The Escape (18 page)

"That's supposed to make me happy?" "I'm very sorry," Rawlik said.

"You know," she said, her voice seeming far, far away, "we only wanted to go home." He eased her back to the sofa. She tried to move, but she couldn't. She wanted to tell him that he would regret this for the rest of his life.

She wanted to leap off the sofa and break out of this hell. Her eyes closed against her will, and she fought, moving the fight inward, where it had always been.

She had fought her dual nature and survived.

She would fight this. She did fight this-Until she couldn't anymore.

PARIS WOULD NEVER THINK OF SAND AS BENIGN AGAIN. THE wind was even harsher than before, the chill so deep that his thermal gloves couldn't keep it out. The sand lacerated his jacket and would bite into his uniform soon. Someone once told him that they made glass out of sand. Now he believed it.. He and Tuvok were moving equipment. Carey had joined them and then gone to check on the crews that followed them back down to the surface. Tuvok was convinced that the ghost was sophisticated enough that a tricorder alone wouldn't pick up the ghost's body heat. Tuvok's argument was that if the ghost had initially given off body heat, it would have registered right away. So he brought an elaborate sensor designed, Tuvok said, for special space work.

It would do here, or so Tuvok claimed. 195 Paris was tired of claims. He just wanted action. He wanted to find that ghost before it died, before he lost his opportunity ever to see Kim again. Tuvok motioned to Paris and together they moved the dishlike sensor. It wasn't actually a sensor in and of itself. The job of sensor would be filled by Tuvok's tricorder. The dish gathered the heat signals and amplified them to the tricorder. The problem was that the dish, which was a meter and a half across, needed a certain amount of steadiness to get any readings at all. Paris wondered how anything was going to stay steady in this wind, especially a dish.

Tuvok finished linking his tricorder and the dish.

Paris did not like the look in Tuvok's eye.

"Hold it as steady as you can," Tuvok said. He was actually using their comm link so that they wouldn't have to shout over the howling wind. "We will try the area around where we found the control first." Paris sat down on the ground and half wrapped his body around the round metal dish. He stretched out his legs to serve as an anchor and let his back work as a wind foil. Then he nodded to indicate his readiness. "You know," he said, "I'm sure if you had asked, Engineering would have given you a sturdy tripod. It wouldn't complain about the wind or the sand or even the wretched cold." "This will only take a moment, Lieutenant." "A tripod wouldn't care how long it took. A tripod-was "Would sheer in this kind of gale force." Tuvok studied the readout for a moment. "Move it slightly to the left." Paris scooted his butt and legs slightly and again braced himself The pavement was made of ice, and the sand had gone down the waistband of his pants. The feeling the little rock crystals left was not pleasant. "A tripod," he said, "would-was "A tripod would have the sense to remain quiet," Tuvok said. His words were flat and unemotional, but Paris sensed a well of emotion behind them. Perhaps he was just imagining that emotion. Perhaps Tuvok's statement was entirely logical given the circumstances.

Perhaps not.

Perhaps Paris had finally gotten through those thick Vulcan defenses. Paris took a deep breath and fought to make himself relax a little against the wind, not fight it so much. This was going to be a very long job if they had to scan the entire area like this. Paris stretched out his aching back for a moment, then adjusted the dish scanner another degree and braced it again.

Tuvok studied the readings for a moment, then looked up at where the dish was pointed, then studied the readings again. "I did not ask you to move the dish," Tuvok said. "But I am glad you did.

Our ghost exists." He continued to stare at the tricorder as he ran toward the edge of the crashed ship. It took a moment for Paris to put the dish facedown so the wind wouldn't kick it around beffire he could climb to his feet and follow. Thirty meters away Tbvok slowed and then started '197 easing forward. At about the same moment that Paris caught him, Tuvok's foot obviously struck something and Tuvok leaned down, his hands moving over an invisible object.

Paris moved in closer and knelt down on the hard pavement across from Tuvok. Now that he was looking, he could see the sand building up small drifts around something on the ground. There was no distortion at all. Their ghost had one of the best cloaking devices he had ever seen. He extended his hand and found cloth. His hand hovered over what appeared to be emptiness, but on close examination, he realized that the blowing sand avoided a space about the size of a human body. He moved his hand until he found what felt like a hu arm.

"He is still alive," Tuvok shouted against the wind. Relief flooded him, but he blocked it as best he could. Just because the ghost lived didn't mean that they could find Kim and the others. He tapped his comm badge. "Voyager. Three to beam up directly to sickbay." "Sir, my instruments only show two," Hoffman's voice said barely loud enough to be heard over the wind.

Paris pulled off his badge and stuck it on the ghost. The badge floated in midair. "My comm badge is now on the other body. Now engage." The transporter cut off the wind as if it had shut off bad music that someone had been playing far too loud. As they materialized on the floor of sickbay, ISO Paris suddenly discovered parts of his body the wind had numbed and the sand had abused.

The sickbay was empty except for Ensign Berggren asleep on one of the bunks. His hands were bandaged, his mouth was open, and he was snoring slightly. Apparently their arrival hadn't disturbed him. "Initiate emergency medical program," Tuvok saiand Doc Zimmerman appeared instantly. "What seems to be the problem?" His voice was flat and almost annoyed.

"We have a seriously injured person here," Paris said. "Really?" Doc Zimmerman said, looking around.

Tuvok ignored Doc Zimmerman and tapped his comm badge. "Captain, we have our ghost on board in sickbay." "On my way." Janeway's curt response filled the room. "Ghost?" Doc Zimmerman said.

"I am only programmed to work on corporeal beings." "Can we lift him up on a table?" Paris said.

Tuvok nodded.

Paris slid his hands underneath the ghost and got a hold as Tuvok did the same on the other.side.

"There is no one between you," Doc Zimmerman said. 1bvok glanced at Paris. "Ready?" Paris was as ready as he was ever going to get, lifting a ghost. "Ready." "Now," Tuvok said.

Together they both lifted the solid weight of the body and moved over until they could place it on a table.

"I will review the treatments for mass hallucination," Doc Zimmerman said. Paris grunted as he lifted. This ghost was heavy. He and Tuvok staggered under the weight.

"My psychological programming is limited.

However, if you don't mind stepping over to one of the tables, I will see if your delusion has a physical basis." As Paris eased his hands out from under the invisible body, he could feel a wide and very solid belt around the waist. "The controls might be in this belt." 7hvok felt the air over the ghost's middle carefully, then pulled his hands back as Janeway came through the door.

She moved directly up to the table between Tuvok and Paris and looked at its empty surface.

"Amazing," she said.

"Not another one," Doc Zimmerman said. He rolled his eyes. "That it is, Captain," Tuvok said. "The shield even blocked most of the heat from the body. A very sophisticated cloaking." "Or phasing," Janeway said.

Doc Zimmerman suddenly came forward.

Apparently the talk of cloaking and phasing made him revise his assessment. "Are you telling me," he said, "that my patient is actually invisible?" "Yes," Paris snapped. "Get to it, will you?

We have no idea what condition this person is in." "Move aside," Doc Zimmerman said.

"Allow me. I'm the doctor here." Tuvok didn't move. "The lieutenant believes that the controls might be, on the ghost's belt. I agree. 200 However, it may be dangerous to tamper with it. We do not know what we are doing." "Clearly," Doc Zimmerman snapped. "You are absolutely filthy. You drag an invisible patient in here and then shed dirt on it. For all I know, you could be compounding this patient's problems. Now move out of my way." "Give them a moment, Doctor," Janeway said.

"If this patient is seriously injured," Doc Zimmerman said, "we may not have a moment." "Why don't we just take the belt oVery" Paris said. Janeway thought for a moment. "That seems to be an acceptable risk at this time." Paris started feeling along the lumpy, solid belt from his side until he reached what felt like a buckle. He ran his hands over it for a moment, realizing as he did that it was just a simple utility-belt-type latch. Nothing special. It was made to be released quickly, obviously in case of emergency.

"I hope you are not touching any open wounds," Doc Zimmerman said. "The risk of infection is always greater in an uncontrolled environment." "Ready?" Paris asked, looking up at Janeway.

"Go ahead, Mr. Paris." He pulled up on the hard plastic clasp and a snap echoed faintly through the sickbay. Ensign Berggren snorted in his sleep, coughed, and rolled over. Instantaneously a body appeared on the table and Paris could see the end of the belt he'd been holding.

The body belonged to a man as large as a Klingon warrior. He had orange hair and well-defined muscles. His chin was large, as Kjanders's was, and his fore201 head small. His face was cut with the same sand and wind bums as Paris's. The man had a juryrigged sling on one shoulder and he wore a black body suit. His eyes were set wide on his face and his nose was pointed. He wore eight-fingered black gloves. The wide black plastic belt looked more like a control panel with pockets than it did anything else. Faint orange lights blinked on the belt, and at first glance Paris could tell it did far more than just shield the guy.

"He is a professional at the task he was doing," Tuvok said after a moment of studying the ghost.

"It seems that way," Janeway said. She stood back and indicated that Doc Zimmerman should come forward. "What's wrong with him?" "Besides his intense desire to not be seen," Doc Zimmerman said, "I don't have a clue, But give me a little room and I might be able to tell you." I Both Paris and Tuvok stepped back and Doc Zimmerman scanned the alien. "He has a badly sprained shoulder, a concussion, three broken ribs, and a crushed shoulder blade. The suit that he's wearing apparently stopped him from bleeding to death. He will live." "How long until we can talk to him?" Janeway asked. "One hour." Doc Zimmerman pointed to that belt. "And please take that off of him.

It seems far too dangerous to be in this room." Paris lifted the man's midsection while Tuvok slid the belt out and draped it over his arm.

"Now go away," Doc Zimmerman said. "I will call 202 you as soon as he wakes up." Then he looked at Tuvok and Paris. "And you two will not be allowed back in here in that condition." "Are you ordering me to take a shower?" Paris asked. He had never been so thrilled to hear an order in his life.

"I have never in my career or in the careers of all the other doctors whose lives I have incorporated seen anyone coms very filthy," Doc Zimmerman said. "He's ordering us to take a shower," Paris said to Tuvok. "Can you believe it?" "Make that captain's orders, also," Janeway said, and smiled. "Thank you, Captain," Tuvok said.

Paris glanced at him, then did a double take.

The Vulcan actually looked relieved.

I I I

('III

DRICKEL SLOWLY OPENED HIS EYES, TRYING TO FOCUS ON the light overhead.

His, head throbbed and the light in his eyes added little needles into that pain, "Awake? Good." The voice was male and crisp. The word "good" almost sounded like a command.

A blurry face appeared over Drickel and he fought to focus on it without success. The face moved away and Drickel tried to follow it, but the pain made him moan and close his eyes.

"Captain," the voice said. "Your formerly invisibler man is now awake. His pain should be clearing enough in the next few minutes for you to talk to him." "Thank you, Doctor. I'm on my way." Drickel noticed that the man Captain had called Doctor was right about the pain. It was fading.

He moved his head back and forth. The throbbing was subsiding into a dull ache, a little less pain than just a few moments before.

"If you remain still for two more minutes, I think you'll find life much more pleasant." "All right." Drickel croaked the words. His mouth was dry and full of grit. He closed his eyes and lay still as the voice had commanded him. He seemed to be on the PlanetHoppers' ship. That idea somewhat frightened him. He couldn't imagine being that far above the planet's surface, let alone being out in space. From everything he'd heard about space it was a very dangerous place. The PlanetHoppers were insane beings even to travel there.

At least they had a medical facility. The failure of the antigravity devices and the injury from the old wreck almost failing on him must have jarred loose his belt, or broken his invisibility shield so that they found him. It was obviously lucky for him that they had. Even if his injuries hadn't been serious, he wouldn't have been able to survive in that cold and wind. Severe-weather gear only protected for so long. Something hissed-and the hiss sounded manufactured. It was followed by three sets of footsteps. He opened his eyes. The light still shone in them, but it didn't hurt this time. The pain had receded. He could even focus on the ceiling.

"How is he?" the woman's voice asked.

"He will live," the doctor said.

Drickel pushed himself up on one elbow. He was still wearing his body suit but his belt was gone. His suit was also cleaner than it had been since he reached this time.

The medical facility had an antiseptic look. It was done in dull blues and grays, apparently for PlanetHopper comfort.

Displays and monitors on the walls flashed at him. A man slept in another bunk, his snores a faint but present sound.

Drickel looked up at the four PlanetHoppers. Pointed Ears and his pale companion were staring down at him. Up close their features looked delicate. Pointed Ears had an intent look and his pale companion a slight grin. They had not a speck of dirt on them and gave off the faint scent of soap.