Star Trek - War Drums Part 16

When Ensign Ro and Gregg Calvert emerged from the tiny apartment, darkness was claiming the sky. The forest loomed behind the galvanized metal walls like a black velvet curtain, and lights flickered on in each guard tower and around the compound, giving the village an unreal look, like a stage awaiting actors to fill it. Nocturnal animals contributed their eerie howls to the setting, and Ro got a full dose of the dread that had dogged her all day. It had started, she recalled, upon her viewing the poisonous red sea-a sea that now appeared to be even more dangerous than the acidic animal that floated upon it.

"Come on," said Gregg, striding toward the two-story building that housed the lab, radio room, and replicator. "Let's see if I can talk some sense into those morons without going through Oscaras."

But there was no getting around Raul Oscaras. He stood just inside the second-story door, addressing a group of colonists who were armed with phaser rifles. Ro knew immediately they had made a terrible mistake, and she wanted to bolt for the door; but Gregg Calvert had a fiery look of determination in his normally placid blue eyes.

He charged up to Oscaras and demanded, "What do you mean by denying Ensign Ro access to the radio? She's ent.i.tled to contact her s.h.i.+p!"

For a moment fear and uncertainty flashed across the president's face, then he mustered his usual bravado. "You're supposed to be confined to quarters," he accused Calvert. "You've been relieved of duties."

"I don't care about me," explained the former security chief. "If I'm finished here, then that's the way it is. But this is a Starfleet officer and Starfleet business you're messing with!"

Several colonists glanced nervously from Raul Oscaras to Gregg Calvert to the b.u.mpy-headed stranger in their midst. Ro could think of nothing to add to Gregg's argument except to cross her arms and look indignant at the treatment accorded her.

Oscaras smiled and tried his bl.u.s.tery charm. "It was never our intention to deny Ensign Ro access to the radio," he a.s.sured them. "I believe she was told that access required authorization, nothing more. As you said yourself, Gregg, we may have a traitor in our midst, and we can't be too careful."

"Then let me use the radio," demanded the Bajoran.

Oscraras smiled warily. "That would be difficult at the moment, Ensign. You see, we're on a security alert."

"For what?" asked Gregg Calvert.

"Klingon savages," sneered the president. "With the Enterprise gone for a few days we thought it best to be on alert."

"Could it be that you don't want the Enterprise to come back too quickly?" Gregg said accusingly.

Ro eyed the phaser rifles and the frightened colonists who held them, trying to decide what course of action would work with these misguided lunatics. Confrontation wasn't getting them very far. "I'll try again in the morning," she said, edging toward the door.

"Stop her!" screeched a voice that sliced across everyone's nerves.

They whirled to see the diminutive figure of Doctor Louise Drayton charging down the hallway. "Get her comm badge!" she shrieked, "before she calls the Klingons!"

Acting instinctively, Ro ducked under a beefy pair of arms and scrambled for the door. Just as it whooshed open another colonist lunged in front of her, and she careened into his chest, knocking them both outside onto the landing. When he groped for her she kicked him in the groin and heard him howl as he tumbled over the railing and fell two stories.

Ro heard shouts and saw a crush of bodies swarming out the door, Gregg in the lead. He tried to hold them off with a flurry of wild punches, but someone clubbed him with the b.u.t.t of a phaser rifle. He dropped to his knees, blood smeared across his face. With no time to think Ro vaulted over the railing.

She landed off-stride and twisted her ankle, and she could only limp a few meters before she heard a shout.

"Stop!" ordered Oscaras from the top of the landing. He was holding a phaser rifle. "Let's be reasonable!"

Louise Drayton shouldered her way to his side and grabbed the weapon from him. "What are you waiting for?" she shrieked. She lifted the rifle to her shoulder and took aim.

"No!" shouted Ro, holding up her hands in a futile effort to ward off the blue beam. The pulse of energy ripped through her body like sparks through a Tesla coil until it reached her brain and exploded with white-hot intensity. Then all was darkness, and Ro crumpled to the ground in a senseless heap.

Chapter Fourteen.

WITH THE RETURN of darkness came the return of the young Klingons, traipsing uncertainly out of the forest, dragging their musical instruments, flashlights, and lanterns with them. They wandered to the edge of the mound and stood expectantly. Deanna Troi saw Worf lift his huge shoulders and sigh with relief; he was beaming as he scampered down the hill to meet them.

Atop the mound Deanna smiled at Data. "I've never seen a R'uustai ceremony," she remarked.

"I believe this one may be atypical," answered the android. "I will remain here and observe."

"You keep your distance from them," observed Deanna. "Why?"

"Tactical reasons," answered Data. "This way it is not possible for all of us to be overpowered at once should the Klingons become violent. I will be able to stun a great many of them before they can reach me."

"I see," nodded Deanna, discomfited by the thought but unable to dispute the android's logic.

"I am also watching for a return of the G.o.ddess," added Data. "Do not let me stop you from a.s.sisting Worf. I will simply remain here and observe."

"Fine." Deanna nodded, wondering if everything was really fine. It had been less than four hours since the Enterprise had vacated this solar system for another, and they had no reason to complain. Worf's emphasis on Klingon tradition and values had apparently struck a nerve. The youths seemed ready-or at least resigned-to belonging to a community larger than their tiny lost tribe. So what was the problem? Why did she feel uneasy? In his own well-reasoned way, Data was also exhibiting anxiety, although he would never admit it. The drums were silent, but there was still violence lacing the air of Selva.

Deanna stepped cautiously down the slope because it was too dark to see well. Suddenly a light beamed on, and she saw Worf adjusting one of the lanterns that had vanished during their trip back to the Enterprise the night before. He dimmed the light to its lowest setting and handed it to Turrok.

"We always use five candles for the R'uustai," he explained to the young Klingons, "in honor of the five stages of birth. We have no candles, so we will use these lights."

He turned on a flashlight and handed it to Wolm with a smile. The teenager grinned back and pointed the beam toward the sky, where it was swallowed by the gathering clouds. Worf turned on the largest lantern and handed it to Maltz, who cracked a smile in spite of his dour expression. He rubbed Turrok's stringy hair and gave him the third lamp, then two more lights were lit and distributed to a pair of eager a.s.sistants.

"Now," said Worf, "we have our five lights. The other object that we use in the R'uustai but do not have with us is the sash with our family insignia. It is worn from shoulder to hip, much as you wear your chuck skins."

The Klingon smiled thoughtfully. "In many ways, the skin you wear now is your sash, because it represents your bond to the only family you know-each other. If you ever leave here, bring it with you, and you can sew it into a new sash, along with the insignia of your birth family."

As his audience looked on with rapt attention Worf continued. "Instead of lighting the candles and wearing the sash we will use another tradition-the handshake. You extend your hand, so, and clasp the other person's hand." He demonstrated on Turrok. "You look each other in the eyes and make a spiritual bond as well as a physical bond. To complete the R'uustai we say the words, 'SoS jlH batlh SoH.'"

Several of the youngsters repeated the phrase and did much better than Deanna thought she could.

Worf nodded approvingly. "With those words we honor the memory of our mothers. It bonds us as one family that is stronger than two separate families."

"Will we ever see our mothers?" asked Maltz wistfully, as if dredging up a memory from a deep place.

Worf shook his head sadly. "No, we won't. That is another bond we share-our birth parents were killed by Romulans. But you have other family members-aunts, uncles, grandparents, perhaps brothers and sisters. You have each other, and after tonight you will also have me."

It was very dark now, yet the woods were strangely silent, as if the chucks, birds, sloths, and other families of Selva were listening to Worf with the same rapt attention. The Klingon motioned to the great mound that loomed behind them.

"With your permission," he said, "we will use your sacred mound." No one objected, and he nodded to the lantern bearers to lead the way.

Five pools of light silently ascended the dark hill, followed by a procession of Klingons. The two boys who always conducted the drumming could not resist beating their logs in a somber march as they followed the group. At the top of the hill the lantern bearers spread out in a semicircle, their lights wavering in their grasp as a strong wind buffeted the top of the mound. Worf stood in front of the lights and motioned the first youngster in line to come forward.

He warmly took her hand and looked into her eyes. "SoS jlH batlh SoH," said the Klingon in a voice that was gripped with emotion.

"SoS jlH batlh SoH," the girl repeated.

One by one the young Klingons came forward under the mystical light of the five lanterns to exchange a vow that honored their mothers. One by one Worf welcomed them into his own family and the brotherhood of Klingons. When he finished with the larger group he exchanged the vow and handshake with each of the lantern bearers, ending with Turrok.

"You will always be my first brother," he told the youngster, and Turrok beamed.

When it was over they picked up both old and new instruments and beat them with joy. Worf danced with Wolm and Turrok, and Deanna clapped hands as the youngsters capered across the top of the mound. The Betazoid had all but forgotten her earlier dread until she saw Data watching them from a respectful distance. Silhouetted against the slate-gray clouds, the android nodded to her in acknowledgment, then turned his attention to the obscure forest beyond.

Ensign Ro woke up in a locked storage room, various aches and pains throbbing in her extremities. The worst pains were the headache at the base of her skull and her swollen ankle. She looked around and saw Gregg Calvert lying against a beige metal wall, still unconscious. There were no windows in the empty storeroom and nothing stored there except for a liter bottle of water, probably left as a humanitarian offering. She shook her head, thinking that it had to have been at least a level-three phaser blast she had absorbed-heavy stun. She groped for her communicator badge.

It was gone.

That was to be expected, she mumbled to herself, considering how badly Doctor Drayton had wanted it. Louise Drayton had just been taken off the list of reclamation projects and put back on the enemies list, along with several others. Ro checked her pocket and found her phaser gone, too, which compounded the feeling that she was in serious trouble. Far away she heard the ominous sound of drums, which didn't lift her spirits either.

She staggered to her feet and limped toward the door, a.s.suming it was locked and wondering exactly how solid it was. It was a conventional door with a hand latch and a bolt lock, and she figured that she and Gregg, if he was feeling up to it, could probably get it open by brute force. That begged the question of whether there were guards outside.

"Hey!" she yelled, pounding on the door. "Let me out! Let me out this instant!"

"Pipe down!" called a voice that was m.u.f.fled by both the wall and a distance of what sounded like several meters.

She didn't wish to give the guard any reason to come closer, so she hobbled away from the door and went to fetch the bottle of water. Ro found a pile of rags under Gregg's head, and she took the cleanest one and wet it. Kneeling down, she put too much weight on her bad ankle and yelped with pain. She grimaced as she painstakingly wiped the blood from his face. Gregg had a bad gash on his forehead and a lump that made him look like a blond Klingon, but the caked blood was hard and the wound didn't look infected. After cleaning him up she sprinkled a few drops of water on his eyelids.

His lips moved, and a groan issued from the back of his throat. Disoriented, he flung his fists into the air. Ro wrapped her arms around him and said soothingly, "It's all right, Gregg. We're alive. Just relax. Lie back and relax."

The big man's body went limp in her arms, and she stroked back his hair. He blinked at her gratefully and tried to smile.

"I take it we lost the fight," he croaked.

Ro nodded. "We're locked up in some kind of storage room. No windows. One door."

"Oooh," moaned Gregg, "either I got pounded or I have a h.e.l.luva hangover." He started to touch his wound, and Ro grasped his hand.

"It's healing," she said, "just leave it alone. You're lucky we don't have a mirror in here."

Horror flashed over Gregg's blue eyes, and he bolted upright. "Myra!" he gasped.

Ro gripped his shoulders. "Listen," she said, "we're in no condition to help Myra or anyone else at the moment. She's a resourceful girl, and, as she's always telling me, the adults don't take her seriously. Do you really think they would harm her?"

"No," muttered Gregg, lying back on the rags. "It's her d.a.m.n father who's the stupid one."

Ro scowled. "There's plenty of stupidity to go around in New Reykjavik. The question is, how do we get out of here? I don't think it's by asking or demanding to be let out. There's at least one guard beyond that door, but I don't think he's sitting right on top of it."

Gregg sat up again, more slowly, and gazed around their nondescript confines. "This looks like an interior room," he said. "That wall with the door adjoins a hallway, and the other three walls adjoin other rooms like this one. The quick way they construct these things, it would probably be easier to go through a wall than the door."

"Cut through it?" she asked. "Batter it down?"

"Bend it outward," answered Gregg, "from the bottom. They don't usually sink these walls into the ground, and the welding may be spotty. We'll use these rags to protect our hands, and we'll bend it up just enough to crawl out."

"Let's get started," said Ro, hobbling to her feet.

Gregg looked at her with concern. "You're hurt, too."

Ro muttered, "Don't worry about me-let's just get out of here and get to that radio."

Myra Calvert knew something was wrong when she heard the angry shouts from the direction of the lab. She never heard shouts like that unless the Klingons had attacked somebody, but then there would be searchlights sweeping the compound and a hue and cry that would last all night. She ran to the small window in her bedroom and looked out but didn't see any searchlights. There had been less than a minute of shouts and commotion, then silence again. She didn't like it.

She liked it even less when her dad and Ro didn't return for over an hour. At that point she was convinced something was desperately wrong. Her dad was a man of his word-when he told her he would be back quickly, he came back quickly. The shouts had come from the direction of the lab building, which she knew was their destination. She began to think-what could she do to help them?

Staying at liberty was her primary objective. If she ran into trouble with President Oscaras, as it seemed her dad and Ro had done, she wouldn't be able to help them at all. The departure of the Enterprise had started a chain reaction that was like an experiment out of control. The faraway chatter of drums just accentuated the feeling of chaos and runaway emotions. People she knew-her dad's so-called friends-had denied Ensign Ro access to the radio room; they had relieved her dad; and they were shouting in the middle of the night. She decided she had to do what Dad had told her and keep away from them.

Myra's heart pounded along with the distant drums as she wondered if President Oscaras would send people looking for her. She had to make a decision-should she stay there, where her dad and Ro expected to find her? Or should she hide somewhere else, in case President Oscaras sent someonelooking for her? Maybe there was a way to do both.

Myra ran into the living room and fired up the message center, which was part of a household computer system that controlled the climate and lights. She and her dad scarcely ever used it, because they both knew where to look for each other, and they seldom hung out at home. But the message system allowed the user to leave a blaring message on the screen that was impossible to miss in the tiny cubicle. She typed in: "Dear Dad, I got scared being by myself and went over to Katie's house. If she's not home, I'll go to another friend's house. See you later. Love, Myra."

The girl smiled and sneaked back into her bedroom, where she scrunched down in the closet. And waited.

Worf bent over to catch his breath, exhausted from nonstop free-spirited dancing to impromptu riffs on drums, maracas, tambourines, and anything else the young Klingons could find that made noise. As the youths whirled around him he looked up at similar activity in the night sky. With the moon as a back-light, a swirling ma.s.s of charcoal and ivory clouds raced eastward, driven by the wind. That reminded him of what lay to the east of them-the settlement of New Reykjavik. The first step of his plan had succeeded, but the most important step lay unfulfilled, and he had no clear-cut idea how to broach the subject.

He caught movement to his left and looked over to find Data stopping at attention beside him. This was the closest the android had gotten to the festivities. Worf appreciated his vigilance, but the youths appeared more likely to drop from exhaustion than to attack them.

"I have a question for you, Lieutenant," the android projected over the music.

"Yes, Commander?" smiled Worf, unable to suppress his happy mood.

"Is the handshake a Klingon tradition?" asked Data. "I thought it was derived from terran customs, to show that neither person was carrying a weapon."

"It's not Klingon," admitted Worf, "but we didn't have candles to light. Besides, they'll be seeing more humans before they see more Klingons. They need to know the handshake."

"That is true," said Data. "How will we integrate them with the colonists?"

"I don't know," admitted Worf. "We must begin by making simple peaceterms. For Klingons, there must be equality and an understanding that this mound and their hutches are off limits to the colonists unless they're invited. In return, the castaways will use their knives to open sh.e.l.ls from the river, nothing more. When the Enterprise returns they may decide if they wish to remain on Selva or to be repatriated-probably in secret-to the homeworlds."

Data nodded curtly. "Then we must request that they return with us now to the settlement."

"That's right," said Worf. "Do you have any ideas how to accomplish that?"

"As you have begun," answered Data, "by asking them to express their demands. Focus their attention away from the initial act of walking into the settlement and onto the greater issues at stake."

"Excellent idea," said the big Klingon. He clapped his hands and barked in his loudest voice, "I must have your attention! Listen to me! Please stop for a moment!" He strode into the midst of throbbing instruments and whipping bodies and held up his hands. "We must talk of your demands!" he bellowed.

Finally the celebrations ceased. "Demands?" muttered Maltz. "What do you mean?"

Worf pointed to the east, along with the wind and swirling clouds. "When we march into their village tomorrow," he declared, "we must tell the colonists what we want from them. For example, we will insist that this mound and your hutches are forbidden to them, unless you wish it otherwise. Think-what else do you want from them?"

"Food!" screamed one youngster, and the others laughed.

All except for Maltz. "You want us to go into their hutch?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," nodded Worf. "It is inevitable. If you wish to be Klingons and travel in the sky to your homeworlds, you must first make peace with the humans in the village. They must acknowledge your right to live here, if that is what you wish. You both have rights, but to live in peace without fearing for your life and liberty is the first of them."

Maltz looked confused and turned to his companions. "If Balak were here, he would say no," said the adolescent. "The G.o.ddess tells us to kill flat-heads, but Worf says we must go to their s.h.i.+ning hutch and make peace. Who is right?"

"Worf!" insisted Wolm without hesitation. There was some m.u.f.fled agreement, but the reality of what Worf was suggesting was just sinking in. The youngsters looked at one another as if Worf had asked them to walk off a cliff.