Star Trek - War Drums Part 5

A few meters away from the dull walls of the settlement the planet of Selva became an entirely different place. As big as Worf was, he felt like a flea on the back of a large, hairy dog-black trees stretched into what seemed like the stratosphere, their jade leaves obscuring all but slivers of pale sky. The trees were so closely s.p.a.ced that it was impossible for him to walk without rubbing his shoulders against their trunks, and he soon found his shoulders were covered with a mola.s.seslike sap that oozed from the thin bark. Remembering the words of Oscaras, he ran his finger along a trunk and put it to his tongue. The gum tasted sweet and acidic, although it smelled like cleaning fluid.

Turrok led the way, followed by Worf, Deanna Troi, and Data. The elder Klingon marveled at the brisk pace set by the younger, because he could find no trail in the damp humus that covered the forest floor. It felt as if they were alone and isolated, but they were hardly the only organisms in this dark cathedral. In the branches overhead things were moving-following them, chattering, clicking, and grunting. Worf imagined those were the sloths he had heard about, as well as birds. The tree trunks themselves were crawling with insects and other tiny creatures that made a parasitic livelihood off the free-flowing sap.

At one point Turrok stopped and peeled back a piece of bark that was already loose; he reached in and pulled out a dark grub that was about the size of a man's thumb.

The youngster offered the squirming larva to Worf. "Crawdad?"

The adult Klingon shook his head. The youth shrugged and popped it into his mouth. Then he headed on, chewing contentedly.

Suddenly Deanna gasped and stumbled backward, and Worf turned to see what had startled her. The partly decomposed leaves and twigs at their feet were undulating, as if something was poking its way up from underneath. Worf kicked away the debris with his boot and caught the tail end of a large rodent disappearing into a hole; two smaller animals scurried after it. Like everything in this forest, mother and babies were black and sleek.

Data had stopped behind Deanna. He studied the burrow for a moment, c.o.c.ked his head, and suggested, "Those must be the chucks we have heard mentioned."

Deanna wrinkled her nose. "Handsome creatures, aren't they?"

"Do you think so?" asked Data. "I would categorize them as repulsive."

"I was joking," added the Betazoid.

"Heh, heh," responded Data flatly, obviously trying to be polite.

Worf looked up and saw Turrok some distance away, waving impatiently for them to follow. "Come," said Worf, shouldering his way through the thicket of tree trunks.

When they had caught up Data asked in Klingon, "Turrok, how do you know we are headed in the correct direction?"

The adolescent felt along one side of the nearest tree trunk and answered, "The sap runs greatest on the side facing the sea. Also, do you not smell the ocean?"

No, the three off-worlders shook their heads in unison.

"Well," said Turrok, "I do."

"But how will that allow you to find your camp?" asked Worf.

"That won't," answered Turrok, "but this will."

He searched the leafy ground until he found a broken branch, which he tested by whacking it several times against his palm. Then they walked a considerable distance until they found a suitable fallen log, one that time, insects, and animals had hollowed out.

"Mister Chuck," he said politely to the log, "please give me your home for my far voice." He tapped lightly on the log until a huge black rodent slithered out. It wrinkled its snout at the intruders and bared its considerable fangs. Worf was reaching for his phaser when the chuck apparently decided to grant the request. It burrowed into the decaying humus and was gone within seconds, despite its bulk.

Now Turrok began to pound in earnest on his found drum. Tat-tat-tat, pause. Tat-tat-tat, pause. Tat-tat-tat, pause. The drumming caused the unseen but noisy animals over their heads to become strangely quiet, and the boy patiently repeated his signal many times, listening between the pauses for a response.

Finally, although it was barely perceptible in the vast forest, Worf heard the sound of two taps and a pause, repeated twice. Turrok answered with a complicated series of beats and pauses that reminded the lieutenant of the Morse code he had learned during his boyhood years on Earth. Worf glanced at Data and knew the android was a.n.a.lyzing and storing this primitive but effective form of communication and would be able to reproduce it perfectly.

Turrok finally stopped to listen. There was a long pause before the far drummer answered with a series of complex rhythms that evolved into a steady refrain that never varied. Like the ticking of a clock in a quiet room, it filled their senses. Turrok tossed down his stick and strode off in a slightly different direction, motioning the others to follow him. If one's hearing was acute enough, thought Worf, it would be a simple matter to follow the rhythmic beat home.

But Turrok didn't look particularly pleased. "Tribe is happy I'm alive," he said as they walked. "But not happy I bring you with me. Before day is over you may die, or you may kill."

After that p.r.o.nouncement Deanna and Worf exchanged concerned glances, and the drumming deep in the forest sounded more ominous. But they walked steadily toward it, their legs marching instinctively to the far-off rhythm.

Chapter Five.

ENSIGN RO STRAIGHTENED UP from the seismograph after having correlated its readings with a short-range scan of the ocean floor. There was no change, so she turned her attention to a concurrent a.n.a.lysis of the midwater zone. She noted how abruptly the waters close to sh.o.r.e dropped into the abyss, which was unusually shallow for such an extensive body of water. On this planet, she decided, the magma rising from underwater volcanoes was filling in the depths, not creating new islands and mountain ranges. That was okay, except that ma.s.sive pelagic deposits could have an unknown effect on the tectonic plates.

Those plates, she knew, were like the cracked pieces of an eggsh.e.l.l. And they were almost as fragile. Worse than eggsh.e.l.ls, these plates overlapped in several places, especially in that trouble spot a thousand kilometers offsh.o.r.e. Underneath the fragile crust, molten rock, or magma, was struggling to get out, pushed by forces deep in the planet's mantle. The trouble spot must be an underwater inferno, thought Ro. She had a dozen questions that could only be answered through long-term observation, such as: How much effect did all that heating and cooling have on the schistosity of the rock that formed the plates? Would they hold together in a major temblor, or would the egg split apart?

According to their records, the colonists had asked a lot of these same questions but hadn't come up with many answers. After discovering that the ocean couldn't support life they had moved on to more pressing matters. The ocean kept this part of the planet habitable, and that was all that mattered to them. Ro couldn't blame them-a proper study of the currents alone would keep an oceanographer busy for the rest of his life. Besides, there was only so much that could be gleaned from staring at digital readouts, graphs, and s.h.i.+fting vectors. Someday the citizens of Selva might have a fleet of bathyscaphes from which to probe the tumultuous ocean floor, but not today. When they couldn't safely walk fifty meters from their own gate, studying a region that was underwater and a thousand kilometers away was bound to be a low priority.

Ro could feel suspicious eyes on her all morning as various scientists reported to work. Some of them hadn't seemed to be doing very much, and she wondered if they had really come only to observe her. Of course, the building also housed the replicator, subs.p.a.ce radio, and sickbay, and workers in those departments might have been curious enough to stop by the lab. She wasn't particularly concerned or upset by the scrutiny. As Guinan had told her, she was the Other, in more ways than one. Lead by example, her friend had told her, and that was what she intended to do.

There was, however, one set of eyes that was more interesting than the others. They belonged to a small freckle-faced girl who was about twelve years old, by Ro's reckoning. Despite her age, she obviously had come to work in the lab, because she was quite diligent about tending a number of plants growing in hydroponic splendor under ultraviolet lights. She wasn't just feeding them but measuring them, checking their temperature, and taking specimens and cultures, which she studied under a microscope. When Ro glanced back at one point the girl smiled. It was the first smile a colonist had seen fit to grant the Bajoran.

About midday several lab workers got up en ma.s.se and headed for the door. To lunch, Ro a.s.sumed. She knew quite well where the dining hall was-it was the only other good-sized building in the village-and she was prepared to go uninvited. But she wasn't prepared to look hungry. When everyone else returned she would go, Ro decided.

Then she saw the freckle-faced girl headed her way. "Hi," said the girl, bouncing to a stop in front of the seismograph console. "I'm Myra Calvert."

"Call me Ro," replied the Bajoran with a smile.

"They're not being very nice to you, are they?" asked Myra. "First they won't talk to you, then they won't tell you it's time to go to lunch."

"Well," replied the ensign, "if they won't talk to me, they can't very well tell me anything."

"Is it because you have those b.u.mps on your head?" asked Myra. "What are you?"

"I'm Bajoran," said the visitor. "You've probably never heard of my race."

"Of course I have," scoffed Myra. "You were driven away from your homes by the Carda.s.sians. Now you don't really have a home planet, and n.o.body will let you stay on theirs for very long."

Ro smiled, impressed. "That's right. You're very well informed."

Myra shrugged. "Everybody says I'm a prodigy. The truth is, I just remember what I read. But I'm like you-n.o.body quite trusts me."

Ro nodded sympathetically. "That's their loss. What are you working on?"

"I'm studying to be a botanist," said the twelve-year-old proudly. "But it's tough-I can't go out in the forest to collect samples, and I already know more about the native plants than my teachers do. They want me to study Earth plants, but what fun is that when we're not on Earth?"

Ro said encouragingly, "I'm sure that someday you'll write the definitive study on the plant life of Selva."

"I hope so," sighed Myra. "Why did they send you down here-to watch for earthquakes?"

"I hope we're wrong to be so worried, but there's a definite trouble spot out there in the ocean."

Myra peered cautiously around the lab, but there was only one other worker besides the two of them. She lowered her voice to say, "They don't like to hear bad news around here. For months I've been trying to prove a theory I have, but they won't listen to me. I'm just a kid."

"What is it?" asked Ro. "I'll listen."

The girl was about to reply when a tall, blond-haired man entered the lab, apparently looking for her. "Myra!" he called in a stern voice.

"My dad," whispered the girl. "He's head of security." She called back, "I'm over here, talking to Ro!"

The man strode toward them but stopped several meters away, as if he didn't want to get too close. "I'm sure the ensign doesn't want to be bothered," he said. "Come along."

"She hasn't bothered me at all," answered the Bajoran. "I've found your daughter to be quite refres.h.i.+ng."

"Can Ro come to lunch with us?" asked Myra.

The man cleared his throat, as if that was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn't think of a good reason to refuse. "All right," he replied. "But we'll have to be quick about it. I've got to stay by the radio to see if the away team from the Enterprise runs into any trouble. They could meet up with those Klingons anytime."

"I don't want to be gone long either," said the slim Bajoran, rising from her seat. "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Ensign Ro."

"Gregg Calvert." The man nodded uncomfortably. "I see you've met Myra. She'll bend your ear, and if she becomes a problem-"

"Dad!" the girl protested. As if in revenge, she said to Ro, "Did I tell you my mom died a long time ago, and he's a single parent?"

"Myra!" growled Calvert. He smiled sheepishly at the visitor. "You'll know everything there is to know about us in the next ten minutes, if Myra has her way."

"That would be refres.h.i.+ng, too," said Ro.

Finally, thought Worf as they began to follow what looked like a path through the confusing ma.s.s of spindly trees. It led them to a stream that was about ten meters across; the rus.h.i.+ng water looked surprisingly deep and treacherous, but there was a log that spanned the waterway. Turrok scampered across as if it were a boulevard, but Data held the log firmly as Deanna started slowly across.

"What are those white things at the bottom of the stream?" she asked.

"They appear to be sh.e.l.ls," answered Data. "Perhaps a sort of freshwater mussel."

Worf followed Deanna across, and he was relieved to find that the black gum that coated the trunk offered excellent traction. He returned the favor and held the log for Data. All the while the distant drumming continued its eerie accompaniment, joined by the grunting and rustling of unseen wildlife overhead.

Data had the presence of mind to keep checking his tricorder as they walked, and he was the first to announce, "Several large life-forms moving our way."

Worf reluctantly drew his phaser. "Phasers on light stun," he ordered.

Deanna, who seldom handled a phaser, drew hers and checked the setting. As soon as Turrok saw the s.h.i.+ny weapons he bolted into the trees and disappeared.

"Wait!" called Worf. But there was no answer except for the ominous drums. There was also no sign of Turrok.

Deanna muttered, "How will we find them now?"

"I believe they will find us," answered Data, "and soon." He returned his tricorder to the case on his belt and drew his own phaser.

Suddenly there came what sounded like a stampede in the branches overhead as dozens of unseen creatures took flight. Within a matter of seconds dark shapes took their place, moving swiftly to encircle the travelers on the ground. Worf tried to remain calm and not make any threatening movements, but he knew the hovering figures could alight on them in less time than it would take to aim and fire their phasers. The drumming stopped, and falling leaves floated around them like a green snowstorm.

He tapped his communicator badge. "Worf to Enterprise," he breathed. "Stand by to beam three on my command."

"Acknowledged," responded a voice. "Locked on and standing by."

Deanna stepped closer to the big Klingon. "This isn't fair," she said. "They're studying us, but we can barely see them."

"NuqueH!" barked Worf, s.h.i.+fting his attention from one figure to another. Leaves rustled as the branches filled with more wary observers.

"I count eleven," said Data. "Now thirteen."

Operating on sheer instinct, Worf held up his phaser and made a slow circle so that the beings in the trees could plainly see it. Then he returned the weapon to his jacket pocket and held up his empty hands. "We mean no harm!" he said in Klingon.

"Is that wise?" asked Data.

"We can't stand here forever," answered Worf. "They obviously fear the phasers too much to show themselves."

Deanna followed his example and pocketed her weapon, and Data did likewise. This gesture was answered by a guttural command in a language even the universal translator couldn't interpret, and a figure bounded out of the trees, landing two meters in front of Worf. The elder Klingon beheld a thin female of his own race who gaped at him as if he might be a ghost or a mirage. One by one more Klingons dropped from the trees until the strangers were entirely surrounded by a ragtag army of scrawny Klingons dressed in black animal skins.

One reached out to touch Data, and the android good-naturedly let himself be pawed. The teenage girl in front of Worf edged close enough to touch the bony ridges of his forehead. After determining that both he and his head were real, she touched the furrows of her own forehead and backed away, grinning. Another female crept toward Deanna and tried to touch her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but she brushed the hand aside as politely as she could. The youths expressed themselves in primitive grunts that made Worf want to yell at them to act like Klingons, but he reminded himself that they didn't know how Klingons acted.

Several of the youths backed away as if frightened, and Worf turned to see Turrok being pushed toward the gathering by a youth who was at least a head taller than any of the others. He was probably about sixteen years old, thought Worf, the eldest of the castaways, and he would be considered big for an adult Klingon. Sinewy muscles flexed beneath his tight animal skins, and he glowered at Worf, all the while holding Turrok at arm's length. The younger boy looked terrified, and Worf could see that his Starfleet-issued clothes had been ripped in several places. The others practically sc.r.a.ped the ground at the approach of the larger boy, and there could be little doubt that he was Balak.

In guttural Klingon the sixteen-year-old growled, "Turrok returns, but he is infested by the flat-heads. Tonight he will take the Test of Evil!"

There were murmurings from the others that suggested to Worf this was more of a punishment than a homecoming. He stepped toward Balak and said in the simplest Klingon vocabulary he knew, "Turrok has been very brave. He was imprisoned and beaten and never disgraced himself. He deserves to be treated like a hero."

Balak sneered. "Only the dead are treated like heroes. Who are you? Pet of these flat-heads?"

Worf seethed under his breath, but he kept his composure. He knew the success of the entire mission-and many lives-depended on these next few seconds. "This is Data and Deanna Troi," he said, pointing to his companions. "I am Worf, and we've come from a great s.h.i.+p that journeys in the sky."

The girl who had touched him gasped and looked as if she was about to say something, but Balak shot her a glare that stilled her. "We have no need of you," he told the strangers. "Go away. Be thankful you live."

"You do have need of us," Worf countered. "You were not born here in this woods. You come from an empire of people like yourselves and me. We are called Klingons."

"An empire?" sneered Balak. "Cause your s.h.i.+p and your empire to rid our world of flat-heads. Then I welcome you."

"Excuse me," said Data in crisp Klingon, "you are incorrect to make war on humans, or flat-heads, as you call them. Klingons and humans are at peace everywhere in the galaxy except here."

Balak turned upon Data with rage. "Don't tell me what to do!" he screamed.

Like a panther he leapt upon the android, and he tried to choke him. Although his surprise attack knocked Data off balance, the android quickly recovered and forced the Klingon's hands away from his neck. Balak's face contorted with rage, pain, and amazement as the android easily held the strapping humanoid at bay.

"This will accomplish nothing," Data remarked with disapproval. "If I release you, do you promise not to attack us?"

"Knives! Knives!" screamed Balak.

All around them Worf, Deanna, and Data heard knives being drawn from sheaths. Before Worf could draw his phaser two youths grabbed Deanna and held knives to her throat. One of the weapons was a sharpened eating utensil, the other a crude stone blade, but both looked deadly.

Worf slapped his comm badge and bellowed, "Three to beam up. Energize!"

As the Klingons pressed their blades into Deanna's neck her molecules glimmered and evaporated. Another youth slashed his knife at Worf's back but stumbled to the ground, striking only air. Balak, released by the sudden disappearance of Data, sprawled to the ground.

Worf, Deanna, and Data materialized on a transporter platform aboard the Enterprise. Deanna, whose eyes were closed in antic.i.p.ation of death, touched her throat and found it bleeding from a slight cut. Then she swallowed and began to breathe again.