Star Trek - War Drums Part 22

Like an especially lugubrious reptile the line of about two hundred colonists staggered onward. For half an hour they marched to the beat of drums that sounded far away, then seemed to be coming from the branches over their heads. Perhaps they were, thought Deanna. The marchers finally entered the clearing that surrounded the great oval mound. Colonists set down their children and welding equipment and stared at the strange pile of dirt and the scrawny saplings that graced it. The mound had looked immense only a few days ago, she thought, but now it looked woefully inadequate to protect them from a wave forty meters high.

Worf and Data were striding toward her, leaving the motley collection of Klingons to stake out their own territory atop the mound. To Deanna's right Ensign Ro was having a reunion with a young girl and the handsome blond man who had rescued them. Everyone seemed relieved to have reached their destination, but no one was sure what to do next. Between the small band of Klingons on top of the mound and a clearing that was filling up with settlers, the crew from the Enterprise conferred.

"Is everyone present?" asked Data.

"All except for eight settlers who refused to come," answered Deanna, "and Doctor Drayton." She lowered her voice to ask, "What are we going to do? That mound doesn't look like it can protect all of us."

Adjusting the sling on her arm, Ensign Ro joined the group, and the attention turned toward her.

"How serious is this threat?" asked Worf. "If it's flooding-"

"It's more than flooding," answered Ro. "We are on a very volatile planet, which we knew when we came down here." She pointed toward Myra Calvert. "That young lady has been trying to tell everybody that something wiped out this forest ninety years ago. Well, now we know exactly what it was, and another one is headed our way. In approximately one hour and fifteen minutes a wave as tall as these trees is going to come crashing through here at four hundred kilometers per hour. It's going to turn this forest into a beach."

"How can we withstand that," Worf whispered, "out here in the open?"

"We cannot," answered Data. "I think it unlikely that many humanoids will survive. I estimate my own chances of survival at less than thirty percent."

Raul Oscaras swaggered up to them. "What's going on here? I demand to know what you're talking about!"

"We're talking about how to survive," snarled Worf. "For that, we don't need your help."

Deanna noticed that one of the Klingons had rushed down the hill to Worf's side just as Oscaras joined the conference. It was the gangly female, Wolm, and she yanked urgently on Worf's jacket.

"I must talk to you," she insisted.

"Not now, Wolm," muttered the big Klingon. "We must develop a plan." He turned his attention to Data. "Perhaps, Commander, if we dug trenches or sank pylons-"

"Quiet, all of you!" Deanna found herself shouting. Her unexpected outburst halted the discussion in midsentence, and she pointed to Wolm. "This young lady has something to tell us. I don't know what it is, but she believes it's important. Let's listen to her."

"By all means," agreed Data. "What do you wish to tell us, Wolm?"

The girl glanced behind her, and Maltz and some of the others were glaring at her. "It's a trick!" shouted Maltz. "Don't tell them!"

"I must," countered the girl. "A giant wave cannot wash us away if we are inside."

"Inside what?" asked Deanna.

The girl licked her lips and pointed at the mound. "Inside ... inside the mound. The old place."

"No!" shrieked Maltz, charging down the hill. He was about to leap on Wolm when Worf grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. "They will take it from us!" screamed the boy. "The flat-heads will take it!"

"They won't take anything," countered Deanna. She turned to Raul Oscaras and said forcefully, "Tell them you won't take it. Tell them whatever is theirs is theirs forever."

"I swear it!" shouted the bearded human. "Whatever belongs to the Klingons belongs to them forever."

Maltz stopped struggling in Worf's grip and looked plaintively at Wolm. "The dead," he said sadly. "You defile the dead."

"They not mind," answered Wolm, "if the rest of us live." She turned to Deanna and Data and said, "Follow me."

Over two hundred people watched with rapt attention as the gangly young female led the away team and President Oscaras to a clump of dirt that protruded slightly from one end of the oval mound. Now that she had pointed it out, thought Deanna, the clump did look as if it had recently been disturbed.

Wolm knelt down and began to scoop away the dirt with her hands. "We had to hide it," she explained, "long ago, when the flat-heads first came to look. So we covered it with dirt. It's the old place ... home for our dead."

At once Worf dropped to his knees and began to dig frantically. Oscaras yelled for a shovel, and one of the colonists came forward and started to scoop away huge shovelfuls of dirt. Soon the colonists were eagerly pressing forward to see what the scrawny Klingon was going to unearth. They gasped when the shovel struck something metallic and dirt fell away from a dull metal surface.

"My G.o.d," muttered Oscaras, "it's their ship!"

A dozen hands and shovels fell upon the mound, and Deanna climbed higher to avoid the crush of people wanting to help. She looked back at Maltz and the other Klingons, most of whom looked saddened and stunned. Their ultimate secret was no longer- the flat-heads knew all there was to know about them.

"It's a hatch!" called a voice. "Open it up!"

"Let them open it!" responded Deanna. "It's their ship."

Data, Worf, and Oscaras motioned the colonists back while Wolm gripped the pressure wheel and tried to turn it. Turrok came stumbling down the hill to help her, and between the two of them they got the hatch open. A belch of putrid air rushed out, sending most of the colonists stumbling farther back. The only one unaffacted by the foul air was Data, who entered the old Klingon freighter and emerged carrying the putrefying body of Balak. He made several more trips and came out each time carrying smaller and smaller bodies, many of which had become mummified in the airtight chamber.

The android efficiently set the bodies in the clearing beside the mound, and the colonists watched in hushed silence as the graves were exhumed. Or, thought Deanna, maybe it was the size of the wizened bodies that hushed them, because these were clearly children. For the first time the colonists seemed to realize what these hearty youngsters had gone through in the past ten years, burying more than half their number in the ship that had marooned them. Then Data emerged with a full-grown Klingon skeleton, and Deanna knew that must have been the pilot of the illfated vessel.

The android turned to his comrades and reported, "That is the last of the bodies. The ship is trapezohedral in shape with three decks: the bridge, crew quarters/life support, and a large cargo bay. The cargo bay is below ground in a crater caused by the impact. We must examine the hull and make repairs, but I believe it unlikely that we can guarantee the integrity of the cargo bay, where the impact occurred. If we can only use the bridge, it will be close quarters, but I believe the vessel is large enough to accommodate all of us."

"I'm not dying in that Klingon contraption," muttered the older settler, Edward.

"What about the transporter?" asked Ro. "Can we get it working?"

"Highly unlikely," answered Data. "After ten years the reactor and fuel cells would be depleted. Using generators and phasers, we may be able to get some life support systems working, but that is the best we can reasonably expect."

Suddenly the initial euphoria of the colonists had vanished as they realized they would be risking their lives in a rusted hulk that probably had a thousand leaks. Deanna knew humans hated to die in cramped, enclosed places. A splash of rain hit her in the face. It was followed by a blast of wind that made her stagger backward and grip her collar tightly around her throat. Everyone looked nervously toward the ocean. How much warning would they get? She could almost envision it-a forest of trees borne along like toothpicks on a red wave.

Then Raul Oscaras waded into their midst, waving his arms like a maniac. "What are we waiting for?" he yelled. "Let's get some teams down there! Clemons, Arden, Monroe-start inspecting that hull. Everyone with generators-get the life support going. You welders-get down in that hold and get it patched up. Let's make some safety straps for the children. It doesn't have to fly-it just has to keep water out. Let's move it!"

His roaring voice galvanized them, and several of the colonists grabbed lanterns and welding kits and started into the wrecked freighter. When the colonists struggled with the heavy generators Maltz and some other Klingons rushed to help them. Soon there was a strange procession of humans and Klingons carrying equipment into the buried freighter.

Deanna felt more icy rain on her face, and she looked up at the darkening sky. There was a stampede of ominous-looking clouds, and she didn't want to think about what was chasing them.

Jean-Luc Picard fidgeted impatiently in his captain's chair, as if nervous energy could make them go faster. He worried about whether they might be able to get more speed if Geordi was on board, but they were already on the wrong side of warp nine. No matter what he tried, five hours was the best he could do in getting back to Selva, and that was at least two hours too late.

"Klingon subs.p.a.ce transmission," announced the tactical officer at Worf's usual station. "Message only. They regret to inform us that they have no starships in the immediate vicinity. They are dispatching the BaHchu, which will reach Selva in nine hours."

Picard pounded the arm of his chair. That was his last hope, because Starfleet didn't have any ships closer than the Enterprise, and there were no s.p.a.cefaring worlds near the solar system. The away team was on its own, left to its own devices. He had radioed New Reykjavik and found the radio switched over to a repeater signal. That had told him the colonists were making some sort of run for it.

If only some of them could survive, he told himself, it would make this mad dash worthwhile. The alternative was to retrieve hundreds of bodies, bloated and mangled by rushing water, and Picard fought to keep that image out of his mind.

Sparks crackled over the heads of two Klingons as they pushed a metal plate against a cracked porthole and a female colonist welded it in place. Deanna nodded with satisfaction and moved to the other side of the bridge, where Klingons and colonists were pounding together makeshift seats out of packing crates and rope. In the sickly glow of a green lantern a group of small children stood shivering-the seats were for them. Deanna knelt near the children and zipped tight the jacket of the six-year-old girl who had greeted them their first day on Selva.

"Are we going home?" she asked Deanna.

Deanna swallowed dryly and mustered a smile. "I'm not sure where we're going, but it's probably going to be a b.u.mpy ride. Can all of you be brave?"

The children nodded, and Deanna was relieved when Wolm knelt beside them. "I watch them," promised the young Klingon.

"You were about their age when you came here," said Deanna.

Wolm nodded. "I know. They my brothers and sisters now."

The wind howled in Lieutenant Worf's ears, and he squinted against raindrops that stung his face like a swarm of insects. He was herding the last of the colonists inside the Klingon freighter, but he couldn't see more than two meters in front of him. Maybe he didn't want to see. They were still working inside, although Ro had told him they were out of time-the tsunami could hit any minute. At this point they just a.s.sumed there would be leaks in the hull, even if the obvious damage had been hastily repaired. It didn't have to fly, he reminded himself.

Already it smelled like a Klingon zoo in the tight confines of the old freighter, and he had about twenty more colonists to get inside. All of them were volunteers who had let everyone else-including the Klingons-board ahead of them. In fact, all of the colonists had insisted that the Klingons enter first. They might regret that now, he thought, with people pressed together shoulder to shoulder on the bridge, in the corridors, wherever there was a spot on the first deck. They weren't using the cargo hold in the belly of the ship, because Data was concerned about hidden leaks near the impact area. Data and Ro were trying to get life support systems going with converted energy from a phaser rifle, but Worf doubted they could do much more than recirculate the stale air. Children got the seats and restraints, and the rest of them were packed in like that terran delicacy, sardines.

Worf pushed two more people through the hatch and got a whiff of sheer sweat, terror, and anxiety. He would have to try to keep the door open as long as possible, he decided, considering himself lucky that he was still outside. He wasn't looking forward to going back inside-until he heard the noise.

The noise was the sound of hundreds of tree trunks snapping at once, a mountain of debris clattering along at four hundred kilometers per hour, and the elemental wave crashing to sh.o.r.e. It was a dull, horrifying roar, and Worf found himself tossing the colonists into the tiny hatch.

"Get in there! Move it!" he yelled.

Worf could barely hear his own words as the roar filled his senses and the ground vibrated with impending doom. He peered desperately into the thick rain for more colonists but saw none. The Klingon had never moved faster or more efficiently, and he leapt through the hatch and spun the wheel shut behind him. He braced himself on the wheel, daring the wave to rip the hatch open. He felt another big body nearby, and he looked to see Gregg Calvert ease into position on the other side of the wheel.

Louise Drayton, as she was known on this planet, came running out of the forest, screaming at the top of her lungs. She had waited too long! When she had found the colonists gathered there she wasn't sure what they were doing. But now she was sure! Something G.o.d-awful was ripping its way through the forest, and they were saving themselves.

"Help! Help!" the Romulan screamed into a murderous wind that only devoured her words. "Let me in!" she shrieked. She tried to pound on the hatch door, but she slipped in the mud and stumbled.

The hideous roar got so loud, the dark-haired woman had to cover her ears to keep her sanity. She forced herself to look up to find the hatch. It was then she saw it-an immense blood-red wave, tall as the skyline of Romulus, juggling the trees in front of it like a pile of twigs. The sound was monstrous, crushing her eardrums, but she couldn't look away. For one thing, she knew it was the last thing she would ever see. The Romulan saw the wave loom over her like a blanket over a sleeping child, and she saw the jagged tree trunks come hurtling down.

Chapter Nineteen.

THE MONSTROUS WAVE crashed over the ship, uprooting it from the mound and pitching it forward. Screaming colonists and Klingons were hurled on top of one another, and the ship shuddered and groaned like a beast that had been harpooned. Tree trunks beat on the hull like giant drumsticks wielded by t.i.tans, and leaks showered the horrified pa.s.sengers. Awful creaking noises nearly drowned out their terrified shrieks.

Wolm tried to cover the young children who had been strapped into makeshift seats, but she was slammed against the dark instrument panel. She shook her head and felt hands trying to lift her up. The ship rocked again, and Myra Calvert tumbled into her lap. Together the girls staggered to their knees and crawled back to the terrified children. They wrapped their thin arms around the little ones and held them as the ship continued to buck out of control and water sprayed them from overhead.

From a life support duct over the main bridge Data and Ensign Ro had just managed to make some lights flicker on when the tsunami hit. Ro lurched onto her stomach, gripped a bar with her good hand, and held on. The screaming below her was almost the worst sensation, and she dreaded the possibility that the ship might flip over. Back and forth they rocked with each succeeding wave, and it was like a terrible carnival ride she had once experienced.

"Troi to Data!" shouted Deanna over the android's comm badge. "I'm at the lower bulkhead. Water has breached the cargo bay, and we can't get the hatch shut!"

"On my way," Data replied calmly. He turned back to Ro. "We can access the turbolift shaft from this duct and avoid the pa.s.sengers below us."

Ro followed the android, crawling on all fours down the filthy duct. Brackish water spewed into her hair from the darkness. She ignored the pain in her shoulder and the possibility that she would reopen her wound. If they all drowned inside this old can, a little blood wouldn't matter much. She saw Data jump onto a cable that ran down the center of the turbolift and ride it to the bottom. Ro gritted her teeth and made the same leap. The pain of the thick cable hitting her chest was worse than the throb in her shoulder, but she held on, climbing down the cable toward the bottom deck of the old freighter.

She landed seconds after Data but found that he was gone. She saw where he had kicked out a grille to gain access to the lower corridor. Ro slipped through the grille and landed painfully on her still-tender ankle. d.a.m.n, she muttered to herself, she was a wreck. The ensign could hear voices ahead of her, and she skittered around a bend in the corridor to see a sight that chilled her: Deanna Troi and Raul Oscaras were pulling desperately on a bulkhead door, trying to close it, but filthy water was shooting from the edges. Judging by the pressure of the water they were fighting against, the entire cargo bay was already full.

Oscaras's grimy face was puffed and reddened, and he looked about to pa.s.s out. "The pressure seals have rotted!" he panted. "The door won't stay shut!"

Data made no move to help them. "Please stand back," he said.

"If we let go," gasped Deanna, "it'll flood in seconds!"

"Perhaps not," answered Data. He reached to his belt and came away holding a long black whip. He adjusted his grip slightly, and the greenish tip of the whip began to glow and tremble.

"What the h.e.l.l's that?" growled Oscaras.

"A displacer," answered Data. "It combines artificial intelligence with air pressure manipulation. Please observe."

When Data stepped back and uncoiled the strange weapon Oscaras and Deanna got out of the way in a hurry. Water shot around the edges of the door as if shot from a fire hose, but Data snapped the displacer several times and drove the water back.

"Adjusting the air pressure is temporary," he added.

In movements almost too rapid to see Data used both hands to twist the handle and enter a stream of commands to the weapon. Then he cracked the glowing whip over his head, and it glowed like live neon as it rippled across the corridor toward the door. He let go of the handle, and the glowing coil wrapped around the edge of the door. Data took two steps and, with his enormous strength, gripped the center wheel and yanked the door shut. The displacer pulsated for a moment as it settled into place where the rotted seal should have been. The flow of water had stopped completely.

The android stepped back, nonchalantly wiping the slime from his face. "It should hold for perhaps three hours," he remarked. "We should fall back to the next bulkhead and secure it in a more conventional manner."

"I bet you were practicing with that thing," Deanna said hoa.r.s.ely.

"For almost an entire hour," admitted Data.

The vessel bucked again, throwing Ro off her feet. She groaned as her injured shoulder crashed into the deck. Then a hand reached under her arm and lifted her up like a rag doll.

"The bridge is flooding," said Data. "We must return there."

Captain Picard jumped to his feet as soon as they dropped out of warp and the gray planet came into view. "Helm," he said, "standard orbit, bearing one twenty-eight Mach-two."

"Aye, sir," answered a young female ensign, playing the control panel in front of her. "Orbit in twenty-two seconds."

Picard was glad to see that the mostly young and untried bridge crew was snapping to-in place of all the people who were missing. Of course, they were trained to do their duty, and a rescue was the most fundamental of all missions. In fact, thought Picard, they were probably calmer than he, because they didn't work closely with the people who were in danger. The replacement crew had certainly gotten him to Selva in less time than he had reason to expect.

"Try to raise New Reykjavik," he ordered.

"I'm sorry, sir," answered the tactical officer, "sensors show that area is underwater. Even the repeater is inoperable."

"How soon before communicator range?"

"Ten seconds."

Picard stood tensely in front of a viewscreen that was filling with a cloudy sphere. It looked as unfriendly now as the day he had first seen it. He paced for a second, then finally hit his comm badge.

"Picard to away team. Come in. Picard to away team." He waited, scarcely drawing a breath.

"Data here," answered the nonplussed android. "We are glad you have returned. In all, two hundred and twenty-eight are accounted for, although there are several injuries."

"Where are you? How did you-" stammered Picard. "Never mind. Should we beam you aboard?"

"The sooner the better," answered Data. "We are up to our knees in water."

"All transporter rooms stand by," barked Captain Picard. "Hold for coordinates."

A cheer went up from all those standing around Commander Data, and word quickly spread to everyone crammed shoulder to shoulder on the bridge. Deanna could see humans and Klingons warmly shaking hands and slapping one another on the back. The scene was even stranger once they started to disappear-Klingons and humans dissolving together into beams of light. Wolm squealed with delight when the transporter scrambled her molecules, but Turrok was an old hand and barely raised a s.h.a.ggy eyebrow.