Star Trek - Masks Part 2

"Now that I know you approve of it, I'll take it off," he said, gripping the mask by the chin and pulling it back over his head. His sandy hair cascaded onto the animal skins that covered his rangy shoulders, and Deanna noted with interest that his coloring matched the coloring of the planet, from the deep beige of his tanned face to the azure of his eyes to the sun-bleached streaks in his hair.

He c.o.c.ked one eyebrow merrily. "I suppose, Counselor, exploring planets is old-hat to you."

"I've been on my share of away teams," she said, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as he had.

"Usually you go with that strapping first officer ... Riker? Is that his name?"

"That's his name," she replied coolly. She didn't like the leer in Lewis's voice.

"That must be convenient," Lewis said bluntly, "because you two are lovers, aren't you?"

Her astonishment lasted only seconds, but Deanna felt the color, and the anger, darken her cheeks.

"That was in the past," Deanna said simply and truthfully. "I had no idea the Diplomatic Service was so well informed."

Lewis shrugged. He warmed her with his most gallant smile. "I meant no disrespect, Counselor Troi, believe that. I merely wanted to satisfy my perverse curiosity."

"I understand. And I was satisfyingmy curiosity earlier."

"Then we're even," the amba.s.sador replied.

Worf stopped ahead of them to adjust his backpack. The wind seemed warmer and less fierce, with the forest directly ahead of them acting as a windbreak. Gnarled plants and hardy vines stood at the edge of the woods, fighting off the gusts of sand, ash, and steam from the bleak prairie. The forest plants were obviously dying away, from the look of the wizened stumps of their ancestors, which poked through the reddish soil.

"Erosion is killing the vegetation," said Deanna to no one in particular. "The wind and the volcanic ash are winning."

"Just here," answered Fenton Lewis, striding toward the outer edge of what appeared to be an endless woods. "There's a lot of planet out there."

"Lieutenant Worf, you may contact the ship," Picard said to the Klingon. "See if they can warn us the next time a volcano's about to erupt."

"Yes, Captain." Worf tapped his communicator insignia, but there was no answering tone and no signal. He tapped it again, and this time he studied his fingertips as he pulled them away from the distinctive Starfleet badge. Fine black granules clung to them; the granules looked like iron shavings-fine enough to work themselves into delicate instruments and ruin them.

Picard stiffened and slapped his own communicator. He, too, was greeted by silence. "Troi," he ordered, "try your communicator."

Deanna touched hers and then ma.s.saged it, but it remained as mute as the others. Her fingertips also came away covered with metallic shavings. The shavings were highly magnetized, she noticed, sticking together in barely discernible clumps and clinging to her clothing, hair, and equipment. She looked dumb-founded at Picard and Worf.

Fenton Lewis howled with laughter at their solemn faces. "Y'know, I never agreed with the policy of pinning communicators onto people's clothes. I liked the old kind, the ones you stuck in your pocket." He laughed again.

"I fail to see the humor in this situation," Captain Picard responded sternly.

"But there's a lesson to be learned here, Captain," said Lewis, draping a rawhide-clad arm over the smaller man's shoulders. "All the technology in the world won't save you from poor planning."

"TheEnterprise crew will be worried," Worf observed.

"Why?" Lewis shrugged. "They know the original coordinates. All we have to do is go back to the original spot for beam-up. Isn't that right, Captain?"

"Theoretically, yes," Picard agreed. "That doesn't change the fact that Commander Riker will be worried. We should have checked in by now."

Suddenly the ground trembled, and the small landing party whirled to face the mountain range, which again spewed flaming clouds into the choked atmosphere. No one needed to give the order to put on masks or seek safety in the thick vegetation. Within seconds, Deanna Troi, Jean-Luc Picard, J. G. Worf, and Fenton Lewis had vanished into the Lorcan forest, and the red plain was barren except for the plumes of geysers.

"What do you mean, you've lost contact?" Riker asked Data.

"Precisely that, Commander," answered Data, his lilting cadence giving his turn of events no more importance than would be given to the report of a shortage of whipped cream in the Ten-Forward lounge. "We have lost contact with the away team."

"What about sensors?"

"Useless," replied the android. "The area where they beamed down is undergoing intense volcanic activity. The volcanic ash is highly magnetic and is disrupting our sensors. Even if the away team stayed in the beam-down position, it's doubtful we could lock on to them to beam them back up until the volcanic activity subsides."

"d.a.m.n," Riker cursed to himself. "I don't like the sound of this."

Geordi La Forge turned away from his engineering station on the bridge to look glumly at the acting captain. "This is the worst example of Murphy's Law I've ever heard of."

"Murphy's Law?" queried Data. "Is that a new law of physics? Does it explain the malfunctioning of the communicators?"

"It explains everything," sighed Geordi.

Riker was seething. "It doesn't explain why we risked our captain on a dangerous mission. And it doesn't explain why the away team was beamed down next to an active volcano."

"Finding a spot on Lorca that is not near an active volcano would be very difficult," Data explained. "The captain and Amba.s.sador Lewis requested to be beamed down in the vicinity of planetary life-forms. I obliged. Perhaps I should have done more than a routine sensor sweep. I failed to consider a worst-case scenario."

Not even the calm yellow eyes could hide Data's concern. Commander Riker was moved to put his hand on the android's shoulder.

"It's not your fault," Will said kindly. "This mission has been ill conceived from the beginning. But now we have a new mission-to get our captain, Deanna, and Worf off that planet. Fenton Lewis can stay there forever, if he likes."

Riker lifted his chin determinedly and spoke in a booming voice: "Riker to sickbay."

"Dr. Pulaski here," came the reply a moment later.

"Doctor, can you be ready to beam down to the planet in twenty minutes?"

"Absolutely. Has something gone wrong?"

Riker swallowed hard as he reported, "We've lost contact with them."

"Where are we meeting?"

"Transporter Room One."

"I'm on my way."

Riker cleared his throat and spoke even louder: "Riker to Security!"

"Yes, sir," came an eager and youthful voice. "Ensign Salinger on duty." He corrected himself, "Acting Security Chief Ensign Salinger."

"Well, Acting Security Chief, this is the acting captain. I want two armed security officers waiting in Transporter Room One in twenty minutes. This is a dangerous away mission with possible combat, so send me two people who can handle themselves."

"Yes, sir,"snapped the ensign crisply.

"Request permission to join you, sir," said Geordi, stiffening to attention.

"I'd love to have you along, Geordi," answered Will, "but I need you to stay home and mind the ship."

"Excuse me, Commander," said Geordi hesitantly, "what am I to do, in case-"

"Don't send anyone else down to the planet's surface," insisted Riker. "That is an order. If you don't hear from us in forty-eight hours, report to Starfleet and ask for further orders."

"Yes, sir," Geordi replied. He turned to look at the big chair in the center of the bridge. It was really the same construction as the other chairs on the bridge, but the aura of command made it loom as large as a king's throne he had once seen on Earth, at Windsor Castle. He was going to sit in that chair for a matter of hours, or days, but he wasn't going to sit easily. He knew that.

"Is Ensign Crusher remaining on board?" he asked.

"Of course," Riker replied. "I'm not risking a single life that I don't have to risk."

"Commander?" asked Data. "May I accompany you in search of the captain and his party? I feel somehow responsible."

"You may join us," agreed Will Riker.

Travel through the Lorcan woods was surprisingly easy for the away team. In such a cool climate, buffeted by shifting winds, only the hardiest plants survived. No thick underbrush clogged their footsteps, and they didn't need to use phasers to cut a path. Fenton Lewis had found what appeared to be a trail, and he was leading the single column, followed by Picard, Deanna, and Worf. The big Klingon was content to be the rear guard, keeping his eye on the other members of the team.

Sinkholes were rare now; apparently the trees and vegetation absorbed all the available water, despite their sickly appearance. The trees towered high, but they all seemed strangely denuded, except for brittle needles and a brown fur that covered every centimeter of bark and leaf. Perhaps, thought Worf idly, the trees and stubby bushes were actually green underneath the drab moss, but he didn't have time to even take a sc.r.a.ping to find out.

They were on a forced march, hoping to meet some Lorcans before nightfall. The tentative plan was to find the Lorcan leader, Almighty Slayer, then return to the ash-strewn plain and beam back to the ship. With precise coordinates, they could return to Lorca later and conduct their business with a measure of efficiency. Captain Picard was determined not to leave Commander Riker in doubt as to the party's status one minute longer than necessary. Worf recalled the first officer's objections to the captain leading the away team and he knew Picard was feeling guilty and somewhat chastened by the turn of events.

Actually, no one was in very good humor except Amba.s.sador Lewis. He appeared to thrive on the uncertainty of the situation, and Worf was beginning to grant the human amba.s.sador a modic.u.m of respect. Here was a man who was single-minded and fearless-like a warrior, not like the vast majority of human beings. Even an extremely brave human could be paralyzed by countless fears and concerns. But Amba.s.sador Lewis, marching straight into the unknown with a smile on his face, was the kind of human a Klingon could understand.

Suddenly Picard stopped and raised his hand. "Stop."

Deanna and Worf responded instantly to the familiar voice, but Fenton Lewis plowed ahead several more strides before stopping. "What is it?" he asked impatiently, not turning around.

"We've been marching half the day," said the captain, slightly winded. He pointed upward. "The sun is directly overhead. If we don't meet any Lorcans soon, we won't get back to our arrival point before nightfall."

"Who wants to go back there?" asked Lewis with mock revulsion. "We won't find any humans living near those volcanoes."

"He may have a point, Captain," Deanna Troi admitted. "I sensed no intelligence in the area."

"We have to think of theEnterprise crew," Picard answered. "They'll be looking for us there."

Fenton Lewis rolled his eyes, as if to beg release from such backward thinking. "Captain," he explained, "the communicators were only our umbilical cord to the ship. They aren't important. The ship is of no help to us down here, and we can't be of any help to the ship. You gave me a month to accomplish my mission, so why don't you relax and enjoy this grand adventure? I'm not interested in hogging all the glory. This is the Lewis and Picard Expedition as far as I'm concerned."

"Amba.s.sador," replied the captain, barely controlling his irritation, "I'm not interested in glory, yours or mine. You have only a mission to worry about. I am responsible for the safety and well-being of a starship. You wouldn't have gotten to this planet without theEnterprise, and you won't get off it without her. Whether you like it or not, theEnterprise and her crew are part of your mission."

"All right," answered Lewis in a conciliatory tone. "So we're stuck with each other. And you're stuck on this planet without your communicators. What good will it do us to turn back? Believe it or not, this is an actual footpath we're following, and I would be willing to bet that we'll meet up with some Lorcans by tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. Take that gamble, Captain."

Fenton Lewis smiled disarmingly. "Think of the European adventurers exploring the New World, or my own relatives establishing the first colony in the Alpha Centauri system. They trekked for years to get where they were going, and they were completely cut off from help of any kind. No gigantic ship was hovering overhead, waiting to beam them up at the slightest sign of trouble. This is life, Captain, enjoy."

Jean-Luc sighed. The adventure that started so smoothly had gone sour with the loss of the communicators. The excitement of those early morning hours had been replaced by a quiet concern and resolve. Already, Picard could hear his first officer saying, "The captain is supposed to stay with the ship." And what was the problem, really? A simple loss of communications. If the roles had been reversed, as they so often were, and Picard was on theEnterprise tracking Commander Riker on the away team, he wouldn't panic. Nor should Riker. After half a day, panic was hardly justified.

"All right," said Picard determinedly, "we shall continue until we make contact with the Lorcans. After that, if there is no danger, Counselor Troi and I will return to our arrival point."

"That's the spirit!" Lewis bellowed, slapping the captain on the back. "Now let's make history!"

Impatiently, Will Riker paced the narrow confines of Transporter Room One. He had originally wanted to leave in twenty minutes, and already it had been thirty-three minutes since he had given the order. Kate Pulaski sat calmly on a box behind the transporter console, checking her medical supplies. The two security officers, Whiff and Greenblatt, stood at attention by the door, looking uncomfortable in their overweight parkas. Except for the pistol phaser shoulder holsters on Whiff and Greenblatt, the second away team was dressed identically to the first.

Whiff was a giant humanoid with a hairless pink face, an Antarean ranger only recently commissioned by Starfleet. Greenblatt was a blond woman of deceptively slight stature. Riker remembered her from the weekly T'ai Chi cla.s.ses and he knew she could toss any one of them, including the gigantic Whiff, clear across the room. The transporter technician fiddled with his controls and checked his settings. But where was Data?

"Commander," said Pulaski, in a tone that bespoke a healthy skepticism, "did we ever receive any communication from the away team?"

"No direct communication," Riker answered. "But Data was monitoring their position, so we know their communicators were working until the eruption."

"Are you afraid they were trapped in the volcanic debris?" asked Kate softly.

Riker answered with more certainty than he felt. "No. For one thing, they were some distance from the volcano; they weren't right at the foot of it. And Data picked up life-form readings in the area before and after the eruption. It's just that the readings are inconsistent because of these magnetic clouds, and we can't be sure what's going on down there."

"Then there's every possibility," Kate concluded, "that the away team is all right."

"Every possibility," Riker agreed.

"Then why are we going down?" the doctor asked simply.

He kept thinking about Fenton Lewis's tales of masked barbarians bashing each other's heads in with swords over the right to wear one mask or another. Lorca frightened him, and Fenton Lewis frightened him even more.

"We're going down," he said solemnly, "to ascertain the status of the away team."

"No," answered Kate Pulaski, shaking her head. "We're going down there because you're a man of action and you can't stand sitting around waiting."

"I didn't know you were also the ship's psychologist," Riker said sarcastically.

"Not officially." The doctor smiled. "That's just my hobby."

The turbolift door blew open, and Data rushed into the room. He brushed past the two security officers and joined the technician behind the transporter console. "May I enter the transporter coordinates?" he asked politely.

"Be my guest," said the man.

"Data!" snapped Riker. "Where have you been?"

"Triple-checking these coordinates," the android answered, never removing his eyes from the flashing monitors embedded in the console. "This time I have arrived at the optimum location to beam down to the planet: far enough away from volcanic activity to ensure proper scanner and communicator operation, yet close to scattered pockets of life-form readings."

"But will we be close to the captain andhis party?" asked Riker.

"Unknown," Data replied. "We do not know where the captain is."

Riker shook his head. "Will we be close to where we think they might be?"

"We will know the direction to go to find them," answered Data. He turned to the technician and nodded. "Bemy guest."

Data strode to the platform, as Riker, Pulaski, and the security personnel picked up their equipment and struggled after him. Pulaski suddenly looked stunned, as if she had forgotten something important.

"Masks!" she gasped. "We don't have any masks to wear!"

"There's no time," snapped Riker, glancing at his pistol phaser. He checked to see that everyone was in position, then he gestured to the transporter technician.