DAVID TOOK A second look at the dark figures scurrying all around and knew that Pfeffer was right. They were Klingons—the worst killers in the galaxy.
It didn't seem real. Those were their homes down there, the places where they lived. How could there be strangers there with ugly bumps on their heads and eyes full of hate?
He swallowed. Their parents—his mother—they were all interrible danger.
"They need us," Garcia said in a surprisingly husky voice. "We've got to help them."
As he started down the hill toward the colony, Medford grabbed his arm. "No way," she said. "Are you nuts? You think you can stop the Klingons all by yourself?"
Garcia struggled, but Medford wouldn't let go. He began to drag her after him down the hill. Before David knew it, he had a hold on the boy's other arm. Together, he and Medford kept Garcia from running off.
"Let me loose!" the dark-skinned boy wailed. "Let me go!"
But after a while, his white-hot burst of courage seemed to fizzle out, to turn cold. And finally, they were able to let go of him.
After that, no one moved. No one knew what to do.
For what seemed like a long time, they stood there, watching the dark figures swarm over the domes. Every so often, there was a flash, but there were no more yells for help. Wan began to cry, silently at first, and then a little louder.
Her sobbing, soft as it was, roused something in David. It got his brain working again. It brought him back to reality.
"They're going to come for us next," he said out loud. "Pretty soon, they're going to check the colony roster on the computer and realize we're missing. And then they'll come after us."
Pfeffer looked at him. "But we're just kids."
David shook his head. "No. We're humans. I don't know what they're doing here, but you can be sure they don't want witnesses, even if we are just kids."
Medford darted a glance at him: "Does that mean they're going to …" She couldn't quite finish the thought.
But David finished it in his head: kill our parents. "I don't know," he replied. "Maybe they're just going to lock them up, so they can't see anything."
Medford nodded. Wan, too. That's what they all wanted to believe. But David knew there were no guarantees, even if he wasn't saying so.
He regarded the others. "I say we go back into the hills. We'll be safe there, at least for a while."
They looked at one another, but in the end all eyes fell on Riordan, just as they always did. Expressionless, he shook his head. "No. It's stupid to run. It'll only get them mad at us."
David was shocked. "What are you saying?" he asked. "That we should give ourselves up?
It came out more like a challenge than he had intended. The older boy's eyes grew wide suddenly.
And in that moment, David saw the fear in them—not the simple fear for family and self that resided in the rest of them, but something that ran much deeper. A wild and unreasoning fear—of what? Of losing control of the other kids? Of being thought of as a chicken?
Whatever the reason for it, David saw it. And Riordan knew that he saw it and hated him for it.
"All I know is," the older boy said, "if we run and they catch us, it'll make it ten times worse. Who do you want to have to face—a Klingon or an angry Klingon?"
With staring clarity, David understood what Riordan was doing. He was scared to take to the hills, no matter how much sense it made. As calm as he appeared, he wasn't thinking rationally. And he was trying to make the rest of them scared in the same way he was, so he wouldn't look like a coward.
But David wasn't about to let that happen. He wasn't going to let Riordan get them all killed so he could salvage his self-respect.
They had to survive. They had to live long enough to help their parents—not Garcia's way, not by rushing in, but finding an opening and taking advantage of it.
And if the opportunity never came, at least there would be survivors to tell Starfleet what happened. At least there would be someone to point a finger at the Klingons and say: "It was them. They did it."
"They don't have to catch us," he replied. "We know those hills better than they do. We can hide in a million different places."
"That's true," Garcia chimed in. "We can hide where they'll never find us."
"Remember those caves?" asked Wan in her delicate Voice. "The ones we found the first time we went out there?"
"She's right," Medford affirmed. "We could stay in the caves."
Riordan licked his lips. He looked like a cornered animal. And cornered animals were dangerous.
"You're out of your minds," the older boy said. "These are Klingons. They have sensors and stuff like that."
That was true. David hadn't considered the point.
"It doesn't matter," he responded. "Sooner or later, Starfleet's going to find out what happened and come help us. All we have to do is hold out until then."
Riordan shook his head again. "You're talking like a little kid." His voice had gotten louder, more confident. "Dr. Boudreau hardly ever talks to Starfleet. It could be weeks before they figure out something's wrong and send a ship."
"Maybe months, even," Pfeffer piped up.
"No," David countered, remembering the Vulcan. "Mr. Spock is here. They have to come back and get him, right?'
The older boy's eyes narrowed. He'd forgotten about Spock, obviously. "Still," he said, "it's going to be a while before they come back for him. And by then, we could all be tortured to death."
"Tortured? To death?" Wan echoed.
Even Medford seemed to flinch.
David bit his lip. It was just like back at the fissure. Riordan was too good at making the others think what he wanted them to think. He could make courage seem like stupidity and common sense seem like cowardice.
The older boy couldn't be beaten at that game. At least, not by any of the other kids.
And, the longer they argued, the greater the chance that one of the Klingons would spot them. Then they'd be caught for sure.
David looked at Pfeffer and Medford and Wan and Garcia. He saw that they were still on the fence—that they still might fall on either side of it. But only if he made them decide now. Only if Riordan didn't have a chance to sway them any further.
He took a deep breath. "Look," he told them, "I'm not going to just stand here and wait for them to find us. I'm going. Who's with me?"
Nobody moved, not even Medford, who had appeared to be on his side only a few moments ago. She seemed like she wanted to follow him, but she just wasn't a hundred percent sure David's way was the right way, and this was too big a decision to make lightly. There was too much riding on it.
"Well?" he prodded.
No one responded.
Riordan sneered at him. "Nobody's going with you, Marcus. Can't you see that? They're staying here with me."
David didn't want to go up into the hills alone. He didn't want to leave his friends at the mercy of the Klingons. But he couldn't force them to do what they didn't want to do. Sighing, he turned his back on the other children and started up from the playground.
He'd failed. Maybe the others hadn't been as undecided as he thought. Maybe Riordan had won the game before it ever began.
He wasn't going to think about that now. He was going to concentrate on getting away from here and finding the best place to hide himself. Before he'd gone half a dozen steps, however, he heard a thin, high-pitched wail from down among the colony buildings. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw yet another flash. The scream ended.
David shivered. That could have been his mother. Part of him wanted to rush down the hill as Garcia had, but he held himself in check. Suddenly, Medford started after him. He could see she had tears in her eyes, but she was coming along. And then, even more unexpectedly, Wan followed. And Garcia as well.
That left Riordan and Pfeffer standing in the playground, in the shadow of the monkey bars. The older boy glared at David and his companions.
"You're crazy," he barked. "You're just going to make it worse for everybody."
But his words seemed strangely flat and lifeless. Riordan had lost his hold on them, David realized. He wasn't sure how, but Riordan's control over them had been broken.
Pfeffer looked at the older boy as if he was seeing him for the first time. Riordan looked back.
"Don't tell me you're going to go, too," he snickered.
Pfeffer swallowed. He couldn't answer. But a moment later, he left Riordan to join the others.
The older boy laughed. "Lamebrains. Skeezits. You're making a big mistake."
Still a little amazed at the way things had turned out, David turned his back on Riordan and resumed his trek up the hillside. The others fell in behind him. He could hear the shuffle of their feet on the sandy incline.
Maybe the older boy would come running after them, too, he mused. Maybe his fear of the Klingons would override his fear of being thought a coward and he would come marching up the hill with some clever remark calculated to distract them from his defeat.
But Riordan didn't join them. He just shouted at their backs, his voice cracking like a whip in the chill air.
"You'll see," he called after them. "You'll see I was right."
Riordan was still standing in the playground, glowering at them, when they topped the rise and lost sight of him.
Carol saw it first out of the corner of her eye: a flash of blue-white light outside her garden enclosure. But when she turned toward the source of the flash, there was nothing there.
She was about to chalk it up to her imagination when she saw a whole series of flashes, one right after the other. And then, as she sat back on her haunches and tried to figure out what they might be, a scream for help pierced the stillness.
Her blood froze.
Dropping the Vegan fern she held in her hands, she scrambled for the entrance and would have gone tearing out of the place altogether, were it not for the sight that stopped her like a duranium wall:
Klingons.
A lot of them, too—maybe as many as twenty—swaggering about in their heavy, dark body armor. And they were herding her colleagues out of Boudreau's laboratory dome, waving their weapons around as if they were only too eager to use them.
Carol knew now what the flashes had been. Disruptor fire. Had they actually killed anyone? Her stomach clenched painfully at the thought.
As she watched from the enclosure, one of the invaders shoved Irma Garcia, apparently to expedite her exit from the lab dome. But he pushed too hard, and the woman fell to the ground.
The Klingon growled something Carol couldn't make out and brought his booted foot back as if to kick Garcia. But Boudreau came between them, his hands up in a gesture of peace. Unfortunately, peace wasn't what the Klingons had in mind. A second marauder dealt Boudreau a blow to the face that bloodied the scientist's mouth.
Carol almost gave into her reflexes and came to her friend's aid. But she stopped herself.
Or rather, he stopped her. Because as the Klingons picked up their victims and got them moving again, Boudreau happened to turn toward the enclosure and catch sight of her. Their eyes met, and his were full of fear. But he had the presence of mind to look away again—and quickly.
That's when she realized that she hadn't been spotted yet and that if she played her cards right, she could be the colonists' ace in the hole. She pulled her head back inside the enclosure.
But she couldn't stay here, Carol told herself. It was only a matter of time before the Klingons got around to searching the enclosure. And when they did, she would share whatever—
Suddenly, she remembered: David. Where was he?
In the hills, she thought, not without a pang of relief. Along with the other children. Safer—at least for the moment.
Of course, they wouldn't remain that way for long. All the invaders would have to do is access the computer's personnel files, and they'd know, that the children were missing. They were all on the colony roster—not the one that had gone up to the Enterprise, with her' son's name purposely left off it, but the master list, the one that was on the central computer, in the lab building the Klingons had just evacuated.
Strangely, it was only then that her heart began to race. Because she knew that the children had a chance to stay out of this—and that if she did nothing else, she had to purge their identities from the files.
Maybe then, she could think about sending a call for help, though the communications center was way on the other side of the installation. And though the Enterprise, the nearest Federation ship, would take days to respond.
But first, the lab. She had to get to the lab.
Even as she was screwing up her resolve, she saw more flashes, followed by a terrible, plaintive wailing, a sound like mourning. It was cut off abruptly, before it could run its natural course.
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Bastards, she thought. Bloody bastards.
After that, however, there were neither flashes nor cries. She counted the seconds, not only to measure the time but to calm herself. If she was going to do anyone any good, she had to have her wits about her.
Carol had counted to two hundred before she dared to poke her head out of the enclosure again. There was no one around—neither Klingons nor colonists. Now was the time. Praying no one spotted her, staying low, she made her way across the flat, open space between the garden and the lab-dome entrance.
It couldn't have taken more than a few heartbeats, but it seemed like forever. Then she was at the door, waiting for it to admit her. Come on, she urged it silently. Let me in, damn it!
An eternity later, the door slid aside, revealing the interior of the lab. Carol only got a vague impression of the carnage the Klingons had caused before she slipped inside and pressed her back against the interior wall.
Letting out a breath, she took a moment to gather herself again, then headed for the nearest work station. En route, she couldn't help but notice that many of the monitors had been smashed. Stupid and unnecessary, she mused, as she reached her destination. The marauders had jeopardized all the colony's hard work by giving vent to their destructive natures.
Fortunately, some of the work stations had escaped unscathed. With any luck at all, the central processing unit had remained undamaged as well.
Then she noticed something else. Or more accurately, the lack of something.
The G-7 unit was gone. The latticework of energy-transfer tubes that dominated the center of the lab had a gap in it a meter long. Carol swore beneath her breath. No doubt the Klingons were dismantling it at this very moment, to see what was so special about it. And in the process, undoing all that Dr. Boudreau had accomplished.
After all, there was only one G-7 unit in the entire galaxy. If it were accidentally destroyed, it would take years to build another.
Bastards. Turning her attention to the terminal in front of her, she went through the routine of activating it. Her fingers danced over the keyboard; it was second nature by now. A moment later, the screen lit up. The central processor was fine—at least for the time being. Now all she had to do was call up the colony personnel directory. And hope that she could complete the task before a Klingon decided to walk in on her. Moving with feverish speed, she entered the required command.
As soon as the directory appeared on the screen, she began deleting the names of the children in alphabetical order. First Roberto Garcia, then David Marcus, Keena Medford, Will Pfeffer, Timmy Riordan, and finally, Li Wan.
She'd done it. David and the others were safe—at least as safe as she could make them. Wiping her brow of the perspiration that had accumulated there, Carol stored the directory and signed off. The terminal hummed slightly as it powered down.
Briefly, for just a fleeting moment, it occurred to her to try to join the children in the hills. She'd gone unnoticed so far; maybe she could slip past the invaders and make good her escape.
She grunted softly. That would be the coward's way, Carol. And as scared as you are, you're no coward. She had an obligation to the other colonists, the children included, to stay with her original plan and send for help.
But as she moved toward the exit, the door to the lab dome slid open unexpectedly. Stopping dead in her tracks, heart smashing against her ribs, she saw the grinning Klingon who filled the aperture with his bulk. She clenched her teeth as he aimed his disruptor at her.
For a long moment, Carol stared at the Klingon, certain that her next breath would be her last. The muzzle of his disruptor loomed in front of her, made gargantuan by her imagination.
But her luck held. He didn't press the trigger. He just gestured for her to come outside.
Thank God, she thought. Suddenly, sharing the fate of her colleagues didn't seem so terrible—compared to the alternative.
What's more, the Klingon didn't seem to have guessed that she'd been up to anything. He hadn't even glanced in the direction of any of the work stations.
Buoyed by the knowledge that she'd bought the children some time, Carol moved out of the lab dome. A fraction of a second later, her captor followed.