Star Trek - Masks Part 9

"I know he wears the Wisdom Mask," answered the old artisan. "And a magnificent mask it is, worthy of a king. But I haven't seen it for many, many cycles." His voice took on an angry edge. "Perhaps if we had a real king, the raiders would not be so brazen!"

"We will have aqueen soon," promised Cold Angel. "When I return from the fair, it will be with great news!"

"Great news would be no more raiders," snarled the maskmaker.

The uneasy silence that followed was broken by the entrance of the woman in the Scholar's Mask, carrying a tray with two steaming bowls.

"Ah! Fish stew!" exclaimed Cold Angel in triumph, rubbing his dirty hands together.

Piercing Blade rose to her full impressive height, and her voice snapped like the lightning bolt on her Thunder Mask. "What do you mean, you don't know where he is!"

Captain Picard wished he could take off the snarling Trainer's Mask and appeal to her face-to-face. "I want to be honest with you, Piercing Blade. During the night the man we call Fenton Lewis, who came here as an amba.s.sador, left the camp. We don't know where he is or where he went."

Piercing Blade swept her hand in an arc to encompa.s.s her whole troupe. "My page told me you sent the messenger away. You lied to him?"

"I did," Picard admitted. "At the time, I didn't want to arouse the entire camp. I was wrong to lie, and I admit it. I wish to enlist your help in finding Lewis."

She stepped forward, her huge chrome mask looming before his face. "I defeated him in battle, and he has the right to hate me. Do you think he has gone to aid our enemies?"

"He's a stranger here," the captain answered. "He doesn't know who your enemies are."

"Then forget him," the warrior said, dismissing the whole subject with a wave of her hand. "We must reach the meadows before the fair begins. We can't concern ourselves with renegades." She turned back to Picard, her piercing green eyes gleaming in the sockets of her mask. "But you, Picard, do you wish me ill?"

"No," answered the captain forcibly. "I respect you and wish you well."

The woman gripped his shoulders. "Then we remain comrades, Picard. I will not judge you by the actions of one of your va.s.sals."

As exasperated as he was, Jean-Luc didn't want to endanger the genuine bond he had formed with this imposing woman. Despite the masks, the duels, and the hards.h.i.+ps, the two of them had connected on a primal level that was real, more real than anything else on the planet. He couldn't lie to her, and he knew she couldn't lie to him. Though both of them were leaders in their own right, they seemed to need each other. He reached across her robust arms and gripped her shoulders in return.

"You can trust me," he said simply.

Will Riker sat beside Day Timer in the peddler's wagon, watching the endless parade of trees pa.s.s by. Data, Dr. Pulaski, and the security personnel, Greenblatt and Whiff, strode behind and to one side of them. Day Timer's pony kept a leisurely pace, and no one had a hard time keeping up. In fact, Will had resisted taking a seat in the wagon, but Day Timer had insisted on his company.

"These comrades for whom you are searching-they must be very important," the peddler observed.

Riker nodded his clay Apprentice's Mask, hardly noticing its weight or clammy warmth anymore. "They're more than comrades. They're my friends."

"I'm a nosy old man," said the Lorcan, "but I would guess that one of your missing friends is a woman."

The commander swiveled to look at his benchmate, but, of course, the implacable mask told him nothing. For once, Will was thankful that his own emotions were hidden behind a mask. He had been so busy worrying about the away team as a whole that he hadn't confronted his concern for Deanna Troi.

The loss of Captain Picard would be devastating, but he was mentally prepared for such an eventuality. He had to be-it was part of his job. But never to see Deanna again? Will didn't think he was prepared for that.

"We'll find them," he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

"If they've been to the village, we'll find out about it," the peddler a.s.sured him. He pointed toward the top of the trees, where the sun was just beginning to peek through. "That's not mist; that's smoke. We should be there in a few minutes."

"How should we behave?" asked Data.

"Behave like apprentices," the peddler urged. "Don't handle anything that isn't yours, don't appear too inquisitive, and let me do the talking."

"That sounds easy enough," remarked Data.

"Still," Riker said grimly, "be ready for anything."

Chapter Seven.

AS THE PEDDLER'S WAGONand the small band of apprentices neared the village, Day Timer handed the reins to Riker. "Take over for a moment," he said.

Quizzically, Riker took the reins and watched as the peddler ducked back into his wagon. The swaybacked pony paid no attention to the change in drivers and continued plodding ahead. A moment later, Day Timer emerged wearing a different mask.

This one was also made from clay but was finely crafted, with eye, nose, and mouth holes that were molded into a haughty expression. Bloodred feathers formed sweeping eyebrows, and rich blue brocade adorned the edges of the mask. The strange markings were more numerous than on the Peddler's Mask and had been skillfully applied in sparkling gold paint.

"My Proprietor's Mask," said the Lorcan proudly. "Please don't disgrace me by telling anyone that you aren't my apprentices."

"We won't," Kate Pulaski answered. "It's a beautiful mask."

"Yes, it is," Day Timer agreed. "I had to trade two ponies to get it, and this is the first time I've worn it." He lowered his head bashfully. "Until today, only Reba has seen me in it."

Data looked around with concern. "Where is the werjun?"

"She hates villages," Day Timer explained. "Some townspeople eat werjuns."

"Will she rejoin us later?" the android asked.

"She always does," replied the new proprietor.

The road widened, and the first stilt-huts became visible. Will Riker handed the reins back to the peddler and jumped down from the wagon. He debated whether to retrieve his pistol phaser from the back of the wagon. When he saw a handful of children in brightly painted masks das.h.i.+ng between the huts, he decided not to carry it.

"No phasers," he whispered to his crew. Then he turned back to Day Timer. "We're putting our trust in you."

Day Timer nodded. "I came here on your behalf. I have no reason to betray you."

Day Timer stopped the wagon in front of the first large hut. The children cl.u.s.tered around them, and the adults put down their hoes, water pails, and fis.h.i.+ng lines long enough to take note of the new arrivals. Others emerged from their huts, and a crowd slowly approached the garishly painted wagon. Uneasily, the apprentices backed up until they stood shoulder to shoulder against the wagon, staring at the sea of colorful masks.

"Do you have any candy?" asked one small child.

"No," said Day Timer sadly. "I'm sorry."

An adult waved at him with a crude rake. "I know that wagon! Are you Day Timer?"

"I am he," answered the peddler with a regal bow.

"I like your new mask," exclaimed a woman whose own mask was little more than a piece of burlap stretched over a wooden frame.

"I'm a proprietor now," bragged Day Timer. He pointed to the row of clay masks. "These are my apprentices."

"Where is your store?" a villager asked snidely.

"I am opening my store at the fair in Cottage Meadow."

This announcement drew an appreciative murmur, and many masks bobbed in approval. Day Timer leapt down from the wagon and pointed to the man with the rake. "Friend, if you will feed and water my pony, I will give you a new fire starter."

"Done," said the man, reaching for the pony's bridle.

Day Timer motioned to Riker. "Come with me to the maskmaker's hut. He will know if any strangers have pa.s.sed through."

Riker glanced at his identically masked companions, unsure which one was Katherine Pulaski. Finally, he recognized her medical equipment belt. "Doctor, will you please come with us?"

"Certainly. What about the others?"

Day Timer made it a point to issue the order. "You others, stay with the wagon! Data, you may take orders for goods, but don't sell anything until I return."

"I will do as you have instructed," Data said dutifully.

Day Timer headed for a large hut with three masks painted on the door, as Will Riker and Kate Pulaski followed close behind. "The maskmaker is discreet and reliable," he whispered. "These other villagers would say whatever we wanted to hear, in the hope of getting some free goods from us in return for information. This is a very poor village."

They stopped at the door, and Day Timer knocked forcibly. A woman in a pale mask answered the knock.

"Proprietor"-she bowed respectfully-"please enter. The maskmaker will be glad to see you."

They were ushered into the maskmaker's studio. The maskmaker apparently sold most of his handiwork, Kate Pulaski decided, because only half-finished masks and raw materials were on display. The woman who had admitted them shuffled off through a curtain into an adjoining room, and they heard m.u.f.fled voices.

"Trim Hands was once very famous," Day Timer whispered. "But now he is slow, and his work is not what it was."

Pulaski fingered a plumed visor intended to protect a warrior's forehead and cheekbones. By itself, the armored headgear would be a prized museum piece in most parts of the galaxy, and she wondered what additions the old artisan would make to turn it into a full mask. Maybe leather would complete the nose, mouth, and chin. Perhaps more feathers would be added, or some of those dazzling green gems.

She was still gazing at the treasures around the room when a stooped man in a lifelike human mask shambled through the curtain. He bowed to Day Timer, ignoring Dr. Pulaski and Commander Riker.

"n.o.ble Proprietor," he said, "I am honored to receive you and your apprentices. Unfortunately, I have few creations at the moment to grace the shelves of your establishment."

Day Timer held up his hand. "Never mind, old friend. I am only seeking information. It is I, Day Timer."

The impa.s.sive face mask reared back. "Day Timer, it is you! I see your fortunes have improved."

The peddler nodded. "Immeasurably. I have five apprentices and am on my way to the great fair."

"Everyone is going to the fair," Trim Hands groused. "To me, it's just another opportunity for raiders and bandits."

Day Timer glanced at Riker, sensing his impatience. "Old friend, we have been looking for some comrades of ours. They are strangers to this land and may not be familiar with our customs." His voice plainly revealed his disgust. "They may not even be wearing masks. Have you seen any such travelers in the last few days?"

The maskmaker shook his head. "The only ones through here have been Piercing Blade and her group. Just this morning, two of them came back to drop off an unusual mask for repair."

"An unusual mask?" asked Commander Riker.

The two older men glared at him, and he remembered suddenly that apprentices were supposed to be seen and not heard.

"Yes," said Trim Hands, addressing himself to Day Timer. "This mask is made from a material I have never seen before."

"May I see it?" Day Timer asked.

"Why not?" The maskmaker shrugged. "They said it's a Trainer's Mask, but it's not like any I've ever seen. Maybe you can tell me more about it." The old man shambled back into the other room and returned a moment later.

In his gnarled hands he held the Halloween pig mask.

Kate Pulaski sensed that Commander Riker wanted to leap through the thatched roof, but he restrained himself admirably. He merely held out his hand. "Please, sir, may I see that?"

Day Timer nodded his consent, and Trim Hands gave the jolly pig mask to the tall apprentice. Will held it for several moments before reluctantly handing it back to the old maskmaker. "Who did you say gave that to you?"

"One of the warriors who follows Piercing Blade. Cold Angel is his name."

Riker leaned forward intently. "You're sure it wasn't a stranger?"

"Cold Angel was here only the day before, with Piercing Blade and her entire band."

Will turned to Day Timer. "Who is this Piercing Blade?"

The peddler spat his words. "She claims n.o.bility, but she's little better than a raider. I hope your friends haven't fallen afoul of her."

Kate felt like sitting down somewhere, but there was hardly enough room in the cluttered hut to breathe. Or perhaps it was her dread and the dread she felt from Commander Riker that made breathing difficult. She knew Will had dozens of questions he wanted answered, and so did she. But she knew equally well that the two Lorcans wouldn't be able to help even if they wanted to. On a planet where survival was a day-to-day struggle, the problems of a few strangers were of minimal concern.

She looked again at the happy Halloween mask. As the full significance of its presence sank in, Dr. Pulaski began to understand the necessity of masks on Lorca. They hid the tears and anguish.

Kate's grim reverie was suddenly broken by shouts and cries from outside. The shouts turns to screams, and something crashed into the side of the hut. Riker, galvanized into action, bounded out the door. Day Timer grabbed a sword from Trim Hands's workbench and rushed after him.

The old maskmaker dropped to his knees, wailing, "Raiders! Raiders!"

By the time Kate Pulaski reached the door, the main street of the village had turned into a chaotic melee of villagers running in every direction and sword-wielding hors.e.m.e.n charging after them. Whiff, the giant Antarean, had single-handedly knocked one of the ponies off its feet into Trim Hands's hut and was grappling with a man in a red mask. She watched in horror as the raider slit Whiff's shoulder open with his blade. But the cut wasn't serious enough to faze the big Antarean; he gripped the man by a hank of hair and twisted his neck into an obscene angle. Red Mask slumped to the ground on top of his kicking pony.

Everywhere, similar scenes of violence a.s.saulted her senses. One villager stood to fight, and a raider promptly skewered him with a deadly lance at full gallop, then dragged his body at least ten meters before it tore loose. Wounded villagers crawled between the stilts of their huts, and raiders chased them, cutting down the slowest ones. In the center of the melee, a clay-masked figure plunged a sword into one of the raider's legs and through the rib cage of his pony. Man and animal shuddered to the ground in a clump, and the clay-masked figure rammed his sword into the fallen rider's stomach clear up to its hilt.

Kate realized with a start that the victorious figure was Day Timer. He didn't even bother to retrieve his own sword but simply grabbed his victim's. He whirled around just in time to parry the blow of a red-masked attacker on foot. The spry peddler dropped into a crouch and, with one sweeping blow, severed the man's legs at the knees.

Pulaski watched Commander Riker duck between two huts as the raider with the lance lunged after him. The lance missed him by centimeters and stuck in the clay-encrusted thatch, giving Will the opening he needed. He grabbed the man and pulled him off his skittish pony.

They wrestled to the ground. But the agile raider broke away and rolled to his feet. He drew his sword, but Will grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to use it. Now it was a matter of brute strength, as the two big men grappled for control of the weapon. Riker used his T'ai Chi training to toss the raider over his shoulder, wresting the sword from him in the process. The raider was on his feet again in seconds and was reaching for his lance when Will plunged the sword into his armpit, through his clavicle, and out the other side of his neck. Riker stepped back, aghast at his actions, as the raider slumped against the wall.

Then a red mask blurred in front of Kate's face, and she saw a raised sword poised to strike her. Before the raider could complete his stroke, a blinding flash of light struck him and froze him in mid-swing. His frightened pony reared and dumped him head first on the ground. He lay there, unmoving.

Still gasping from her narrow escape, the doctor looked up and saw Ensign Greenblatt standing by the wagon. The security officer gave her a thumbs-up sign, then leveled her phaser at another raider. This one, though, had seen enough; he spurred his pony and galloped out of the village.

The doctor finally spied Data protecting a group of children who were huddled under a hut. One of the raiders came at the android on foot and lunged at him with his sword. Data astounded his attacker by grabbing the swordpoint with his bare hand and stopping it centimeters from his stomach. No matter how much the brigand twisted and pulled, the sword stayed motionless, as if rooted in cement.