Author's Note: Happy belated holidays to all!
I apologise for the delay. It's been a bit heavy to write and I've had to dip out and work on some later instalments for my mental health. Recently, I've been working on two new companion pieces – one rather touching story for Lal & another for 'Duckling.'
She's a character that hasn't been introduced yet – but she is her father's kindred spirit and is fondly dubbed 'Duckling' or 'Duckie' both for her sweet disposition and her mop of shockingly blonde curls.
With that said, it means my goal of finishing this story by the start of the year has come and past. Unfortunately, it will take us a bit longer to reach the conclusion & start our sequel.
But fear not! I promise you it *is* worth every word.
These last few chapters have pushed Data further than expected. They've left Tasha questioning the progress she's made.
This Arsenal of Freedom arc was about more than just breaking up the Conspiracy storyline. I really wanted to do a bit of character exploration for Data, give Geordi that leadership bit, hit some Riker/Tasha friendship moments, and start building for the Beverly/Jean-Luc subplot (I adore their banter).
As always, you are simply the best readers! I love talking about the fandom and hearing your thoughts. Thank you for your kind words of support.
"Did you see the way it looked at this?" Riker asked.
He turned over the arm of Tasha's discarded EV suit in his hands. Riker had been fascinated by the drone's behaviour.
"Hmm," Tasha murmured in agreement.
She was sitting back against the dirt wall in their hovel, her attention fixated on ripping apart reeds for makeshift rope.
She had said little since their return.
"It was like it registered a humanoid form and it knew it was no longer a threat," Riker went on. "It must think we're dead."
Tasha remained silent.
"That's good!" Riker said brightly as he looked up at Tasha. "This gives us an advantage."
Once more, Tasha said nothing.
"It's brilliant technology," Riker said.
He wasn't sure exactly how it worked – and clearly it wasn't a perfect science. If their theory was right, the device had not been able to distinguish between a humanoid shape and an actual person.
"Maybe we can use this to-"
"To what?" Tasha asked, finally looking up.
Her tone wasn't one of anger. Rather, she sounded exhausted.
Will wasn't sure how to respond.
"How long before that thing figures out it's the same suit? Or that it's moved? For all we know that thing might have let us go because it's waiting for us to lead it back to more people or the Enterprise," Tasha said.
She flopped back against the dirt wall behind her and closed her eyes.
"Sorry, I don't know what I'm saying," she confessed.
"It's okay," Riker assured her.
"We've got about six hours until the sun goes down. We should try to get as much of this stripped as we can so I can make a rope walk tonight," Tasha said. "We'll do it under the cover of darkness."
She was all business.
It was easier than confronting her grief.
"You know when I was kid we had this hunting cabin? My father always felt there was value in earning your keep, working the land," Will shared. "And when I was thirteen, he left me there overnight to look after our haul."
Will paused as he recalled the memory – one that had haunted him even into his adulthood.
"There was this bear that had been sniffing around the place. It had been a late winter and food was pretty scarce that year," Will recalled. "My father was supposed to come back in the morning after making the first haul."
Will shook his head, his fists clenched as he stared at their small campfire.
"But his snowmachine broke down and he refused to borrow one from the neighbour," Will went on. "So I spent three days at our hunting camp with this great big grizzly bear stalking my every move."
Riker couldn't recall ever feeling more terrified.
"I didn't think I would ever get out of there. I tried to stay awake for as long as I could. Every noise, every sound was enough to keep me on edge," Riker continued. "At one point I was so frightened I couldn't move."
He laughed bitterly.
"Well, you know. You saw some of that," Riker said, referring to their experience with Q and his cruel 'game' a year earlier.
Q had captured the crew, sent them to a strange planet, and forced them to experience some of their worst personal memories all in an attempt to try and entice them with the power of the Q.
And Riker had been the one to readily accept it.
He considered it a personal failure but also a moment of growth. Q had preyed upon his greatest weakness and Riker had to admit the offer was tempting.
"I only bring it up because I feel that way again," Riker shared. "I feel like that now. The same sense of fear, the feeling that if I breathe wrong that thing might swoop in here."
He sighed.
"But I survived that incident with the bear. And I think we're going to make it out of this one too," Riker said.
I have to believe that. Riker thought.
"Look, T. I get the feeling you've been here before too," Riker said. "And you survived."
At what cost? Tasha thought.
Riker reached across their hovel and snagged a fistful of reeds. He started to copy Tasha, stripping them down to thin strips they would weave into rope.
They worked in silence for a few minutes. And there was nothing more unnerving for Will Riker than silence.
"What about you, huh?" Riker prompted.
"Keep working on those," Tasha instructed. "That's perfect."
She set the rest of their reeds down next to Riker and then picked up a thick piece of bark she'd stripped from one of the trees.
Using her knife, Tasha marked four spots on the bark and then began to carve wee holes in those places.
"For the rope making," Tasha explained, sensing she was under observation.
"You know a lot about this stuff," Riker said.
It was a weak attempt to draw out conversation.
Tasha simply shrugged and resumed her work.
Will had heard stories about Turkana. He knew it hadn't been an easy place to grow up. But there was so little known about the planet. Academia had certainly never studied it.
And it had been decades since the last Federation attempt to contact the governments there resulted in the deaths of nearly the entire crew of the USS Terra Nova. They were captured, held hostage, and later executed in a spectacular failure of diplomacy at the hands of Captain Scott Falcon who had vasty underestimated the resolve and ruthlessness of the rival Turkanan factions.
Will also knew enough to understand Tasha's personal experience on Turkana had been far from ideal. She rarely spoke of her childhood. He was treading on a sensitive subject but longed to find a connection to pull Tasha out of her grief.
He was hoping to bolster her confidence.
"What about you?" he repeated. "I'm sure you've faced all sorts of situations like this. I feel like we could send you into the woods with a knife and you'd have a whole treehouse ready by nightfall."
Tasha didn't laugh.
"Sorry, I just meant, well, you're good at this stuff," Riker said.
"I suppose," Tasha replied.
"When I look back on the bear now, I.. well, I feel a lot better about myself," Riker said. "A lot more confident in our chances to make it out of here."
"Good," Tasha responded.
Riker was having trouble getting her past one- and two-word answers.
"I've read a little about the jaguars on Turkana. And the caiman," Riker said. "Is it true that there's an island full of venomous snakes?"
"Mar' làite Wolaeth," Tasha said.
"Mar la-" Riker said, trying to sound out the word.
"It's the only place where Corranai Adder is found," Tasha said. "You know Data's always said that-"
Tasha stopped herself.
Data had been fascinated by the stories of the island and the Corranai Adder – both from the perspective of an exobiologist keen to study the rare snake and for the historical and mythological aspects of the island.
"Did you ever see it?" Riker asked.
Tasha shook her head.
"No," Tasha lied.
It was easier than sharing the truth of the matter. And it was a memory Tasha had no desire to share with Will Riker - let alone recall.
In fact, the more she reflected on the matter, the more Tasha felt uneasy. Mar' làite Wolaeth was part of a prominent Turkanan legend – one that could best be compared to the ancient Earth stories of Prometheus and the unintended consequences of seeking forbidden knowledge.
They worked in silence for a while until all their reeds were sliced and ready.
"What now?" Riker asked.
"You should get some sleep. I'll take first watch and then we can trade off. We should both rest before tonight," Tasha advised.
They would likely have to work straight through the night, and they were both already running on little energy as it was.
"That thing is still out there," Riker said.
"Yeah, and we stand a lot better chance working undetected in the dark," Tasha replied. "I'll wake you if anything happens."
Riker shook his head in protest.
"Tasha, I can't sleep at a time like this," Riker explained.
"Fine. You take first watch. Wake me up in a bit and we'll trade off," Tasha said.
She folded her arms and kipped down on the dirt as if they were on a regular away mission.
"Tasha, how can you sleep right now?" Riker asked in disbelief.
"We don't know how long we're going to be here. And we can't stay awake forever," Tasha answered. "In any case, we get too tired and we're going to get paranoid and start making mistakes."
Will had to admit she had a point.
"And we cannot afford to make mistakes now," Tasha added.
Riker grinned.
"I knew it," he said.
"Knew what?" Tasha asked.
Riker chuckled and rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.
"I knew it," he repeated.
Tasha opened one eye and frowned, concerned that Will Riker had finally cracked.
"Are you okay?" Tasha asked.
"I knew that you've been in this position before. Well, not exactly this – but you know what it's like," Riker began to ramble off. "Survival. On your own. Something out there trying to kill you."
Tasha looked unimpressed.
"No offence, but I'm from planet 'everything here wants to kill you'," Tasha said dryly. "Goodnight."
She folded her arms back across her chest and closed her eyes.
"What was it? A man-eating jaguar? A giant shark?" Riker asked.
He was excited – like a child on their birthday.
"I can just see it, Tasha Yar facing off against a pack of wild hyenas," Riker said.
Tasha grimaced.
She really did not want to talk about her experience on Turkana with Will Riker. But she could tell from the way he went on – each guess more wild than the last – that Will was not going to shut up until he got an answer.
"Turgon," Tasha said.
Riker froze. He was thrilled.
She spoke!
For Riker, this was a foot in the door.
"I'm not familiar with that kind of monster," Will confessed.
Monster. Arms dealer. Warlord. Mercenary. Slave trader.
Tasha surmised that in the grand scheme of things, 'monster' was a rather apt description.
"What is it? A ferocious big cat? A river monster? Oooo, ooo, a scorpion?" Will asked.
When she didn't answer, Riker decided to try a new tactic.
"You know, Deanna always says that talking about our fears can help overcome the anxiety they cause," Riker said.
Tasha did not respond.
"T, I can tell you're on edge. Maybe if you talk about it then-"
Tasha sat bolt upright and glared.
"Talk about it," she said in a terse voice.
Her lips were pursed as she glanced down at the fire.
She had experienced her own fair share of people making offers to talk about her experience. And Tasha knew exactly how that conversation would go – including that Will Riker would never look at her the same way again.
When she had initially been rescued by the USS Renegade, Tasha had been given no choice. There had been perhaps no greater humiliation than when one of the medical techs vomited upon learning the origin of Tasha's injuries.
Her first assigned counsellor had blanched, horrified at Tasha's experience.
Tasha had learned then and there that it was best to just let people think what they wanted. It was easier to simply go along with their assumptions, to stick with yes and no answers rather than deal with the embarrassment that came from sharing her experience.
"I get what you're trying to do here. Really, I do," Tasha assured him.
She desperately wanted to step outside, to walk away – to put some space between herself and Riker. Their hovel was small to begin with. Now, it was suffocating.
Will's body tensed. He had stepped into an emotional minefield.
Hell, I ran full speed into it. Riker thought.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Riker apologised. "With everything you've experienced, I shouldn't have.. well, I didn't mean to-"
Riker stopped himself and sighed. He felt just awful for romanticising the horrors of her youth.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made it out to be some exciting adventure," Riker admitted. "I don't know what it's like."
Tasha's face softened as she eyed Will with a strange look – almost pity.
"I hope you never do," Tasha said.
Tasha turned and rolled away from him, signalling an end to the conversation.
She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry.
Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Tasha repeated over and over in her mind.
It was strange to feel both so suffocated and simultaneously lonely. Will Riker was less than a metre away, crammed into the makeshift pit that was their refuge.
Yet Tasha couldn't help feeling isolated.
Data was one of the only people that Tasha had ever felt truly comfortable with. He never asked intrusive questions. He understood that Tasha would share information with him if she wanted to and when she was ready.
He didn't flinch at her scars or offer unnecessary platitudes.
With Data, Tasha felt satisfyingly bare.
Tasha wasn't ready to face the possibility of losing him.
Not yet.
"Dammit," Jean-Luc barked.
He had managed to get the computer terminal up and functioning.
Unfortunately, it provided no answers as to the nature of the underground facility or the fate of the people of Minos.
"Well, that's a bit anticlimactic," Beverly remarked.
Jean-Luc frowned.
The terminal itself appeared to only be a point-of-sale module for the Minos arms trade. After all his work to reroute the power from the emergency lighting, Jean-Luc had found nothing.
The screen simply sat there, blinking at him as it had the gall to ask for an account number as the same message repeated across a banner on the top and bottom of the screen.
Acceptable legal tender included universally accepted forms of payment such as dilithium crystals and gold-pressed latinum. They also accepted currencies like the Breen sakto, the Cardassian lek, Klingon darseks, Romulan talons, and the Orion dejebbit.
No credit vouchers accepted.
For a man that considered himself to be enlightened beyond the need for money, Jean-Luc was not just annoyed – he was appalled.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
His entire plan for getting them out of the cavern relied upon this computer terminal. There were less savoury options (like exploring on his own) but Jean-Luc had a list of reasons why such a plan was impractical.
For starters, he couldn't leave Beverly alone. She might lose consciousness. There was no telling how far this underground structure extended or how stable it was. The immense pressure from the weight above meant that the slightest tremor or blast from another drone ran the risk of another cave-in.
Beverly lifted her good arm, her hand tentatively hovering just above Jean-Luc's shoulder. She was about to offer words of comfort when a voice interrupted.
"It seems you are having trouble with the terminal, how may I assist?"
It was the same salesman as before.
Jean-Luc and Beverly glanced at one another.
Picard turned around and was startled to find the man standing nearby.
"Doaege Rihan?" the salesman asked. "Th'Ingnan Hol? Oosna ippop kel reishgon?"
Jean-Luc glanced back at Beverly.
"Language options for the discerning customer," he grumbled.
"Please select a payment method," the salesman instructed.
"Who are you?" Jean-Luc asked.
"Welcome to Minos, the Arsenal of Freedom," the salesman replied.
For a moment, Picard said nothing as he studied the image.
"The real question remains if this is a signal being transmitted from somewhere, perhaps a cloaked ship or even one of the nearby planets," Picard mused. "Or are you just a hologram?"
"Should you require additional assistance, please enter your account information," the salesman said.
"Can you communicate with your creator? Are you a holographic interface?" Picard asked.
"Welcome to Minos, the Arsenal of Freedom," the salesman repeated. "Please enter your account information.
"I'd like to speak with a sales representative," Picard said, attempting to contact whoever had designed this system.
"Of course. Please enter your account information to speak with a representative," the hologram answered.
Jean-Luc blinked – too angry to speak.
"We don't have an account," Beverly said, stepping in as she sensed Jean-Luc was at his boiling point.
The hologram looked delighted. He rubbed his hands together, smiling at the two prospective sales.
"New customers!" he said, thrilled. "Welcome! Welcome! It's easier than ever to set up an account with us here on Minos. Did I mention we now take the dejebbit?"
He smiled.
"Simply input your payment method of choice and we can get you started. You're on your way to complete security, safety, and peace of mind through superior firepower," the hologram said.
Both Jean-Luc and Beverly fell silent.
As Starfleet officers they weren't accustomed to travelling with money. It was so rare to need it for anything. While they both had Federation Credits, those weren't accepted here.
"Simply input your payment method of choice and we can get you set up with a new account," the hologram prompted.
Jean-Luc rested his hands on his hips. He was at a loss. They needed a new plan – and all the options available were particularly grim.
"Please input your preferred payment method to continue," the hologram said.
"Can we, erm, skip ahead? Come back to that?" Beverly asked.
The hologram smiled.
"I see, second-guessing your choice? I can assure you that the Echo Papa Six Oh Seven weapons system is the last weapons system you will ever need to buy," the hologram said.
The hologram directed their attention to the wall where a viewscreen blinked to life.
"Our latest demonstration shows just what this device is capable of and why you need your own," he announced.
Jean-Luc and Beverly recognised the jungle. It was like watching footage of a drone race overhead as it closed in on a target.
Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed as he studied two figures running along under the treeline.
"Data!" Beverly gasped.
"Is this live?" Picard demanded.
"As you can see, the Echo Pap Six Oh Seven is capable of locating and eliminating any threat," the hologram said.
"Is this live?" Picard repeated in an irate voice.
They watched as Data and Tasha raced along in an effort to escape – staying just ahead of the drone that was in hot pursuit.
There was no audio on the file. It was video only.
But Jean-Luc and Beverly watched in horror as Data launched himself at the drone. They appeared to struggle for a moment. And it was impossible to tell from the video, but Jean-Luc had a sinking feeling they were falling.
The screen went dark for a second before the transmission resumed.
Beverly's mouth went dry as they watched the drone scan a pile of bodies – including fallen Breen and Cardassian soldiers.
"As you can see from the demonstration, the system will continue to pursue the target until it has confirmed the threat is eliminated," the hologram explained.
Jean-Luc's heart sank as he saw the drone scan Data's lifeless body.
"So you can rest assured that the Echo Papa Six Oh Seven will keep you safe," the hologram said, beaming with pride.
"Data," Picard breathed.
His mind reeled. If this thing could outsmart and destroy Data, then there was no telling what it might do to a ship like the Enterprise.
"I fear we may now have a clearer picture as to the fate of the Drake," Picard said.
"And Minos," Beverly added.
"Once unleashed, the unit is invincible. The perfect killing system," the hologram announced.
"Too perfect. You poor fools, your own creation destroyed you," Picard said in disbelief.
"Simply input your payment method-"
"Mute," Picard ordered.
The hologram kept speaking, albeit the sound was muted. It looked almost like an ancient animatronic once used to entertain children.
"If it could do that to Data… then Riker? Tasha?" Beverly pondered aloud.
"We must find a way to warn the Enterprise," Picard said. "Warn the others off. Stop La Forge from beaming anyone else down to the surface."
Their priority had shifted from survival until rescue to one of warning.
"We cannot allow anyone else to become trapped here," Picard said.
Jean-Luc immediately set to work. He dropped down next to the computer console and tried to pry off the panel to access the control unit.
"There has to be something here we can use," Picard said, grunting as he tried to pry off the heavy panel.
He stumbled into the wall and caught his breath.
"You're exhausted," Beverly said.
"Your keen observational skills are unmatched, Doctor," Picard grumbled.
Beverly couldn't get down next to him – she was having a hard enough time balancing against the wall to stay on her own feet. But she could see the signs of fatigue.
"You're exhausted. Dehydrated. It's been hours since you've had anything to drink," Beverly said.
"Left it my other suit," Picard quipped.
Picard pulled himself up to his feet.
"We don't have much time," Picard said.
He could already feel himself growing weak. If he was being honest with himself, he had been for hours. Jean-Luc was well past the point of thirst and fatigue to think straight, and he was clinging to duty simply to keep moving.
"We're not going to get anything done if you collapse," Beverly pointed out.
Jean-Luc closed his eyes. He took a slow breath in order to maintain his composure.
"Beverly, I have always appreciated your dedication to the care of others," Picard began.
This time his comment was sincere. All trace of his previous sarcasm was gone.
"But we are trapped. There is no food. I don't spy a drinking fountain or dispenser anywhere," Picard said as he gestured around the room. "And I don't think our hologram has takeaway among his offerings."
He paused and turned back to Beverly. There was a pained look on his face. And just for a moment, he looked older than Beverly could remember.
"We're running out of time to save the Enterprise," Picard said.
Beverly glanced around the room. She understood the urgency. But she also recognised that they were going to be dire straits if they didn't get some liquid into their bodies soon.
"Do you see those roots? The yellow colour?" Beverly said, indicating to the far wall.
There was overgrowth that had worked its way down into the cavern. It was almost as if the planet of Minos was reclaiming itself from the population that had once lived there.
"Pick some," Beverly instructed.
Jean-Luc glanced over at the almost alien-like mustard-coloured roots and then turned back to Beverly, his face full of distrust.
"Jean-Luc," Beverly urged.
Picard raised his eyebrows and then pulled some of the roots off the wall. They were tougher than they looked, and Picard was careful not to pull too hard for fear of bringing down more debris from above.
On Beverly's orders, Jean-Luc did his best to brush off the dirt. Using her good hand, Beverly stabbed the knobby root with her thumbnail in order to peel away the skin.
She sniffed the root for a moment and then relaxed.
"They're radchan," Beverly explained, offering one to Captain Picard.
Jean-Luc took the root and tentatively bit into the crunchy flesh. He involuntarily shuddered after a few seconds.
They were, in fact, quite 'juicy' and it was evident this root contained a high-water content. The initial taste was not unlike a radish. It had a crunchy texture and zesty flavour. But there was a wicked, bitter aftertaste that hung in his mouth and was most unpleasant.
Picard was grateful though for any sense of hydration – even if it had to come from a source that tasted foul.
"They're better cooked," Beverly commented.
She was desperate for conversation, anything to distract from the hologram. Though muted, it was still talking away in an attempt to make a sale.
"Sorry, it's just weird with that hologram. Creepy," Beverly said.
"It's alright," Jean-Luc assured her. "Talk to me. Tell me something, how did you know about these roots?"
"My grandmother," Beverly said as she bit into her own fistful of radchan.
"You grandmother was a botanist?" Picard inquired.
Beverly shook her head.
"No, just an avid gardener and an experimental chef," she grinned. "She helped to colonise Arveda III."
Picard stopped and raised his head to meet Beverly's eyes.
"Arveda III?" he asked in disbelief. "Did she survive?"
Beverly nodded.
"Mmm hmm," she answered. "When their supplies ran out, she had to use whatever she could find on hand. She learned all about native plants and can make all sorts of teas, soups, and poultices from roots and herbs."
The tragedy of Arveda III and the lessons learned from that disaster were still a subject taught at Starfleet Academy. It was a sharp warning that things could still go horribly wrong – even in an era of modern technology.
Arveda III was a Federation Colony. The first ship of colonists had arrived in 2301. The ship had barely survived entry into the atmosphere. Nearly half of the colonists had been lost along with most of the supplies.
The first resupply ship was not due for another eighteen months.
In the end, it would never arrive.
The ship filled with much needed supplies and fresh crew was captured by Acamarian Raiders. A second vessel was dispatched to resupply the ailing survivors – only for it to hit a quantum filament and be destroyed en route.
It would take three years for the Federation to finally reach Arveda III.
By that time, less than a third of the colony was left.
"My father was born on Arveda III," Beverly shared.
"Your family was part of that colony. I didn't know that," Picard replied.
Beverly smiled to herself.
"Yeah," she said, fondly recalling a memory. "My grandmother's not a physician, but she learned a lot from her time there. I think it's why I became interested in medicine."
"This was your grandmother Howard? The one that raised you?" Picard asked.
Beverly nodded.
"Yes. The same one that makes the shortbread you're so fond of," Beverly added with a smile.
"Jack always said you took after her," Picard said.
Beverly visibly bristled.
Jean-Luc had a nasty habit of dropping Jack's name into conversation whenever things were getting too familiar between them.
"I'm sorry," Picard apologised, assuming her reaction had been due to his mention of her late husband.
"I loved Jack," Beverly assured him. "And he will always be a part of my life… our son's life."
She paused.
"But he's gone," Beverly said. "And sometimes I think, well, I think you struggle to move past that."
Jean-Luc stopped eating. For a tense few seconds, they stared at one another, neither knowing what to say.
After a moment, they both turned back to their meal in silence.
Now shieled by the cover of the jungle trees, Data was making good time as he rushed to find a way back to Commander Riker and Tasha.
It was steep terrain and Data still had to contend with both the thick foliage and limited visibility due to the thick mist that clung to the ground. And there were still occasional flybys from the drone overhead.
In the distance, Data could hear the other drones marching about as they scanned the area.
But Data had his internal spatial recognition programme to rely on.
And a sense of determination to make good on his promise.
Evermore.
If there was any chance – any possibility – that Tasha was still out there, then Data was resolved to find her.
However, he still had no way of defeating such a strong opponent. Worst of all, there were now numerous drones.
No sooner had Data defeated and outsmarted one, for more to arrive. He had managed to evade the one by playing dead. But Data wasn't confident that such a strategy had any long-term prospects. It wouldn't take long for the drone to figure out it was ruse.
Data's phaser was gone. He had nothing to fight the drone with or even distract it.
He was in dire need of a plan.
Overhead, he heard the hum of an approaching drone. Data fell back against a nearby tree, pressing his body tight against it as he used the foliage for cover.
Now stopped for the moment, Data had a chance to look around and really study his surroundings. While it may have been possible for Data to tear a polymer or duranium coated drone to shreds with his bare hands, he certainly didn't have the capability to rip apart tritanium like that.
Not even a hand phaser could do much against a tritanium drone.
After all, these drones had likely killed the entire Minosian civilisation. It was a dark thought as Data's line of sight fell on one of the abandoned defensive cannons. It sat still, its masters having long since abandoned it.
Not the jungle was slowly reclaiming this piece of technology, burying it under thick vines.
The photon torpedoes and phasers on the Enterprise could damage tritanium – but they certainly couldn't melt it like the structure they had seen earlier.
Data's neural net surged.
His initial study of the cannon they had previously encountered indicated it was of a similar design as the more high-powered drones.
It was likely these cannons were top of the line Minosian technology and had been one of the final lines of defence against the drones.
Though not enough to take out an army of drones nor to defeat whatever weapons system was at work – it might buy Data a few shots to take a drone or two.
He might even be able to improve it. Data had, after all, found a handful of useful tools including a sonic driver.
It was a simple but extremely versatile tool and Data certainly knew how to make the best of it. It was all he needed to create a weapon of significant devastation.
As soon as the drone had passed and the sky was clear, Data rushed out and studied the cannon. It appeared to be in good condition. There was only minimal damage – likely caused by low-level phaser blasts from an earlier drone.
The body and circuitry appeared intact, and it was likely offline due to the Minosians being wiped out.
Data cleared away the overgrown vines. He also took great care in relocating a nest of Minosian orange-breasted Starlings to a nearby tree.
"I am sorry, but I require the use of your home," Data said as he moved the nest.
They chirped their protest and attempted to peck at Data's hands as he carried the nest over to a nearby tree. He resettled it with care. He kept his voice low, trying to reassure the pair of young parents that he meant them no harm.
One the birds hopped along the branch, chirping a sharp warning at Data as he backed away.
"You will be safe here," Data said softly.
The bird's mate joined in, singing her own angry telling off at this mysterious large creature that had upended their home.
Data felt terrible.
He had nothing to offer them to show his intentions or win their affections.
Resigned that he would have to leave these birds in a flurry of frustration, Data set to work on the cannon.
Using his sonic driver, Data popped open the control panel and determined that the circuitry was still intact.
Now we are flying at warp! He thought, employing one of Geordi's signature phrases.
Back at their camp, Commander Riker stirred and rolled over.
In spite of his best efforts to sleep, rest remained elusive. Two hours earlier, Riker had gently nudged Tasha and they had traded off.
It blew him away that she could sleep knowing the danger that was out there.
But Riker underestimated just how deeply years of living in danger had impacted Tasha's psyche. Data had once quipped she could sleep through a Red Alert if necessary and Will had started to see how that was possible.
It wasn't that Tasha has a disregard for the gravity of their situation. Rather, she understood that rest was necessary in order to maintain her physical and mental condition.
She had first learned to find sleep in the jungles of Turkana. It was a skill that would prove effective during her stints in the Border Wars where ships like the Dunkirk had spent days – weeks even – on alert, jumping from battle to battle, or as part of the Federation blockade efforts.
Shifts would simply trade off for a few hours and life went on – including sleeping, eating, and recreation all while sitting nose to nose with Galor class warships.
It was the closest equivalent to modern day trench warfare, both sides sitting across a designated span of space known as no man's land and occasionally engaging in skirmishes.
Riker was exhausted. But he simply couldn't find sleep.
He rolled onto his back and groaned. Sleeping on the dirt certainly didn't help matters much.
"Sorry, I just can't sleep at a time like this," Riker apologised as his eyes fluttered open.
He expected to receive a sharp rebuke and a remainder of why sleep was so vital. Instead, he was greeted with silence.
"T?" Riker asked as he sat up.
Looking around, he was completely alone.
After checking his boots to ensure there weren't any new, unwanted tenants, Riker pulled them on and crept out of their hovel.
He lifted the makeshift thatch cover and glanced around.
It was still daylight out meaning he hadn't been asleep long.
"T?" he called out in a soft whisper.
Riker listened for a moment, straining his ears as he tried to sort out the different sounds of the jungle from any possible friend or foe.
Just above the wildlife, there was a steady crunch – like footfalls on the foliage below.
Riker moved in silence, creeping out from under their hidey hole and off into the mist. He didn't have to go far before he found three separate threads of thin rope tied to thick chunks of branch. They were secured to the tree using primitive wooden pegs.
Will didn't have long to study them before Tasha came through the mist.
"You should be resting," she said.
"Can't sleep," Riker replied.
"Alright. This will go fast with both of us," Tasha said.
She handed Will one of the branches and showed him how to twist it, hand over hand, in order to tighten and strengthen each of the lines.
Once they were sufficiently twisted, Tasha had Will hold them in place while she walked along with her hand-carved tool in order to weave the three lines together.
When they were finished, they had created a length of rope that was nearly fifteen metres long. It was flimsy and would never hold serious weight, but it would be enough to serve as a guide in the dense jungle fog.
"Brilliant," Riker said as he rolled it up.
He'd always had an appreciation for things made by hand.
"I'm glad you think so, we've got hours to go," Tasha said, tossing him the next batch.
Data closed his eyes. Summoning his strength, he grunted as he took his next step.
The weight of the cannon was within his capacity to carry – but barely so. And the strain of such a large, heavy object was beginning to take a toll on his body.
And his mind.
Hiding from the drone as it passed overhead in a continual grid search pattern had been one thing. Concealing both himself and a large object was no small feat.
The cannon itself was five and half metres in length.
Data had precariously balanced it on his back. He had covered the cannon itself with a makeshift camouflage of palm fronds and underbrush.
Thus far it was working.
But each time Data had to drop down and stop, it was more and more difficult to get back up again. The cannon itself weighed over two tons. Data could already feel that the duranium skeletal structure of his knees was starting to wear.
It was an unsettling, yet curious, notion.
For Data realised this was perhaps the closest he would ever feel to the human sensation of aging. His body was not immune to wear and tear. And it was entirely possible for Data to repair such damage.
If I make it back to the Enterprise. Data thought.
As the sound of the drone faded off into the distance, Data pulled himself up once more to continue on his long journey up through the steep terrain.
His power core was working overtime to provide enough strength to continue. He could feel his system beginning to condense in an effort to keep him cool.
There was a sensation in the lower lumbar section of his duranium spine that could best be described as unpleasant.
Data was overtaxing himself. And worst of all, the mental fatigue of being on the run was starting to wear down his neural net.
Every sound left him on edge. He had been alone for close to twenty-four hours in his stifling atmosphere, hiding from the drone every seventeen minutes as it circled overhead.
But as he continued on his way, Data felt every step was worth it.
The journey gave him time to think. In spite of the physical strain and mental duress of his voyage, Data couldn't stop his mind from working.
He wondered if the Minosians had foreseen such a disaster coming.
When did they first notice the system would turn against them? How much time had occurred? Were there signs?
And what happened in those final moments?
As his mind wandered, Data found it treaded a bit too close to home.
Omicron Theta.
Like the drones, Lore had turned on his creators. Ever since the discovery of his brother, Data had desperately sought to find any evidence to understand his estranged brother's behaviour.
Lore claimed himself to be a sort of modern Prometheus, a Frankenstein's creature that only turned on his creator after Soong and the other humans had treated him with suspicion.
Rather Data found himself likening his brother to Lucifer. He suspected Lore's motivations were driven less by mistreatment and more by envy – in particular, envy of Data himself.
And Data had not yet reconciled himself to that notion.
Down in the cavern below, Captain Picard had started to regain some of his strength. The headache from hunger and dehydration had passed.
Though a bitter taste lingered on his tongue from the radchan, Beverly assured him that it would pass in time.
Yes, Jean-Luc was doing much better.
But Beverly was barely hanging on. Her wounds were severe and without treatment, they both knew it was only a matter of time before she succumbed to her injuries.
"How are you doing?" Picard asked.
"Fine," Beverly replied casually.
Jean-Luc shot her a look.
"It's not like it matters much," Beverly clarified. "Don't waste your energy on me. Focus on warning the Enterprise."
She could tell he wasn't convinced.
"You have a duty to the ship, Captain," Beverly reminded.
"And to her crew," Picard said as he knelt down next to her.
"My son is on that ship," Beverly said softly. "If you want to do something for me, find a way to communicate with the Enterprise – to stop them from beaming anyone else down here."
"I know you well enough to understand that once you've made up your mind, the discussion is over," Picard remarked.
"And you were always wise enough to know when to stop," Beverly replied with a wry smile.
Jean-Luc turned his attention back to the console and tried to determine if there was any possible way to access communications from the device.
It was a challenge to work with the hologram standing nearby, still speaking but on mute as it tried to land a sale.
Worst of all, the viewscreen was on a continuous loop, replaying the 'greatest hits' of the weapons system's conquests – including the destruction of the USS Drake.
They did their best to ignore the video playback, but there was something that caught Beverly's eye.
"Captain," Beverly said, directing his attention to the screen.
"Respectfully, Doctor, I do not wish to watch good crew members die," Picard said.
"Look," Beverly insisted.
With a small grumble of protest, Jean-Luc turned to study the screen.
He froze as he watched the drone footage scan over a discarded EV suit. The screen blinked red before displaying its chilling text.
Threat 71039-C: ELIMINATED.
A look of understanding passed between the two.
"Captain, that's not a body," Beverly observed.
"And it's not proof someone survived," Picard said. "Though, I would love to be proven wrong on that assertion."
Captain Picard turned back to the computer console and then paused. He blinked a few times as an idea crossed his mind.
"Of course," Picard muttered to himself.
"Hmm?" Beverly prompted.
"Doctor, I think you may be onto something," Picard said.
Jean-Luc was grinning with delight as he eyed the hologram. For a moment, Beverly was concerned he had finally cracked.
"Unmute," Picard ordered.
"And comes complete with the Minos guarantee that your enemies will never-"
"Stop," Picard said.
The hologram paused.
"I would like to send a message back to my people," Jean-Luc said. "Eh, about this system. I would like to inform them of this product. Can I do that through you? Send a subspace communication?"
The hologram appeared delighted at this news.
"Of course. We can send a subspace transmission to any starship, starbase, or stationary receiver of your choice," the hologram said.
"Excellent!" Picard said, rubbing his hands together.
"Please tell us where you would like to direct your message," the hologram stated.
"The Federation Starship USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D," Picard said.
The hologram nodded in acknowledgement.
"Please select from the following messages," the hologram said.
"No! No! I want to send a personalised message," Picard insisted.
"That request cannot be met at this time," the hologram responded.
All of a sudden, the hologram stopped. Its face lit up.
"Ah! We have a new demonstration en route. Our long-range sensors have picked up the approach of a new target. Witness the sheer power of the arsenal of freedom," the hologram said as it directed their attention back to the screen.
"The Enterprise," Beverly said.
"They're flying right into a trap," Picard breathed.
"Two minutes and closing," Lieutenant Hawk reported.
"Mr Worf," Geordi instructed.
"Red Alert!" Worf ordered in his role as Acting First Officer.
"Bring the phaser banks online. Ready the photon torpedoes," Geordi ordered.
"Aye, sir," Lieutenant Solis said from her place at the Tactical Station.
She tapped the console to access the drive section's weapons array, bringing the phasers online, activating the torpedo bays, and checking the reserves.
"Lieutenant Jae, be ready to lock on their signal the moment we drop out of warp," Geordi instructed.
Without turning around, she nodded to acknowledge the order.
Mr Barclay's plan for a complete system purge and reboot had been a success. It had taken significant time and had delayed their return to Minos.
However, it was a necessary step in order to save the away team.
"Thirty seconds," Hawk announced.
Geordi's hands were beginning to sweat as he gripped the armrests on the Command Chair. For a brief moment he wondered if Captain Picard felt the same way whenever they warped into danger.
Captain Picard was never one to show off and he certainly wasn't conceited – but he always made it look easy.
"Shields and deflectors up," Solis said.
"As soon as I give the order to lower the shields, we have one responsibility," Geordi said. "Lock onto their signal and beam them up. We may only have seconds."
Geordi felt like this was the time to say something great.
Only he was at a loss for words.
Drawing from Captain Picard, Geordi opted instead to simply remind his team of their own skill. After all, every single person on that Bridge was there because they were talented officers.
They may have been sitting in different chairs than their usual postings.
But they were the best of the best that the Enterprise had to offer – and that was saying something.
"Looks, this ride's going to get a little bumpy and things are going to happen fast," Geordi said. "Let's just focus on what we're doing. You know your jobs – you've been trained and tested – and you've earned the right to sit in those chairs."
Though the transition was smooth, the team could feel as the ship dropped out of warp.
It wasn't long before they picked up an object moving toward them.
"Unknown object coming in from the planet's surface," Lieutenant Solis announced.
"We can't let that thing infect the computer with another transport scrambler," Geordi said. "Destroy it."
Solis took aim and tapped the console. Two photon torpedoes shot out and impacted the drone, destroying it before it could reach the Enterprise.
"That first drone was merely designed to test the enemy's capabilities," the hologram explained. "Upon its destruction, the drone transmitted valuable data back to our central processing unit."
The viewscreen image shifted to the planet's surface again where a second projectile object shot out from a ground-based delivery system.
"And after completing analysis in only a matter of seconds, the Echo Papa Six Oh Seven is ready to deliver a second, appropriately armed drone to handle the threat," the hologram said.
"Shut it down!" Picard barked.
"Why? You cannot possibly see the full extent of the product's offering without a proper demonstration," the hologram said with a sickening smile.
"Maybe we can find the power source?" Beverly suggested. "It has to be down here somewhere."
"There's no time," Picard said.
The viewscreen was now tracking the secondary drone as he approached the Enterprise.
"Report?" Geordi ordered.
"Photon torpedo had minimal impact," Lieutenant Solis answered. "It's too fast to get another lock."
The unidentified hostile object was still coming at them and had the manoeuvrability to dodge another torpedo lock.
"Alright, Mr Hawk. Bring her about two three mark one eight five," Geordi said. "We can't let that thing touch us."
"Perhaps phasers to direct the object? Limit its range motion?" Worf suggested.
"Do it!" Geordi ordered.
Worf got up from his seat and joined Lieutenant Solis on the back of the Bridge.
"Argh. It's no use!" Worf grumbled. "The device is too fast."
The Bridge shook as the ship was hit with a powerful blast. Geordi gripped the armrest of his chair to stay upright while the other officers held on tight to their consoles.
A second later, there was another hit.
"Shield sections N14 through N33 buckling. Secondary grid nearing failure," Lieutenant Jae reported.
"Do you have a lock on the away team?" Geordi asked.
Everyone braced themselves as another blast rocked the Enterprise.
"Do you have them?" Geordi demanded.
"No, sir," Jae answered. "Something is interfering with our ability to lock onto their signals. I believe it's emanating from the planet."
"That last blast did a number on our shields," Worf warned. "Energy discharge. Backup systems are failing."
"I'm reading a massive overload," T'su said.
The comms system chimed with an incoming message from the Engineering team.
"Engineering to Bridge," Sonya's voice rang out. "We can't take another hit like that. We've blown two backups already. Another hit and we risk the core going critical."
Geordi's heart sank.
"Hawk, get us out of here," Geordi ordered.
The disappointment in his voice was obvious.
"Oh, what a pity," the hologram said as he clapped his hands together. "This demonstration is programmed only to guard the planet and to go no further than the orbit of Minos. However, your own system can be adjusted to monitor everything from defending a humble abode to patrolling an entire star system."
"An entire star system?" Picard raved.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" the hologram asked.
Jean-Luc's face went red. The vein on the side of his neck began to twitch.
"Magnificent?" he roared. "Monstrosity! This entire system is an affront to the tenuous peace that has existed in this quadrant for the last decade! It is a violation of the Khitomer Accords and a foul, repugnant thing that has no place in civilised society!"
"Jean-Luc," Beverly said softly.
Picard stopped, his chest heaving.
"You're yelling at a hologram," Beverly said.
"There's no sign of a transport scrambler embedded in the computer system," Sonya reported.
"Then why can't we get a lock on the away team?" Geordi asked as he and Sonya walked toward the conference room that was adjacent of the Battle Bridge.
"I-I don't know," Sonya answered honestly.
This was the moment she had feared.
This was no drill. The away team – including Captain Picard – were stranded on a planet. A hostile entity had attacked the Enterprise.
Twice.
And they were far outside of Federation space.
"I know I can't afford to make mistakes," she whispered. "And I know we don't have the luxury of time to poke around this."
Geordi stopped and frowned.
"I'll get Lieutenant Vance. He should really be the one-"
"Stop," Geordi said as Sonya turned to go.
Sonya froze.
"Look, I know I'm supposed to have the answers for you. I don't even have a wild guess," Sonya shared in an exasperated voice. "It's going to take me at least an hour to formulate a theory and I would need to look over the transporter and sensor logs before-"
She stopped as Geordi put his hand up.
Geordi raised his hands as he inhaled deeply – encouraging Sonya to follow his lead. After a second, they counted to four as they exhaled in unison.
"I need more time than you have. Then they have," Sonya said. "I don't-"
"I don't expect you to have all the answers," Geordi assured her, taking hold of her hands. "Hell, most days I don't have a clue! We're engineers – not telepaths. Our entire purpose is to study and then figure things out."
Geordi flashed her a small smile and then motioned for Sonya to join him in the conference room where the other officers were waiting.
Sonya slipped into a seat next to Worf. She felt even smaller than usual in one of the large chairs that surrounded the central table.
And she wasn't the only one.
Aside from Worf and Geordi, only Lieutenant Hawk had ever been invited back to the conference room for a briefing. Even Jae – who had racked up nearly as many duty hours as the likes of Riker – had never been 'in' on one of the team briefings like this.
But with most of the senior officers out of play, they were now the Bridge crew. It was up to them to rescue the away team and see them safely home.
"Ensign Gomez has informed me that there is no sign of a transport scrambler embedded in the system," Geordi said.
"Then why aren't the transporters working?" Hawk asked.
His question was directed at Sonya rather than Geordi. As she was there representing Engineering, it was expected she had an answer.
"I-I don't know," she stammered.
"Surely you must have some idea of what's causing this? An inhibitor? Atmospheric interference?" Hawk asked.
"I don't know," Sonya repeated in a small voice.
"But you have a theory?" Hawk pressed.
Worf could sense where the conversation was going.
"Sir, request permission to take the Captain's yacht down to the planet to search for the away team," Worf announced.
"Let's call that plan B," Geordi said.
He wasn't about to risk sending anyone else down there.
"Now that weapon or drone or whatever it was – it seemed to treat our return almost like it 'reset' itself. Testing us first with a small blast before going in for an attack," Geordi said.
"Which means any drone we send would be vulnerable to attack," Worf pointed out.
Geordi nodded slowly. His brow furrowed.
"Which is why we're going to prepare a level-one probe. Even a few seconds of data could help," Geordi said. "That's why we're going to send a probe first."
Geordi paused.
"Better yet, we're going to send two," Geordi instructed.
Data set down his payload and surveyed the area.
He cocked his head to the side. Data was concerned that the damage from the fall had impacted the functionality of his neural pathways. So he ran a complete internal diagnostic to check his spatial recognition programme.
Then another.
Everything checked out. And for the first time in more than twenty-four hours, Data smiled.
Clever girl. He thought.
This was the very spot where Commander Riker had been encased by the drone. Not only was Commander Riker gone – there was evidence that they had rushed off into the jungle.
Data couldn't be certain if they got away. But there was good cause to believe Tasha had managed to free Riker.
The area was a small jungle clearing and it would be perfect for Data to set his trap. Mindful to keep himself under the cover of his makeshift camouflage, Data was able to mount the functioning cannon atop the previously half-melted one.
It would still require Data's strength to aim the device and minimise the recoil. But it was something.
Data cracked open the control panel and set to work attuning his internal processor to send a signal to the device. The power cell was mostly depleted. He would likely only have one shot at most.
But given the way he suspected the drones functioned, it would likely be a one-off regardless as a bigger, stronger drone would no doubt follow.
There was nothing that could do other than try to stay alive and find any other possible survivors.
Data opened the panel on his forearm and quickly input a new code in order to allow him to transmit a signal to activate the weapon if necessary.
His next step was going to be a sweep of the area for any clue as to the whereabouts of Tasha and Commander Riker or Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher.
If that proved fruitless, Data was going to attempt looking for a more permanent shelter, supplies to contact the Enterprise, or deeper cover.
Data was nearly finished when a noise from above caused him to pause.
He closed his eyes and rerouted additional power to his audio receptors. In the distance, high above, Data could hear a familiar mechanical sound closing in on the treeline.
Only it wasn't a drone.
At least – it wasn't an unfriendly drone.
Data recognised the hum as one of Starfleet's standard class-one probes that were used to take atmospheric, visual, and sensor scans on planets.
It functioned much like a drone and fly through the air via a predetermined search pattern that could be modulated as needed.
It would be a risk to try and flag the attention of the drone.
But it was also his best chance of survival.
Data ripped off the shiny tritanium panel that covered the cannon's circuit control panel. He stepped out from under his makeshift camouflage cover and waited as the drone approached.
It could take hours for the Enterprise to analyse the information gathered by the probe. There was no guarantee they would even flag Data's attempt at contact.
It wasn't a great plan. But it was his only option to communicate that there was at least one survivor left down on the planet.
700 metres and closing. Data thought, tracking the approach.
His artificial breathing programme momentarily ceased as he waited for his target to fly overhead. Data knew he couldn't risk drawing attention too soon lest one of the other drones pick up on it.
467 metres.
The class-one probe was a good sign. It meant the Enterprise was still out there somewhere and within range of Minos – possibly even in orbit. While the ship could send a probe from quite a distance, the arrival meant the ship was still likely in the same star system.
There were no other Starfleet vessels in the area.
216 metres.
Data's hand tightened around the reflective metal as he prepared to flag the drone.
He cringed.
In the distance, he could hear one of the Minosian drones closing in on the Starfleet probe. The drones were faster and more manoeuvrable than Starfleet technology. And the probe wasn't armed to defend itself.
Based on the rate of speed at which the enemy drone was approaching, it would be overhead nearly the same time as Starfleet's drone.
In fact, so 'nearly' it was due to intercept 1.36 seconds after the probe flew over Data (give or take a margin of error that was less than a fraction of a second).
Data was none too keen on those odds.
But with less than a half a second to decide, he chose to go for it.
Data moved his hand, reflecting the sun's light into the path of the Starfleet probe in hopes that it would be picked up on visual sensors.
Then he immediately dove back under his camouflage in order to hide his presence from the Minosian drone.
A moment later there was an explosion as the drone destroyed the probe – blasting it out of the sky and shattering it into pieces that fell over the treeline.
1.3587 seconds. Hopefully that will be sufficient. Data thought.
He took a slow, artificial breath.
Before he could relax, there was a loud noise as the Minosian drone hovered directly overhead.
It is scanning. Data realised.
There was a loud thump as it landed on the ground.
Will Riker stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.
It wasn't just the fog that was suffocating – the temperature was stifling hot. There was a damp, earthy dew that clung to every available inch of air as the heat threatened to overwhelm them.
Will had tried to strip down to his undershirt, opting to tie his uniform at his waist. But Tasha had warned him that even the plants could be dangerous.
It had taken less than a minute for Will to cut his arm on a particularly sharp frond. It was like dozens of little paper cuts all along his bicep that stung whenever they came into contact with perspiration.
As he was soaked, it wasn't difficult.
The sweat was dripping down into his eyes and making it difficult to see as he wrapped the latest batch of rope around his arm.
Growing up in Alaska with a father like Kyle Riker meant Will had been exposed to far more wilderness living than most of his peers at the Academy. Will had always prided himself on his own appreciation for handcrafting items, ancient technology, and living off the land.
"Where'd you learn to do all of this stuff anyway? I mean, this isn't exactly Starfleet survival training," Riker said.
Yet even Will had to admit that Tasha's skills far outstripped his own.
"I spent some time on a farm," Tasha shared.
"Is that what your family did?" Riker inquired.
Tasha shrugged.
"Sort of. For a time," Tasha answered. "It's what they wanted to do."
Riker nodded in understanding.
"I've read there's a lot of environmental problems on Turkana and, that aside, that the seasons aren't very forgiving," Riker commented.
"Mmm," Tasha replied politely.
She paused to detach her latest section of rope from the rope walk and laid it aside for Riker to roll up.
There was something in the way that she responded that gave Will pause. He could tell he pushed the conversation to a sensitive area.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
Tasha shook her head.
"It's alright," Tasha assured him.
Riker wasn't entirely convinced, and Tasha could sense that he felt awkward.
"Really," Tasha insisted. "You know, I spent time on two farms. My parent's and then later when a family took me in."
She paused as she recalled the found family that had become her home.
"You know, the time I spent there was the happiest I ever was on Turkana," Tasha said with a small smile. "About the only good memories I have of that place."
"Do you think you'll ever go back?" Riker asked.
"Gods I hope not," Tasha answered honestly.
It was the most Will Riker had ever heard Tasha Yar speak of Turkana in the two and half years that he'd known her.
All of a sudden, Tasha's posture stiffened. She turned her head to the side, straining to hear.
"T?" Riker asked.
Tasha put her hand up and shushed him as she tried to listen above the sound of the jungle.
"Do you hear that?" Tasha asked after a few seconds.
There was a faint buzzing noise of something flying in the distance.
"I don't know what that is. It sounds different than the drones," Tasha whispered.
"Well knowing our luck on this planet it's probably a giant insect," Riker replied in a low voice.
A loud explosion sounded in the distance.
Will and Tasha exchanged a glance. Without uttering a word, the two grabbed their rope and set off in the direction of the sound.