Star Trek - War Drums Part 11

On the surface Data stood as still as one of the silent tree trunks. The wind had died down, and the rain had lessened to a misty drizzle. He knew there were guards in the trees, but their attention was on the forest itself, especially in the direction of the village. His attention was on the camouflaged flap that hid the entrance to the hutch.

The guards had long since changed their s.h.i.+ft when the trapdoor moved and a large figure clambered out. Data knew it was Balak, but he didn't deviate from his impression of a tree. The big Klingon made some clicking noises, and his subordinates in the branches clicked back. Then he loped off into the forest. Data moved swiftly after him, s.h.i.+fting to absolute stillness when he thought he had attracted the attention of a guard, then stepping briskly in pursuit.

Balak was not trying to be circ.u.mspect-he was skipping along in the dark woods like a little boy heading home from school. He stopped to sniff the breeze several times, and once he whirled abruptly on his heel. But Data had stopped in time and was doing his impression of a tree trunk. Balak scrutinized the blackness for a moment, then hurried on. The android discreetly kept his distance until the Klingon stopped to make a cawing sound that shook the branches.

Both he and Data stood perfectly still, waiting. Finally a voice floated on the misty breeze, calling in Klingon, "Come! Come, my follower! Come to me!"

Data recognized the amplified female voice for what it was, but he a.s.sumed that Balak might have heard it as the haunting voice of a G.o.ddess beckoning him. The big teenager plodded through the woods after the mysterious voice, and it repeated the refrain of "Come to me!" several times. The sophisticated sound system maintained a good level over a considerable distance, noted Data.

A frosty white light bounced between the trees, and Balak crept toward it. The Klingon's cautious stance showed that he was poised for danger, and Data thought it wise to fall back a few more steps. The light could be coming from any number of sources, thought the android, but it was probably a halogen lantern covered by some sort of gauzy material. He had to admit that its ghostly dancing between the stark tree trunks was hypnotic. The lighting effect was heightened by the natural occurrence of little cyclones that tossed leaves in their wake like black confetti.

"Come forward, Balak!" said a voice that was stern and deep-throated, but very feminine.

The youth edged forward, his hands held upright as if in repentance. "I-I have returned, G.o.ddess!" he stammered. He made whimpering sounds of obedience and fear.

"You have not done what I told you!" thundered the voice. "I told you to kill the flat-heads. Now you take them into your hutch!"

Data focused on the wavering light and could make out the silhouette of a feminine shape that accompanied the voice. She seemed to be swaying back and forth in the light, her presence more obscuring than enlightening. He wanted to creep closer, but Balak stood between them, and he saw no way to get around the terrified Klingon without attracting his attention.

"They pa.s.sed the tests," Balak whimpered. "Test of Evil, of Finding, of Strength-each one pa.s.sed! They give us food and drums-"

"Stop!" blasted the voice. A whoosh of cold air swept around him, and Data quickly realized why. The female was walking toward them and wielding a glowing whiplike weapon-a displacer! Some credited the displacer to the Romulans, some to the Ferengi, but they were outlawed in the Federation as a weapon of torture. All the light in the forest seemed to swirl around the sizzling snakelike coil as it flicked menacingly from side to side in front of the G.o.ddess.

Data wondered how much voltage the weapon was capable of delivering. It appeared snakelike because the tip had enough artificial intelligence to direct its own attack, if the user so wished. Wielding the displacer also changed the air pressure around it, which, Data had read, made for some exquisite tortures. He would have liked to examine the displacer more than the people in front of him, but he forced his attention back to Balak. Despite his fear, the Klingon was creeping toward the glowing G.o.ddess and her weapon of punishment.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he blubbered. "I need deliverance! Deliverance!"

The G.o.ddess moaned, "So you shall have it."

Like an avenging angel she strode through the darkness with the la.s.so of light rippling over her head. She cracked the displacer in front of the cowering Klingon, and he reacted as if he'd been punched by an invisible fist. He rolled to his left and tried to stand. She gave the coil the merest flick, but it was enough to knock the air out of his stomach and send him writhing to the ground. The woman stood over him, victorious. She was wearing a long black cloak under which she appeared to be naked.

Data couldn't see much more, because the halogen lantern in the trees had been extinguished. The only light in the oppressive forest was the displacer, sizzling and curling around Balak's legs. It wrapped itself around his ankle and gave the appendage a tug. Balak yelped in pain.

"Deliverance, deliverance," he was still babbling.

"You will kill them," the woman insisted. "Or I will kill you."

"Deliverance!" he rasped, getting up to his knees.

He reached for her, not as a man reaches for a religious icon, but as a man reaches for a woman. The G.o.ddess laughed, but she didn't fight off his advances. The displacer curled around his thigh and gave him a jolt of electricity in a sensitive spot. He whimpered-with pain or pleasure, it was hard for Data to tell. The woman laughed hoa.r.s.ely, then circled his neck with the glowing whip.

Still as a tree trunk, the android watched impa.s.sionately as the Klingon and the G.o.ddess dropped to the damp humus and coupled as lovers do. Then he heard a noise behind him.

Data whirled to see another young Klingon holding a long kitchen knife.

Chapter Ten.

THE YOUNG KLINGON looked nervous as he waved the knife at Data, motioning him away from the couple writhing on the ground thirty meters in front of them. The android didn't fear the sharpened kitchen blade, but he didn't wish to do anything that would reveal his presence to Balak and the mysterious G.o.ddess. Certainly he had no interest in watching them engage in s.e.x, although he was disappointed that he had to leave before getting a closer look at her displacer weapon. Data nodded in agreement and walked as quietly as possible away from the scene.

The young Klingon followed warily behind him, never sheathing his knife, and they were soon far enough away from the lovers to talk.

"I congratulate you," the android said in Klingon. "You trailed me without my knowledge."

"I saw you pa.s.s under me," said the boy in a yodeling voice that was struggling through p.u.b.erty. "We leave Balak alone-when he with G.o.ddess."

"Who is the G.o.ddess?" Data queried.

"The G.o.ddess is"-the boy stammered-"the G.o.ddess is ... spirit from the forest!"

"That is incorrect," said Data. "The G.o.ddess is a flesh-and-blood humanoid like yourself. She possesses a common halogen lantern and an uncommon weapon called a displacer."

"You lie!" hissed the Klingon. "She is holy. She show us how to fight flat-heads."

Data observed, "That is apparently not all she is showing you."

Data sensed the boy running at him and turned in time to catch his wrist, with the knife blade a few centimeters from his chest. The youth grimaced, groaned, and struggled to free himself, but the android held him implacably.

"You do not attack a being for merely stating the obvious," said Data. "If I turn you loose, do you promise to put your knife away? We are returning to the hutch, as you wish."

The Klingon grunted in agreement, and he soon had use of his arm again. He rubbed his wrist and glowered at the android, but he finally returned the knife to his belt.

"How long has Balak been seeing this G.o.ddess?" asked Data.

"I not know," muttered the youth. "He not talk with us about it except to say, 'The G.o.ddess say the flat-heads are coming out tomorrow.' Or she tell us where to steal knives and food."

"I see," said Data. "That is a very useful ally. Do the rest of you engage in s.e.x, as do Balak and the G.o.ddess?"

"No!" exclaimed the boy, looking aghast at the idea, and somewhat embarra.s.sed. If Data read humanoid reaction correctly, the thought had occurred to the young Klingon, but he was fighting the disturbing impulse of procreation. Given another year or two, Data thought, he might think differently. He had seen enough of humanoid s.e.xuality to know it was a powerful drive.

Data asked, "Is Balak the only person from the tribe who visits the G.o.ddess in the forest?"

"Yes," said the boy, furrowing his thick brow in thought. "That not fair, is it?"

"From your perspective, no," answered Data. "What is your name?"

"Lupo," answered the boy proudly.

"Lupo," Data repeated. "I am Data. I do not wish to alarm you, but your existence in this forest is accidental. It will not last much longer. We are introducing new concepts into your society, so is the G.o.ddess, and so are the colonists, whether they wish to or not. You must be prepared to learn new ways and have your conceptions destroyed. Do you understand?"

The boy swallowed hard and shook his head, but he looked as if he understood all too well.

"Those large rodents," said Data. "Have you ever seen baby or newborn chucks?"

The boy nodded yes.

"Then you may appreciate hearing where they come from," continued the android, stepping between the black tree trunks. "Inside the female is an organ called a womb."

"Womb," the Klingon repeated, following the android. In a few seconds their voices were muted by the endless columns within the immense black cathedral.

Captain Picard rubbed his eyes and touched his cup to see if his Earl Grey tea had cooled to the point where he could drink it. He didn't want to sip the tea, he wanted to take a healthy slug.

a.s.sembled before him in his personal quarters were Commander Data, Deanna Troi, and Lieutenant Worf, but all eyes were riveted upon Data, who was just finis.h.i.+ng a detailed but dispa.s.sionate account of two people making love. One of them was actually referred to as a G.o.ddess, but that didn't cheer Captain Picard any. He had been fast asleep when an urgent call had come from Worf to have a meeting with their part of the away team. Data had a story that had to be told, Worf had insisted. It certainly did, thought the captain glumly.

Deanna Troi looked every bit as amazed as the captain felt. They had already discussed the progress of the mission, and she had a.s.sured him they had been accepted and were safe among the feral Klingons. But that was before they knew that a woman was influencing these vulnerable young people. This was a development no one had foreseen.

Deanna shook her head with disbelief. "You say this G.o.ddess insisted that he kill the settlers, then she seduced him?"

"That is the order of occurrence," agreed Data. "Then another Klingon trailed me and forced me to leave at knifepoint."

"Captain," said Worf urgently, "we must determine the ident.i.ty of this 'G.o.ddess.' "

The captain's lips tightened, and he cleared his throat. "Romulan," he murmured. "Data, you said her weapon was Romulan?"

The android responded, "Of possible Romulan origin. Others have attributed the displacer to the Ferengi secret police. Believed to have originated from a design called the Viper, which was used by Romulans until 2320."

"That's enough," said Picard, "to make me worried. Officially, the Romulans vacated this sector in exchange for the Klingons vacating Kapor'At, where those youngsters are from. But did they really leave?"

The captain picked up his cup and crossed to the porthole, where he could see the steady gaze of a million suns. But the opaque clarity of s.p.a.ce didn't help him see Romulans any more clearly.

He took a sip of tea and continued. "What we have here is a sort of de facto neutral zone between the Romulans and the Klingons. Free s.p.a.ce, or so the Federation was led to believe. But what if the Romulans have never left? They wouldn't dare leave a s.h.i.+p in orbit, even cloaked, because they wouldn't be able to use their transporter with the cloaking up. Romulans, however, are not above using hidden bases, or spies."

"That is quite possible," Data agreed. "Seventy-three percent of the ocean area is unscanned and unmapped, and the terrestrial surface is scanned infrequently. A small outpost, properly s.h.i.+elded, might go undiscovered for years on Selva."

"The Klingons did," Deanna added.

Worf heaved his ma.s.sive shoulders. "Captain," he began, "we must overcome the influence of this 'G.o.ddess.' To lessen the risks, I volunteer to stay alone."

"Lieutenant, if you were overpowered in your sleep, then what?" asked Picard. He heaved a sigh. "I have Ensign Ro in sickbay down there and the three of you living in a mud hovel. We committed ourselves to saving lives, and so we must. At oh-nine hundred I am conducting the party of colonists to the seash.o.r.e via transporter. I'll appraise Ensign Ro of the situation at that time. Please consider your safety first in everything you do. Dismissed."

Worf, Deanna, and Data strode out of the captain's quarters toward the turbolift. Deanna Troi was trying to figure out how to counter the influence of this love G.o.ddess. Clearly, s.e.x was an unstable element to unleash on the impressionable Klingons, so childlike on one hand and so violently unpredictable on the other. This mission needed time and patience, but she had the uneasy feeling that both were running out.

They stepped out of the turbolift and headed for the transporter room. Data glanced at Deanna and queried, "Are you returning to the planet with us, Counselor?"

"Yes." She smiled gamely. "I left my gear down there. I don't know what made me think I would be getting a good night's sleep tonight."

The door to the transporter room whooshed open, and they strode toward the transporter platform.

"This G.o.ddess business is maddening," grumbled Worf. "Who would goad them into attacking the settlers?"

"Unknown," answered Data, centering himself on a pad, "but the probabilities favor a spy planted among the colonists. That would be the most effective method for the Romulans to influence events on Selva without tipping their hand."

Worf nodded and muttered, "It doesn't take much to make a Romulan look human."

"That could also explain the pit we discovered," said Deanna, thinking of the decomposed Klingon at the bottom.

"Quite possibly," agreed Data. He checked to see that his companions were situated, then he nodded to the transporter operator. "Energize."

When they materialized in the woods the only things they noticed were the rapt silence and utter darkness. The trees seemed still, as if the guards and the animals had all fallen asleep. They found their pile of sleeping bags and equipment under the tree where they had left them, but the lanterns were gone. Upon seeing that, Worf drew his phaser-but his eyes hadn't adjusted from the light on the s.h.i.+p, and he was all but blind.

Data moved swiftly to the entrance of the hutch and stopped, his head making minute adjustments for the benefit of his short-range sensors. "We are alone," he proclaimed. "The guards who were above ground have vacated their posts. We could search the hutch, but I believe all its occupants are gone as well."

Worf knelt down at the entrance to the burrow. "Turrok!" he called. "Wolm!" No answer came from within the dark earth.

"d.a.m.n!" cursed Deanna, putting her fists on her hips.

Worf jumped to his feet, cupped his hand to his mouth, and yelled, "Balak!"

"There is no point in shouting," said Data. "They are out of earshot, or I would have picked them up on my internal sensors. Also, I do not believe Balak would answer you."

Worf muttered, "That's all right. We can track Turrok and Wolm by their comm badges."

"No, we cannot," Data corrected him. The android bent down, brushed away some damp leaves, and picked up two comm badges. One of them had a small patch of black animal fur still sticking to it.

Deanna shook her head glumly. "We should never have left the planet."

"In hindsight, that would appear to have been an error," agreed Data. "We can surmise that Balak returned with instructions from the G.o.ddess, saw that we were gone, and decided to leave the area. Had we been here, there might have been a confrontation. Leaving was by far his easiest course of action."

"Now we're back to square one," sighed Deanna. "We have to find them again."

At some distance a rapid but brief tattoo of drumbeats sounded, and Data c.o.c.ked his head in that direction. "To the east," he reported, "toward the ocean."

"We'll follow you," said Worf with determination. He reached down and grabbed a big handful of their gear. Deanna and Data grabbed what was left, and the trio stepped cautiously into the immense darkness of the forest.

Ensign Ro looked out the second-floor window of sickbay and saw the first glimmerings of dawn striking the corrugated metal fence. New Reykjavik could be so beautiful, she thought to herself, but there was nothing beautiful about a wall designed to keep other people out. There was nothing beautiful about a people who had a paradise to explore yet cowered in a metal enclosure.

The trees, which loomed over the fence like giant celery stalks, were honestly beautiful, but even they had an unsettling mystery about them. Were they really no older than ninety years, as Myra thought? Ro wasn't a botanist, but she had thought it was peculiar the way they were all about the same height. That quality reminded the Bajoran of a Christmas tree farm she had seen during her training days at Starfleet Academy. Perfect trees in perfect rows-all the same height. It didn't look natural then, either.

Ro sighed, thinking she was getting too paranoid and suspicious. She had been warned about the mantis bites, so she couldn't blame anyone for that. On the good side, she had made two friends-Myra and her father, Gregg-and two friends in two days was pretty good for Ro. Only Doctor Drayton had shown any overt hostility toward her, but she was probably just another control freak who resented her moving into her lab. Ro was gradually learning to stomach those types.

She felt like someone who had slept for fifteen hours, which she had, and she was raring to do something. She wondered what time Myra and Gregg awoke. Maybe she could locate the family in time to have breakfast with them before their outing at the beach.

"I'm checking out," she told the orderly on duty. "Will you please thank Doctor Freleng and everyone for my care? I owe you all my life."

"Here, dearie," said the older lady, "b.u.t.ton up your s.h.i.+rt collar so they don't crawl in there again."

"Good advice," Ro agreed, letting the woman b.u.t.ton her collar. She was wearing the plain brown clothing of the settlers and found it extremely comfortable. Another reason to like New Reykjavik, she decided. She had thought about changing back into her Starfleet uniform, but then she remembered Guinan's words on the night before her trip to Selva: "Conquer their fear of the Other." It was time to become one of them. Nevertheless, her communicator badge was stuck securely on her breast pocket.

Ro stepped out into the bracing cold of the early morning and gripped the homespun jacket tightly around her shoulders. Her breath came in steaming spurts, intermingled with the early morning fog. She sensed rather than saw eyes peering at her from the guard stations in the corners of the compound, and she stood perfectly still to give them a good long look. Then she walked purposefully across the compound toward the square.

In the square she remembered seeing a map and directory of people's homes carved into a wooden plaque by someone who obviously had a lot of time on his hands. That was the shame of this place, she thought-they were too busy hating to conduct their lives.

She checked the directory and located the Calvert unit in the southwest corner. Walking the deserted metal streets was oddly soothing, and she could smell cooking fumes coming from a few of the apartments. The cold rows of one-story dwellings would have been oppressive if the main streets hadn't been left broad and s.p.a.cious. For what reason that had been done, Ro didn't know, because walking was the only form of transportation they had in New Reykjavik. She pa.s.sed only one colonist, a woman returning home from guard duty. Bleary-eyed, the woman smiled at Ro, noticing the familiar clothes, not the unfamiliar face. Ro smiled back, and the woman didn't stop to take a second look until the Bajoran was well past her.