“Hey! Watch it!”

Felicia Mendoza spun around. She had materialized on a busy sidewalk, and a small knot of pedestrians had to part, like a river flowing around a rock, to get around her as she gathered her bearings. One of the men fixed her with an angry glare, as if it had been her fault where she wound up. Not that he’d have any way of knowing it wasn’t, of course.

But she wasn’t sure what her location was. She was in an urban canyon, with towers of steel around her, but there were many places in San Francisco that could be so described. Felicia wasn’t very familiar with the city—she came from El Salvador, and had moved here only to attend the Academy. She had spent one summer interning at Jupiter Station, and knew that distant locale far better than she did this earthly one.

Getting her bearings wouldn’t be an insurmountable problem, she knew. San Francisco was a temporary home to many tourists and out-of-towners, and the city’s heads took great pains to make it a comfortable place to visit. Kiosks located every few blocks showed transit information, complete with maps and schedules. All she had to do was find the nearest one and she’d be on her way to the meeting point. She was anxious to hear where everyone else had landed, and what their first goal was.

So far, this whole thing seemed like a great deal of fun. She didn’t necessarily expect that it would stay that way. But it might. Being an ordinarily optimistic type anyway, she was willing to accept that small chance.

With a smile on her lips and a spring in her step, she started up the block.

Boon’s feet were soaked. He found this extremely annoying, because it meant that someone had entered coordinates wrong, or there had been a transporter malfunction, or the transporter crew was just plain trying to make life difficult for him. The first two scenarios could have resulted in death or horrific injury, so all things considered, finding himself standing up to his ankles in the freezing surf of the Pacific Ocean wasn’t really as bad as it might have been. But he didn’t think it was either of those two problems—great care was always taken with transporter use, and the crew would not have been haphazard about where they sent a cadet on an Academy project.

Which meant that it was intentional. That ticked him off no end. He didn’t know if it was because he was a Coridanian, or if they simply chose random cadets to harass, just because they could, but the motive didn’t matter to him. He tried to remember their names, so he could make life miserable for them once he was a senior officer, but the names wouldn’t come to him.

He waded ashore. The beach was a dozen or so meters of rocky sand, and he trudged across it, water streaming from his legs and a scowl on his brick-red face.

When this is over,he thought, I’m going to have a serious talk with a certain transporter crew.

* * *

Will thought for a moment that a mistake had been made. They were all supposed to be beamed into San Francisco, but he was in a deep forest somewhere. Early sunlight slanted between trunks and leaves, highlighting dust motes and the last traces of morning fog. The air had a rich, fecund aroma he had been used to, in his youth, but had almost forgotten—the tang of pines, the dusky dry smell of summer grass in an arid clime. Tall trees surrounded him and the brush was so thick he couldn’t even see through it. Branches scratching at his hands and tugging at his clothing, he forced his way through the heaviest of it.

A few minutes of working his way out of the tangle brought him to a clearing and an explanation. Thick grass and low shrubs had grown over an old road here, splitting the roadway and hiding it until Will was literally standing on top of it. He looked at the sweep of the road as it curved out of sight, and it brought back half-remembered pictures he’d seen. He was, he believed, deep inside Golden Gate Park, which had been closed to vehicles for more than a century and allowed to grow wild.

He was alone here, so the question of whether they would all beam in together had been answered. Picking a meeting place had been the simplest precaution, but he was glad they had made the effort. A good portion of this first day might be spent by the squadron members trying to find their way to the Nob Hill location. And for all he knew, others might be even farther away than he was, or in more remote locations. Nob Hill would be a good hike, for him, but not too difficult.

He noted the position of the morning sun, and then started east, toward it, following the broken, overgrown road away from the ocean and into the city.

Chapter 6

Another failure. That Riker has more lives than a damned Antillean feenetchluk.

And how many is that? How much longer do we have to play this game?

The feenetchluk has eleven redundant nervous and circulatory systems that reconfigure themselves in the event of serious injury. You think you’ve killed one but it just shuts down for a few moments, and then comes back at you, scared and angry but not dead. Hence the saying.

Maybe it is just dumb luck, though. Maybe he should be playing dabo someplace, since he seems to survive every attack we throw at him, not by effort of will or any particular ability, but through simple twists of fortune.

Or by simply refusing to concede.

Perhaps. Luck or lives, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s scared now. Fearing for his life, his safety, his career. That means he’s off balance, and therefore right where we want him. He’ll start making mistakes. We can keep this up indefinitely, playing him, making him suffer.

As we have suffered.

Exactly. In the end, that’s better than killing him right away. His suffering is so delicious, so... right. And we know that he can’t run from us. He can’t hide, not for long. No matter where he goes, we will have our pleasure.

Yes... that’s the perfect word to describe it. Our pleasure is Riker’s pain, and his death our ultimate release.

San Francisco’s civilian spaceport, at the edge of the bay, never slept. All day and all night transport vehicles from all across the planet rumbled into the port, laden with goods destined for distant planets, and those same vehicles, equally burdened, left with imported goods for markets on Earth. Lights burned through the dark of night, engines roared, the voices of working men and women mixed with the clatter and whine of the servos and gears of robotic helpers. Cargo and tourists alike left from this port, ferried to orbital platforms from which the big ships, the deep spacefaring craft, would launch.

Kyle made his way here by a roundabout path, taking underground transport part of the distance, then getting off and walking for a while, then catching an air tram for another segment. If anyone’s gaze fell on him for more than a few moments he changed course or mode of travel. A few times, he thought Tholians had spotted him, but he managed to both avoid them and convince himself that he was merely seeing things, that there were no Tholians trying to kill him, here on Earth. Although plenty of humans were doing their best to make up for that shortage, it seemed.

Finally, as the eastern sky turned from slate gray to pale blue, he approached the great port, thrilling a little as he always did to the rhythmic bustle of enterprise and the-stirring adventure of people traveling to the farthest reaches of the universe. He loved his home planet, but his work had taken him off it enough times that he was comfortable in space or on good old terra firma, and the idea of travel always held the promise of the new and unexpected.

This time, though, he wasn’t traveling for fun or business, but for survival. Since it seemed certain that whoever was after him—for whatever reason he couldn’t fathom—had access to Starfleet technology and personnel, then no place in San Francisco was safe for him. With Starfleet headquartered here, its influence was everywhere. For that matter, there were precious few places on Earth where he’d be beyond their grasp. Alaska beckoned, since that state still contained untamed places where a man might hide. But that would probably be the first place they’d look for him once they realized he’d slipped their noose here, and he might not even make it to the back country before they found him again.