ.u.mstances it can take years to educate an adult. When hundreds of millions of people are involved, the job can require a million teachers."

"The Ferengi never brought that many people to Megara," Offenhouse said thoughtfully. "Did Odovil tell you how they did it?"

Deanna nodded. "Her condition gave me a few clues, and I asked the right questions. They used neural imprinting. Do you know much about that?"

"Never heard of it," Offenhouse said. "I musta slept through a cla.s.s, or a century. What is it?"

"It's illegal now," Deanna told him. "Neural imprinting was an experimental educational technique developed some fifty years ago. In theory, it can impart the equivalent of a college education in a matter of hours. In practice, it damages two percent of the people who undergo it. The damage can range from a few minor personality quirks to schizophrenia or catatonia."

Deanna sensed a protective anger roil inside Offenhouse. "And Odovil-"

"-was subjected to neural imprinting," Deanna said. "It gave her a thorough education, but it also left her agoraphobic and introverted. Part of her wants to crawl into a hole and hide. She works hard because that's easier for her than dealing with people. She can also be quite ruthless, because she's afraid of the consequences of failure."

To Deanna's surprise, that left Offenhouse speechless.

"I suppose the Ferengi would punish her for failure," Guinan suggested.

Deanna shook her head. "She's terrified that they might decide to improve her skills by giving her a second 'lesson.' That's one reason why she wanted to deal with the Federation-she saw a chance to escape from Ferengi control, and she was desperate enough to take it."

The amba.s.sador's mouth opened and closed several times before any words came out. "Can you do anything for her?"