Star Trek - Survivors Part 3

"Khest!" Yar exclaimed, as fluently and inaccurately as any Klingon-that expletive was one Klingon term every cadet knew, and used daily. "Give me manual control!" she demanded, getting no response as she spoke those words in English.

Spears thudded against the canopy and the sides of the boat.

"Stop, you idiots! You'll hole it!" somebody shouted in gutteral, sibilant tones.

The hissing in the voice told Yar where she'd gone wrong: the language she had not recognized was Orion, and the Orion signal for danger was to hiss like a snake!

Adrenaline stimulated her thinking-suddenly she remembered the Klingon term for "Manual override!" She hit the starter, and the engines came alive.

The lightweight craft rose nearly out of the water, wonderfully responsive to her touch-but it swung in an arc, moored to a post on sh.o.r.e!

Yar grasped her machete and crawled forward beneath the canopy- -as the boat's owner reached her and swung aboard!

He was a huge Orion male, gray-skinned reptilian face looming, yellow eyes glaring from beneath his flat headgear. He grabbed Yar's legs and pulled her back before she could cut through the lanyard.

Yar twisted in his grip, trying to swing the machete into position to slash at him.

But for all his size he was fast. He jerked her toward him, and an iron hand clasped over her wrist. It squeezed.

Yar twisted one leg free of his grip and knocked the breath out of him with a kick to his solar plexus.

But he did not let go! As he fell backward, he maintained his grasp on her one calf and the opposite wrist-and in a flash of blinding pain she felt her wrist break in the sheer strength of his hand. The machete fell to the deck with a dull clatter.

She had made the fatal error of a small combatant against a larger, stronger opponent: she had let him get a grip on her.

But in the close confines of the boat- No. No excuses. She had lost this round, but the fight was not necessarily over. She must simply make the Orion think it was.

She moaned, and pretended to pa.s.s out, collapsing on his chest.

It didn't fool him, or else he was taking no chances. Before he let go of her broken wrist, he transferred his other hand to her good arm. Then he snapped a manacle about her good wrist, fastened it to one of many rings set into the hull of the boat-a slaver's vessel-and only then let go of her.

"Computer," he growled, "dock the boat and turn the b.l.o.o.d.y motor off!"

Yar understood his words-his universal translator was working.

The Orion poured a bucket of water over Yar's head, and with a splutter she was forced to acknowledge consciousness.

"What's this then?" he was asking. "A human? What're you doing on Priam IV, woman?"

She was so covered with mud that her uniform must be unrecognizable. "I'm a free trader. My ship crashed here," she replied. "When I saw your boat, I thought you might help me."

"So you decided to steal it?"

"When I saw it belonged to an Orion slaver."

He nodded. "Smart move. Too bad you couldn't carry it out-too bad for you, that is. For me, you'll make a nice extra." He grasped her chin and turned her face this way and that. "You'll clean up pretty enough, and you're stronger than you look or you wouldn't have survived. Some lonely dilithium miner will pay a pretty penny for a woman who's a looker and also has a strong back."

He got out a medical kit, scanned her wrist, hauled the bones back into alignment with no care for her cry of pain, and put a regen brace on it. The pain began to recede.

By this time the boat was back to its mooring, and three curious natives peered in at them. "Oh, my G.o.d," said one of them. "One of the cadets did survive!"

"Shut up!" growled a second-but it was too late.

So was Yar's second thought. In her pain and shock she blurted out, "You're Federation!"

Oh d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n-why hadn't she had the sense to pretend to be unconscious or uncomprehending?

"Kill her!" said the first "native," raising his spear.

The Orion shoved him back. "Leave it! I'll sell her where she'll never see the Federation again-don't you worry. I don't want Starfleet finding out about our deal any more than you do."

"It's safer to kill her," said the second native.

"Touch her, I'll kill you," said the Orion. "She's worth as much as the whole boatload of Priamites."

"But you said-"

"I said we'd try 'em out as workslaves. They're strong, stupid, complacent, and prolific ... here on their home planet. If they don't shrivel up and die in another environment, we'll be back for as many as you can provide. Let you know in maybe a year. Then, you keep the Federation off our backs, and Orion will make you rich. Now I must move-you're certain that Federation patrol won't be back?"

"We told them the cadets were dead-we thought they all were. That pod couldn't hold more than three, and we found two bodies. Don't worry; no more are going to show up now, and Starfleet won't send another ship for three years. By that time, we'll make enough from trading with you to retire in luxury."

Yar's heart sank. The Starfleet rescue ship had come and gone without her. She was forced to watch helplessly as the boat was loaded with manacled natives, and the Orion piloted it down the river toward the landing site-where, presumably, his shuttle waited to carry her along with the Priamites into a life of slavery.

Even with the powerful boat, it would take two days. Yar tried to talk to the Priamites, but without a working translator could not make herself understood. They did not talk among themselves much either, just slumped defeatedly in the bottom of the boat.

When night fell, the Orion slaver moored the boat and fed his captives some tasteless gruel. Yar lay down with the others, uncomfortable with one wrist fastened to the hull, the other aching and itching as it healed. She was hungry, bruised, and covered with dried mud.

Despite her exhaustion, she could not sleep. So when the Orion appeared to do so, she sat up quietly, and examined the manacle that bound her to the hull of the boat. Without its magnetic key, there was no hope of opening it.

In futile frustration, she gave it a jerk-and the loop fastening her to the boat hull came out of its socket!

She sat there, stunned.

Luck. Sheer, stupid, blind luck.

Somehow, the bolt holding her loop had been driven in crooked; it did not go through the metal bar under the hull laminate-and when she pulled hard enough, the lightweight hull material had given.

Before her luck could turn again, Yar slid silently over the side, back into the mud, and crawled off into the forest.

And into a dilemma.

There was no immediate escape-the Federation search vessel had come and gone. The Federation scientists would kill her on sight. If she did nothing but try to survive, the Orion traders would be back in a year, taking more pa.s.sive Priamites into slavery.

But if she approached the Priamites-who upon closer acquaintance did not seem likely to kill her-she would break the Prime Directive. As she learned their language, she would undoubtedly let slip facts about the world she came from. Could she resist showing them improvements, even something as simple as the bow and arrow? She would have to make weapons for herself; the Orion slaver would certainly notify the traitorous Federation scientists of her escape, and they would be searching for her.

Her very existence here violated the Prime Directive, pa.s.sively. She would actively violate it if she contacted the Priamites.

But if she did not do so, did not learn to communicate with them, how could she warn them of the Orion slavers?

Three years, the scientists had said. Possibly she could survive on her own in the jungle for three years. It would be much harder for the traitors to find her there than among the natives. She could follow them to the landing site when they were picked up, and report them to the Starfleet away team that came for them.

But in three years how many Priamites would be sold into Orion slavery? Strong backs and pa.s.sivity-perfect slaves. She would not put it past the Orions even to exploit their sensitivity to radiation, use them as living detectors- She felt sick.

The Prime Directive balanced against the lives of sentient, sapient beings- Which was worse, interfering in the development of an entire culture, or allowing some members of that culture to be carried off into slavery? Starfleet wisdom claimed that historically every attempt to interfere with undeveloped races had resulted in disaster-hence the Prime Directive in the first place.

What if her benign interference led to the Priamites developing a dependence on other races? What if discovering how they had been betrayed by people who seemed just like themselves led to war among a people who heretofore had had no reason to invent it? What if, once the Prime Directive was breached, business interests moved in and began exploiting Priam IV's natural resources?

Furthermore, Yar's wide-spectrum inoculations had not prevented her from becoming ill on Priam IV. The Federation scientists had undergone total decontamination before landing here, but she had not. What if she carried bacteria and viruses deadly to the Priamites? What if in trying to save them, she ended up killing them?

All of those tragic scenarios had happened, more than once, in the history of the Federation.

But if she saved only herself, hundreds, maybe thousands, of peaceful people could be carried into slavery before the Federation even had a chance to know and stop the Orions- Better to stop one definite horror now than worry about possible horrors in the future.

And if as a result Priam IV was exploited, its native culture destroyed? If the natives died of some disease benign to humans? Through her interference?

But the Orions were interfering.

Two wrongs didn't make a right-and the slavers were carefully not spreading their influence, so the tribes farther from the landing site would not be forewarned.

Deep in the forest, Tasha Yar sat in misery, her wounded wrist aching, her mind in turmoil, wondering why she had ever wanted to join Starfleet.

In front of her weary eyes, the jungle shimmered into an odd pattern of small colored squares. That, in turn, dissolved into two large metal doors which pulled back to reveal a corridor and three people: a Vulcan woman and a human man in the garb of Starfleet medical personnel-and the Orion slave trader!

Yar stared in numb disbelief. This could not be happening!

"Tasha," the Vulcan woman said, "it is over. Come out of it now. The word is 'exercise,' Tasha. You are now awake and aware of reality."

Around Yar, the jungle of Priam IV dissolved into an empty holodeck.

She was sitting on the floor in her cadet fatigues, uninjured, merely sweating, heart pounding from exertion and emotional stress.

Slowly, rubbing her actually uninjured wrist, Yar remembered that it was all a test, and had taken place in an Academy holodeck. The human doctor kneeling beside her, running a scanner over her, was Dr. Forbus. The Vulcan healer was T'Pelak. Through hypnosis they had created in Yar the absolute belief that everything was really happening, making her incapable of thinking, "Oh, this is just a training exercise that seems real because of the holodeck." The doctor and the healer had eased her into the illusion, appearing in it as her fellow cadets, killed in the crash of the escape pod.

But-the Orion? There were no Orions in Starfleet. Orion was not a member of the Federation, and never would be unless its people changed their entire way of life.

Yar flinched as the Orion squatted down beside her, saying, "You've really followed your dream, kitten."

That voice!

It stopped her reflex to attack, for it was not the sibilant voice of the Orion trader from her test. It was a voice from the past- He stripped off the reptilian mask to reveal laughing brown eyes, an unmistakable large, straight nose, and a sensuous mouth quirking with delight at her surprise.

"Dare!" Yar exclaimed, surging onto her knees to throw her arms about him. "Darryl Adin! Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

Only at her enthusiastic hug did his arms come around her. "I just arrived this morning. When I found out you were in test, I pulled rank to find out how you were doing, and got drafted to partic.i.p.ate." He drew her to her feet, saying, "You're all grown up! I'm so proud of you, Tasha."

To have her mentor, the man who had changed her whole life, proud of her warmed Yar's heart-and yet, "I still couldn't win against you, even when I was armed and you weren't."

"That wasn't what the test was about, Tasha," said T'Pelak. "It was programmed into the scenario that the Orion would attack when you were in an indefensible position."

"You fought splendidly," said Dare. "But then, you always did. This test, though, was about what you did after you finally won."

"Won?" Yar asked. "I didn't win-I escaped by sheer luck. That was a really stupid scenario, come to think of it. One coincidence after another."

Dr. Forbus laughed. "Cadet Yar, we had to stack everything we could think of against you to strand you in that situation."

"And then," said T'Pelak, raising one eyebrow in the closest expression Vulcans had to a wry smile, "my esteemed colleagues found that they had ... 'written themselves into a corner' is, I believe, the human term. They had made it virtually impossible for you to escape."

"And when the Counselor pointed that out," said Dare, "I suggested that a scenario with a few screws loose might be resolved with a ... loose screw?"

Yar greeted his grin with the appropriate groan. Oh, it was so wonderful to see him again, this strong, tough man with the outrageous sense of humor. It was as if they had never parted ... and yet as if she were seeing him for the first time.

It was seven years since she had last seen Darryl Adin, and over that time she could count the communications she had had from him on the fingers of one hand. But ... he had not forgotten her, it seemed.

She could certainly never forget him! After he had rescued her from New Paris-for Yar always thought of him as her rescuer, discounting the rest of the away team-he had taken responsibility for civilizing her on the trip to Earth.

It was her good fortune that the Cochrane had been ready to return from its mission, for that meant she spent nearly two months aboard instead of being dropped off at the nearest starbase. In that time she had learned that Darryl Adin not only had no designs on her body, but was greatly interested in her mind.

At first she had distrusted everything and everyone aboard the starship, but living clean, with a full belly, a soft bed, and a whole crew to encourage her to learn and discover, she had slowly developed c.h.i.n.ks in her emotional armor ... especially where Darryl Adin was concerned.

From fear and distrust, she shifted to hero-worship. If Dare wanted her to learn to read more than a dozen words, and to write, she determined to do so. If he wanted her to use strange implements to feed herself, she would master them. And if he wanted her to spend many hours telling the story of her life into a tricorder, and then discuss it with the ship's Counselor, she would do it despite the pain her memories so often invoked.

In return, he took her into every area of the ship that was not restricted, explained its workings, taught her to swim, and, at her insistence, gave her lessons in the hand-to-hand combat he a.s.sured her she would not need as a civilized citizen of the Federation.

But the Federation was too big and diverse a concept to mean much to a fifteen-year-old girl with little knowledge of galactic history. Starfleet was what captured Tasha Yar's imagination-and by the end of their journey to Earth she had found her life's direction. Never before had she known people to work together without the basic motivation of sheer survival. And never before had she dreamed that loyalty could be built upon something more than mutual need, or greed.

By the time they reached Earth, Yar knew that her future lay in Starfleet-and her dream was one day to be the Chief of Security of a starship ... exactly like Darryl Adin.

Dare had listened to her dreams and plans, encouraging her to try for whatever she wanted, insisting that a good education was the foundation for entry into Starfleet Academy as well as for any other future she might desire. He arranged to have her intelligence and apt.i.tudes tested, and enrolled her in the specialized school that would attempt to compensate for the lost years of her life.

And then he was a.s.signed to new missions with the starship Copeland, and later the Seeker, and Yar did not see him again until the day of her testing for degree candidate. In her delight at his sudden reappearance, she forgot for the moment that how she had performed would determine whether she was sent off to some other inst.i.tution to complete a university degree, or whether she would be privileged to complete her final term at the Academy, and graduate as a Starfleet Officer.

Dr. Forbus said, "You must both be tired and hungry. Why don't you go eat, catch up on old times, and then get a good night's sleep? Cadet Yar, your interview will be tomorrow morning at 0900."

"Yes, Doctor," she replied, a sinking feeling in her gut. She had never reached a decision about Priam IV. They must have allowed her the allotted time, and then wakened her. Did that mean she had failed? Was she too indecisive? But what was the right answer? How could any human being decide between letting intelligent beings be carried away into slavery or breaking the Prime Directive?

There would be no answers tonight. If Dare knew them, she knew he wouldn't tell her. She might as well forget the test, and enjoy his company while she could.

Dare shed the rest of his Orion disguise, emerging in Starfleet uniform. The first thing Yar noticed was that he was now a full commander, the solid third pip new and shiny. "Congratulations, Commander Adin," she said, then laughed at the incongruity of Dare's playing an Orion. His promotion was due to the role he had played in the Seeker's breaking up an Orion cartel operating secretly on several outer Federation worlds.

He pulled off the heavy boots of the Orion trader.

And was suddenly short!

No-not short, but just above medium height for a human male, still well above Yar's pet.i.te stature.

But she remembered him as a giant of a man.

She had grown taller in seven years, she realized. Her hero was no longer larger than life ... but he was still her hero.