Star Trek - War Drums Part 9

Chapter Eight.

WORF WATCHED DATA with a slight smile. The android banged on a tambourine a few times and held it to his ear, as if measuring its resonance. Then he tried the maracas, which appeared to have been made from genuine gourds in a time-honored tradition-before having been scanned and stored in the replicator's memory for resurrection hundreds of years later. Many of the instruments seemed to be of museum quality, except for the snare drums and kettledrums, which sparkled with brand-new chrome. All in all, thought Worf, the Enterprise had sent them an impressive collection of terran percussive instruments, with a set of Vulcan gongs thrown in for good measure.

Data picked up a pair of drumsticks and clacked them together. "Shall I summon the Klingons?" he asked Worf and Deanna.

"Which code will you use?" asked Worf.

"The most recent one we heard, which Balak used to summon the others. I have also a.s.similated the code Turrok used to announce our presence, as well as various responses and the Test of Evil rhythm. Would you like me to teach them to you?"

"Not right now," said Deanna with a smile. "Perhaps we should contact Captain Picard before we renew our acquaintance with Balak."

"Agreed," nodded Worf. He pressed his comm badge. "Worf to Captain Picard."

"Picard here," answered the familiar clipped tones. "Where are you, Lieutenant?"

"That," said Worf, "we do not know for sure. We took a rather circuitous route to get here. We're standing on a large mound that Data believes the survivors built for spiritual purposes. We witnessed a ceremony they held here last night, and we know they consider this a sacred place. This morning we fed twelve of them breakfast, and we have requisitioned drums and other musical instruments from the Enterprise to give to them as presents."

"It sounds like you're making progress," said Picard. "But don't hesitate to come back to the village if there's any danger. Also, watch out for a certain type of mantis."

"We heard about Ensign Ro," said Deanna. "How is she?"

"Resting. But it was touch and go."

"Captain," said the Betazoid, "we found something disturbing yesterday. A pit, which was apparently dug for the express purpose of trapping animals. Inside the pit there was a dead Klingon, badly decomposed. Would you ask President Oscaras if they've been digging pits out here to trap the Klingons?"

"He's standing right beside me," said Picard, "and I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't know what you're talking about."

A gruff voice insisted, "We've never done any such thing! I'll bet you those savages did it themselves."

Worf grumbled under his breath, but it was Data who responded. "They could not have dug this pit without sophisticated equipment or phasers."

"You don't know what they're capable of," muttered Oscaras. "And they've stolen a lot of stuff from us."

"I was just curious," said Deanna Troi. To Worf she looked more than curious-she looked troubled.

Picard asked, "Do you need more people or any other a.s.sistance?"

"None at the moment," said Worf. "Data has learned their drum code and is about to summon them."

"Good luck," replied Picard. "Out."

Worf heaved a sigh and turned to the android. "You might as well try it."

"I think I shall use the kettledrum," Data remarked, picking up the largest of the drums as if it were weightless. "It produces more volume and a deeper timbre."

Data set the large drum in front of him and began to beat a complex rhythm that vibrated the very earth they stood upon. Worf glanced toward the forest, wondering how this new overture would be received. By this time, he thought, the adolescents must realize that the strangers were determined to gain their trust. But would they ever realize that the rewards of friends.h.i.+p were greater than those of hatred? As he listened to the deafening drum Worf thought about his own family and the pain and humiliation they had suffered due to political machinations. So-called civilized Klingons fought and killed among themselves for far less worthy reasons than hunger and survival. Perhaps he was wrong to think of the castaways as savages. At least they were n.o.ble in their desires.

Then he thought of Balak, and he felt his jaw tightening. Balak was a type of Klingon he recognized well-one who ruled through intimidation and strength. Not only that, but he had proclaimed himself the voice of the laws, which meant that to question him was to question what little order they had in their lives. It wasn't surprising that Balak was both the biggest and the oldest of the survivors-he had spent the most time with "civilized" Klingons before being uprooted by the Romulans.

Thinking of Romulans made Worf's stomach clench in knots. Whatever else he thought of Balak and the others, he had to remember they were brothers in one respect: The Romulans had ripped them from their families and turned them into orphans.

Data stopped drumming, and they heard a faraway drummer answer them in a burst of staccato tones. Then the forest was quiet, except for the cawing complaint of some bird that seemed to resent having its morning interrupted with all that pounding.

"Balak is coming," said the android.

"How do you know it's Balak?" asked Deanna.

Data replied, "Each one has a signature code. I have only just learned this, based on Balak's response. I think he is angry that I used his signature."

Worf grumbled, "As you said, we have to deal with Balak."

They waited anxiously, peering at the forest. The mysterious mound was one of the few vantage points that offered a clear view of Selva's gray sky. The sun rose over an ocean of jade treetops, but it was little more than a yellow wave rippling through the cloud cover. By noon, thought Worf, the fog would burn off. Until then the sky was shrouded in a muted haze that matched his mood.

First came the drumming-the same steady marching beat they had heard the previous sundown. Then the drummers emerged from the forest, followed by the bearers of the wicker cage that was used for the Test of Evil. There was no prisoner following them, only Turrok, supported between two larger boys who half carried him while he tried valiantly to walk. Then came Balak, followed by the rest of the tribe, which numbered about a dozen. The leader of the castaways did not looked pleased, thought Worf, as he clanged his knife on his sc.r.a.p of metal. He looked exactly like a Klingon whose leaders.h.i.+p was being challenged.

As they climbed the mound Worf and Deanna picked up the various gifts and were prepared to distribute them. Only Data seemed to sense that this process wasn't going to be as easy as it looked, and he remained immobile, poised for whatever happened. The youths gazed curiously at the strange instruments, and some even smiled; but no one broke ranks to take them from the strangers' outstretched hands.

Balak looked at the a.s.sembled instruments and scowled. In Klingon he said, "You give us food, then toys. Do you think we are children?"

"No," said Worf, "we want to be friends."

"We have laws!" growled the strapping teenager, as if they were the only ones in the universe who did. "You must prove yourselves worthy."

"We will," answered Data. "I am prepared to take the Test of Evil."

Balak declared, "Each of you must take a test." He pointed to Deanna. "She will take the Test of Finding."

Deanna shook her head and said to Data, "I can't agree to that, because I don't know what that is."

"Let us say nothing until we know more," suggested the android. Deanna nodded her agreement.

Balak glowered at Worf. "Your test will be me."

This was something Worf understood, and he tried not to smile. He saw Wolm and Turrok nod encouragingly to him from the back of the pack. To make certain of Balak's intentions, he asked, "Do you mean a fight?"

Balak nodded as if he was looking forward to it.

"I won't fight you to the death," said Worf. "We're here to make friends, not kill each other."

Balak held his hands up and wiggled his fingers.

Now Worf smiled. "Bare hands, yes."

Data asked, "In what order shall we take these tests?"

"You first," said Balak. "If anyone fails, you go away. Or we will kill you."

The three strangers looked at one another as if this didn't leave them much choice. To clarify the bargain, Worf asked, "If we pa.s.s these tests, will you accept us and let us live among you?"

Balak looked somewhat shaken by that idea, but Wolm bravely proclaimed, "Yes! That is fair."

"There is no law," protested Balak.

The girl declared, "If they take test, they claim reward. It is law! When Turrok pa.s.s Test of Evil, we take him back. When I pa.s.s Test of Finding, I become a lawmaker. If Worf fights you and wins, we take him into tribe."

"He won't win," muttered Balak.

"Fair is fair," Wolm reiterated.

"All right," grumbled Balak. "Form the circle. All of you!" He glared at Worf and Deanna as if they were expected to join in the barbaric Test of Evil.

All of them formed a circle while the drummers began a slow beating. Worf saw one of the drummers eyeing the new snare drum enviously, but he apparently knew this wasn't the time to interrupt the ceremony. In one respect these Klingons were like any others, thought Worf-they loved ceremony and formality. The big Klingon grabbed the cage himself and set it upright, and Data stepped into it as if he were walking into a turbolift. The young Klingons were quite amazed by Data's stalwart bravery.

Balak held the knife over his head and snarled, "Knife-G.o.d, giver of Death and Truth, tell us if this flat-head is Evil. Taste his blood and tell us. If he is innocent, he lives. If he is evil, kill him!"

This time there was nothing haphazard about the way he plunged the knife into the cage. He wedged it forcefully between the strongest bars, with the blade pointing at the android's midsection. Then he latched the door securely while Data looked on with a total lack of expression. Grunting with the effort, Balak grabbed the cage between two brawny arms and turned it over several times as Data stumbled around inside.

The drummers beat wildly as each member of the circle turned the cage over on the ground and shoved it to the person beside him. Balak let the ceremony go on until everyone was sweating and grunting from exertion, then he grabbed the cage and-unlike the night before-rolled it down the side of the mound. There were gasps from the young Klingons as the cage clattered all the way to the bottom and bounced into the trees.

Worf noted that the cage was strong and well made. Though damaged, it did not disintegrate as Worf would have expected.

The Klingons looked in terror at Worf and Deanna, certain they would react violently to the death of their friend. But the strangers waited patiently as Data extricated himself from the crushed cage. His uniform was ripped to shreds, but the android was none the worse for wear as he picked up what was left of the receptacle and carried it up the mound.

"Quite exhilarating," he said to Balak, dropping the lump of wicker at his feet.

"Qapla'!" shouted Wolm, raising her fist in the air. Others joined in her cheer, and it was obvious the newcomers were picking up supporters. Turrok laughed out loud.

Balak shook with rage. "How did you-never mind." He turned upon Deanna. "You are next-the Test of Finding."

"I will explain it," said Wolm, stepping forward. "I can speak with Deanna."

Balak nodded reluctantly.

"Deanna," said the young female, "this is test of cleverness. Test for women. We cannot be stronger than men, but we are smarter. You must run into woods and hide. If men cannot find you, then you pa.s.s Test of Finding."

"Hide-and-seek," remarked Troi. "Very well. How much time do I have?"

"One thousand drumbeats."

The Betazoid glanced at Data, who nodded, giving his approval. It wasn't much time, thought Deanna, but she didn't need more than that. "I'm ready," she said.

In guttural language Balak spoke to the males under his command, and they stood crouched, ready to run at his order. Deanna watched him for a sign of when to begin, and he finally motioned to the lead drummer, who banged one deliberate beat. A little over a second later he banged another, and Deanna was already halfway down the mound. By the time they sounded the fifth beat she had dashed into the trees.

She ran until she was sure she was out of sight, then she listened, trying to get an approximate timing of the drumbeats. She pressed her communicator badge.

"Troi to transporter room. Lock onto my signal and beam me up immediately."

"Locking on," replied the Irish-tinged voice of Chief O'Brien. "Energizing."

As excited voices and cras.h.i.+ng footsteps sounded behind her Counselor Troi transported to a hiding place where the young Klingons would never think of looking. She regenerated on the platform in Transporter Room Three.

"h.e.l.lo, Counselor," said Chief O'Brien. "Shall I notify Commander Riker that you're here?"

"That won't be necessary," said Deanna, stepping down from the platform. "I'm only going to be here about twenty minutes. So, how are Keiko and the baby?"

O'Brien gave her a quizzical look. "They're fine. The little one's getting her first tooth, we think. Um, aren't you supposed to be taming a bunch of murderous Klingons?"

Deanna smiled. "That's exactly what I'm doing. Well, actually I'm playing hide-and-seek, but it's all part of winning their confidence. How long have I been here?"

"About a minute," said O'Brien. "Let's see, thus far I've beamed down fifteen full-course meals and twenty musical instruments, and now you're playing hide-and-seek. Are you sure this a.s.signment is that dangerous?"

Deanna lifted her chin. "Do you see this scratch on my neck?" she asked. "You weren't on duty yesterday when we beamed up, but this comes from two Klingons who tried to slit my throat."

"I see." O'Brien nodded, still looking confused. "Well, I'm glad they decided to play hide-and-seek instead."

"Me, too," sighed the Betazoid.

They chatted amiably for the remaining time, and Deanna bid the transporter chief good-bye to return to the planet, to the same coordinates from which she had been transported. Instead of the steady counting beat she heard calls and a rapid tattoo. She a.s.sumed that meant the test was over, and she strolled out of the forest and up the mound. The counselor noticed with satisfaction the angry expressions on the faces of Balak and several of the other males. Wolm and the females were grinning.

"She wins Test of Finding!" proclaimed Wolm. "Deanna proves herself worthy!"

Worf smiled at the Betazoid. "Well done." Then he gazed at Balak and said in Klingon, "It is time for my test."

The young Klingon dropped into a crouch and circled warily around the adult. "You use tricks," he accused.

"No tricks," grunted Worf, dropping into a wrestler's stance.

The drummers began to pound a rhythm that matched the cautious dance of the combatants, and everyone else fanned out around them. Deanna found herself holding her breath, watching intently as the brawny Klingons sized each other up and waited for an opening. Worf was slightly taller, but both humanoids were broad-shouldered and thickly muscled.

Because of the dirt and animal skins that covered him, Balak looked fiercer, and there was no denying that he was twenty years younger. Instinctively they bared their teeth at each other, and Deanna wondered if the lack of weapons really guaranteed that both would survive. She swallowed dryly, trying to content herself with the fact that Doctor Crusher and the Enterprise sickbay were only a call away.

Balak lunged first, grabbing Worf's tunic and trying to hurl him to the ground. Worf struck Balak's arms and face, but the swiftness of the attack had caught him off balance. The younger Klingon drove forward, his legs pumping, and Worf reeled backward, flattening young saplings as he went. The elder Klingon dropped into a crouch and dug his head into Balak's midsection, momentarily lifting the youth off the ground. They locked arms, grunting like bull moose, and Worf staggered to his full height. Grimacing, he freed one hand and jabbed Balak in the stomach, which led to a flurry of blows between the two behemoths. The drummers went wild in an ecstasy that tried to match the pummeling.

Worf drew first blood with a vicious chop to Balak's nose, and the younger Klingon bellowed in rage and boxed Worf's ears with two beefy fists. This stunned the lieutenant, who dropped to one knee, and Balak kicked him in the mouth and sent him sprawling. Worf had barely crawled to his knees before the younger Klingon sprawled on top of him and pushed his face into the dirt. Worf was in an awkward position that reminded Deanna of amateur wrestlers she had seen on Earth. He tried to move, crablike, but Balak used his considerable weight to pin him down on his chest. He wormed his hand under Worf's face and tried to tear off his nose.

Worf howled with pain, and his mouth filled with dirt as he twisted away from Balak's grasp. Deanna took a nervous step forward before realizing there was nothing she could do. She looked at Data, whose hand was poised over his communicator badge.

The younger Klingon clasped his hands over his head to finish his foe with a two-handed chop to the neck. But Worf sprang forward at the last second, tossing Balak the way a bucking bronco tosses a rider. He rolled on his back and swung his legs around, tripping the youngster. Both their faces were b.l.o.o.d.y as they staggered to their feet. Worf didn't waste a second as he charged and buried his head in Balak's stomach. Now it was the younger Klingon who was reeling backward as Worf propelled him with his pumping legs. The action was so swift that one young Klingon couldn't get out of the way, and the two hulks slammed into him; all three went tumbling over the edge of the mound.

All the way down the hill Balak and Worf lunged for each other, but neither one could get his footing. They kept rolling until they ended up in a thicket at the edge of the trees, and the third Klingon scurried out of the way. With fingers mauling each other's faces the combatants staggered to their feet. Both were bleeding from numerous cuts and panting from exertion, but they locked arms once again. Deanna gnawed on her lower lip. It was a draw, and she wanted to stop it-but she didn't know how. Neither did they.

While Balak tried again to wrestle his older foe to the ground Worf mustered a final burst of strength and drove Balak's head backward into a low-hanging tree branch. The crack of the breaking branch was louder than either of the drums, and the strapping youth stumbled forward, his eyes gla.s.sy. Worf crouched to pounce on him, but Balak was already dropping to the ground. When he collapsed the drums abruptly stopped, and the spectators stared in awe.