Star Trek - War Drums Part 17

Their eyes s.h.i.+fted toward a slight figure, the only one among them who had been to the realm of the flat-heads and returned. Turrok fidgeted under their gaze, and Worf could imagine what he was thinking. He was as torn as the rest of them, because he had encountered both cruelty and compa.s.sion, wonders and horrors in his days of captivity.

"The s.h.i.+p," he began uncertainly. "I would go back there. They have a forest they make from the air, like their food. Can we go back there, Worf?"

"No," answered the big Klingon. "The Enterprise is away on another mission. This is your home, and you must make peace with the humans here first. Later, the Enterprise could take you to the homeworlds, where you could learn all the Klingon ways and met members of your family. Or you could stay here. If you stay here, it's even more important that you learn to share this world with the colonists."

Deanna Troi strode forward from the shadows. "You can never really go back to your previous existence," she explained. "Turrok knows-there are worlds and worlds beyond this mound, fantastic cities that float in the clouds and creatures with such intelligence they make us seem like insects. All the memories and dreams you have of other places and people are real. You can decide later if you want to see those other places, but you'll always know they're out there. And that knowledge has already changed you forever."

"Yes,"-Turrok nodded sadly-"she speaks the truth. I wanted to stay on the s.h.i.+p, though I would never see any of you again. I want to go back now-and fly!"

Maltz scowled. "But the flat-heads with their walls-that is what Worf wants! The s.h.i.+p is gone-he said so. Do you want them to beat you and chain you again?"

"No," answered Turrok, "but I trust Worf. All flat-heads are not like them. Look at Deanna and Data."

The attention turned to two beings who looked human but were really quite different. Data opened his mouth to correct the impression that he was human, but Worf shot him a glare that begged for his silence. The android simply strolled back to his observation post and watched the dark forest. It was Deanna Troi who made the final appeal: "You are citizens of this planet with all rights," she said, "but those rights do not include killing the settlers. If you want our help and our friends.h.i.+p, you must make friends with the settlers. There is no other way."

"If we don't?" growled Maltz.

"Then we'll have to go away," she answered. "Perhaps we can persuade the colonists to settle elsewhere, and you can return to the way you lived before-with one difference: You will forever know there are other worlds out there and millions of Klingons like yourselves. But you will never know them. It is your decision-peace with all of us or none of us."

Maltz s.h.i.+fted under the gaze of his comrades, unaccustomed to the pressures of leaders.h.i.+p. But he was the biggest and strongest now, and rightly or wrongly, the others were looking at him for his decision.

He nodded solemnly. "We go with you to the hutch of the flat-heads."

"Humans," Worf gently corrected him.

"Humans," muttered the youngster. "May the G.o.ddess protect us."

Wolm cheered loudly, grabbed a drum, and began beating it. The others grabbed their instruments and leapt for joy, and the celebrations began anew. Worf nodded to Deanna, and they slipped away to congregate at Data's side.

"We should contact Ensign Ro," said the Betazoid, "so she can inform the colonists."

"I do not believe we should travel during the night," observed Data. "Shall I inform her we will arrive tomorrow morning?"

Worf nodded. "Tomorrow morning. No later."

Data tapped his communicator badge, listened for the tone, then announced, "Data to Ensign Ro."

There was no answer. He tried again and received no answer. Worf also made an attempt to contact the ensign, with similar results.

"Could she be asleep?" asked Deanna.

"Her sleep period does not normally commence at twenty-one fifty-four hours," observed Data. "However, we have another means of communication." He took a hand-held communicator from his pocket and reminded them, "This was given to me by President Oscaras, and it will place us in contact with the colonists."

"Very well," said Worf. "We should tell them our plans."

Data twisted a tiny k.n.o.b and spoke into the device. "Commander Data to New Reykjavik. Respond, please."

There was momentary static, then a voice boomed across the tiny device: "President Oscaras here. Is your party all right, Commander Data?"

"Perfectly all right," answered the android, "but we were unable to contact Ensign Ro on her communicator. Is she well?"

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then a feminine voice replied, "This is Doctor Louise Drayton. Ensign Ro is sedated, which is why she couldn't reply. She's still suffering from several aftereffects of the mantis bite, and we thought it best to restrict her to bed. She's a very active person, as you know, and the sedation was necessary. She should be able to resume her duties tomorrow."

"Please express our good wishes to her," said Data. "We want to inform you that we will be conducting the Klingons to the settlement sometime tomorrow morning."

"What?" bellowed Oscaras. "You're bringing them here?"

"They are coming peacefully," answered Data. "Can you make preparations to receive them? Their favorite activities are eating and using percussive instruments."

Oscaras chuckled. "We'll make all the preparations, don't you worry. We know how fond they are of food and drumming."

Worf added, "We will want to conduct negotiations. The castaways have certain demands they wish to make."

"Of course," said Oscaras magnanimously. "This is quite an occasion. Yes, indeed! We'll be ready for them. Bring them on in!"

Chapter Fifteen.

HUNKERED DOWN in her closet on a pile of dirty clothes, Myra fought the temptation to drift off to sleep. She knew somebody would be arriving in the tiny apartment eventually, but she didn't know whether it would be her father, Ensign Ro, or people sent by President Oscaras to fetch her. Whoever they were, if she fell asleep, they would see the message on the computer and go to Katie's house without her even knowing they were there. So she had to stay awake.

Just as she was actually prying her eyes open with her fingers she heard the latch turning. Then the door banged open in a clumsy way that didn't sound like her father's. She held her breath, awaiting his loving call, but it never came. Instead she could barely make out the m.u.f.fled voices of at least two men: "Is she here?"

"Look at the screen."

Myra's heart counted off the milliseconds.

"d.a.m.n!" muttered one of them. "Oscaras didn't want to alert anyone. He wanted to keep it quiet."

"Well, what harm can a little girl cause? In a few hours it'll all be over."

"I hope so."

"Let's report back."

She heard the men tromp out and the door slam shut behind them. Myra had inhaled several times, but her chest was too constricted with fear to exhale fully. When she finally let out a long sigh it brought no relief. The girl crawled out of the closet and stood stiffly, feeling as though she had been kicked in the stomach by a steel-toed boot.

Her dad and Ro were not coming back tonight. They were in real trouble, and there was no one she could turn to for help. The feeling of betrayal by her friends and neighbors was almost worse than the fear for her father. She didn't feel she had broken with President Oscaras; she felt he had broken with her and let her down.

Where could she go? Sooner or later they would actually check her friends' homes and maybe search this one. She couldn't run off into the woods with the Klingons out there, even if she knew a way to get past the guards and the wall. That would be suicide. Myra knew the village as well as anyone, and she could envision several possible hiding places; but how could she get there without being seen? There might be a guard posted right out front, for all she knew, and ten o'clock was too late at night for a twelve-year-old to be walking around the compound by herself.

She sank onto her bed, exhausted by worry, indecision, and lack of sleep. What would her dad do in this situation? Answering that question wasn't much help-he'd walk up to President Oscaras and punch him in the nose, which was probably what he had done to get himself into so much trouble.

From what she could tell, Ro had a similiar temperment. Great. That left her as the only sensible one. But the two of them were preferable to most of the adults in the village, who just kept quiet, kept going along, even though they knew it was wrong for Oscaras to make himself a dictator. Ever since the attacks by the Klingons had begun the community had turned more inward, more fearful, replacing idealism with security.

The night remained eerily silent for all that had to be taking place, thought Myra, and even the drums sounded different. She had stretched out on her bed for a temporary respite, but the comfortable old mattress claimed the girl and stole her away from the fear and chaos into the peaceful realm of sleep.

Squatting upon the floor, with their backs against the wall for maximum leverage, Ensign Ro and Gregg Calvert gripped the bottom of the beige sheet metal. Their hands were wrapped in rags, but the sharp edge of the wall still cut painfully into their flesh. Gregg had pried it up enough to make this hand-hold, and now it was a matter of brute strength. They would pull it inward, ripping up the sloppy welding as they went.

Gregg breathed hard, and sweat was already dribbling off his ruddy face. "Ready?" he grunted. "One, two, three-go!"

Groaning and grimacing with the effort, Ro and Calvert pulled with all their might, trying to use their legs for as much lifting power as they could get. The metal groaned in harmony with them and lifted off the floor a few centimeters.

"Stop," panted Gregg. "I want to see what we're breaking into."

Ro hardly complained about the rest, and she could feel the muscles in her shoulders and thighs screaming from the effort. She was dismayed when she saw how little they had lifted the sheet-metal wall, but it was enough for Gregg to get down on his stomach and peer into the darkness beyond.

"Good," he breathed. "Another storeroom, filled with stuff but no people."

They had chosen the wall opposite the door of their cell, figuring that the room beyond would have a door that opened into another corridor, giving them a better chance to escape undetected. Gregg stood and tightened the rags around his hands.

"Are you all right?" he asked Ro. "How's your ankle?"

"Great," she gulped. "Now the pain in my back and my hands is making me forget all about it."

Gregg nodded sympathetically. "We shouldn't have to pull it up much more to get you out."

"No, you're coming with me," Ro insisted. "You know your way around here, and I don't."

"Then let's put our backs into it," muttered Gregg.

They resumed their positions, which was an easier matter with the wall having been raised a few centimeters. They grunted, grimaced, and sweated their way through five more tugging contests against the welded metal. Finally the gap was big enough for Ro to fit her head and half her torso inside the adjoining storeroom. With her long reach she grabbed a metal broom, which they used as a lever to pry the metal up enough to let Gregg pa.s.s under. Sc.r.a.ping along on their bellies, they crawled out.

More accurately, they crawled into another storeroom, which contained cleaning supplies and linen and smelled strongly of various disinfectants. In the darkness they stumbled to the doorway, and Gregg tried the latch. It wasn't locked and opened easily, but he kept the door closed for the moment.

"Grab some sheets, buckets, or mops," he said, pointing to the stuff that surrounded them, "so we look like we came in here to get supplies. If we see anyone out there, just turn and walk in the opposite direction."

"Okay," nodded Ro, glad she was still wearing the plain clothing of the colonists. She grabbed a bucket and a mop and tried to find something that might actually make a useful weapon. Her hand landed upon a spray bottle filled with what smelled like ammonia. She grabbed it.

Gregg took a stack of towels and a bucket. He carefully opened the door and stepped out. The immediate area was deserted, but to their right figures rushed past in a corridor that intersected theirs. Ro and Gregg immediately turned to the left and walked briskly until they found a door that led to the outside.

The cool night air was like a welcome splash of water after rolling in the dirt, but there was no time to dally. Gregg motioned with his head toward a side street, and Ro quickly followed. They left their towels and cleaning materials in a dark corner, although Ro held on to her spray bottle of ammonia. They moved between rows of nondescript one-story buildings until they reached an intersection with a brightly lit street beyond. Gregg motioned Ro to stay in the shadows while he edged around the corner into the light. A second or two later he had seen all he needed to see, and he ducked back into the alley and flattened himself against the wall.

"No way to get to the radio," he whispered. "The building must be surrounded by a dozen armed men. I don't know what's going on, but it looks like the whole place is getting ready for a war."

"Then," said Ro, "we should try to find the rest of the away team."

"In the forest?" asked Gregg in shock.

"That's where they are," said Ro. "They're probably safer than we are right now."

The former security chief couldn't argue with that. "Can we stop to get Myra?" he asked.

Ro couldn't argue with that, so they scurried off into the darkness. Thanks to Gregg's extensive knowledge of the compound, they were able to maneuver in the shadows and stay out of sight of the bands of colonists that rushed importantly from one place to another.

Gregg Calvert fought the pangs of being left out of whatever big thing was happening, because it was evident that a volunteer force of the most able men and women was being a.s.sembled. He could only imagine it had something to do with the Klingons. He shook off the feeling of having wasted a year's worth of sweat and blood and tried to concentrate on his own survival, and that of his beloved daughter.

Ensign Ro could take care of herself, he figured, and he glanced admiringly at the lithe woman creeping along beside him. He could tell from her agonized gait that her ankle must be bothering her, but she had said nothing more about it. She was a fighter, as evidenced by the spray bottle she gripped like a phaser pistol. He wouldn't want to cross her. In fact, Ro was exactly the kind of no-nonsense, straightforward role model he wanted for his daughter. A woman like ... He brushed aside thoughts of his dead wife, because they were far more painful than thoughts of President Oscaras's treachery. Besides, if Janna hadn't plowed into that asteroid, he wouldn't be in this rotten predicament.

They were nearing his street, and Gregg reached out to keep Ensign Ro from stepping into the light. For a moment her body crushed back against his, and he held her longer than he needed to. She looked up at him with dark eyes that seemed to say: This isn't the time or place, but if we're smart and resourceful, maybe there will be another time and place.

He let her go and whispered, "The door to our apartment is about twenty meters away. Give me about thirty seconds, and if you don't hear anything that sounds like trouble, come after me."

Ro smiled fondly. "I may come after you anyway."

Gregg straightened his broad shoulders and strode into the street as if there wasn't a thing wrong in the world. It was fortunate he was armed with his c.o.c.ky att.i.tude, because there was a guard with a phaser rifle lurking in the shadows of his front door. It was too late to turn back, so he strode up to the man, smiling.

"Hi, Bill," he said cheerfully.

"Gregg!" said the man, blinking with surprise, "I thought you-"

"Oscaras let me go." Gregg shrugged. "We need every person we've got for what's coming up."

"No kidding," sighed Bill, obviously relieved that Gregg Calvert was back in the fold. "Your daughter's not home-I was supposed to wait for her."

"Well, she's not going to be coming home this time of night," Gregg replied, suppressing the seething anger inside of him. "I'm going to try to get a couple hours of sleep, and I suggest you do the same."

"Okay," said Bill, uncertain whether to accept this good fortune and return to his bed or to obey his orders to the letter.

"I'll see you later," concluded Gregg, opening the door to his home and stepping inside.

"Yeah, see ya," said the man. He looked at his watch and the night sky and figured yes, maybe there was time for a couple hours of sleep.

Ro heard the man's footsteps coming closer, and she pressed against the wall as he ambled past. When the man was out of sight she straightened her shoulders as Gregg had done and strolled into the street. Luckily, it was empty, and she saw Gregg motioning to her from a nearby doorway. She rushed inside as quickly as her swollen ankle would let her, and Gregg shut the door behind her.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" he seethed. "They're not only after me, they're after Myra. I'll strangle Oscaras by his fat red neck!"

"Daddy," said a small voice. They turned to see Myra in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Honey!" said Gregg, beaming. He swept the girl up in his muscular arms. She wrapped her scrawny arms around his neck, and they hugged each other as if to make sure that they would never be separated again.

"They came to get me," she said breathlessly, "but I hid and left a phony message. Daddy, what happened to your head? What's going on?"

"I can't explain now, sweetheart," answered Gregg. "We can't stay here any longer."

"We've got to get out of the compound," Ro reminded him, "and find the away team."

"Right," sighed the blond man. "There's only one person who knows how to get out of the compound, past the guards and the wall."

"Who?" asked Myra.

"Whoever our spy is."

"Do you know who it is?" asked Ro.