Star Trek - Masks Part 5

Two other masks were remarkably similar: bronze ovals with odd signs made of red jewels strewn haphazardly across cheek and forehead. One of the bronze masks was worn by a man and the other by a woman, leading Deanna to wonder if the two were personally or occupationally linked. The final mask featured twin snakes made of green jewels, intertwined in the center of a warlike face and separating to form stylized brows over the eyeholes. Each snake held a yellow-feathered bird in its mouth.

Unconsciously, Deanna found herself judging the status represented by each of the masks. The lightning-bolt mask worn by the female warrior was unquestionably the finest on display, followed closely by the Amba.s.sador's Mask worn by Fenton Lewis. In fact, both displayed such a high quality of workmans.h.i.+p that they might have been fas.h.i.+oned by the same hand. The green serpent mask was the third finest, and the others would fall into line according to personal taste. Deanna preferred her ridiculous little Harlequin mask to the snarling animal and the startled owl.

The equestrians were equally curious about the pedestrians' masks, which must have looked just as exotic to them. Deanna thought the Halloween masks at least had humor, which was totally missing from the exquisite but solemn Lorcan masks. Deanna could feel the Lorcans' stares and wondered if this was how all meetings on Lorca began-with a mask scrutiny.

"h.e.l.lo, Amba.s.sador," said the woman in the lightning-bolt mask. "I am Piercing Blade. I recognize your mask, but the masks of your va.s.sals are repulsive to me. I can't even tell their rank."

"We apologize," said Lewis smoothly, his voice amplified by the sound hole in his mask, which reverbrated like a fine guitar. "We are strangers to this land and do not know all the customs."

The lightning-bolt mask bobbed agitatedly. "I recognize your mask, because I have seen it before! It was made by the master, Fazool, for presentation to the Ferengi amba.s.sador two summers ago. You are not Ferengi, so I must question your right to wear it."

Even hidden behind his mask, Fenton Lewis looked stunned by the accusation. As he weighed his response, Jean-Luc Picard suddenly remembered the one black spot besmirching the amba.s.sador's record, his conviction in absentia for murder by the Ferengi. Lewis certainly wasn't denying that he had gotten the mask from them.

"I admit the Ferengisold me this mask," he said forcefully. "But I am an amba.s.sador in full standing of the United Federation of Planets. I have a right to wear the Amba.s.sador's Mask!"

"I think not," seethed Piercing Blade, reaching behind the calf of her thigh-high boot and drawing out a short but deadly-looking double-edged sword. "I hereby publicly challenge your right to wear the Amba.s.sador's Mask made by Fazool!"

"I don't understand this custom," cooed Lewis sweetly. "As I stated, and as the mask reveals, we are strangers here and do not claim to have mastered the etiquette of mask-wearing."

"Cursed jackal," growled the man in the smiling animal mask. "Lady Piercing Blade will have that mask from you-with or without your head in it!"

This was evidently a favorite joke, as the wearers of the emerald snake mask and the feather mask laughed heartily. Picard couldn't be sure how much of all this was a joke or a bluff, but he was determined to avoid bloodshed. Under the circ.u.mstances, he didn't think Fenton Lewis would mind a little diplomatic help.

"We are peaceful visitors," proclaimed the captain. "We will gladly wear whichever masks your customs dictate, but we are not of this society. We have come to this land only to seek an audience with your leader, Almighty Slayer."

Now the blue and silver lightning-bolt mask leaned forward interestedly. "Do you know where he is? We have sought him in vain for one full cycle. He must be dead or in hiding. Either way, his claim to the Wisdom Mask is ended."

"We can work together to find him," Lewis suggested hopefully.

"Yes, we can," Piercing Blade replied, "if that is my wish." She extended a sinewy arm wrapped in black chain mail and pointed to each member of the away team in turn, ending with Fenton Lewis. "Once you are my va.s.sals, you will obey my every command."

The man in the serpent mask reached into a bag strapped to his pony and drew out a dirty burlap sack. He tossed it to the ground at the amba.s.sador's feet. "Give us the Amba.s.sador's Mask and clothe yourself in this."

Fenton Lewis stood immobile, his mask giving him dignity despite the challenge. Finally, he drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable, and tossed his lion's-mane head of hair. "I will defend my right to wear the Amba.s.sador's Mask. I request a sword."

"No!" snapped Picard. He appealed to the tall woman warrior. "Piercing Blade, isn't there some other way to resolve this? We came here in peace."

"This oneis a sniveling jackal," giggled the woman behind the animal mask, pointing to Captain Picard. "He will make an excellent wet nurse for my piglets."

The Lorcans laughed, except for Piercing Blade, who was a.s.sessing the slim man in the horned devil's mask. "We won't insult the rest of you by demanding your masks," she said, "because we do not recognize them. But the Amba.s.sador's Mask by Fazool is a great treasure, and we cannot let an impostor wear it!"

Her glistening mask swiveled toward another of her comrades. "Spider Wing, hand the impostor your short-sword."

The man in the feathered mask reached into his boot and pulled out a sword similar to the one wielded by Piercing Blade. In a scabbard fastened around his waist, a long double-edged sword waited its turn. He plunged the short-sword into the ground at Lewis's feet. "Don't disgrace it," he snapped.

"I shan't," promised Fenton Lewis, seizing the weapon. As soon as his hand touched it, Piercing Blade leapt down from her pony and a.s.sumed a crouching position. She pointed her sword at Picard. "Let your own entourage bear witness-this is a fair challenge, fairly met!"

Picard appealed to Lewis. "For G.o.d's sake, Fenton, give her the mask. It's not worth dying over."

"I don't intend to die, Captain," said the man in the winged Amba.s.sador's Mask. "I deserve to wear this mask!"

The conflict had degenerated into violence so swiftly that theEnterprise crew members were slow to react. As the two masked combatants circled each other at swordpoint, it was difficult to remember that one of them was from a s.p.a.ce-traveling society thousands of light-years away. Here, in the Lorcan woods, they were equals.

Finally, Worf edged up behind Picard. The big Klingon was gritting his teeth with anger. "Let me stun them, Captain," he growled. "They haven't the right to accost strangers this way."

"They don't feel Lewisis a stranger," observed Counselor Troi, "because they know his mask. They feel he is a usurper and that they are perfectly justified in their actions."

The two continued to circle each other warily, trying to find safe footing in the muddy rutted road. The riders sat immobile on their ponies, watching the duel as if such events were an everyday occurrence hardly worthy of comment. Picard, Worf, and Deanna, their faces hidden by the Halloween masks, stood frozen, astounded by the primitive spectacle before them. Suddenly Lewis lunged, and Piercing Blade parried skillfully. Metal had clashed against metal, and the duel was on.

Picard drew his phaser. "Set to stun, Worf. Fire only to safeguard the amba.s.sador's life."

"Aye, sir."

The duel reminded Picard of fencing matches he had seen between partic.i.p.ants as skilled as these. There was none of that lengthy and tedious banging of blades one so often saw in old Earth movies. Instead, there were lightning-fast lunges, whiplike reactions, and a series of strokes so swift that one could barely follow them.

Fenton Lewis mounted a valiant defense, but he was clearly outcla.s.sed. Within seconds, the amba.s.sador was reeling backwards, off balance, struggling to parry the woman's slas.h.i.+ng blows. Worf raised his phaser to fire, but Picard steadied his hand. "She's toying with him," Picard whispered.

Indeed, the statuesque warrior seemed to have no intention of killing Fenton Lewis, only of embarra.s.sing him to death. He finally stumbled over a fallen log and wound up flat on his back, his sword stuck in the ground several meters away. Piercing Blade lowered her sword and pressed its point against the panting man's throat.

"Enough!" barked Picard. "Spare his life!"

"I will," answered Piercing Blade, who sounded only slightly winded. "I need all the va.s.sals I can get." She held out her hand to the fallen foe. "Give me the mask."

Fenton Lewis slowly stripped the gleaming mask from his face. He stared defiantly at her. "You'll pay for this," he vowed.

"Have you no decency?" she shrieked, turning away in disgust from his naked face. She speared the filthy burlap bag with her sword and tossed it at him. "Cover yourself!" With a gulp, Fenton Lewis lowered his head and pulled the bag over his head.

Piercing Blade turned to her comrades, triumphantly holding the Amba.s.sador's Mask over her head. "We now have an amba.s.sador in our band! Who shall it be?"

"Let me be the amba.s.sador!" the man in the animal mask shouted. "I am silver-tongued, as all the women know."

"No, Cold Angel," she laughed. "The only ones who listen to you are the animals, and I need you to build me a great herd of war ponies. Keep the Trainer's Mask, for it suits you best."

She turned to the man with the mask of emerald serpents. "You, Medicine Maker? Do you wish to be an amba.s.sador?"

"I will gladly add that prize to my collection," Medicine Maker replied, "but I won't forsake the Herbalist's Mask."

"Then Spider Wing will be our amba.s.sador!" the woman declared, proudly presenting the glistening silver trophy to the man in the feather mask. His comrades cheered, and, from his startled movements, Spider Wing seemed to be genuinely surprised. He took the proffered mask in both hands.

"Thank you, my lady," he said, his mask tilting forward in a bow. "I pray I am worthy of this promotion and your trust."

"What about the others?" asked the woman in the bronze oval mask. "Their masks are strange to us."

Piercing Blade shrugged. "Whatever their rank, they are now my va.s.sals. They will join my entourage."

Deanna and Worf were helping the stunned Lewis to his feet. Now Worf drew himself up to his full height, put his hands on his hips, and glared at the Lorcans through his jolly pig mask. "A Klingon is no one's va.s.sal," he declared.

Jean-Luc knew they could make quick work of the Lorcans with their phasers, but the Prime Directive bound him. He also knew he had to gain control of the situation as quickly as possible.

"It's against our principles to meddle in the affairs of others," explained the captain slowly. "Therefore we cannot become your va.s.sals or join your entourage, although we are honored by the request."

"You refuse Piercing Blade?" asked the man in the bronze oval mask, sounding incredulous. "Do you not recognize the mark of her n.o.bility, the Thunder Mask?"

"We recognize her n.o.bility," Picard replied. "And we recognize her right tohave va.s.sals, but we came here as visitors and don't plan to stay. We merely request safe pa.s.sage in our search for Almighty Slayer."

The woman took a couple of threatening steps toward Picard. "I don't recognize your mask, but you seem to think that your n.o.bility is greater than mine. Is that what you're saying?"

The red devil shook his head. "n.o.bility has nothing to do with it. Where we come from, we believe in freedom of choice. We serve only those whom we choose to serve. We have an allegiance to our Federation and cannot accept the offer to join your entourage."

"It isn't an offer," said the Lorcan leader. "Youmust join my entourage, or I must join yours." Reluctantly she drew her sword.

"Captain!" Worf called with alarm.

The captain motioned Worf to keep calm as he backed slowly toward Deanna and the big Klingon. Fenton Lewis sat dejectedly at the side of the road several meters away, the burlap bag draped over his face like a veil.

Piercing Blade bent down to retrieve the sword Lewis had used unsuccessfully. She tossed it to Captain Picard, who surprised himself by catching the weapon in midair. The sword, which reminded him of a Roman short-sword, felt surprisingly light and well balanced in his hand.

"We are fighting for the mask of greater n.o.bility," the woman explained, "and for the right to lead this band of warriors."

"Do I have any alternative to fighting?" Picard asked.

"You can join our band," Piercing Blade replied. "We will give each of you the rank of page, which is very generous. As you can see, the Page's Mask is quite handsome." She motioned to the man and woman wearing the bronze oval masks.

"We would be honored to travel with you," Picard responded. "But as comrades, not as va.s.sals."

"Then you leave me no choice," she said sadly, dropping into a crouch and leveling her sword at the captain.

Jean-Luc whispered quickly to Worf, "I hate to cheat, but if you see me point my sword straight up, stun her."

"With pleasure," Worf replied.

Now it was Jean-Luc's turn to warily circle the crouching female warrior in her spectacular Thunder Mask. He hated to order phaser fire on an inhabited planet, but he and his crew couldn't serve any power other than the Federation.

Aware of his reluctance to fight, Piercing Blade jabbed playfully at the captain with her sword. "You don't even handle a blade as well as the impostor," she observed. "Throw down your weapon and join us."

Timing was going to be crucial, thought Picard. He wanted the Lorcans to think he had bested their Amazonian leader in battle, but he didn't want to risk harming himself or her. He could be sure of Worf's aim, so he worked himself closer to his foe. She responded with a few crisp flicks of her sword, which he was barely able to parry. That was just a preview, he thought.

Worf wished the sword were in his hand, as well as the fate of the away team. The captain hadn't a prayer against the towering long-limbed warrior. She was toying with him blatantly now. Worf envisioned his own battle strategy against the more skilled opponent: he would use brute force, gladly absorbing a blow or two in order to smash his sword into that ludicrous lightning bolt.

The battle was only seconds old, and already Jean-Luc felt as if his heart would pound its way out of his chest. Piercing Blade parried the captain's best stroke with such force that the sword was nearly ripped from his hand. And she was only half trying. What a woman! But this wasn't a time for idle gawking-he had to gain the upper hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Worf maneuvering for a clear shot. The Klingon had wisely palmed his phaser, keeping it out of sight in his mammoth left hand.

Piercing Blade slashed at his legs, barely missing his knee, and Picard decided that the match had gone on long enough. He brought his blade cras.h.i.+ng down on top of hers, momentarily driving both blades into the ground. Then he grabbed the Lorcan's other arm, feeling nothing but youthful muscle under the links of chain mail, and pulled her toward him. She was surprised by the sudden wrestling tactics and tried to pull away, but Picard held her still long enough to raise his sword in the air.

The flash of light lasted less than a second, and Piercing Blade slumped to the ground as if she were a marionette whose operator had dropped her strings. Her entourage bolted upright on their ponies, stunned and amazed. They had been watching the two combatants and had no idea where the flash of light had come from or what it meant. All they knew was that their leader lay motionless on the ground with a stranger in a horned mask holding a sword to her throat.

"Don't move!" Picard shouted to them. He was panting so heavily his shoulders were heaving and he felt light-headed. "We want no more trouble."

"You have no more," said Medicine Maker. "We recognize your mask of n.o.bility."

The man in the emerald snake mask bowed his head and climbed down from his pony. The others, slowly, numbly, did the same.

"I didn't even see the blow," wailed Cold Angel, shaking his hairy Trainer's Mask.

"Is she dead?" muttered the woman in the Page's Mask.

"No, no," said Picard. He glanced at Worf, and the Klingon nodded, signaling that the phaser had been set to stun briefly. Nevertheless, the captain kept his swordpoint on her throat, just under the jewel-encrusted chin of the dazzling Thunder Mask.

The eyeholes of her mask remained blank, and n.o.body knew Piercing Blade had regained consciousness until she tried to sit up. Feeling the cold metal swordpoint at her throat, the n.o.blewoman quickly lay back on the damp clay.

"I have been bested," she admitted, "for the first time in my life. I know not how, but the blow was sudden and telling. The Thunder Mask is yours, our ponies are yours, and we are yours to command."

Picard removed his sword from her throat. His victory felt hollow, and he truly regretted having cheated. Besting such a magnificent woman in a fair battle would have been a glorious achievement; tricking her was unfair and beneath him. He hoped one day to give her a second chance in a more even contest.

"Stand up," he said, offering her his hand. "I prefer that you keep your mask. It suits you."

The woman stood, towering a few centimeters over Picard, but he could see her quizzical green eyes through the eyeholes of the Thunder Mask. Having seen only the mask until now, he found the sight of her eyes incredibly intimate and thrilling. He stared into their uncomprehending depths.

"You refuse to take my mask?" she asked incredulously.

Picard nodded. "I refuse to take anything that is yours or your party's. We offer you the same friends.h.i.+p and respect that we were seeking. We're not here to collect masks or money or va.s.sals; we're here to talk to your leaders about establis.h.i.+ng relations between our two worlds."

"Then you are like the Ferengi," she concluded. "From the sky?"

"Yes," said Picard. "You understand about s.p.a.ce travel?"

"I do," replied Piercing Blade, "for all life comes from the sky."

"That's right," echoed Medicine Maker. "Our ancestors came from the sky, but we were forbidden sky travel by the dragon who lives inside Lorca."

Picard shook his head, not wis.h.i.+ng to get involved in some sort of quasi-religious discussion. Worf and Deanna Troi had joined him now, and he looked in vain for Fenton Lewis.

"What do you know about Almighty Slayer?" Worf asked. "Is he dead?"

"Who knows?" Cold Angel asked from behind his animal mask. "They say he was seen at the Dragon Ceremony on Redding Mountain. None of us have seen him for two cycles or more."

The Thunder Mask shook with anger. "One who hides his mask is no king!" spat Piercing Blade. "The Wisdom Mask is the greatest of masks, but where is it? If the Wisdom Mask isn't seen by all at the fair, then I will claim the throne for the Thunder Mask."

"Hear, hear!" chimed the other Lorcans, echoing Piercing Blade's bold proclamation.

"Lady Piercing Blade deserves to rule!" shouted Spider Wing. He was still clutching his newly acquired Amba.s.sador's Mask, and Jean-Luc wondered how he was going to tactfully arrange to have the mask returned to Fenton Lewis. Or if he should.

"Where is this fair?" asked Deanna Troi.

"In Cottage Meadow," answered Spider Wing. "It's about ten days' ride. But," he said with sudden realization, "you have no ponies."

The captain shrugged. "We can walk."

"Perhaps," Medicine Maker suggested, "you can trade those unusual masks for ponies. We have never seen anything like them."