Star Trek - Masks Part 18

"No," growled the peddler, tightening his arms around the artifact. "It's nothing-just an old mask."

"I was in your wagon before," Greenblatt remarked, "and I didn't see it. You must have kept it in a secret compartment."

"Where I kept it is no concern of yours," growled the peddler with surprising testiness. After a moment, he spoke again, softly. "I'm sorry. With everything that's happened ... Where is my wagon?"

"Past the crossroads," answered the ensign, pointing down the dark road.

Day Timer nodded and jogged off, still clutching the newly discovered mask to his chest.

"He's acting quite suspicious," observed Fenton Lewis. "Did anybody get a good look at that mask?"

A moan came from the ruddy gloom behind them. They turned to see Commander Riker struggling to sit up as Kate Pulaski guided and restrained him.

"Agh, my head," he groaned, gripping the back of his skull as if expecting it to pop off.

"Good old smelling salts did the trick," Pulaski remarked proudly. "He's all right, but he'll have a terrific headache until I find my hypo."

"I'll live," moaned Riker, craning his neck and grimacing with the pain. He stared at the treetops, now deceptively still. Lorca's sun was struggling to peek through the darkness, and Riker had to remind himself that it was only midmorning.

He blinked his eyes, which burned from all the pollutants in the air, and looked down. A small group of people had gathered around him, and he felt lucky to have such loyal comrades. Then he saw the owlish Messenger's Mask and he exploded angrily.

"You hit me," Riker accused Fenton Lewis. "You're the one who knocked me out."

"You're crazy," scoffed the amba.s.sador. He pointed to a huge crooked branch, one of many littering the forest floor. "That's what hit you."

"Most likely," observed Data.

Riker took a deep breath and shrugged it off. With Data's help, he staggered to his feet. "At least," he groaned, "the eruptions are over. When you ask Ensign Crusher for a diversion, he doesn't hold anything back."

"But it was effective," said Data. "The raiders have fled."

"The Ferengi will round them up," muttered Dr. Pulaski.

Riker scowled, still ma.s.saging the back of his head. "If the Ferengi are helping the raiders, it means they're taking an active role in determining Lorca's future. If past performance is any indication, the Ferengi may try to enslave the entire population of this planet."

"The Lorcans need the Federation," said Kate Pulaski. "But how can we convince them?"

Riker shook his head. "I don't know. Where's Day Timer?"

Pulaski pointed down the road. "His pony's dead, and his wagon has been destroyed. He's gone to look at it."

"Was nothing salvageable?" asked the commander.

"A mask," said Fenton Lewis. "A mask that he had kept hidden from us."

Reminded of masks, Riker bent down and picked up his own Forest Mask. He was grateful to see that it had remained in one impressive piece. "Has anyone contacted the ship?"

"I have," answered Data. "They are concerned about us."

Commander Riker sighed loudly. "I don't blame them. We can't just stumble around down here, accomplishing nothing. We're no closer to finding the captain, or anyone in charge of government affairs. Until we find someone to deal with, we're not going to get anywhere."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," said Fenton Lewis. "All of you are wasting your time. I've offered to stay and look for the captain's remains. I'll also go to the fair and see who emerges as Lorca's leader. Why don't you let me do my job while you go back to doing yours?"

Although his head was still throbbing, Will Riker forced himself to make a decision. Lorca was volatile in more ways than one. Its problems couldn't be solved in a matter of days; months or years could be needed to sort out the ascendancy to the throne. Now, with the Ferengi exerting their influence on the Lorcans, diplomacy was called for. As much as he hated to admit it, Riker thought maybe Fenton Lewis, a professional, was the right one for the job.

Another incident like the one they had just survived, and theEnterprise wouldn't have a captain at all. It was foolish and stubborn of him to remain on the planet. He had argued against Captain Picard accompanying the away team, and look what had happened. Nowhe was the captain, and he had to use the same logic to persuade himself to return to the ship.

"All right," sighed Riker, "a small party will remain on the planet. Data has already agreed to stay behind, to keep looking for the captain, Worf, and Counselor Troi.

"Amba.s.sador Lewis will also stay," he continued, "to fulfill his original mission, in however much time it takes him. Ensign Greenblatt, I would like you to stay as well, but I can't order you to. You're a.s.signed to theEnterprise, and I can't transfer you permanently to a post on this planet unless you volunteer. At this point, you know as much about the planet as anyone, and I believe you will be useful to Lieutenant Commander Data and the amba.s.sador. Of course, you know the dangers-"

The ensign jutted her chin forward. "I'll be honored to stay, sir."

"So the rest of us are going back?" asked Kate Pulaski, not hiding her disappointment.

Riker nodded. "We're too valuable to stay here. TheEnterprise needs us."

"We need you, too," insisted an urgent voice.

They whirled around to see a familiar figure emerging from the shadows, wearing an unfamiliar mask. Gone was the simple clay affair. In its place was an old mask, older than any Lorcan artwork they had yet seen. On a bronze frame shaped like an elliptical shield lay a bed of beautiful mosaic in aquamarine, coral, and gold-flecked ivory. The tiny tiles formed a whirlpool, or maybe a spiral nebula in deep s.p.a.ce. The effect was hypnotic, drawing the viewer's eyes into the knowing eyes of the wearer. With each movement of Day Timer's head, the fragments of the mosaic seemed to shift and re-form in new designs.

Contrasting with this ethereal whorl but somehow emanating from it was a border of ruby crystals. From a heavy wooden ring they fanned outward like feathers to form a crimson mane around the mask. While the mosaic suggested eternity and serenity, the crystals suggested explosion and force, like a sun's corona. It was a perfect mask for Lorca. Like the planet itself, the mask was full of beauty and promise but constantly changing and slightly sinister. Will found it hard to believe that the artist hadn't traveled extensively in s.p.a.ce. Judging by the apparent age of the mask, maybe he had.

No one spoke as the ancient and somewhat frightening mask bore down on them. "The peddler's wagon is gone," rasped the old peddler. "So Day Timer is gone, too. Now you can meet the person you've been seeking-Almighty Slayer."

"The Wisdom Mask," Fenton Lewis gasped, reaching out toward the prize.

The Lorcan knocked his hand away. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw it. "I've killed many more than your number to guard this mask. Whether I choose to wear it or not, it's mine. I'll not give it to you, to the Ferengi, to Piercing Blade, or to anyone. So put that thought out of your minds."

"We don't want your mask," said Riker. "But why didn't you tell us who you were?"

"Because," their old guide said hesitantly, "I ceased being Almighty Slayer. I hid the Wisdom Mask and became a peddler. Was that cowardly of me? I don't know, but I didn't think I had any more to learn as a warrior. I had fought my share of battles and duels, and fighting was like a nagging wife I couldn't get rid of. I met an old peddler on the road one day and bought him out.

"Since then," he continued, "my life has been full of freedom. My responsibilities have been only to myself. For the first time, I could stop sharpening my sword long enough to enjoy a good meal, some idle conversation, or a sunny day. But now," he murmured, "Day Timer has died with his wagon and his pony. The clay masks are shattered, and so is that way of life."

"By letting someone else wear the Wisdom Mask, you could return to being Day Timer," suggested Data.

"No," said the man in the mosaic mask. "I knew this day would come. I was going to the fair to resume my rightful leadership, and I might as well go as who I really am. Lorca needs a ruler more than a peddler."

Ensign Greenblatt looked concerned. "You'll be challenged everywhere you go."

"Probably," the leader agreed. "Without your help, I may be killed before I get to Cottage Meadow."

Out of respect, Dr. Pulaski slipped her mask back on. "We can't help you, Day Timer-er, Almighty Slayer. We can't get involved in your internal affairs."

"Just come with me," the legendary warrior begged. "I must have an entrourage, if I am to survive."

"I'll go with him," Lewis offered. "We can discuss trade agreements and treaties on the way, and I can tell him about the Federation. It's better than leaving him to the mercy of the Ferengi."

Commander Riker rubbed his eyes before putting on his own mask. Why did he feel such a sense of responsibility to this place? Was it because the Lorcans were descended from Earth stock? Or was it simply because they were unique in the galaxy? More than likely, it was the wiry old man in front of him, now wearing the grandest mask of all, who compelled him to help the Lorcans.

"All right," said Riker, his voice sounding hollow within the mouth chamber of the Forest Mask, "we'll stay with you as far as the fair. Do you think Piercing Blade and her band will be there?"

"I'd be very surprised if they weren't," answered the man in the Wisdom Mask. "She'll be the hardest one to deal with."

"I want to verify the amba.s.sador's claim that the first away team was killed," replied Commander Riker, staring at the Messenger's Mask, "since we have no bodies to verify it."

"You're a stubborn fool," Fenton Lewis snapped, shaking his head in disbelief. "You'll risk your life and the life of your ship's doctor just to prove me a liar. Well, that's fine. TheEnterprise doesn't deserve a captain as reckless as you."

This pushed Riker over the edge, and he lunged for Lewis. No sooner had he grabbed him by the collar than the amba.s.sador pulled a stiletto from his shirt-sleeve and stuck it under Will's chin. Data pulled the long-haired woodsman back as Greenblatt and Dr. Pulaski restrained Riker.

"That's enough," barked Kate, forcing her way between the combatants. Commander Riker heaved his big shoulders and composed himself, while Fenton Lewis shook off Data's grip and slipped his knife out of sight.

"Why not let them fight?" suggested Almighty Slayer. He pointed to Fenton Lewis. "This one seems determined to get himself killed, and Riker may be warrior enough to do it."

"Federation personnel don't fight each other," Pulaski exclaimed.

"It won't happen again," muttered Riker. "We're all on the same team, and I wish we would start cooperating."

Lewis straightened the sleeves of his hide jacket. "I wish everyone would act rationally," he said. "We now know that the dangers on Lorca are far worse than we had expected, and I'm the only one who has to be here. Why can't the rest of you admit that beaming down here was a mistake and staying here is an even bigger mistake?"

"The captain would do the same for us," said Pulaski.

"You cling to your sentimentality," answered Lewis. "Just be careful it doesn't get you killed. I'm walking ahead to make sure the Ferengi have really gone."

The amba.s.sador turned on his heel and walked into the dusky gloom. A few rays of sun trailed after him, and it looked as if the worst of the cloud cover had started to disperse.

"He has something to hide," said Riker. The commander turned to Ensign Greenblatt. "How did he behave when we were confronted by the raiders and the Ferengi?"

"I don't know," she answered. "He stayed in hiding the whole time."

"I rest my case," murmured Riker.

The peddler-turned-king waved them all forward. "We're wasting time. We have to get to the fair and enlist some supporters. Come."

He strode down the road, as the others glanced at one another. "Go ahead," said Riker, reaching for his communicator badge. "I'll contact the ship and let them know we're all right. Go ahead-don't keep the king waiting."

Data, Greenblatt, and the doctor adjusted their masks and dutifully followed the departing figure. Well, thought Riker, watching them go, at least part of their mission had been a success. They had found the mysterious Almighty Slayer.

The death of a friend was never easy to accept, even when the living were prepared to face it. But to lose a comrade unexpectedly to an accident of blind fate was doubly painful and frustrating. Piercing Blade had beaten the ground, cursed the dragon, and screamed with anger, but there was no resurrecting the immobile figure lying in the damp clay. There was no denying the dried blood around his neck and chest. There was no consoling his friends, who stood gathered around his body, staring helplessly.

Spider Wing was dead.

Long after the volcanic chaos had ended, while his comrades were busy comforting the ponies, Spider Wing had gone ahead to ensure safe pa.s.sage for his would-be queen. No one had seen the blow that felled Spider Wing, but the att.i.tude of his body suggested that he had been inspecting a small bog when it had erupted. A stone about half as large as a man's fist had struck him in the Adam's apple, missing the protection of the Amba.s.sador's Mask by a centimeter. Had he not been so determined to protect his queen, thought Deanna Troi, he would still be alive.

She felt like a ghoul for thinking about it, but she wondered whether the resplendent mask would be buried with him? Or maybe they didn't have conventional interments on Lorca. Deanna had once done a study of the burial customs of various cultures, and she knew they could range from elaborate funerals to cremation to dismembering the body and distributing the parts to friends and family members as souvenirs.

She preferred Starfleet's custom of beaming a body into s.p.a.ce. It was elegant and simple, but it didn't leave a lasting monument, as required by some societies. The Klingons, on the other hand, threw a body out with the trash, considering it totally worthless after the spirit had departed. Much could be learned about a culture from the way it buried its dead, Deanna thought, waiting to see what the Lorcans would do.

Everyone was apparently waiting for Piercing Blade to vent her grief. She had knelt over the body for a long time, her mask hiding her emotions. But her hands gave her away, as she wrung them in anguish. Finally, she laid her open palms on Spider Wing's chest and turned her eyes heavenward. Captain Picard, Worf, and the Lorcans stood perfectly still.

"Mighty Dragon," she intoned in a quavering voice, "you have chosen to reclaim one of your children, our n.o.ble companion, Spider Wing. He had only recently worn the Amba.s.sador's Mask, but he was alwaysmy amba.s.sador, my protector, my first-line defender. Some resented his closeness to me, his arrogance ... But he was my shield when I needed a shield and my spear when I needed a spear.

"The tasks he performed for me were necessary, and he performed them without complaint, without concern for his own safety." Now the warrior's voice broke, and she lowered her head and gripped Spider Wing's chain mail. "No longer will he help me pull fish from the bog. No longer will he help me sow the barley or shoe the ponies. He was always delighted with a good catch or a good crop. He wanted his countrymen to eat well, to live a dignified life."

Her voice rose in volume, and the Thunder Mask gleamed like an amber flame under the red skies. "I swear, as surely as the dragon breathes fire, that Spider Wing's sacrifices will not go unrewarded. I will honor him in battle, if I must, to bring harmony to Lorca."

"Aye! Hear, hear!" shouted her companions.

She ripped the mask from Spider Wing's face. The calm peace of his pale unlined face made him appear much younger than Deanna had imagined him to be. He looked like a boy with a reddish beard.

Piercing Blade stood up and drew her sword. "To the bog that killed him!"

"To the bog that killed him!" echoed her followers.

Worf raised his sword with the others. "To the bog that killed him!"

They surrounded the spring that had hurled the projectile and began hacking at it with their swords. In a frenzy, they took out all their anger and frustration on the mushy wormy clay, carving out a hole and letting loose a torrent of grimy water that covered everyone. But it didn't matter, for their task was to widen the sinkhole until it could accept a body, and they weren't about to quit until they had done it.

When the diggers began to slip, and it appeared one or more of them might go down with Spider Wing, Piercing Blade dragged them out of the hole. She was still clutching the Amba.s.sador's Mask, which she used like a baton to direct their actions. They lifted Spider Wing and propelled him head first into the frothing geyser, then watched solemnly as he was sucked out of sight by the water.

The diggers cheered l.u.s.tily as the earth consumed the body.

Biologically sound, thought Counselor Troi, if a bit gruesome. Worf was at her side, a thick layer of fresh clay now covering several layers of old dirt. Every indication of his status as a Starfleet officer was long obscured.

"That was exhilarating," he panted.

Captain Picard joined them, the hair of his animal mask still dripping wet from the geyser eruptions. "We need to get back to theEnterprise . Do you have any ideas?"

Worf heaved his big shoulders. "We can't go back to the place where we beamed down. It's too close to those volcanoes."

"We could ask the Ferengi to help us," Deanna suggested.

"Their price is too steep," Picard reminded her. "But we must try to talk to them again."

Jean-Luc turned to see Piercing Blade striding toward them. She was tossing the Amba.s.sador's Mask back and forth between her hands the way a kitten might toss a ball of yarn.

"Picard," she said, stopping in front of him and bowing her head. "I would like you to wear the Amba.s.sador's Mask. Like any worthy mask, it is trying to find its rightful owner. Perhaps you are the one."

"I am honored," answered Jean-Luc. But he didn't immediately reach for the gleaming mask. Picard had never been superst.i.tious, but the Amba.s.sador's Mask did seem to be cursed. First its Ferengi owners had been murdered. Then Fenton Lewis was discredited. Now Spider Wing had been killed. Jean-Luc didn't aspire to become such a clear target.

Nevertheless, he took the mask, marveling at how light the silverish alloy was. "Thank you." He bowed. "I shall wear it proudly."

Piercing Blade's mind was elsewhere. "I'll miss him," she murmured. Then she turned and walked back to her crestfallen comrades.

Picard regarded the mask made by the legendary Fazool, as Worf and Deanna edged closer to see it.

Traveling without the peculiar blue wagon was not an altogether pleasant experience, thought Data. As members of a peddler's retinue, the second away team had been relaxed and at ease. Now that they were part of a king's entourage, they were serious and tense. They had trusted Day Timer to take them to the fair, but they were apprehensive about Almighty Slayer.