Star Trek - Masks Part 6

Picard laughed, stroking the plastic goatee of the devil's mask. "Whom can we trade with?"

"You can start with us," exclaimed Cold Angel, reaching a tentative finger toward Worf's jovial pig mask. "I must have this fine mask."

Commander Riker tried on his Apprentice's Mask and was amazed that it fit so well. Day Timer took hold of the leather thongs, one on either side and a third at the top, and tied them at the back of Riker's head in an intricate slip knot. "You can adjust that later," he said.

The mask curled around Will's face, touching his cheekbones, forehead, and nose. The clay was cool against his skin, but his steamy breath kept his face warmer than it had been since coming to Lorca. He was amazed at how perfectly the holes in the mask lined up with his eyes and nose. He couldn't see the mouth hole and had to speak in order to know his voice was audible.

"How do I look?" he asked self-consciously.

"The same as the rest of us," answered Dr. Pulaski.

Riker had been fitted last for the mask and only had to look around to see what a Lorcan apprentice looked like. Except for differences in height and body type, he was surrounded by clones of himself. The second away team now looked like a collection of slightly dirty pennies. The masks were circular and convex, like Day Timer's, but they were innocent of paint, except for a few haphazard yellow markings across the cheeks and foreheads. They looked unfinished, thought Riker, but pleasantly organic in their natural color. Being the same color as the soil, they would make excellent camouflage gear, concluded the first officer.

"What do apprentices do first?" asked Data enthusiastically.

"Do you know how to make anything of value?" asked Day Timer.

The apprentices looked dumbly at one another.

"Do you have anything we can sell?" Day Timer asked.

Again he was greeted by silent masked stares.

"I was afraid not," grumbled the peddler. "Start digging more clay, then, and start gathering feathers, bones, pebbles, and anything else you can find. I'm going to teach you how to make masks."

Chapter Five.

THEHALLOWEEN MASKSproved so popular among the Lorcans that Captain Picard almost wished he was on a trading mission. With a few dozen devil, Harlequin, and pig masks, they could probably own half the planet. As it was, they now had one pony, two Page's Masks, a feathered Messenger's Mask, and an unsightly Trainer's Mask.

No amount of bargaining, however, was able to secure the return of the Amba.s.sador's Mask. As soon as the fighting was over, Spider Wing had slipped off into the woods and had emerged a few moments later wearing the dazzling silver mask. He graciously gave his old feathered mask to Picard, but it was evident that he enjoyed his new post and wasn't going to relinquish the Amba.s.sador's Mask, except at swordpoint.

Now every member of the away team had a genuine Lorcan mask to wear, making them less conspicuous, Picard hoped. But the captain was faced with the unwelcome task of a.s.signing masks, and thus status and rank, to his own people. He gave the Page's Masks to Worf and Deanna. From an aesthetic point of view, Worf probably deserved the Trainer's Mask and Deanna the lovely Messenger's Mask, but he saved those two higher-ranking masks for Fenton Lewis and himself.

First he had to find Lewis, who hadn't been seen since Picard's "victory" over Piercing Blade. The Lorcans appeared to harbor no grudges. In fact, they seemed to be delighted with the results of the chance encounter between the two parties. To celebrate the almost doubling of their ranks and the acquisition of new masks, the Lorcans decided to make camp early and relax. While the Lorcans were doing the ch.o.r.es, Jean-Luc instructed Worf and Deanna to be alert and stay friendly while he sought out the amba.s.sador.

As he walked along the road, the captain removed the feathered mask he'd been wearing and rubbed his clammy skin. There would be no soothing showers for any of them tonight. But a bigger concern was the absence of the man who had brought them there, Fenton Lewis. The amba.s.sador had a tremendous ego and didn't take defeat lightly, that much was evident. Perhaps he had immersed himself so deeply in Lorcan lore that the loss of his high-ranking mask was a blow to his self-esteem. Jean-Luc hoped Lewis was professional enough to forget personal setbacks and keep his attention on the mission.

The captain thought that they had gotten a lucky break by meeting Piercing Blade and her band. If Almighty Slayer couldn't be found, they might already be in the company of the next ruler of Lorca. On the other hand, there could be scores of similar bands, all promoting themselves in what was an obvious power vacuum. Lewis's expertise as a diplomat would be invaluable if they were going to sort this out.

But what kind of man was Amba.s.sador Lewis? Just because he had been widely acclaimed and decorated in his field didn't mean he was a decent or dependable person. Selfishness and ambition accounted for great works as often as altruism did. Also, there was the question asked by Piercing Blade: Where had he acquired the Amba.s.sador's Mask? From the Ferengi, that much was certain, but had they sold it to him, as he claimed, or had they lost their lives along with the mask? Back on theEnterprise, Lewis had said that the mask hadn't come cheaply. But would a man kill for such an unusual artifact? Knowing the Ferengi and their greed, Picard guessed that the mask could have been bought, sold, and stolen many times before landing in Fenton Lewis's hands ...

Even now, the mask was in other hands. Lorcan masks, thought Jean-Luc, thinking of the owlish feather mask and the toothy animal mask, evidently changed hands fairly often. What an extraordinary culture they had fallen into, he marveled. Molded by harsh environment, born of the theater, these hearty survivors had developed into a society built around masks. They hid behind the masks but drew strength and purpose from them. And the masks, by changing hands, bestowed instant recognition upon the wearer and allowed him to try out as many different occupations as he chose. Imagine the freedom-every day one could present a new face to the world.

"Seductive" was the word for such a society. An ambitious person could go far, providing he or she could handle a sword.

"Lewis!" called Picard, remembering his purpose. "Amba.s.sador Lewis!"

"Shut up, Picard, and quit your bellowing," came the reply. Picard looked up and saw Fenton Lewis sitting high up in a tree only a few meters from camp. "Wait there, and I'll be right down."

Deftly, Fenton Lewis s.h.i.+nnied down the dark pine. His clothes were smeared with the brownish moss, but he was grinning broadly.

"Good job, Picard!" he said, slapping the captain on the back. "Where I failed, you succeeded! Of course, you had that big Klingon and his handy phaser on your side."

Jean-Luc reddened with anger. "I wouldn't have used a phaser unless it was a life-threatening situation!"

"You know d.a.m.n well that girl could've taken either one of us without breaking a fingernail. But you had Worf blast her."

Picard was so angry he was stammering. "You rushed into that fight without consulting us!"

Fenton Lewis c.o.c.ked a sly eyebrow. "I didn't have much choice, now, did I? But I'm not mad at you, Picard, or jealous-I'm just glad you succeeded in getting her on our side. That's where I want that tigress."

Picard simmered down, realizing that Lewis was making perfect sense, even if he was being undiplomatic about what had happened. The captain had to keep telling himself that he shouldn't be ambivalent about using phaser fire. The technology remained a secret to the Lorcans, and no facet of their natural evolution had been compromised. After all, they already knew about s.p.a.ce travel; it was simply ancient history to them. In the end, all that had happened was that the away party's autonomy had been preserved.

"So what is all this about Almighty Slayer and the Wisdom Mask?" asked Lewis. "I couldn't hear everything that was said."

Picard shrugged, unsure himself. "Apparently whoever has the Wisdom Mask rules Lorca. But the Wisdom Mask hasn't been seen in some time, and people are beginning to suspect that something has happened to the mask or to its most recent wearer, Almighty Slayer. These Lorcans are headed to a fair, where they plan to promote Piercing Blade as ruler."

"Sounds like quite a party," Lewis said with a smile. "I see you've got new masks for us."

The captain nodded, holding out the two wildly dissimilar masks, one as beautiful as the other was ugly. "You can have whichever one of these you want, but I couldn't get the Amba.s.sador's Mask back."

"Not to worry," scoffed Fenton Lewis, taking the hairy-beast mask and studying it closely. "The Amba.s.sador's Mask is more trouble than it's worth. It served its purpose. Now we're better off with something a little less controversial, like this." He wrinkled his nose. "Although this one smells bad."

Jean-Luc sat on the skeletal remains of an ancient fallen tree and wiped the moss off his pant leg. Trying to sound matter-of-fact, he wondered aloud, "How did you happen to come by the Amba.s.sador's Mask?"

Lewis gritted his teeth and shook his fist. "My big mistake was in going to an auction alone and without proper clearances. I don't have any witnesses to testify in my defense, Captain, so you'll have to take what I tell you at face value. It wasn't an officially sanctioned art auction; Ferengi auctions seldom are. I knew there would be some rare articles there, but I didn't know how rare they would be."

He sat on the log beside Picard and looked earnestly at the stars.h.i.+p captain. "One comes across a treasure like the Amba.s.sador's Mask only once in a lifetime. It is a priceless work of art that represents a living, breathing culture which is unique in the galaxy. Do you think I would have had the courage to come here without it? I had to have it. My bid was the highest; there was no doubt that I deserved to own the mask. But there was some disagreement over the method of payment."

"What sort of disagreement?" Picard asked warily.

"Patience, Captain," Lewis cautioned. "You have to hear this whole story if you are to judge my actions. Remember, I have no witnesses; no one from the Federation was present."

"Are you in the habit of attending illegal art auctions?" asked Picard.

The amba.s.sador smiled. "I often find myself in unusual places at opportune times," he admitted. "I knew the Service was planning a diplomatic initiative toward Lorca, so I responded. I didn't plan to hide the mask away in a closet or add it to my private collection. I wanted to use it for its intended purpose."

"But you bought it before clearing it with the Diplomatic Service," Picard concluded, "and they wouldn't foot the bill?"

Lewis shrugged. "They wanted to, but you know the bureaucracy. They didn't move fast enough for the Ferengi auctioneers. I was in danger of losing the mask and my deposit as well, so I sold interests in the mask to two Ferengi traders. After we left the auction, they tried to kill me and steal the mask."

The long-haired civilian stood and stared into the hushed Lorcan woods. "I killed them in self-defense."

"And took the mask," snapped Picard, bolting to his feet, "which wasn't really yours!"

"Please, Captain," the amba.s.sador said softly. "I know my career is almost over. The whole sordid mess will come to light if we ever resolve our differences with the Ferengi. In the meantime, you are the only one who knows the entire story-knows that I tried to do the right thing and was caught up in my desire for the mask." He snorted. "How ironic! I destroyed my career to acquire a Lorcan mask, then lost it the day after I came to Lorca."

"Under the circ.u.mstances," grumbled Picard, "I almost feel like calling the mission off."

"But you can't," the amba.s.sador pointed out, "because the future of the Lorcan people may be at stake and you've been sucked into the politics of this crazy planet just as I have. I don't mind, because I meant to end my career here. I never intended to return to Starfleet but planned to make myself indispensable here on Lorca. Now the double irony is that I may have company in my exile."

Picard shook his head, unable to think of a word to say. Their lives were in danger, theEnterprise was in limbo, and the mission had nearly been compromised-all because of one man's fascination with a work of art. What about the mission? The Amba.s.sador's Mask was gone, but they had met and won over at least one member of the n.o.bility. They had guides and Lorcan masks and were headed toward a gathering where the question of leaders.h.i.+p would be decided. To turn back now would render meaningless all the hards.h.i.+ps they had endured to get this far.

Jean-Luc felt instinctively that Lorca was worth every effort needed to protect it. These people were of Earth stock. To desert them now was to deny them a heritage they themselves acknowledged with their talk of "coming from the sky." Without disrupting their natural evolution, the Federation could give them a safety net in case the planet became too volatile to support life. If the Ferengi were making frequent visits to the planet, the Lorcans were already in real danger of being subjugated economically.

"Lewis," said the captain finally, after mulling over his responsibilities, "I am not a tribunal. I have no interest in determining whether or not you're guilty of murder. We've been sent here to establish diplomatic relations with the Lorcans, and youwill help me fulfill that mission. If you don't, I'll have you returned in irons to the nearest starbase."

"A threat, Captain?" replied Fenton Lewis, arching an eyebrow. "I thought that was beneath you. Of course I'll fulfill my mission. I didn't come here under false pretenses. Until the day I'm relieved of duty, I'm still an amba.s.sador from the Federation."

"See that you don't forget it," Picard ordered. "Put your mask on, and let's return to camp."

"Wait," said Lewis. "I haven't made up my mind yet. You said I could have my choice." He pointed to the feathered mask. "What flavor is that?"

Jean-Luc hefted the wooden mask adorned with lavender, brown, and white feathers. Despite its size, the mask was surprisingly light. "It's called a Messenger's Mask," he said, handing the creation to Lewis. "It's really not much different from the Trainer's Mask, except for the decorations."

Lewis nodded, running his fingers over the lavender plumes that curved out from the temples of the mask to form small horns. "The Lorcan who wore this is now wearingmy mask, so I guess that's a fair trade." He pulled the mask on, and his height and long hair combined with the striking visage to make him look strangely G.o.dlike. Picard was reminded of Ra, the Egyptian half-man, half-bird sun deity.

"I'm ready to show my face again," declared the amba.s.sador.

"Just a second," Picard insisted, as he untwisted the straps of the Trainer's Mask and slowly pulled it on. Whether it was the fur and teeth or the general uncleanliness of its former owner, Jean-Luc didn't know, but the mask did possess a distinct musky scent. Otherwise, the well-worn mask molded smoothly to the structure of his face and was ten times more comfortable than the awkward Halloween mask. For one thing, the snarling snout afforded him unrestricted mouth movement, and he could be sure his voice would be plainly heard.

Fenton Lewis chuckled. "You have one thing in your favor, Picard. n.o.body will challenge you to a duel for that mask, because n.o.body would want it!"

Will Riker was growing increasingly impatient. They had wasted most of the morning being fitted for their new Apprentice's Masks, and now Day Timer wanted to spend all afternoon teaching his new charges how to make masks for the fair. Will had acquiesced at first, because he still hoped that Geordi would locate the captain with the s.h.i.+p's sensors, or the captain would find a way to contact theEnterprise. Riker feared charging off in the wrong direction and making his task even harder. But, dammit, this wasn't an arts-and-crafts cla.s.s at summer camp!

He activated his communicator. "No word, Geordi?" he asked for the fourth time that day.

"No word, Commander," came the response. "Are you ready to beam up?"

"Not a chance," Riker replied. "We're staying here until we find the captain."

"We'll keep all frequencies open," Geordi a.s.sured him. "By the way, the sensors indicate an increase in volcanic activity around the equator."

"Great," muttered Riker. "Keep me informed. Out." He stuck the communicator in his inside pocket and zipped it shut. The sun was going down behind the trees, and Riker slapped his hands together to keep them warm. d.a.m.n, he had never seen a place where the days were so short. Of course, being in the middle of a towering forest didn't help.

Will heard the voices of the other away-team members behind him, and he adjusted his mask before turning around. Oddly, after only a half-day, he was getting used to the mask. It kept his face warm, if nothing else. With all of theEnterprise crew wearing the same mask, it was beginning to seem like part of the uniform, and Riker was comfortable with uniforms. He might have enjoyed this strange sojourn on Lorca if he had been sure of the safety of the captain's away team.

He saw Data sitting at Day Timer's knee, soaking up instructions on how to find the right kind of wood for carving a mask. Dr. Pulaski sat nearby, listening to the old peddler and watching Reba, the werjun, hanging upside down from a tree branch, sucking on a fish head. Whiff and Greenblatt flanked the small gathering, guarding the road from both directions. No one had appeared on the rutted thoroughfare all day, only adding to the party's feeling of isolation.

"Are you well known as a maskmaker?" Data asked the Lorcan, as Riker approached.

"Oh, no," scoffed the peddler. "I always say my masks are made by so-and-so, the great maskmaker from such-and-such. I make very basic masks and sell them at fair prices. No one complains."

"Those two masks in your wagon certainly aren't basic," Kate Pulaski observed.

"I didn't make those," said Day Timer, with obvious respect in his voice. "The one of clay and silk is my Proprietor's Mask, which I shall wear at the fair, surrounded by my dutiful apprentices. The jeweled mask is a family mask of n.o.bility. It is called the Forest Mask."

"Can you wear that mask?" asked Data.

The peddler reached under his sunflower mask to scratch his chin. "Perhaps I could, if I had twice as many apprentices and a dozen ponies."

Data sat forward intently. "Do you mean somebody would challenge you if you wore it?"

"Absolutely." The Lorcan nodded. "I should have to keep my sword sharpened all the time." He added hopefully, "Unless all of you would be so kind as to defend me."

That request seemed to Riker to mark a fitting time to end the fun. "I'm sorry, Day Timer," he said, "but we can't stay here any longer. Unless you agree to take us to a village or someplace where we can seek news of our comrades, we shall have to leave you."

The Lorcan leapt agitatedly to his feet. "No! You can't go. You owe me for the masks. And you can't just roam around-a party of apprentices. Whoever you meet will claim you for his va.s.sals." Reba began to chatter in agreement with her master.

"We'll take our chances," answered Riker, gesturing to Data and Pulaski to get to their feet.

"All right," sighed Day Timer. "If I take you to a village, even though it's out of our way, will you agree to come with me to the fair?"

"This fair is very important to you, is it not?" asked Data.

The yellow disk nodded. "Yes, very important."

"As long as we keep moving," said Riker, "and find people to talk to about our friends, we'll stay with you."

"Then let's go!" exclaimed Day Timer, waving his arms. "Time waits for no man, as we say."

Returning to the Lorcans' camp with Amba.s.sador Lewis, Captain Picard was startled anew by the diversity of masks on display. So much else was going on in the camp-the catching of fish, the pitching of what resembled a miniature circus tent, the tethering and feeding of ponies-that Jean-Luc was annoyed at his fascination with the masks. But he found that he couldn't take his eyes off them.

The mixture of Halloween masks with Lorcan masks had given the gathering a Mardi Gras atmosphere. Medicine Maker, in his artistically wrought twining-serpents mask, was tethering the ponies with Cold Angel, who proudly wore the pig-in-a-top-hat mask.

Then there were the two truly spectacular masks, the Thunder Mask and the Amba.s.sador's Mask, worn by Piercing Blade and Spider Wing, who were doing the bulk of the fis.h.i.+ng with crude hand-drawn lines. Even an uninformed eye such as Picard's could tell that the two objects d'art had been wrought by the same skilled craftsperson, Fazool. From the burnished metal to the bold sapphire streaks to the jutting chins, both masks bespoke the majesty of their owners and the artistry of their maker. Had either of these masks been seen in a gallery, thought Picard, only the maker would have been honored. Here the genius of the artist was complemented by the bearing of the wearer, who strove to embody the spirit of the mask.

Again, Picard felt the seductiveness of this civilization, which was simple on the surface but sophisticated underneath. Who was the woman in the Page's Mask, for example? She had spoken only once but very forcefully. Was she really a warrior-in-training or was someone else hiding behind that mask? Was Picard the captain of the U.S.S.Enterprise or was he a Lorcan trainer? Where he came from, didn't people make masks of their own faces?

Now Jean-Luc had a new face. He couldn't see it, but he could see other people's reactions to it. n.o.body looked at his snarling animal face for very long. Of course, even as Captain Picard, no one had stared at him for long. What was remarkable was the ease with which they all accepted him, and he them. Didn't they realize he would never have chosen this coa.r.s.e wooden mask for himself? The mask had, in an odd way, chosen him.

"Captain," said Worf, approaching him. The well-built Klingon looked even more formidable in his full-face armor. He pointed to the man in the pig mask. "Cold Angel, I think his name is, said that they pa.s.sed a village yesterday. If we ride all night, he says we can get back there by daylight."

"That's right, Captain!" echoed Cold Angel, strolling over from the makes.h.i.+ft pony corral. He fondled the pig's top hat. "This mask is very lovely but not strong enough for battle. I will ask the maskmaker in that village to fortify it with wood or metal."

"If there's a village," said Fenton Lewis, "I'd like to go, too. We'll ask about Almighty Slayer and the Wisdom Mask."

"There aren't enough ponies for all of us to go," Worf added.

"Don't worry, Captain," Cold Angel exclaimed, putting an arm around Worf's shoulders, "this lad will be okay with me." He pointed to Lewis and his feather mask. "I don't trust that one."

Picard wouldn't be swayed. "We should all go."