Star Trek - War Drums Part 7

The woman sneered. "That's right-you're not human. Why did they send you here? To rub our noses in it?"

"I appreciate this lesson in colorful terran language," said Ro, "but I have work to do. Does your visit have a point?"

"Yes"-the woman frowned-"it has a point. I've been ordered to put up with you, but there isn't a h.e.l.luva lot they can do to me if I don't. Still, I have a lab to run, and morale is bad enough around here as it is-so I'm going to try to get along. We just need to work out some ground rules."

"What kind of ground rules?" asked Ro.

Drayton took a deep breath to calm herself, then continued. "If you don't openly defy me and weaken my authority, I'll bend the rules to suit you. There are good reasons for not sleeping in this lab, but if you insist, I'll change the rules to allow it. I only ask that you consult me before you take action on your own."

Ro nodded. "Very well. I'll consult you, but I won't let you interfere with my mission."

The small woman smiled grimly and replied, "I won't let you interfere with mine either. Good night."

Doctor Drayton ambled slowly around the lab, checking on a few experiments and computer screens as she went. She stopped to pick up a rubber glove that had fallen on the floor and dropped it disdainfully into a trash receptacle. Ensign Ro watched the dark-haired woman until the outer door clanged shut behind her, and she wondered if this would be their only confrontation.

Deanna Troi tried to get comfortable on the sleeping pad atop the hard earth of the mound. A few meters away, Worf snored contentedly, and Data sat on his haunches, staring alternately at the stars and at the pitch-black forest. It wasn't that she was cold; her paper-thin sleeping bag had a microscopic heating element based on nanotechnology that kept her body temperature at a perfect ninety-eight degrees, even in extremities like toes and fingers. But unlike Worf, she preferred soft bedding. Had they been sleeping in the forest, it occurred to her, she could have augmented the sleeping pad with a mattress of decomposing leaves and twigs. Tomorrow night, she promised herself, she'd collect some extra bedding before it got dark, but she wasn't going to poke around in those woods now.

As if reading her mind-or, more likely, hearing her toss and turn-Data remarked, "You could return to the s.h.i.+p, Counselor, for your sleep period. I will alert you when the Klingons return."

"That's kind of you," Deanna replied, rolling onto her back. "But I prefer to stay here with you and Worf. If I slept in my own bed tonight, I couldn't face those lost young people. I'm having a hard time empathizing with them, and maybe this will help. What do you suppose they're doing?"

"I certainly hope they are attending to Turrok's wounds," the android answered. "I believe if his initial contact with the knife changed its angle sufficiently, subsequent wounds would be mostly superficial."

"Don't talk about it"-she shuddered-"please. I really despair that we're going to be able to get through to them and change their way of life. Unless we abduct them, as we did with Turrok."

"That is an alternative," Data replied, "but it is preferable that sentient beings make their own decisions. Do you not agree?"

"I agree, Data. Keep reminding me of that, all right?"

"As you wish." The android nodded. "How often should I remind you?"

"Good night, Data."

"Good night, Counselor."

No one returned to the lab that night, and eventually Ensign Ro couldn't keep her eyes open or stare at readouts any longer. Thinking about the Calvert family and Doctor Drayton, the ensign made a trip to the lavatory, then stretched out on her simple cot. There had to be an interesting story behind Doctor Drayton's presence in this far-flung colony, and Ro resolved to ask Myra about it the next time she saw her.

The night was quiet, although there had been intermittent drumming that sounded far away. Even the animals in the forest and the footsteps overhead sounded unreal and far removed. Despite her fears and worries and the glaring lights of the laboratory, sleep overcame the Bajoran in due course.

She had no idea what time it was when she awoke, and she was slightly disoriented for a moment. But Ro certainly knew what had awakened her, as she could feel something crawling on her chest under her tunic. In her confused state she did what anybody would do and slapped at her chest to brush it off. Immediately there was a sharp, stinging pain that took her breath away, and she gasped. Now she knew she was in some kind of trouble as she carefully sat up in her cot.

Ro had never been much for proper uniform etiquette, and her collar was open as usual. Her determined calm was shattered by a deep, throbbing pain between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Alarmed, she ripped at her top, then screamed as something crawled down her stomach and bit her again.

Leaping to her feet, she shook the sc.r.a.ps of her top, and a jade-green creature that looked like a stick with legs tumbled to the floor. Under normal circ.u.mstances Ro would never take the life of any living thing, but she didn't want to let the giant insect get away before she could find out what it was. She stomped it with her boot just as it began to jump. With desperation she ground it into the floor.

Ro could hear footsteps pounding above her, and she knew her second scream had been loud enough to attract attention. Suddenly her thumping heart, throbbing chest pains, and the panicked footsteps overhead all melded into one giant drumbeat that pummeled her brain. The Bajoran staggered around the lab; the blood vessels inside her head felt as if they might explode, and bizarre lights and shapes a.s.saulted her senses. She knew she was hallucinating, but she felt as though the crushed insect had wormed its way into her brain. She wasn't even aware that she was screaming.

Weird, hollow voices shouted at her, and arms grabbed her, but she struggled with these new demons. "Sickbay!" she heard someone yell-maybe it was she. Pain and lights exploded in her head and rushed down her body, and she felt she was melting and igniting simultaneously.

She knew she was dying.

Chapter Seven.

RO PLUNGED UNDER the brackish green water and felt herself gasping for air. She flailed in terror as the thick liquid flowed over her and pressed against her chest-it pushed and pushed until the pain was excruciating. She held her breath and tried to kick her way out, but the water was like syrup and pulled her deeper with every desperate movement. She was going to die! It was just a matter of what would get her first-the lack of air, the chest pains, or the wispy tentacles pulling her deeper. She screamed and screamed, not thinking how strange it was to be doing that underwater, but still the sticky liquid pulled her deeper. Deeper into darkness.

Then she saw lights spinning somewhere above her, like bodies in a transporter, s.h.i.+fting and flowing in and out of reality. She swam desperately toward the lights until she suddenly found herself walking, then running. She had to run, because they were chasing her-giant skull-faced Carda.s.sians! They were giant because she was a little girl again, running for her life. The gaunt creatures caught her and threw her to the ground; she screamed and kicked and cried, because this was real! This had happened before! She screwed her eyes shut as they carried her away, because she knew the nightmarish vision that was about to come next.

There he was-her compa.s.sionate father, a leader of her people-beaten, bleeding, and kneeling on the ground. Seeing her, he shook like an animal awakened from a long sleep, staggered to his feet, and yelled in rage, "No!" The Carda.s.sians glared at him, their black eyes rimmed by bone. Then they swarmed around him and struck him down again and again. The little girl struggled and turned away, but she couldn't shut out the sickening blows. Mercifully, she felt herself collapsing again into darkness.

When she awoke, arms were still holding her. No, not arms, restraints. She was strapped to an examination table in a modern sickbay with a screenful of readouts blinking and blipping rea.s.suringly behind her.

"Ro!" a small voice called. "You're awake!" Grinning down at her was the cheery face of Myra Calvert, and it reminded her of the girl she had once been-before she'd lived through the nightmarish visions in her memory.

"I'm awake," sighed the Bajoran, "but I seem to be strapped down. What happened?"

"You were going crazy," said Myra, clearly impressed by what she had seen. "Full-scale hallucinations. They had to strap you down, or you would've hurt yourself and probably everybody else. I've never heard anybody scream like that."

Above the girl's face hovered another familiar face, and their red hair seemed to blend in Ro's blurred vision.

"Hi." Doctor Beverly Crusher smiled. "Good to have you back."

"Am I on the Enterprise?" asked Ro.

"No, you're in the settlement sickbay," answered Beverly. "They know more about these mantis bites than I do. Of course, I know more about Bajoran physiology than they do. So between the two of us, we managed to pull you through."

"Do I have to stay in restraints?"

"I don't know," said Crusher. "You're lucid now, but the effects of the venom might come back. Let me ask Doctor Freleng. He's out in the hall with Captain Picard."

Beverly vanished, but her small a.s.sistant stayed by Ro's bedside. "You're lucky," remarked Myra. "You got bitten twice, and n.o.body's survived two bites from a pit mantis."

"That's what bit me?" asked Ro groggily. "A pit mantis? It was something that crawled under my s.h.i.+rt."

"Yeah." Myra frowned. "That was weird. We have pressurized doors around here to keep those things out. I'll have to check the cages to make sure none of our specimens escaped."

"How long have I been ... here?"

"About six hours," answered Myra. "It's just breakfast time."

Ro wanted to ask more, but a young man she didn't know came striding up to her bedside, followed by Beverly Crusher and a grinning Captain Picard.

"I'm Doctor Freleng," said the young man, peering through a scope into her eyes. "Oh, yes, you look excellent. I'll have to take Doctor Crusher's word for it that your vital signs are what they ought to be."

"Almost," offered Beverly. "That must be quite a powerful neurotoxin."

"It is." Freleng nodded. "If we could get out to catch more of those mantises, maybe we could develop an antidote. Right now every reaction is different. One member of a scouting party died instantaneously. But when President Oscaras was bitten he just sat around in a stupor all day, smiling blissfully. Here, I think it's safe to take off the restraints."

While the young doctor unbuckled the straps around Ro's chest and limbs Captain Picard moved closer. "h.e.l.lo, Ensign," he said sympathetically. "That must have been quite an experience."

She mustered a smile. "I wouldn't care to repeat it."

Picard glanced at Freleng. "With the doctor's permission," he said, "we can take you back to the Enterprise to recuperate in more familiar surroundings."

Gratefully, Ensign Ro rubbed her chafed wrists. Her muscles felt sore and wrung out, as if she had been exercising all night. "Thank you, Captain," she said, "but I really have to keep track of the seismic readings."

"Commander La Forge is downstairs now," answered Picard. "After what you went through, I think you should take it easy today."

"I insist on it," added Doctor Freleng. "You'll be weak for at least twenty-four hours. You can take a little nourishment, but after that you should try to sleep. This is as good a place as any."

"Can I be Ro's nurse?" Myra asked eagerly. "Please?"

The two doctors exchanged amused glances. "I see no reason why not," answered Freleng. "There's no medication we can give her-just food and rest. I have to make a report to Doctor Drayton."

"Doctor Drayton?" asked Ro, trying to hide the curiosity in her voice. "What has she got to do with this?"

Freleng replied, "She's the colony's entomologist. She keeps a record of all serious bug bites, and the pit mantis is a special project of hers."

Ro slumped back on the bed, suddenly feeling a little sicker.

At daybreak Worf bolted out of his thermal sleeping bag. He could tell by the tingling on the hairs of his neck that something was wrong, but the forest looked serene, if somewhat eerie. A milky white fog obscured both the bottoms and the tops of the trees, making the black trunks look like the bars of some gigantic prison. In the fog the mound was like an island held captive. Data sat calmly on the slope, studying the forest with the same detachment with which he studied his console on the bridge of the Enterprise. A few meters away Deanna Troi slept, curled up in a tight ball.

"They're out there, aren't they?" asked Worf.

"Yes," said Data, "they have been watching us for approximately thirty-five minutes. I a.s.sume they have not developed a plan for dealing with our presence here."

"That makes us even," grumbled Worf. "How many do you think there are?"

"At present, no more than eight. But others have been steadily joining the original group that discovered us."

Worf stood, straining to see them in the shrouded forest. He finally gave up and decided he would have to take Data's word for it. "Let's hail them," he suggested.

"We must exhibit patience," the android replied. "We are in command of perhaps the only thing they value-this mound, which I believe they built. We must trade them command of this mound for their acceptance and friends.h.i.+p."

"So we're going to wait here until they ask us to leave?"

"Precisely," answered Data.

Worf trod to the edge of the slope and relieved himself in the cold, misty air.

"Stop!" screamed an anguished voice from the forest. A scruffy female-the same one who had brazenly touched Worf's head-stepped out of the fog and spoke in Klingon: "Do not defile our sacred place! What do you want?"

Data whispered, "That was a clever maneuver."

Nodding to Data, Worf responded to the girl in Klingon. "We want your friends.h.i.+p! We will remain here until you accept us as friends. As Turrok did."

There was some incomprehensible muttering and discussion. Worf could only imagine that Balak was still sleeping in his cave somewhere, and n.o.body was eager to awaken him. Worf was relieved that several of the older castaways still had a rudimentary command of the Klingon language. It hadn't helped much so far, but communication was crucial. Deanna Troi rolled over in her sleeping bag and was watching him.

"Is Turrok well this morning?" Worf asked the girl at the bottom of the slope.

"He lives!" she called. "The knife-G.o.d said Turrok not evil. Maybe you are not evil, but you come from flat-heads."

"Am I a flat-head?" answered Worf. "You touched my crown yesterday-I am like you. We are brothers and sisters, not enemies. Everywhere but here we live in peace and respect with humans. There is no reason to be enemies."

The girl turned and spoke to unseen youths in the forest.

"You're doing very well," Deanna whispered encouragingly to Worf. "I think we can reason with her."

"Until she pulls her knife," muttered the Klingon. He called out, "Can we sit together to discuss this? We have food!"

"I will come," said the girl, "but I not command others."

"Anyone who wants to come is welcome!" called Worf. He turned to Deanna and Data and said under his breath, "Find whatever food you can in your packs."

They began digging out protein bars, biscuits, and reconst.i.tuted food that was heated by twisting its special chemical packaging. Although he didn't normally eat, Data was carrying the bulk of their supplies, enough for two weeks under ideal circ.u.mstances. Food would be no problem, thought Worf, as long as the Enterprise was in orbit.

When he looked down the female and three bedraggled but brave boys were headed up the slope, their hands gripping the hilts of their crude knives. They looked wary, but their nostrils flared at the scent of unusual food, and that buried their fear and spurred them on. Data twisted a packet of cherry cobbler to mix the chemicals that would heat it, and his apparently violent action caused the girl and her companions to crouch in fear.

"There is no danger," Worf a.s.sured them. "He is only heating the food for you."

"Heating?" asked one boy.

"With food they have magic," the girl said, as if she had told them this on many occasions, without it sinking in. "They make food from air," she added.

Interesting, thought Worf, considering how close her uneducated guess was to the truth. Molecular synthesis from patterns stored in a computer could reasonably be called "making food out of air." Worf was glad to see a certain amount of native intelligence and quest for knowledge in these young Klingons, even if the trappings of civilization were gone.

Counselor Troi stepped to Worf's side and unfolded her hand to show him a comm badge. "I'd like to put this on the girl," she explained, "so she can understand me. Will you explain the universal translator to her and tell her it's not harmful-that we all wear them?"

"Of course," agreed the Klingon. Pointing to his own comm badge, Worf turned to the girl and spoke in Klingon. "We would like you to wear this as a token of friends.h.i.+p. It will allow you to understand all of us, and it will not harm you."

The skinny girl shrank back for a moment, but Deanna's smiling face won her over. She stood still as Deanna fastened the insignia to the inside strap of her furry garment. "Inside," said the Betazoid, "so Balak won't see it."

The girl blinked in amazement at comprehending the flat-head language for the first time.

"What do you normally eat?" asked Deanna.

The amazed youngster opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the proper word. So she reached down and grabbed a few blades of wild gra.s.s, which she stuffed into her mouth with little enthusiasm. Then she pinched the crude fur she was wearing as if to say she had eaten its previous owner, too.

"I see," answered the Betazoid. She held out a protein bar made of nutritious fruits, nuts, and grains. "Try this."

The female Klingon edged closer, then s.n.a.t.c.hed the treat from her hand. She devoured it selfishly while her three comrades made grunting sounds and looked as if they would steal it from her.

"There is sufficient to go around," said Data, handing out another batch of snack bars. They were gone in seconds, and the young Klingons were soon looking around, trying to figure out what else amid the packs and equipment was edible.