Star Trek - War Drums Part 10

Worf staggered a few meters away and fell to his knees. The closest observer was the one who had tumbled down the hill with them, and he rushed to Balak's side. Worf wasn't too concerned, because he could see the youth's chest heaving. His skull was hard-he would live. Worf did wonder if each breath Balak took was as painful as his own. He had been injured often enough to know that his ribs were severely bruised, if not broken, and he didn't want to think what his face looked like. But he was still smiling as Data and Deanna knelt beside him.

"Do you need medical attention?" asked Data. His hand was poised over his comm badge.

Worf's answer came in gasps. "Don't ... call ... the Enterprise. I'll live."

"You need first aid at least," said Deanna, reaching into her pack.

Worf brushed her hand away and tried to get control of his breathing. "Leave the cuts and bruises," he whispered. "Let the others see them ... and remember."

Wolm, Turrok, and a few others slowly approached Worf. They looked confused and uncertain, as if the entire order of their existence had been overturned.

"You beat him," Turrok muttered, as if such a thing was impossible.

"He is a worthy opponent," breathed Worf.

Up on the mound some of the Klingons knew what to do. They picked up the rattles, tambourines, and maracas and were making a racket that was enough to wake the dead. The noise did, in fact, wake Balak, who shook himself awake and rolled over, holding his b.l.o.o.d.y head.

He looked at Worf and laughed. "Good fight!"

Worf nodded, a painful grin stretching across his lumpy face. "Very good," he agreed.

When the two big Klingons laughed everyone laughed, and then the remaining Klingons picked up the new instruments and banged them for hours.

Chapter Nine.

"WHAT IS THAT awful noise?" muttered Raul Oscaras. "d.a.m.n those savages-can't they ever give it a rest?"

Even Captain Picard had to admit that the noise that had been coming from the forest all afternoon-though muted by distance-was enough to jangle anyone's nerves. He didn't want to admit that his people had been responsible for introducing new instruments to the feral Klingons, so he just nodded his head in silent agreement.

This meeting of the inner circle of New Reykjavik had lasted almost all day, having begun in midmorning with a discussion of local issues. Then it had adjourned for a leisurely lunch, during which Picard had fielded questions about the Enterprise's ports of call and various adventures. Normally he hated having to regale an audience with tales that seemed astounding to them but were for him day-to-day occurrences aboard a stars.h.i.+p. But Picard felt sorry for these landlocked colonists who couldn't even live the life they had envisioned for themselves. He put his personal wishes aside and told them about the various phenomena he had witnessed since taking the helm of the Enterprise.

Everyone was attentive-President Oscaras, Vice-president Aryapour, Doctor Freleng, Security Chief Calvert, Communications Chief Jansing-except for an intense dark-haired woman who was introduced to him as Doctor Louise Drayton, head of the Science Department. She seemed unusually distracted and uninterested, which miffed him slightly because the others were hanging on every word. It also intrigued him, and he couldn't help but wonder what was going on in her life that was so preoccupying.

Lunch finally ended, however, and Captain Picard was getting ready to excuse himself and return to his s.h.i.+p when he was interrupted by the blond-haired security chief.

"One thing, sir," said Gregg Calvert. "I talked to my daughter and Ensign Ro this morning, and they would like to make a trip to the seash.o.r.e tomorrow. Even though it's only twenty kilometers, hiking there is impossible while the renegades are active. But if you were willing to beam a small party aboard your s.h.i.+p, then to the ocean, we could accomplish the trip with a minimum of danger."

"I insist upon going with them," declared Louise Drayton. "I've been trying to organize a trip there for three months, but n.o.body around here has any stomach for it."

Since these were the first words the scientist had spoken the entire day, Picard looked at her with interest. Perhaps boredom was the reason for her dour expression, and he couldn't blame her for that. He also couldn't think of a good reason to refuse, and Ensign Ro must have thought the trip was important or she wouldn't have requested it.

"Very well," he answered. "a.s.semble your party in the square at oh-nine hundred hours tomorrow morning. But please keep it small." The captain stood with finality. "Let's hope we have an uneventful night."

The young Klingons had romped atop their mound for at least two hours, trying out all the musical instruments and all the ways the bells, bangs, and gongs could harmonize. Deanna was impressed by one facet of their society-there was no fighting over possession of the instruments. They shared them equally, although it was clear that the two boys who had been the lead drummers in the Test of Evil were by far the most gifted and energetic musicians of the group. It seemed to Deanna that they could make the chrome drums sing.

As the others danced and played Balak contented himself with trying to repair the cage damaged during Data's Test of Evil. Worf and Data sat with Turrok and examined the strange black poultices that had been applied to the wounds inflicted in his Test of Evil the previous night. They p.r.o.nounced the holistic remedies effective, although they did nothing to alleviate the boy's obvious pain. Deanna mainly observed-and counted.

The tribe consisted of twenty-one individuals-fourteen males and seven females-the oldest being Balak, and the youngest being Turrok or perhaps one of the other smaller adolescents. That meant that over half of the forty-eight children stashed away on the Klingon freighter had not survived the crash landing and this rugged existence. One of the missing was undoubtedly out there in the forest, rotting at the bottom of a skillfully dug pit.

When he had finished tying the cage together Balak retrieved his knife and shouted, "We go to hutch!"

The procession quickly reformed and marched down the mound and into the trees, but the beating was subdued compared to the joyous dancing music of a few minutes earlier. It was, thought Deanna, as if entering the forest was a solemn occasion, like entering a great public hall. The mound was their place to frolic and rule; in the forest they acted as if they were still guests.

They walked over a trail that she felt certain she could remember again, unless it became too thick with debris. The wind had strengthened, and miniature cyclones were chasing leaves between the tree trunks, shooting them across the trail. A real storm could all but obliterate the path, thought Deanna, and a storm seemed to be building in the charcoal clouds that swirled above the treetops.

Without fanfare the procession came to a stop. Some of the adolescents s.h.i.+nnied up trees, as if going to guard posts, and they took their new instruments with them. The rest of them watched Balak expectantly. Deanna was glad to see that he was still their leader. The gracious way he had accepted them after being bested by Worf had raised him in everyone's esteem.

At the base of a tree Balak lifted a piece of hand-woven material with leaves and twigs st.i.tched into it for camouflage. It revealed a large, dark burrow that plunged into the ground at about a seventy-degree angle. He promptly dropped to all fours and crawled in. The others looked at Worf, making it clear that he was expected to follow, but Data stepped in front of him and the dark muddy chute.

"Lieutenant," he said matter-of-factly, "my infrared vision allows me to see better in the darkness. Would you and Counselor Troi follow me?"

"Certainly, sir," Worf agreed with obvious relief.

One by one Data and Worf ventured into the narrow opening and disappeared. Because this was only a larger variation of a chuck burrow, Deanna was forced to get on all fours and scurry like a rodent. She held her breath against the overpowering stench of rotting loam and furry roots. The roots held onto as much dirt as they could, but some still tumbled into her hair and eyes. Finally Troi closed her eyes, because there was no reason to keep them open in the pitch-black tunnel.

Hearing Worf ahead of her gave Deanna some comfort: If he could fit, so could she. Nevertheless, as she sc.r.a.ped along the dark mud in a sea of blackness Deanna fought the claustrophobic impulse to put her legs in reverse and escape that earthen tomb.

The tunnel probably only stretched ten meters or so, but the relief she felt in tumbling into a chamber where she could stand was immense. After brus.h.i.+ng some of the dirt out of her hair she stretched her arms over her head and felt the root system there, too. They were under the trees, she thought with wonder.

"Is there no light?" asked Worf.

"Maybe some," muttered Balak, somewhere in the blackness.

She heard what sounded like a stick gently tapping, and a column of gray light swirled down the center of the chamber from a shaft that had been carved through the roots. It wasn't much, and the feeble rays of light couldn't be said to illuminate the hovel; but any light was welcome under the circ.u.mstances. Deanna looked up and saw a twisting root system that formed a material like sod-dense and vast enough to keep loose dirt and moderate rainwater at bay, she supposed.

The light shaft was operated by a wooden rod that opened a small trapdoor on the surface. That meant, thought Deanna with alarm, that these people lived and slept in blackness when they were sheltered after dark.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she saw Data inspecting a collection of thick clamlike sh.e.l.ls stacked neatly against a wall. She recognized them as being similar to those in the stream they had crossed. Some of the sh.e.l.ls were whole, and some had been broken into smaller shards for use as tools. Mixed in with the sh.e.l.ls were silver eating utensils, thermal cups, empty equipment pouches, and other souvenirs from raids on the colonists. In another corner several drums were neatly stacked.

"What are the sh.e.l.ls used for?" asked Data.

Balak shrugged. "Digging, eating, everything. Very useful."

Deanna saw Worf inspecting the earthy surroundings until he discovered a place where he could stand upright. The chamber wasn't very big-perhaps twelve by twelve meters-but it would house the whole tribe if they didn't mind a little togetherness, she decided.

"Is this your only hutch?" asked Worf.

"No," said Balak with a laugh. "That would be stupid. We have many-keep hidden from flat-heads."

Worf removed a tubular instrument from his jacket and showed it to Balak. "Have you ever seen a flashlight before?"

"Yes," muttered the big teenager. "But it went out. I left light-G.o.d at ocean hutch."

"Can I use mine?" asked Worf. "I can get more, for everybody."

"Yes, yes," agreed Balak. "Light indoors-I remember it! When I was little there was a place called nursery-we had light. Long time ago. Can't remember it too much." He shook his head sadly, and for a moment, thought Deanna, he looked like the little boy he must once have been.

Worf's flashlight lit up the crude mud chamber as well as someone might care to see it, thought Deanna. She saw a chuck scurry away in a far corner, and the stack of sh.e.l.ls rattled. Deanna was suddenly depressed by the realization that this hovel was their home, and they had been fighting to protect it.

A voice broke into her thoughts: "Picard to away team."

Data answered, "Away team here."

"Data, what is your current status?" asked the captain.

"The mission is going satisfactorily," answered the android. "We have been accepted by Balak, leader of the Klingons, and we are standing with him now in one of their underground shelters."

"May we speak freely?" asked Picard.

"Yes, sir," answered Data. "Thus far only Turrok and a female named Wolm are wearing comm badges. Balak will not be able to understand us."

"I wanted to inform you that we are transporting a small party of colonists to the seash.o.r.e tomorrow morning. This probably wouldn't be the time or place to mix the two parties."

"Understood," answered Data. "We will remain here and continue gaining their confidence."

"Excellent," said Picard. "Out."

Balak was staring at them curiously. "That your G.o.d? Tell you what to do?"

"Only metaphorically speaking," answered Data, "not mythologically."

The flashlight did little to warm the mud hole, and Deanna s.h.i.+vered and said, "I would like to sleep outside. I've been looking forward to lying on all those leaves."

"I will accompany you," said Data. To Balak he explained in Klingon, "Counselor Troi and I are going outside. Perhaps Lieutenant Worf would like to remain inside with you."

Worf looked forlornly at the grim surroundings but said only, "I may take a walk later."

Deanna noticed a second entrance, but she preferred to traverse the one she had just come down. Who knew where the other one went? Data followed politely behind her.

"Use roots to pull yourself up!" Balak called after them.

The young Klingon smiled and tapped Worf's shoulder. "Storm coming. You better off here."

"I hope so," said Worf doubtfully.

Balak looked up the light shaft to study a microscopic bit of sky. "Yes, a storm," he smiled. "Good night to see G.o.ddess."

"G.o.ddess?" asked Worf. "You mentioned her before."

"Not now, quiet," cautioned Balak. "G.o.ddess for me now-you later."

After giving Data and Deanna enough time to reach the surface Balak shouted up the chute, and Wolm, Turrok, and several of the others came scuffling down, their new musical instruments in tow.

Worf sat with them by the light of his flashlight and answered their questions, marveling at how intelligent they were. He described the great Klingon Empire-all the fantastic cities that encompa.s.sed dozens of planets and the n.o.ble s.h.i.+ps that plied the s.p.a.ce between them. Then he talked a little about the Federation and the hard-won friends.h.i.+p between that loosely knit body and the empire. They couldn't grasp the concept of s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps very well, but they all remembered-in disjointed bits and images-a place that was different than the forest, a place that sounded like the cities Worf described.

Several youths came and went through the tunnel, gathering things for dinner: giant larvae, various greens, mussels, dried chuck meat, and some stale peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches that were presented without comment along with everything else. Wort added a few delicacies from his pack, and the communal dinner grew to a respectable size before everyone grabbed a sh.e.l.l and waited to be served by Wolm. She did an astounding job of apportioning the meager helpings.

Worf noticed that at least half the tribe was topside, keeping guard, he a.s.sumed, or sleeping in other hutches. After dinner he excused himself to see his comrades, and Wolm and Turrok looked sadly after him, as if he might not return. The others were too busy inspecting the flashlight and enjoying the novelty of having light after dark.

On the surface Wort gratefully breathed cold air splashed with rain and whipped by a substantial wind. It was darker than below, but not so claustrophobic, so uncomfortably like being buried alive. He spied the light of another flashlight, lowered his head against the drizzle, and strode toward it.

Deanna was huddled in her sleeping bag under a tree trunk. She looked drenched and tired but determined to tough it out. Data stood a few meters away, peering up into dark branches; he looked thoughtful and content.

"h.e.l.lo, Lieutenant," he said, not turning around. "Does it remain dry in the hutch?"

"So far," replied Worf. "Drier than up here."

Deanna shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know it's irrational, but I can't stay down there."

"Counselor, may I make a suggestion?" said Worf sympathetically. "Why don't you return to the s.h.i.+p and give a full report to Captain Picard? I believe that, given time, we can convince the survivors to make peace with the colonists. But there's no telling how many days it may take."

"I agree," said Data. "There is no reason for you to stay here tonight."

Deanna stood, relief spreading across her face. "You won't think I'm a-what did Wesley used to say?-a wimp?"

"No," answered Worf, "and if you don't care to go, I will. I think Captain Picard would value your a.s.sessment more than mine."

Deanna smiled. "Besides, you don't want him to see your face until it heals a bit."

Worf self-consciously touched his bruises and cleared his throat. "Please tell the captain that if we adhere to our present course of action, we may be able to persuade the survivors to accompany us to the settlement. But I don't want to request it until I know they will accept the idea."

"Counselor," added Data, "please stress to the captain that we are not in physical danger."

"I will," she promised. "Is there anything else we should tell him?"

"There is," Worf whispered. "Balak said earlier that tonight would be a good night for him to visit the G.o.ddess. When I pressed him for information, he would tell me nothing more about this G.o.ddess."

Deanna recalled something. "Wolm mentioned that he was seeing the G.o.ddess last night. But it could be something as simple as an altar or another mound."

"We should follow him," Worf declared.

"I should follow him," Data replied. "No offense, Lieutenant, but he may smell you, hear you, or otherwise detect your presence. In this darkness I will be able to see him clearly and follow him, and you would have difficulty. Also, I do not sleep and can watch the exit."

"Very well," grumbled Worf. "Then I'm going back down there to try to sleep. I think it would be a show of good faith."

Now it was Deanna's turn to be sympathetic. "I'll beam down a few more flashlights for you, some food, and a couple more sleeping bags," she offered.

Worf managed a smile. "That would be useful."

Data glanced around the murky forest and declared, "My vision algorithms are adjusted for optimum performance. If Balak goes somewhere tonight, I will follow."

Worf went back down into the hutch and talked with Turrok, Wolm, and a few of the others for a short time. Then the relative peace of the burrow began to soothe him. Turrok cuddled into his chest, Wolm cuddled into his back, and he found himself drifting off to sleep. The dim flashlight shone in a far corner for some time, then was extinguished. Before slipping into oblivion Worf was aware that people were going in and out of the burrow, and he recognized an effective revolving guard system. He slept contentedly after that, his nose getting used to the dark smells of earth and unwashed bodies.