Ezri was content to allow “her” Yrythny to guide her through the sea of bodies, jostling this way and that. Her attention was drawn above the confusion to the lacy, carved arches, lined with enameled tiles, and the delicate curlicues painted up the pillars. Squinting, she could make out dainty flowers and vines twining around the base of the domes, made translucent by the warm light of Vanìmel’s sun. She wanted to pause for a moment, to study the graceful lines and forms, but her Yrythny escorts continually ushered her along.
Choruses of Yrythny voices thudded around her, punctuated by grunts and moans as bodies crashed into each other. With Julian in front of her and her tall Yrythny guides to the side, Ezri was effectively blocked in; she allowed the crowd’s momentum to propel her forward. Other than ceilings and heads, she saw only the walls, seemingly carved out of rose-colored sandstone instead of forged metal. She continued to walk, face upturned, until she crashed into Julian’s back.
“Sorry, Julian, I wasn’t paying…”
Piercing screams cut through the plaza. A crash of a tipping cart. Weapons fire.
Throwing arms out, their Yrythny escorts turned their backs on their Starfleet charges, shielding them from whatever was going on. Blocked by the wall of tall Yrythny, Ezri ducked down to look beneath their linked arms.
Up winding staircases, through ornate doors and elaborate archways, panicked Yrythny fled, tossing aside whatever they carried. But as many Yrythny swarmed out of the plaza, others streamed in through adjacent streets wielding anything from crude metal bars to beam weapons.
A mob. Heading directly for the away team.
More weapons fire. An escort next to her went slack, tumbled to his knees and toppled to the ground. Then another. Then still another. Whipping out his tricorder, Julian went to work. Vaughn shouted. Ezri couldn’t understand him over the din. She heard another of the escorts trying to reason with the rioters, screaming, “Stop! These are our guests, not our captives!” But his appeals were ignored as one of the rioters clubbed him across the head with a pipe. The escort fell, whether unconscious or dead, Ezri didn’t know.
So it’s a lynch mob,Ezri thought. These people are so eager for Cheka blood, they’ll do anything for a taste of it, even turn against each other.
She spotted one of their attackers making a beeline for Shar.
“Shar, watch out!” she shouted, spinning around and reaching instinctively for her empty holster. Damn diplomatic protocols.Weaponless, she charged forward. A Yrythny forearm hooked around her neck, yanking hard against her throat.
Complying with the beam weapon pressed against his temple, Shar swallowed hard and dropped to his knees, clasping his hands behind his head, his antennae tensed. Fury and the smells of fear stimulated his senses. The click of safeties being released seemed unnaturally slow and loud in his ears.
A guttural exclamation. The metallic sound of weapons fire. More screams. Blue gray smoke obscured his view.
Several Yrythny off to his side argued. “—reports said our defense perimeter was compromised—”
“—Cheka sending their spies—”
“—our chance to make an example—”
“—say we kill them now—”
Shar fought not to be sickened by the dull thud of metal against tissue and cracking bones. Senses threatening to overload, he fought to ignore the scent of singed flesh, the sweat-sour clothes worn by assailants, the bioelectric surges of pain.
Shar looked around him. The away team’s escorts had suffered a brutal assault. Vaughn and McCallum appeared uninjured. He glanced behind him to check on Julian and Ezri, but his assailant swung the butt of his weapon across Shar’s face. Blood, warm and sticky, drizzled down his cheek. His breathing became a hiss.
“Move again and I’ll blow your head off,” his assailant said, pressing the weapon into Shar’s wound.
A companion grunted approvingly.
His emotions intensifying toward violence, Shar’s eyes panned up to his assailant’s face. The Yrythny was slow, clumsy. Shar’s antennae spread wide, triangulating on his target—
“Fire that weapon, U’ndoh,” a new voice rang out, “and I vow you’ll never see the light of day again. The same goes for anyone who harms these innocent people.”
His assailant paused. Shar remained still. The gun fell away from his cheek, and his assailant abruptly ran off. Slowly, Shar’s need for violence receded and his breathing returned to normal. He searched the nearby crowd for his rescuer, but it seemed she had departed.
“Listen to me, Wanderers!”
Shar jerked toward the now-familiar voice, distinctive among the angry rumblings.
A Yrythny, about his height, hair twisted into a topknot, shoved authoritatively through the crowds. Ignoring their taunts, she slapped away hands and shrugged off any who dared try impede her. When she reached a pillar near the plaza’s center, she flattened and rubbed her palms against the pillar’s smooth surface to attain adhesion, and without a backward glance, shimmied up, kicking away a rioter who grabbed at her ankle. When a solid meter separated her from the tallest Yrythny, she anchored her legs around the pillar, tightly linking her ankles. Her coarsely woven skirt rucked up around her knees.
Cupping her hands in front of her mouth, she shouted, “Listen to me or suffer the consequences! As your Lower Assembly delegate, I speak as the law. This gathering is illegal!”
One by one, the mob turned their gazes upward. Pottery and fruit hurtled through the air, smashing against the pillar. Rioters shouted protests; others watched warily.
“Wanderer caste caught bearing weapons may be subject to punishment by death,” she continued, ignoring the glass shattering above and below her.
In response, some Yrythny cast aside weapons; pieces of pipe, tools, and sidearms fell like stuttering raindrops. A few rioters disbanded, but others persisted in catcalls.
From her high perch, Shar’s defender surveyed the remaining agitators haughtily. “Disperse now if you wish to avoid arrest!” she cried. “An armed patrol is on its way and is prepared to take all of you into custody. Save your energies for actions that will change our world for the better, not ones that will doom your cause and yourselves.”
Her pronouncements ignited quarrels, both with her and among themselves. Primitive, hivelike contention heated the plaza as Yrythny fought with Yrythny. Head swimming, Shar saw coal eyes dark with rage; knobby fingers, grabbing, scratching; wide, gaping mouths rimmed with glistening teeth. Fevered chaos spun faster and faster around him…
The distant, rhythmic thud of boots thundering toward the plaza proved their leader’s claim. Panicked, the crowd pushed and shoved every which way, stampeding over the fallen. Terrified shouts drowned out cries for help.
Fear reigned.
Holding her post on the pillar, the Yrythny leader watched closely, waiting for the ground situation to stabilize. Slowly, the mob dispersed, leaving only the injured and infirm. She eased her way back down, waiting, her eyes turned toward the patrol pounding slowly closer, ever closer. The mob retreated. Shar discovered that, like Vaughn and McCallum, Dax and Bashir had survived, unharmed.
Rushing down the stairs with weapons drawn, the patrol peeled out of formation to secure each arched entrance into the plaza.
“No one move!” the patrol leader bellowed. “You there,” he pointed. “Stop what you’re doing!”
Shar followed the gesture to Bashir, who crouched beside several of their fallen escorts. Pale, but unscathed, Ezri sat close by, monitoring one of the wounded Yrythny with the doctor’s tricorder.
“I’m a physician. These are your people I’m treating,” Bashir snapped, clearly agitated after their ordeal. “They sustained their injuries protecting us, so you’ll have to arrest me to make me stop,” he said, and continued mending a laceration.