But as Riker had learned, the mutant knew how to take care of herself. She countered with a gesture of her own, destroying the missile with an explosive flash of blue-white lightning.
Even before all the debris had fallen to the ground, Rahatan hurled the other chunk of earth. But Storm created another lightning bolt and demolished that one as well.
By then, Rahatan's allies must have decided the combat wasn't going their way. One of them, a specimen with luminous eyes, raised his Draa'kon disruptor rifle and took aim at the airborne mutant.
But before he could press the trigger, Riker nailed him with a phaser beam. The transformed slammed into the mound of earth behind him, his weapon sliding out of his hands.
Turning to Rahatan's other supporters, the first officer fired at each of them in quick succession. The one with the green pocks on his forehead was knocked senseless, while the female's shielding protected her from a second beam.
She raised her weapon to fire back at him, but Riker wasn't about to stand there and provide an easy target for her. Dropping and rolling, he squeezed off another blast. It caught his adversary in the midsection, doubling her over this time and taking her out of the fray. Apparently, her shielding could only take so much.
But there was one more around, the first officer told himself. A powerfu-looking Xhaldian in some kind of natural body armor. Some sixth sense told him to turn around. Whirling, Riker saw Rahatan's last remaining lackey charging at him.
The first officer sidestepped the charge successfully-but in the process, his foot caught on a piece of upturned pavement, causing him to stumble and fall unceremoniously. Even worse, he lost his grip on his phaser. As he watched, it clattered away and fell into a crack in the pavement.
Seeing how vulnerable he was, the strongman dove in an attempt to pin him, but Riker threw himself out of the way and scrambled to his feet.
Unfortunately, he was nowhere near where his phaser had fallen. And without it, he was clearly overmatched.
Or was he?
As the Xhaldian in the body armor got up and charged him a second time, the first officer bent and picked up a rock. Then, before the transformed could veer off, Riker reared back and let it fly-striking his adversary square in the forehead.
At first, he thought it might not have been enough. Then the transformed's knees buckled and he fell forward on his face.
The first officer had no time to congratulate himself, however. On the other side of the ruined street, Storm was still facing off with the earthmover.
By that time, the Xhaldian had to know how badly he had underestimated his opponent. Still, it didn't seem to daunt him a great deal. With a battle oath worthy of a Klingon, Rahatan tossed his head back and raised his hands, which had clenched into white-knuckled fists.
Unbelievably, the ground beneath him began to rise and roll forward, in the manner of a mammoth wave breaking on a seashore. Except the wave had a target, and that target was Storm.
The Xhaldian rode forward on the wave's unchanging crest, legs spread wide for balance, fists clenched at his sides. He had a look of almost maniacal glee on his face.
But Storm didn't move. She simply floated on her updraft above the mighty crevasse, as if she had already resigned herself to her fate. And all the while, Rahatan's wave of earth and debris rolled closer, threatening to bury her under its weight.
Finally, just as her adversary was about to descend on her, the mutant raised a hand to the heavens. As Riker watched, a hail shower seemed to come out of nowhere, pelting the Xhaldian with tiny balls of ice.
Rahatan threw his hands up to protect himself from Storm's onslaught. At first, it looked as if he might be able to stay on his feet and endure it. Then the rain of icy pellets grew heavier and heavier, until the barrage drove the earthmover to his knees.
But Rahatan wasn't done yet. Though battered and bruised, he still possessed the strength to try one last gambit.
The crest of his earth wave, with him on it, seemed to topple backwards for a moment. Then, like a catapult, it shot forward-flinging the Xhaldian across the gulf between Storm and himself.
And why not? He was bigger than she was, and more powerful. If he could get his hands around her throat, it wouldn't matter that she was a mutant. He would throttle her in no time.
But once again, Storm proved more than equal to the challenge. Before Rahatan could reach her, he was caught in a swirling twist of wind. It wrenched him skyward, spinning him around as he ascended, until he was a hundred meters or more above the ground.
The earthmover screamed for help, but he didn't get any. His compatriots were all unconscious. So Rahatan kept spinning around, faster and faster, until at last he stopped screaming and went limp in the twister's grasp.
Only then did Storm relent. Gradually, with remarkable gentleness considering how recently the Xhaldian had tried to kill her, she lowered his unconscious form to street level. Finally, when he touched the ground, she put an end to the cylconic winds altogether.
It was over. And, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the mutant had won.
Chapter Thirty.
PICARD GRITTED HIS teeth and battled to keep his pod upright as it descended through layers of cloud, its tractor beams locked on the Draa'kons' deadly cluster missile.
His eyes were stinging from heat and perspiration, his uniform soaked through and through, but he wouldn't allow himself to lose his focus. Not when tens of thousands of lives were depending on him.
At the same time, Archangel was contending with the whipping winds and the frustrating lack of visibility to make his way to his objective. As the captain watched, the mutant was buffeted to one side or the other, but over and over again he fought his way back on course.
Picard had seldom seen such courage or determination. It was even more remarkable when one considered that the mutant had been in sickbay less than an hour earlier.
Teeth clenched and bared, wings beating with raw power, Archangel got close enough to the cluster to reach for one of its limbs ... to close his fingers around it ... and finally, folding his wings at just the right moment, to swing himself into the weapon's innermost network.
That done, he found the access plate the captain had told him about. His hair whipping about his head, he took out the phaser Picard had loaned him after they set out. Then he activated it and trained its crimson beam on the plate's lock.
Gently, thought the captain, gently. One wrong move by the mutant and they would both be vaporized. Worse, Verdeen would become a city of ghosts.
Fragments of clouds flew up past Archangel, obscuring him for a moment. When the captain caught sight of him again, he was putting away his phaser-a good sign, Picard thought.
Then, with the utmost care, the mutant slid open the access plate. The captain cheered inwardly. They were halfway home.
But only halfway. The next step would be every bit as tricky as the first. Inside the compartment, Archangel would find the cluster's photon-based power source and its trigger mechanism. His goal would be to deactivate the trigger without disturbing the photon pack.
According to the shuttlepod's sensor readouts, there was only one way to accomplish that-by pressing a single stud. But it was one of several such studs on the body of the trigger mechanism and pressing the wrong one would bring on disaster.
Grimly, the mutant put his hand inside the compartment. Picard watched him work, his throat bone-dry, his eyes feeling as if they had been scraped raw. The heat in the cabin was like a furnace, blistering and unrelenting.
But he still had a mission to perform. If Archangel were to succeed, the captain would have to persevere as well.
Seconds passed, with no relief. On his monitor screens, Picard could see the planet's surface looming closer and closer. What's more, he told himself, the aliens' explosive might have been set to detonate before it reached the ground.
Meanwhile, in his perch on the missile, the mutant continued to probe its delicate inner workings. He worked slowly, cautiously, his face a window on his frustration.
The captain glanced at his board again. They were less than five kilometers from Verdeen. Five kilometers and a single minute-at the outside.
If Archangel were to disarm the missile, he would have to do it in the next few seconds. Otherwise, Picard would have to take matters in his own hands and try to wrench the weapon away from its target, as reckless a maneuver as that might be.
Suddenly, the mutant and the alien weapon were lost to Picard's sight, blanketed in clouds. Cursing, the captain tried to make them out again, tried to discern even their outlines through the mask of water vapors.
But he couldn't. And his sensors weren't telling what he needed to know, either.
Grinding his teeth, Picard reached for his thruster controls, intent on veering off to the side and attempting to take the cluster with him. But before he could effect the course change, he saw something loom out of the clouds.
It was a man with wings, headed for the captain like a bird of prey. Struggling against the winds, Archangel reached for the pod's observation port and touched it with one hand.
With the other, he gave made a sign: a thumbs-up. Mission accomplished, it seemed to say.
Then, his head lolling to one side, the mutant was ripped from the observation port and lost to Picard's sight.
Fortunately, the captain still had a working transporter. Using his sensors to determine Archangel's coordinates, he compensated for the speed of the mutant's descent and obtained a lock.
Then he activated the transporter beam. A moment later, Archangel materialized in the aft part of the pod, exhausted but alive.
That accomplished, Picard turned his attention back to the missile. After all, it remained something of a threat. Though disarmed, it would crush whatever it hit when it reached the planet's surface.
But now, the captain could drag it off course without fear of detonating its payload-and without having to worry about the friction of descent any longer. With that in mind, he applied his thrusters and set a course for the peaks of a nearby mountain range.
Finally, activating the pod's autopilot, Picard left his seat and went to see to the winged man. As he knelt down beside Archangel, he saw the mutant's eyes latch onto him.
"You ... had your chance," he breathed, "to get rid of me."
The captain smiled and grasped Archangel's hand. "Perhaps next time," he said reasonably.
The mutant smiled, too.
Strange, Picard thought. A short while earlier, he couldn't have thought less of the headstrong Archangel. Now, he had to count the mutant among the people he admired.
His smile broadened. Strange indeed.
Chapter Thirty-one.
PICARD LEANED FORWARD in his chair. It had been less than a half hour since his return to the bridge, but he could already see his other shuttlecraft emerging from Xhaldia's cloud-swaddled atmosphere.
First came the Onizuka, Commander Riker's vessel. Then came the Pike, commanded by Counselor Troi. And finally the Voltaire, with Worf and his people aboard.
The away teams had done it, the captain acknowledged, with a certain amount of satisfaction. They had stopped the Draa'kon, or they would never have left the planet's surface.
"Open a channel to the Onizuka," Picard commanded.
A moment later, Riker's visage graced the screen. He looked tired and dirty, but he was clearly in one piece.
"Good to see you again, Number One. What is the situation in Verdeen?" the captain asked.
The first officer sighed. "Four dead, sir-Wilkes, Calderon, Saffron, and Bertaina. But the Draa'kon have been stopped, and the transformed have been taken into custody. In most cases, they gave themselves up; in others, they'll have to stand trial."
Picard was willing to wait for the details, of which there would certainly be many. "We are making progress here as well, Will. Shields have been partially restored and Commander La Forge tells me forward phasers will be online momentarily."
"That's good news," said Riker.
"Indeed," the captain replied. "But we can brief each other more fully when you return. I'll alert Shuttle Bay One to expect you."
"Acknowledged, sir. I'll pass that on to-"
Before he could finish, the first officer's shuttle was rocked. Sparks spewed from its control console. And before Picard could determine the cause of it, the viewscreen filled with static.
Automatically, it returned to its previous perspective on Xhaldia and the shuttles. It was enough to tell the captain everything he needed to know.
Before his eyes, the Connharakt had begun to stalk the shuttles like a mammoth predator, its propulsion systems at least minimally functional again, and its weapons ports ablaze with destructive energy beams.
Somehow, the Draa'kon ship had powered up its engines without Picard's knowing about it. And if he didn't react quickly, his away teams would be blown out of space.
Even as he thought that, his bridge jerked under the impact of a Draa'kon barrage.
"Transporter Room One," the captain said, his voice taut with urgency. "Prepare to beam our people off those shuttles."
The response came almost instantly-but it wasn't the one Picard had been expecting.
"I can't, sir," replied Lt. Robinson. "That last impact took the transporters offline."
The captain's teeth ground together in frustration. He had to try something else.
"Lt. Rager," he barked, "position us between the Connharakt and the Onizuka!"
After all, the Onizuka had already been hit. And by the look of her, she had been hit hard.
The conn officer did as she was told. A moment later, the Enterprise darted into the fray, shielding Riker's shuttle from further fire.
Unfortunately, Picard could protect only one of his craft at a time. And with the state his shields were in, he couldn't do it indefinitely.
A disruptor bolt pounded the Enterprise, sending a tremor through the ship. The captain turned to Ensign Suttles.
"Return fire!" he snapped hopefully.
The ensign checked his monitors, then looked up. "We can't, sir. The phasers are still offline."
"Shields down to twenty percent," Rager reported.
On the viewscreen, the two other shuttles were taking advantage of the distraction to escape. But before they could get very far, the Connharakt stabbed the Pike with a disruptor beam-sending her flying sideways, a trail of plasma emissions in her wake.
"They've crippled her," the captain breathed, accepting what he knew to be a deadly fact.
The Pike was easy prey for the Draa'kon now-a sitting duck-and even if Picard wanted to leave Riker's craft unprotected, there was no way he could reach her sister shuttle in time.
"Captain," said Suttles, his voice suddenly full of excitement, "we've got forward phasers!"