Star Trek - War Drums Part 3

"Are you hungry?" Worf asked the boy in Klingon.

Turrok blinked and stared at him for a moment.

"Food?" Worf elaborated.

Turrok nodded warily, his long, matted hair tumbling over his forehead.

"Keep talking," Beverly suggested. "Use as much Klingon vocabulary as you can. His childhood language and experiences are all in his mind, if we can just reawaken them."

"I have to gain his confidence first," said Worf.

Before the point could be debated further their bodies began to sparkle and disappear. Turrok dropped the tray and gripped his stomach in shock, then howled in fright. Before the cry was all the way out of his mouth he, Beverly, and Worf regenerated in the center of a cheery forest with the sun beaming through the gently waving branches of big oak trees and a stunning blue sky overhead.

Turrok spun around on his heels, hardly believing his good luck. He opened his mouth and cut loose with a trilling cry that sounded like a birdcall. He waited, but there was no answer.

"He's calling his comrades," said Worf.

Beverly replied, "But n.o.body's going to answer. He'll soon figure out he's not in his own forest."

From the trees, Geordi strolled into their midst carrying a large tray full of fruits and sandwiches. Behind him came Deanna Troi with a bundle of clothes under her arm. They both smiled warmly at the confused Klingon.

"Is this okay?" Geordi asked Worf.

The Klingon shrugged. "Set it down, and we'll see."

Geordi did as requested, making sure he didn't get too close to the wary youth. Deanna unfolded the gray tunic and pants she was carrying, then laid them on the ground.

"I think these will fit," she said.

"Eat," Worf told the boy in Klingon. He motioned to the food and the clothes. "It's all for you."

Cautiously Turrok knelt in front of the food and sniffed it. He finally took a peeled banana and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, then began to do the same with a sandwich.

Geordi smiled. "Well, he eats like a Klingon."

Worf flashed his s.h.i.+pmate a quick glare, then returned his attention to the hungry boy. "His name is Turrok," he said. "His Klingon has been corrupted, and I'm not sure how much he understands of what I've been telling him."

Deanna smiled. "I think you're doing splendidly, Worf. I sense that his fear and distrust are diminis.h.i.+ng. Coming here was a good idea."

"But how should I proceed?" asked the Klingon.

"Make friends," suggested the Betazoid. "That's all you can do."

"You have the holodeck as long as you need it," said Geordi. "This program is the Mount Gilead Park in central North America. If you stroll over that rise there, you'll find picnickers, a lake, and a reservoir. n.o.body will bother you, but if you want to get rid of the people, just tell the computer. Above the dam there's a great place to catch crawdads."

"And take a bath?" suggested Beverly.

"Crawdads?" asked Worf uncertainly.

"Small freshwater crustaceans," said Geordi, holding his fingers a few centimeters apart.

"You're good at bonding with children," Deanna said encouragingly. "Later maybe you can introduce him to your son."

Worf heaved a deep sigh as he watched Turrok devouring the food. He wouldn't trust this wild creature with his boy for two seconds. "Perhaps you should leave us now," he muttered.

"Good luck," said Geordi, patting the Klingon on his ma.s.sive back. "I'm going back to scanning his planet. There are some interesting things going on down there." Geordi strolled off into the trees.

"I can wait to examine him," said Beverly, "but call me as soon as he goes to sleep. Or if you need help."

"I will," said Worf.

Deanna seconded the sentiment, "Call me if you need anything at all."

Worf nodded again and watched the two women wander away into the holodeck woods. Then he turned and looked at the crouching boy, who was stuffing food in his mouth as if it would be taken away any moment. Turrok's wary eyes were never still as they scanned the forest for trouble.

He wiped food off his chin and stared at Worf. "No like them," he said, pointing after the departed humans. "Kill them."

Worf furrowed his huge brow, unsure if he had understood the broken Klingon correctly.

"Kill them," Turrok repeated. He stabbed his fist in the air as if holding a spear or a knife.

The elder Klingon shook his head. "They're my friends. My comrades."

Turrok made a motion with his hand over his ridged forehead as if to say they were different. Worf knelt down in front of the boy, who scurried several meters away. When he saw that the big Klingon wasn't going to do anything but look at him, he crawled back toward the food.

Worf let the boy resume eating, then asked, "Why do you want to kill them?" He made the same striking motion with his fist.

"Evil!" spat the boy. He pointed to the sky.

"But you take their food," said Worf, pointing toward the sc.r.a.ps on the tray. "Their food is not evil."

Turrok looked away as if he didn't want to acknowledge that point. "Balak say," he finally replied.

"Is Balak your leader? Is Balak chief?"

"Chief," nodded Turrok. He suddenly leapt to his feet and demanded, "I want to go home!"

"Home," nodded Worf, standing slowly. "What do you remember about your home? Before Balak, do you remember anything?"

"Before Balak?" asked the boy, frowning at the alien concept.

"You are a Klingon," said Worf forcefully. "You come from a proud heritage. You have a history. Do you remember your parents?"

"Parents?" asked Turrok, tasting the unfamiliar word.

"Computer," intoned Worf, "replace the humans in this simulation with Klingons. Klingon families."

"Request acknowledged," answered the feminine voice of the computer.

"Come," said Worf, reaching down to pick up the clean clothes. "Let's take a walk."

They strolled from the secluded part of the woods into a picnic area that offered a panoramic view of a small lake, as blue as cobalt and nestled in a beautiful circle of trees. Around the rustic tables and benches were dozens of Klingon families cooking food over barbecues, playing games, setting tables, and eating heartily. Worf might quarrel that the games these fake Klingons were playing were not as physical as those real Klingons would play, but the impression was what he wanted.

In a way, these humanlike Klingons in a human setting were more effective than real Klingons might have been. The children running around, the mothers and fathers feeding babies, everyone sharing the cooking-it was so idyllic it made his stomach turn, but it had the desired effect upon young Turrok. He stared in awe at the a.s.sembled paean to parenthood.

"You had a mother and father," said Worf, "like these. There are billions of Klingons all over the galaxy."

"Billions?" echoed the lad uncomprehendingly.

"Thousands," Worf replied, thinking that might be an easier concept to grasp. "You, Balak, and the others are not alone. We are many."

The boy shook his head as if rejecting the idea. Then he sat on his haunches and began to howl, a plaintive cry that seemed to beseech the heavens to help him. Worf crouched beside Turrok and waited until he finished.

"You have much to learn," he said. "All of you do. You must lead me to Balak and the others in your tribe."

Fighting tears, the boy motioned around the strange world. "They are not here," he replied.

"I know," said Worf. He sighed and looked at the small dam that helped to maintain the lake. "Come. Let's go catch some crawdads."

Captain Picard zipped his burgundy jacket shut and stepped onto the transporter platform. Will Riker, Data, and Ensign Ro followed him.

Ensign Ro turned to Riker and said, "I suggest you fasten your jacket, Commander. Our readings show it can be quite cold on Selva at night."

"Thank you, Ensign," replied Riker, doing as be was told. "You're becoming quite the expert."

"That's my job on this mission," Ro replied stiffly.

"We all need to become experts," said Picard. He glanced around to make sure that his small party was in place, then he nodded to Chief O'Brien. "Energize."

Once again they materialized in the public square of New Reykjavik, only this time darkness surrounded them and a fierce wind made them clutch their collars around their necks. Threatening mother-of-pearl clouds swirled over their heads. There were small lanterns beside the doors of each building, and giant searchlights were mounted on high standards in each corner of the compound. Some searchlights shone out over the walls, but most of them illuminated rows of squat, ugly buildings. All of the lights wobbled disconcertingly in the wind, creating eerie shadows that danced like ghosts throughout the village.

"I see what you mean about the cold," Riker said, shuddering.

"Without its proximity to the warm ocean currents," said Ro, "this village would be uninhabitable."

"These people have shelter," mused Riker, "but how can those Klingons live out there in the forest?"

Data replied, "If President Oscaras was accurate and not being denigrating when he said the Klingons burrow in the ground, that would afford them warmth and shelter."

"Where are the colonists?" asked Picard, surveying the deserted grounds.

A searchlight suddenly hit him full in face, blinding him. Picard, Ro, and Riker covered their eyes with their hands and staggered backward while Data peered curiously into the light.

"Extinguish that light!" ordered Picard. "You're blinding us!"

"Sorry!" called a voice. The light moved slowly away, and they saw that its operator was stationed in one of the turrets. "No one is allowed out after curfew without a pa.s.s. I suggest that you go to the dining hall."

"Thank you," Picard grumbled.

Fighting the wind, they made their way toward the communal building pointed out to them by Oscaras earlier in the day. Before they were halfway there they heard a strange rhythmic sound. At first the captain thought it was a door or something loose banging in the wind, but it was far too rapid for that. He stopped to listen, as did Data, Riker, and Ensign Ro. Whether the wind s.h.i.+fted or the noise simply increased in volume, it suddenly became as clear as his own s.h.i.+very breathing. All around the compound, seemingly on every side, was the incessant sound of drumming.

They weren't the only ones to hear it, as the searchlight operators in the turrets began to probe the black forest with their lights. From the dining hall Oscaras and a handful of men and women, phasers drawn, stepped into the bl.u.s.tery night. Oscaras nodded toward Picard in acknowledgement, but his attention-everyone's attention-was riveted on the hollow rapping that echoed in the darkness.

"How close are they?" Picard asked Data.

"Approximately thirty meters beyond the walls," answered the android. "They have the compound surrounded, and they are slowly moving as they drum. I believe they are using hollowed logs."

Oscaras and his armed guard strode up to the visitors. "They're waiting for their comrade to howl in response," the big man explained. "That's one reason I didn't want you to take him to your s.h.i.+p. Now they'll probably think we killed him."

"What will they do?" asked Riker.

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Oscaras. "They're not what you would call predictable."

Somewhere, m.u.f.fled behind a closed door, a child cried. With the stormy sky over their heads, the wind buffeting everything, and shadows dancing to the bizarre beat, Picard couldn't fault anyone for being scared. He began to wonder how these people had kept their sanity. Perhaps they hadn't.

Suddenly there was the terrifying noise of loud clanging, as if metal had become part of the percussion. The guard in the eastern turret screamed, and his searchlight went dark with a cras.h.i.+ng sound.

"They're throwing rocks!" Oscaras shouted. "Lights on turret two!"

The other guards tried to swivel their lights in that direction, but the gusting winds hampered their movements. By the time someone fixed a steady light on the darkened turret, demonic figures could be seen scurrying all over it.

"Breach on turret two!" Oscaras wailed, although no one seemed to have a clear idea what to do about it.

The president aimed his phasers in that direction, and a gleaming beam scorched the roof of the turret. Picard moved swiftly to intercept him. "Put your phasers on stun!" he ordered. "And let's get closer first."

Data, Riker, and Ro took that as an order, and they were soon jogging across the square toward the dark tower while drawing their own phasers. Picard reached the corner of the compound in time to see several slinky figures-each painted as black as the night-slip over the outside wall of the turret and disappear. Data reached the rope ladder under the guard post first and began to climb. Riker and Ro stood beneath him, phasers leveled, scanning the top of the wall. The drumming continued, but with every pa.s.sing second it sounded farther away and less intimidating.

"Careful, Data!" Riker warned the android.

Data nodded, then lifted the small trapdoor beneath the turret and stuck his head into the guard post. A moment later he looked down and reported, "The attackers are gone. But we have a medical emergency."

Riker hit his combadge. "Riker to transporter room," he barked. "Stand by to beam one to sickbay."

Data disappeared into the elevated command post, and Picard began to scale the ladder with Raul Oscaras close behind him.

The captain pa.s.sed through the trapdoor and saw Data crouching on the floor beside a figure lying p.r.o.ne and very still. The android unfastened his tricorder from the pouch on his belt and pa.s.sed it over the man's body. Picard heard Oscaras lumbering up the ladder behind him, panting with his efforts, but he ignored him as he moved closer to the fallen man. The uncertain light from one of the other turrets suddenly focused with brutal clarity, and Picard swallowed hard as he saw the ugly red gash at the man's throat and the pool of blood oozing onto the rough-hewn floor.

"He is dead," said Data. "Cause of death-loss of blood and shock."

"d.a.m.n them to h.e.l.l!" Oscaras bellowed, shaking both his fists at the sky. "That's twelve dead! Do you need more proof, Picard, that they're animals? Worse than animals, because animals don't kill for fun."

The captain started to say something, but there were no words in any language that could possibly do the dead man any good or make the situation any better.

"And I hold you personally responsible, Picard!" Oscaras accused him. "You stole my prisoner, and they thought he was dead. They've never been this bold before, attacking someone in the compound. But they had good reason-revenge. That's something both of us understand."

As if in answer to Oscaras's threat the dark forest erupted with frenzied drumming and inhuman howls of victory.