“IT’S GETTING a bit warm here,” Van Zandt remarked.

The crowd had them surrounded, apparently ready to let the buildings behind them burn to the ground. Poor Aiken kept quiet, but he was looking a bit green around the gills. Or was that just the firelight?

“Well, this is going to take a little creativity.” Vale said. A quick tap of her badge put her people on alert. All quickly acknowledged the plan. She grinned.

“Are you nits just going stand there and watch us burn? We could just beam back to the Enterprise!”

The mob remained silent.

“Is this the best you can do? I thought you were Dorset! I thought you were something to reckon with.”

She heard some muttering from the crowd.

“I can walk out there and take on any five of you. Five? Maybe eight or ten!”

A male voice cried out, insulting Vale’s parentage. Other voices soon joined in, all demanding the privilege of knocking her block off.

“And here we go,” she said to Van Zandt, who winked at her. Aiken watched, amazed.

Vale rose and strode forward, flexing her fingers in a show of readiness. Sure enough, five Dorset men broke off from the group. They started taunting her now, laughing between jests, a bunch of old friends out for some fun.

When ten feet separated them, a crimson beam cut between them, followed by another. The Dorset stepped back and yelped, almost in unison. Vale held firm. The men saw this and started forward again as a third beam lashed out.

Unable to stop their momentum, the men went crash-ing through the weakened dock. The now soggy contingent’s fellow rioters stopped short, wisely avoiding their companions’ watery fate. Those who persisted in firing were quickly stunned by wide-beamed phaser blasts.

When the last Dorset collapsed, Vale turned to Aiken, smiled, and said, “That’s how it’s done.”

Her smile faded when she saw his eager eyes glaze over as blood spread across his uniform.

Picard’s phaser was suddenly in his hand, instinct working faster than intelligence. The captain tensed.

Within moments, he heard the beginnings of a mob approach. There were yells and calls that he could not discern. However, Carmona seemed to recognize the tone and he jogged away, calling for his team. In seconds he returned, just as the new mob rounded a corner and was approaching the Council chamber.

“Evacuate the Council and their equipment,” Picard ordered.

“I can’t leave you out here, sir,” the younger man said. His voice sounded strained.

“I’ll be fine, get started,” the captain insisted.

Carmona tapped his badge and started giving orders, then began yelling inside the Council chamber. Picard could hear the commotion behind him, but concentrated instead on the people approaching at a steady pace. Some held signs protesting the Council, others protested the Federation, while others held torches. The crowd was a true cross section of the population, men and women, young and old, Bader and Dorset. All were angry.

Morrow poked his head out from the door directly behind the captain. “They’re all awake and moving. The equipment is being sacrificed, although the data is being downloaded.”

“Excellent. Please accompany them and make sure you stay in touch,” Picard said.

“I think I’d rather help you. You’re a little shorthanded,” the ambassador replied.

“Ambassador, you are not at all trained for this sort of situation. My people are. Your training will help the Council maintain control of the planet. Please do as I say.” Morrow opened his mouth to object, but closed it again when Picard shook his head. With that the door closed softly behind the captain, who watched with growing apprehension as the crowd drew closer.

A piece of brick sailed his way but fell short, some meters before his feet. Another, larger brick followed and flew to his right. Picard remained immobile, refusing to shrink from the mob, while at the same time not firing back.

The voices continued to cry charges and obscenities at the captain, but he ignored them. More pieces of debris flew his way, but none came near him. They were all being thrown from the rear of the crowd. Those in front seemed cowed by his immobile presence. Picard’s strategy seemed to be working, and the seconds ticked by. Finally, Carmona signaled that the Council chamber was empty and the guards had the Council nearby. He begged the captain to withdraw. Picard knew the moment he turned his back on the mob, they would surge forward and he would be hurt. Instead, he stepped backward toward the doorway.

He groped behind him for the handle to open the door and reach relative safety, but before he could find it, the door opened and Morrow emerged.

“I couldn’t let you—” he began, but froze when he saw the crowd.

Picard’s attention wavered for a moment, and suddenly his spell over those in the front was broken. Someone shouted, a yipping sound like a call to arms, and debris began flying as the mob surged forward.

A piece of metal hit Morrow in the head while a brick buried itself deep in his stomach. He sagged under the attack, losing his breath. Picard reached out for him. Wrapping an arm around the injured ambassador, the captain tried once more to get through the door, but the crowd finally reached them. Hands grabbed at his legs and pulled him back.

The crowd was on them.

His arms punched, his legs kicked, Picard could feel the crowd all around his body. His grip on his phaser grew tighter as someone wrestled for it. Morrow lay still, under Picard’s protective body, but that was not going to last for long. The screaming and accusations continued unabated.

The pummeling was getting to him, and he decided he would have to use his phaser to protect Morrow’s life.

Then he heard a familiar whine.

The hands hitting him fell away, and Picard wasn’t sure if he had accidentally squeezed off a shot.

Suddenly, people were being dragged off the captain and he was able to see the sky. He watched Christine Vale hauling a woman off his leg and toss her aside as though she were made of paper.

Picard scrambled to his feet, adjusting his duty jacket along the way. He pocketed his phaser and looked gratefully at his security chief. She nodded in his direction and then signaled for an emergency medical transport of Morrow directly to sickbay.

“Better late than never,” Vale quipped.

“Bring down a fresh team to protect the Council and get your people some rest. They’ve more than earned it,” Picard replied.

“Aye, sir,” she replied. “Captain, we’ve begun to record…casualties.”

Picard’s gaze narrowed, then deepened into a frown as she relayed her recent experience and the loss of Aiken. He saw the pain in her eyes, but only for a moment. She was putting it aside for now, but he knew she would grieve.

As he felt the transporter take hold of him, Picard recognized how close to a true disaster he had come. The Council was once more on the run, a Federation ambassador had been hurt, and he seemed powerless to stem the tide.

Was Delta Sigma IV a lost cause?