Star Trek - War Drums Part 15

Ensign Ro had just returned to eating her salad, despite the stares of her colleagues, who apparently didn't eat at their posts in the lab. She didn't care- she had to eat, and she wouldn't leave the seismographs. So intent was her observation of the instruments that the voice on her communicator startled her.

"Picard to Ro."

"Ensign Ro here," she replied with a dry swallow. She knew perfectly well why he was calling.

"Is everything under control?" asked the captain.

Ro swallowed again. Was she going to mention the fluctuations? The records were so poor in the lab that minor temblors like that could have been occurring for months without meaning anything.

"Ensign?" said Picard with concern. "Is everything all right?"

"I don't trust those tectonic plates," answered Ro, "or Raul Oscraras."

"I share your concerns," Picard said gravely. "The s.h.i.+p is leaving orbit now, but we'll return as soon as possible, perhaps in as few as fourteen or fifteen hours. Look out for yourself and don't hesitate to use their radio."

"Understood, sir," answered Ro.

"Enterprise out."

Chapter Thirteen.

THE FOOD WAS swiftly disappearing, and the young Klingons were glancing warily over their shoulders at Deanna, Worf, and Data, wondering what would happen next. So was Deanna. She was certain of only one thing-whatever happened, it would not involve the Enterprise. The s.h.i.+p was gone, and she wondered how much of the peacekeeping authority of the Federation was gone with it.

She glanced at the slim android and the brawny Klingon beside her. Data was watching the young Klingons with a studious detachment, as if they were specimens in a jar, and Worf seemed immersed in thought, his jaw working nervously, his fists clenching and unclenching.

"We made them wear comm badges inside their clothing as a condition of getting more food," she told Worf. "So we are ready to proceed to the next step-whatever that is."

Data replied, "I have the communicator given to us by Raul Oscaras-we could contact the settlement for more food."

"No," growled Worf, "their need is not more food for their stomachs, but food for their souls. They must be made to realize that they are Klingons, and Klingons do not hide in the woods or accept second-cla.s.s citizens.h.i.+p. They are the original settlers of Selva, and it's time they claimed their rights."

"That is well to say," said Data, "but do you have a plan?"

"Only to turn them into real Klingons," answered Worf. "Do I have your permission to try, sir?"

Data nodded. "As long as we are not endangered, you may proceed."

Worf strode down the mound toward the diners, who were so sated by now that they were picking at their sc.r.a.ps. The roast turkey had proven to be very popular, and the biggest youth-now that Balak was gone-was gnawing on a bare carca.s.s that had been picked as clean as a drum skin.

Maltz studied Worf from the corner of his eye as the uniformed adult sat cross-legged on the ground a few meters away from him. Deanna took that as a clue as to how she should behave, addressing the adolescents as equals rather than grownups who stood over them. She hurried down the hill and sat beside Worf. He nodded gratefully to her and just kept smiling benignly until he was sure he had the attention of each of them. Data, who could hear perfectly well from atop the mound, maintained his lookout post.

Deanna Troi glanced at Wolm, knowing the bruised girl had performed an act that was violent and reprehensible, yet n.o.body had seen fit to punish her for it. Perhaps, thought the Betazoid, she was punis.h.i.+ng herself. Wolm sat apart from the others, and her head hung low; she seemed distracted and exhausted, as if the weight of her action had just hit home.

Turrok had been welcomed back and was sitting with a group of younger Klingons, but Wolm sat alone, an instrument of change and an object of fear. She had a.s.sa.s.sinated Balak, their first and so far only leader, and she would always be known for that. Her punishment or accolades would come later, when her comrades knew what to think about these fast-moving events.

"Did you like the food?" Worf asked them.

There were some grunts but no complaints, until Maltz tossed the turkey carca.s.s over his shoulder into the woods. "You knew we would like the food," he said with a scowl. "What do you want from us? Friends? All right, we are friends." He sprang to his feet. "Now we go home."

"Wait," said Worf. "There is plenty of light left in the sky, and I thought we could sit and talk. I will tell you exactly what we want."

The others looked expectantly from Maltz to Wolm, then to one another, and there seemed to be a consensus that they could sit a while longer. Deanna was receiving so many conflicting emotions from this troubled group that she didn't know how to interpret them. Fear, curiousity, confusion, hope. Their instincts told them to kill the strangers and run off to their hutches, but their reason told them to listen. Their faces reflected a childlike nativete and a longing to be nurtured, yet Deanna knew they practiced ritual torture and slit throats without compunction. She remembered the cold knife point at her own throat and swallowed nervously.

Worf took a shaving mirror out of his pack and held it up for all of them to see. "Do you know what this is?" he asked. "It's called a mirror. You can use it to see what you look like." He tossed the mirror to a startled Maltz, who caught it in spite of the frown on his face.

"If you look at yourselves," Worf continued, "you will see that we are alike. We are of the same race-Klingon-with the same history and the same destiny. Even if you don't understand anything else that I tell you, you must admit that you are Klingon, like me."

Maltz scrutinized himself in the mirror, touching his cheekbones and rugged forehead. Then he handed it to a comrade, who twisted it, trying to find his best angle. Others peered over his shoulder at the glimmering object.

Worf pointed to Deanna and said, "Counselor Troi is not Klingon-she is half Betazoid and half human. You only know this one planet, this one place, but people from many different races live together peacefully on many other worlds."

He smiled. "You are not that much different from Klingons elsewhere. We are warriors!" he cried, pounding his chest. "We settle wars and disputes with blood, and the greatest joy for a Klingons is to die in battle!"

Now he had their attention, thought Deanna, but she hoped this wasn't giving in to their primitive tendencies. She caught herself biting her nail.

"But worlds are not founded on battle," said Worf, "they are founded on peace. War is destructive and tears things down. You need peace to build things."

He motioned to the sky and said, "I cannot teach you to be a citizen of the galaxy unless you first learn to be Klingon. In this life-the only life you remember-your allegiance has been only to one another. That is fine. You will always be brothers and sisters because of your experiences here. But you must bond with your people-the Klingons and the Klingon Empire."

He bowed his head and added, "I have also sworn my allegiance to the Federation, which is a group of races that share friends.h.i.+p. That is not a decision you have to make today. I made that decision because I was once like you-cut off from my family and heritage. Like you, I was not a Klingon, because I was not raised as one. But when I was old enough, as you are, my foster parents began to teach me what it was to be a Klingon." Worf smiled. "They are great believers in tradition."

He slapped his knee and added, "Later I went to live among my kinsmen, as you may choose to do. They taught me to be Klingon, as I will teach you. You will become one with me-and all other Klingons-and take me as your brother."

The young people looked at one another in confusion. "How will we do that?" asked one.

Worf smiled. "We have a ritual called the R'uustai. The Bonding. You will become part of my family and I of yours. We will be brothers and sisters forever, and you will be Klingons, not just look like Klingons."

Worf rose to his feet and added, "There is just one thing. You will have to bring back the lanterns you took from us. In fact, bring back all the lanterns, flashlights, and anything else that makes light before darkness. We will need them for the R'uustai."

Still looking s.h.a.ggy and unfed despite their large meal, the young Klingons rose uncertainly to their feet and peered at one another. Deanna was waiting for one of them to object, to challenge the idea, but no one said anything. They were still in shock. She hoped they would be able to absorb what Worf was offering them, and she wondered if it was wise to let them go. But she knew that Worf was right in letting them discuss it in private-they had to accept change of their own free will.

Led by Maltz, they jogged off into the woods. Turrok grinned and waved, and Wolm hung back, looking like someone who wanted to talk. But her companions were racing away, and Wolm wanted to be with them. She managed a brief smile before das.h.i.+ng off into the forest.

Deanna said with all honesty and admiration, "That was very well done, Worf. I approve of this tack. It will increase their self-esteem."

Worf gazed after the fleeting figures and muttered, "Praise me later, Counselor-when they return."

Ensign Ro rubbed her bleary eyes and leaned back in her chair, which creaked in protest. She had fidgeted with her instruments for two hours, scouring the vast continent that sprawled along the ocean floor. Somewhere in that concave wilderness there was a temblor every second, but the trouble spot closest to them was quiet, having exhausted itself with those little shrugs a few hours earlier. With enough time, from a platform like the Enterprise, they could eventually map all the fault lines, volcanoes, and other forces at work, along with their interconnections down to the mantle and the core. But for now she could only watch and fine-tune the sensors, wondering what she would do if the planet suddenly erupted in a growing spurt. Crawling under the desk was about all she could think of.

The Bajoran's worried musings were interrupted by a small voice. "Ro?" it asked plaintively.

She turned to see a small girl with very large red eyes. Ro instinctively opened her arms and enveloped the child, and Myra responded with sobs hiccuping in her throat.

"They relieved him of duty," she murmured with incomprehension. "My dad. I feel awful for him, because he's done all he can, and they're stupid! But the kids in my cla.s.s-they say you and he ... I told them it wasn't true, and what difference would it make anyway?" Sobs overcame her, and her slight body trembled in Ro's grasp.

"Myra," said the ensign evenly, "it doesn't matter what they think. As for your father being relieved of his duties, I'm certain that is temporary. The one who should be relieved of his duties is Raul Oscaras. I've seen this my entire life, so perhaps I am cynical about it, but men such as he rule by force of personality, not apt.i.tude. He'll be proved a fool eventually. And your father will be proved innocent of whatever accusations Oscaras has trumped up."

Myra stared at her, having never heard such frank criticism of authority before. She inhaled a great lungful of breath to make up for what she had lost crying. "I know you're right," she answered. "But my father takes great pride in his work. This is crus.h.i.+ng to him."

"Someone had to break with Oscraras," answered Ro. "Your father was only the first. You have faith in him and in what you know is right, and people like Oscaras can't crush you."

"Thanks," said Myra, wiping her sleeve across her eyes. "But it's hard."

"Growing up is hard," the Bajoran agreed. "You discover that authority comes in all flavors-benign, cruel, gifted, and incompetent."

Ro glanced at her instruments. "Not to change the subject, but there was a series of temblors in the five range in that fissure a thousand kilometers from here. I just wonder if you've got any opinions about it."

"Well," answered Myra, looking professionally glum instead of personally glum, "I have an opinion on what happened to the forest, based on our trip to the seash.o.r.e this morning. It definitely has something to do with what you're doing."

"What do you mean?" asked Ro, her heart beating unpleasantly faster.

"I mean," said the prodigy, "what happened ninety years ago that wiped out the forest. If you go outside our gate and dig in the topsoil, under the humus, you'll find a lot of those small black pebbles we saw on the beach today. There are also sulfuric acids and a number of trace elements in the topsoil that can only be explained if that weird creature that lives on top of the ocean was washed ash.o.r.e here. It couldn't live, of course, and it just died away."

Ro experienced a queasy feeling in her stomach as she antic.i.p.ated what was coming next from the mouth of this remarkable twelve-year-old.

Myra shrugged. "There really isn't enough of that animal to be dangerous, but it does prove that a giant tidal wave-a tsunami-rolled across here and wiped everything out. The trees grew back real fast, because there were plenty of seed cones in the muck that covered the area after the water ran off. Along with the pebbles and other stuff from the ocean."

"Could that happen again?" asked Ro.

"It will happen again," answered Myra. "In ten thousand years or ten years. Who knows?"

"It could happen anytime," said Ro absently, gazing at her instruments. "I've never lived on a watery planet, like Selva or Earth. What exactly causes a tsunami?"

"An earthquake or volcanic eruption in the ocean," answered Myra, pointing to the seismograph. "But it would have to be a big one that displaced a lot of water. The waves travel in concentric circles outward from the displacement, just like when you toss a rock into a pool. Sitting in a boat on the ocean, you could ride over a tsunami, but the sh.o.r.es can get hit with waves that are forty meters high. We're only twenty kilometers away, and these are lowlands-there are no mountains or hills between us and the ocean. To a tidal wave, we're part of the beach."

"Have you told this to any of the others?" asked Ro nervously. "They've got to be warned."

The girl shrugged. "They won't believe me. Oscaras and half the adults in the village were involved in the decision to settle here. This is the most stable place on the planet as far as being away from the main fault lines, but they didn't take the ocean into account. With everything else that's happened, who could tell them they put us in a tidal wave area? They wouldn't believe me at all-they don't accept my theory that the forest is only ninety years old. And where would they go? They're not gonna pick up and walk off into the forest while the Klingons are out there."

Ro rubbed her eyes, trying to expel the monstrous headache that was attacking her frontal lobe. "Myra," she said, "you've got to take me to the radio room. I have to call the Enterprise."

"Come on," chirped the girl, grabbing Ro's elbow.

The Bajoran tore herself away from the seismographic sensors and followed Myra Calvert through the laboratory. A handful of lab workers watched them suspiciously as they exited through the automatic door. They climbed the metal staircase on the outside wall of the two-story building and reached a landing on the second floor. Myra punched the large b.u.t.ton that opened the door, and they entered a nondescript hallway with a number of open doorways beyond. Ro knew that the replicator, sickbay, radio, and other crucial systems were located there, but she was surprised at the number of people that seemed to be milling around. Immediately three brown-suited colonists converged on them.

A big-shouldered man stepped in front of Ro and blocked the hallway beyond. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"To use the transmitter," she said simply.

"You need permission from President Oscaras," the man replied.

Myra snapped in outrage, "Says who? This is Ensign Ro of the Enterprise, and she wants to contact her s.h.i.+p."

"I'm sorry," said the man, who clearly was not sorry, "but access to the subs.p.a.ce radio is restricted to authorized personnel."

Ensign Ro bristled. "The Enterprise will return even sooner if I don't contact them."

"I don't know anything about that," growled the man. "I only know you need the permission of President Oscaras to use the radio."

"My dad will vouch for her," proclaimed Myra.

The man stared down at the child and sneered. "Your dad has been restricted to quarters. Now get out of here, both of you."

This devastated the child, but she tightened her quivering lip and glared at the guard. The other two colonists also crossed their arms, looking like they meant business. Out of habit Ro lifted her hand to tap her communicator badge. But who was she going to call? The Enterprise was out of range by a couple dozen light-years, and what good could Worf and his party do in this predicament? They probably had their own hands full, and she didn't want to draw them into this maelstrom.

Down the hallway a man emerged from one of the adjoining rooms with four phaser rifles in his arms. He was besieged by a number of waiting colonists, who eagerly inspected the weapons.

"Very well," said Ro, "I'll get his permission. Will you alert me when the Enterprise calls and wishes to speak with me?"

"Uh," stammered the man, looking uncertain, "of course."

"Thank you," replied Ro. She put her arm around the girl's shoulder and steered the angry youngster out the door.

When the door slammed shut behind them Myra burst out, "My dad will kick their b.u.t.ts!"

For the girl's sake Ro tried to suppress the fear that was churning in her stomach. She turned blandly to Myra and asked, "Why don't we go talk to your dad? Is he at home?"

The girl averted her eyes. "Um, I don't know."

"I think you do know," said the Bajoran. "The three of us have to stick together until the Enterprise returns."

Myra bowed her head and plodded down the stairs. "He's home," she murmured, "but he's been drinking his allotment of mulled wine, and he hardly ever drinks."

"Come on," said Ro, charging down the stairs, "let's splash some water in his face."

Gregg Calvert was not falling-down drunk, but he was depressed and surly by the time his daughter and Ensign Ro reached the house. He poured the last of a bottle of amber wine into a gla.s.s and gulped it steadily while he listened to Myra's tale of their trip to the communications room.

"Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," muttered Gregg, staring vacantly at Ensign Ro. "Oscaras has them all stirred up against you and me, and the Enterprise, too. I was such a d.a.m.n fool to cast our lot with these idiots-now Myra and I are stranded here!" He shook his head, took a deep breath, and added, "I hate to judge them too harshly, though. They're just innocent dreamers whose dream has turned into a nightmare."

Ro responded, "It's a lot more complicated than that. Your daughter thinks we're in an area that's p.r.o.ne to tidal waves, and I have to agree. We just had a major earthquake in the ocean, and it might be only a foreshock. I wanted to call the Enterprise to tell them to evacuate this planet immediately."

Gregg snorted a laugh and tipped his gla.s.s toward her. "Good luck to you, Ensign. Raul Oscaras is not big on listening to reason, as you probably noticed. They won't be able to think about tidal waves until they do something about the Klingons. And the spy-he doesn't want to deal with that at all."

Ro paced the drab enclosure. "He must be planning to do something," she declared, "because he had your replicator busy making phaser rifles. Look, I don't have to convince Raul Oscaras he's wrong, but I do have to get access to that radio and contact the Enterprise."

Gregg Calvert slapped his thighs and stood uneasily. "Okay," he muttered, "let's see what we can do." He turned to his daughter and smiled. "I'm sorry I got you into this, sweetheart. Stay here and try to keep out of everyone's way."

"But, Dad!" she protested. "I want to go with you and Ro!"

"No," he said sternly. "This may get ugly. Stay here and keep a low profile. Don't go to the lab or anywhere. We'll be back as soon as we can."

Myra flashed him a brave smile and nodded with a chin that quivered just a little.