Star Trek - Masks Part 3

"Energize!"

Chapter Three.

RIKER'S PARTY MATERIALIZEDin a great forest, with huge brown trees towering on all sides of them. So imposing were the trees that the two security officers drew their pistol phasers and fanned out to protect the away team.

"Phasers set to stun," Riker reminded them.

Whiff and Greenblatt double-checked their weapons, as the others stared in awe at the monstrous trees. Kate Pulaski's gaze finally reached the pinnacle of the nearest one, and she marveled at the pink clouds that hovered over its tip like cotton candy on a long stick. She was suddenly startled by a hairy creature staring down at her from the top branches of the giant tree.

"Commander," she whispered, backing up closer to Riker and pointing, "there's something alive in that tree." The long-limbed creature chattered shrilly and threw a seed pod at them.

Now everyone's attention was directed toward the tree, and Whiff and Greenblatt were nervously aiming their weapons in the direction of the lanky creature. Gracefully, it shifted from one scrawny bough to another, arms, legs, and tail moving with such speed that it was impossible to tell which appendage was which. It rested for a moment, dangling upside down by its prehensile tail while it stripped the seed pods from a lower branch. It examined each pod in turn and either rejected it, sending it clattering to the ground, or pried it open and ate the seeds.

Now that the creature was still for a moment, Kate decided that it was less like a monkey and more like a sloth, with arms and legs of equal length and a similar body. It probably never walked upright like a primate. Why should it walk at all, when its long, thin limbs were perfect for swinging through trees? The animal's matted fur was a golden-red and would probably have been beautiful were it not so filthy.

"At ease," said Riker with a smile. "Data, do you think that's one of the life-forms you've been picking up?"

"Possibly," the android replied.

"May I suggest," said Kate Pulaski, "that it has seen humans before? It's obviously not afraid of us."

"A reasonable a.s.sumption," Data agreed. "I wonder how intelligent it is?"

Riker sighed. "Which way should we go, Data?"

Data checked his tricorder. "Our position is southeast of where the captain's team landed. However, I am picking up more life-forms directly to the west."

"More of these?" Riker asked, pointing to their arboreal friend.

"No," Data answered with slight surprise in his voice. "One of the creatures is quite large."

"Let's go," said the commander, motioning toward a path between the trees. "Greenblatt, you lead the way. And try to keep your phaser holstered."

"Yes, sir," she said.

Twigs snapped above their heads, and the entire party whirled to look up. The same hairy sloth they had seen earlier, or its identical twin, now perched directly above them. It chattered what seemed to be words of encouragement to the travelers.

"It appears to be following us," Data said quizzically.

"That's all we need," grumbled Riker, "an escort."

"Or a mascot." Pulaski smiled.

The Antarean, Whiff, apparently having no interest in cute furry creatures, had wandered ahead. "Commander Riker!" he called in a lilting accent. "I see a road ahead."

Seconds later the party emerged onto a dirt road, complete with wheel ruts and stumps where trees had been felled to make the road wider. Between the ruts in the red clay were the half-moon shapes of hoofprints. Data bent down to study the markings more closely.

"These tracks were made by a very primitive conveyance," he said.

"A wagon of some sort," Riker answered. "At least they have roads."

Ensign Greenblatt stiffened to attention. "Listen," she hissed.

Kate Pulaski half expected to be serenaded by their treetop mascot again. Instead, she heard a sound that was disarmingly like real singing. As the seconds dragged past, the voice in the woods became very clearly that of man singing, accompanied by the rhythmic clattering of a vehicle of some sort. Riker crouched down and motioned to the others to take cover.

The doctor found herself kneeling next to Ensign Greenblatt behind a fallen log. To the young officer's credit, she kept her phaser in its holster, exactly as ordered. She also kept her attention riveted upon a portion of the road that curved out of sight behind a dark stand of canelike plants. Kate marveled at the ensign's acute hearing; to her own ears, the off-key warbling seemed to come from everywhere at once, including the treetops. But it soon became clear that Greenblatt was right. A bedraggled slump-backed pony emerged from the cane, pulling a small but garishly painted wagon.

Sitting in the driver's seat was what looked like a large sunflower, and Pulaski realized with a start that she was looking at a real live Lorcan, complete with mask. The mask riveted her attention, almost making her forget the grating but spirited voice coming from behind it. The mask was perfectly round and predominantly yellow, with strange signs painted in blue on the forehead and cheeks. The signs were duplicated, Kate realized, on the wagon, which was painted gold with blue lettering. Red filigree curled across the roof of the wagon. It reminded Pulaski of an artifact from Earth's past she had seen at the Smithsonian Inst.i.tution: a circus wagon. Even the pony was wearing a mask of blue, which added to the festive effect.

Kate started to look for Commander Riker to see what he planned to do, when something streaked out of the trees and landed on the roof of the wagon with a jarring thud. It was the furry sloth, which looked gangly and awkward away from its arboreal habitat. The sloth reared up on its hind legs and gave a shriek that would have curdled synthehol.

"Whoa!" shouted the driver, reining in his pony. "What is it, Reba? What is it, girl?"

The thing bounded up and down, flapping her impossibly long arms and pointing to the hidden off-worlders. Kate thought the jig was up.

Commander Riker apparently thought so, too, as he emerged from his hiding place. "We mean you no harm!" he shouted.

"Aaagh!" wailed the man in the sunflower mask, throwing his arms over his eyes. "Infidels! Heathens! Pagans!" He turned his back on Riker and cowered in his seat. "Spare my life, demons! Spare me-I am but a poor peddler!"

"We aren't demons," Riker replied, exchanging alarmed glances with the other team members who now joined him in the center of the road. "We are visitors."

"Demons!" the man squealed. "Make my death quick, I beg you! And don't steal my soul." The sloth, Reba, climbed down from the roof of the wagon and threw herself protectively over her master's back. The two of them wailed in unison, certain of their impending death.

Thesewere the ferocious Lorcans? thought Riker. He motioned to the others to stay back, as he took a few tentative steps toward the wagon. "Honestly," he said in a calm voice, "we mean you no harm. We are not demons, just visitors from a far-off place."

"Then where are your masks?" the peddler demanded.

"We don't wear masks," Will answered honestly.

The man whirled around, anger seething in his voice even if his features were hidden."No masks?" he asked incredulously. "You should be put to death for such immodesty!"

Will smiled slightly. "Have you seen or heard of any others like us? Visitors from a far-off place?"

"If I had, they would be in their graves!" The Lorcan suddenly reached back into his wagon and drew out a huge double-edged sword, its handle glittering with gemstones. "Pray to your G.o.ds to welcome your heathen souls!"

Whiff and Greenblatt stepped forward, their hands tensing around their pistol phasers. "Put that down," Whiff ordered.

"Wait!" barked Kate Pulaski with authority in her voice. She stepped between Whiff and Greenblatt as she addressed the man in the sunflower mask. "If we agree to wear masks, will you help us search for our comrades?"

The sunflower c.o.c.ked slightly, and the sword was lowered a few centimeters. "Will you be my va.s.sals and show me obedience?"

"Va.s.sals?" growled Riker, tasting the word and spitting it out.

"Only until after the fair," the peddler a.s.sured them. "With an entourage so large, I will be able to wear the Proprietor's Mask and demand a larger s.p.a.ce to sell my wares. Higher prices, too!"

"What type of mask are you wearing now?" asked Data.

"This?" answered the man with obvious contempt. "A poor Peddler's Mask. I can justify no other."

Data was obviously fascinated. "What type of masks would we wear?"

"All right," sighed the peddler, as if conceding a huge bargaining point, "all of you may wear the Apprentice's Mask instead of the Va.s.sal's Mask. But you must show me obedience ... at least in public."

The doctor edged closer to Riker. "I don't think we can go anywhere on this planet without masks," she whispered.

Riker nodded and looked up at the wagon. He saw a decrepit pony, a gangly hairy pet, and a man wearing a dinner plate on his face. He fought the temptation to call Geordi and have them beamed back to the ship immediately.

"We'll wear the masks," said the commander. "But how long does this fair last? Our primary concern is to find our comrades."

The peddler shrugged. "I can't imagine they will be anywhere but the fair. Unfortunately, it's a long journey-yet a fortnight."

"That is two weeks," Data added.

"If we don't hit any boggles," the peddler remarked, tossing his sword back into the wagon.

"Boggles?" asked Pulaski.

"Fire storms," the Lorcan explained. "They can kill people and animals. If we hit a bad one, I'll have to repaint my wagon."

"What happens during these storms?" Riker asked, narrowing his gaze.

The man shook his head. "You are from far away, aren't you? You've never seen the ground open up and the fire fly in the air? You have never felt the hot breath of the dragon who lives at the center of the world?"

"Volcanoes," said Data somberly.

"Why would you have to repaint your wagon?" the doctor asked.

"The paint burns, and the wagon gets black. Who will buy from a peddler with a black wagon?"

Riker reached for his Starfleet communicator-insignia and plucked it off his tunic. "We'd better keep all sensitive instruments under cover. That includes the scanners and the phasers."

"Put your belongings in the wagon," said the Lorcan, leaping to the ground. Riker was surprised to see how tall and fit he was, considering how old his voice sounded. The masks could be very deceptive.

"I am Day Timer," he said, grasping Will's forearm.

The commander returned his grasp. "Will Riker."

"Now, Will Riker, tell your va.s.sals to help me dig for clay."

"These aren't my va.s.sals," Will replied. "They're my companions. And why should we dig for clay?"

"Because," said Day Timer somberly, "you must have masks to wear as soon as possible." His own mask swiveled in the direction of Ensign Greenblatt, and the young woman shifted warily under the disconcerting scrutiny of the yellow disc.

Day Timer's voice took on a strange hoa.r.s.eness. "I haven't seen the naked face of a woman in six years. If you were her kinsman, you could put me to death for looking at her now."

Kate Pulaski stepped closer to Will. "Let's help him dig for clay."

As the salmon-colored clouds dropped lower over the treetops, a light rain began to fall. Fenton Lewis stopped in his tracks and pulled the Amba.s.sador's Mask over his face. The mist beaded against its polished surface. "I suggest that all of you put your masks on," he said. "The rain comes from those same volcanic clouds and must be full of ash and debris."

Deanna and Worf glanced at the captain to see what he would do. He nodded, and they pulled on their masks, trying to ignore how ridiculous they looked. After all, there was no one in the Lorcan woods to see the pig, the clown, and the devil in the company of a silver sunburst.

Picard peered nervously at the darkening sky. "We're going to have to make camp soon. Any idea how far we've come?"

"Counting the time in the desert," answered Lewis, "I'd say about ten kilometers. But the path is widening-we should hit a road soon, or a village."

Worf was fooling around with one of his scanners. He gritted his teeth and growled, shaking the thing like a baby's rattle. "This one's useless, too!" he muttered. "I don't think we have a single device that still works!"

"What about our phasers?" asked Deanna Troi. "They haven't been exposed to the volcanic dust."

"That's right," agreed Lewis, "and the captain now appears to have been very judicious in making us bring hand phasers instead of pistol phasers. See, Picard? Not everything has turned out badly."

The captain nodded, his face feeling clammy inside the plastic devil's mask. He wanted to take it off and feel the rain on his face. "With everything that's happened today," he said slowly, "I think I understand what happened to the Lorcans."

"So do I," Deanna replied.

Picard removed the useless communicator-insignia from his parka and studied it. "Two hundred years ago, the people who settled this planet were just as dependent upon technology as we are. They were s.p.a.ce travelers and colonists. Then increased volcanic activity blanketed the planet in dense clouds and lowered the temperature. And the same thing that happened to our equipment must've happened to theirs.

"We've only been here one day, and already I feel like a primitive, totally dependent upon my wiles and my instincts for survival. The Lorcans have spent two hundred years here. And whatever customs have built up around the use of masks, we know they have a practical application as well."

Jean-Luc paused in thought. "Odd, we haven't even met a single Lorcan yet, but I feel like one of them."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Deanna conceded. "Perhaps we were meant to be welcomed this way."

The tiny party stood in the center of the vast forest, dwarfed by the dark trees, which rose out of sight into the encroaching mist of clouds. The wood and its scarlet canopy were as hushed and awesome as the grandest cathedral. Even the rain was a polite whisper.

Riker crawled on his stomach under the peddler's wagon to escape the drizzling rain. Dr. Pulaski and Ensign Greenblatt were sitting inside the wagon watching Day Timer and Data, who were building a fire under a gigantic evergreen, meticulously sc.r.a.ping the brown moss off each twig and branch destined for the flame.

The clay gathering had been a trivial task, since most of the topsoil was clay. After extracting the worms, they had mixed the fresh clay with rainwater to create mud, from which Day Timer had hurriedly molded five circular masks. They were similar to his but slightly smaller. Eye, nose, and mouth holes would be carved out later to fit, he said, just before the clay set.

For the moment, the masks remained inside the wagon with Dr. Pulaski and Ensign Greenblatt, who had to remain out of sight lest their unmasked faces offend the Lorcans. As soon as the fire was ready, they would be placed near the flames to dry. Day Timer had said that sunlight was preferable for drying clay masks, but a large enough fire might dry them by morning.

Riker glanced up at the darkening amber sky. Surrounded by the immense forest, it was impossible to see the sun or how close it was to setting, but twilight on Lorca lasted a long time, he noted. Will pulled his communicator-insignia from the inner pocket of his jacket and squeezed it gently. The answering tones were rea.s.suring.

"Riker to Enterprise."

"h.e.l.lo, Commander Riker," said an eager voice. "This is Geordi. Any luck yet?"

"As a matter of fact, no," grumbled Riker, not bothering to conceal his frustration. "Any sign of the first away team?"

"Nothing," Geordi replied. "We continue to scan their last coordinates, but even when the sensors are working, we can't find any life-forms in the area."

"Commander, Wesley has been studying the geology of the planet, and it doesn't look good. Lorca has no surface oceans and only a few lakes, but there are vast underground oceans with opposing hot and cold currents. What isn't water is molten lava, all of it straining to burst through the thin upper crust. The entire planet is like a honeycomb loaded with explosives."