The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [27]
“The Bloodstone!”
Picard was startled by the intensity of the Klingo n’s reaction.
“So you know about this, too?” asked Troi.
Picard could practically hear her clinical persona click into place. Evidently the counselor sensed considerable depth in the lieutenant’s agitation.
“Yes, I have heard of it,” said Worf reluctantly. The captain wondered if his scowl was a product of embarrassment at the outburst or whether the warrior’s reserve was still shaken by mention of the Pagrashtak. “According to Klingon legend, Lord Kessec founded the First Empire with its powers … and Kessec warned that he who holds the Pagrashtak must drain his veins of blood or his next of kin will do it for him.”
Riker rocked back in his chair, startled by the severity of Worf’s expression. The first officer’s eyebrows knitted together in genuine puzzlement. “So what exactly is this thing?”
Where to even begin? wondered Picard as he struggled to condense the work of T’Sara’s lifetime into a few words. “The Heart’s exact nature is unknown, and its origins are lost in antiquity; all that survives are tales of its passage through different cultures. In the mythologies T’Sara collected, the Heart has been variously described as a stone, a jewel, even an energy cell. One hypothesis is that the Heart is an artifact of some ancient and forgotten race, one highly advanced in science.” His brother Robert’s voice whispered another explanation in his ear. “But worlds which believe in magic consider it to be a powerful talisman of Darkness.”
“A talisman of darkness?” snorted Riker. “With the power to do just what?”
Data was ready with the answer. “No one knows its true capabilities, but they are suspected to be vast, enabling its possessor to control men’s minds, to amass wealth and power, even to change the flow of time itself.”
“Data, you don’t really believe that?”
“Our belief is not really relevant,” countered Troi. “T’Sara believed, and whoever killed the Vulcan archaeologists must also have believed. Regardless of whether this Devil’s Heart has any real powers, people have killed to gain possession of it.”
“Devil’s Heart, Bloodstone,” said Riker. “I begin to see why it has such morbid names.”
“Yes,” said Picard. “According to many of the legends T’Sara gathered, the price of gaining the stone is death or the spilling of blood. Those who have ruled by its powers have died in combat or been betrayed by their friends.”
Troi suddenly switched her scrutiny from Worf to Picard. “Captain, what do you believe—” “Bridge to Captain Picard.” A voice brusque with controlled urgency drowned out the counselor’s question. “We’re picking up an automated distress call from a Ferengi vessel in this sector.”
“I’m on my way,” said Picard, already rising from his chair.
Riker was on his feet a half second later. “I have a bad feeling about this, Captain.”
“Yes, Number One, it does appear this sector is becoming rather crowded.”
The Ferengi Marauder-class starship floated in space, drifting listlessly; its crescent-shaped rear hull was pitted and scored, and a gash in the horned front section was charred down to the duranium frame. Lights were scattered at random through the decks, but they flickered weakly.
Picard surveyed the damaged vessel with a dispassionate eye and a suspicious nature.
“Raise shields.”
“They don’t look ready for another fight,” said Riker.
“Perhaps not,” conceded the captain. After all, even Ferengi guile had its limits. “But we have yet to account for whoever attacked—” The deck rocked beneath his command chair as the ship’s deflector shields sparked and crackled. Alert sirens blared, and bridge lights dimmed momentarily as power was rechanneled to the defense systems. A less-seasoned officer might have mistaken the impact for a weapons salvo, but Picard recognized the telltale blue flash of Cerenkov radiation that resulted from a mid-flight collision.
“Helm! Go to quarter-impulse.”
As the Enterprise’s forward motion slowed, the force of subsequent collisions was diminished to the light patter of hail on a rooftop.