But mostly I just thought about how I was going to die. And I was so frightened of that possibility that I could do nothing but think about it. And so fear continued to grip me as the shii decapitated Kani and Rimlek. Both of them had been attacked by the other shii, which Commander Gomez had killed. Though they had survived, they had been left comatose. Now they, too, were dead.
J’Roh leapt down from our guard post at the doorway and shot the creature again. It started to bleed mercury, as the other one had. But its wounds did not seem to stem its horrific tide. With one slash, it cut J’Roh’s body in two. Then Dolahn, the Gallamite doctor, ran up to it. Dolahn is not what I would consider a brave man. In fact, I would mostly consider him a fool. Like all Gallamites, he has a transparent head, so you can see his brain. Someone used to joke that he wore a hat so no one would know how small that brain truly was. The sad truth is, he wore the hat because Kejahna threatened to kill him if he didn’t. In any case, Dolahn ran up to the shii. He was armed only with some kind of edged instrument. He stabbed the creature in an odd place. It was right in the creature’s lower thorax. Probably where its stomach was. After the doctor did that, the shii cut his head off, too.
His head lay on the floor, the hat having fallen off. I could see his brain. It was not small. In fact, it seemed rather large.
Then the shii collected all the heads it had severed. I noticed that all the wounds that had been inflicted on it had healed. Well, almost all. The one Dolahn had inflicted continued to drip mercury, even as it collected heads. When it was done, it tucked the heads under a foreleg. Then it ran out the way it came.
Slowly, people started to come out from under the beds and tables. The floors were awash in blue from all the blood. Some red was mixed in, from the doctor.
A moment later, Commander Gomez ran in. She asked, “What happened?”
Some mad fool burst out laughing at that absurd question. It took me a moment to realize that I was that fool. I continued to laugh while someone else—I believe it was Mranol—explained that the shii had come through and killed fifteen more people. The odd thing is, I hadn’t even noticed all the deaths. But I certainly wasn’t going to contradict Mranol.
I am now sitting in my tent. I am not sure if I’m ever going to leave the tent again. I have now had my rifle for almost an entire year. It has gone unfired the whole time. Could I have made a difference, either in the cave or in the hospital? Probably not. But perhaps I might have helped save a life or two.
It is obvious that I am not worthy to live when so many good men, like Kejahna and Dolahn and J’Roh, have died. Tell my children that I love them, Marig. And tell them that their father is a coward and a fool.
Best regards,
your unworthy husband,
Razka
Personal log, Commander Sonya Gomez, planet Sarindar, Stardate 53289.4
I’m a complete idiot. I made the biggest mistake you can make—humanizing a machine. Well, maybe “ animalizing” is more accurate. But I should have realized that my idea wasn’t going to work.
The ruby-like flowers weren’t what lured the shii to the trap in the first place, it was the three Nalori. It was looking for more food to collect for its masters. Because it’s a machine. Machines do what they’re programmed to do, and this one is programmed to kill animals and decapitate them so their masters can eat.
So, naturally, when you collect everyone in one spot, that’s where it’s going to go.
God, it’s like I’m a green ensign back on the Enterprise again. And now fifteen more people are dead, and it’s my fault. I’m supposed to be in charge, and all I’ve done is get people killed.
One of the workers—I don’t even know his name—just came in and asked me to perform the funeral rites again. I was surprised at this, but he said something that surprised me even more:
“It is not your fault, Commander, it is ours. We fooled ourselves into thinking you were the sañuul, that you had lifted the curse of this miserable place. But you are, in the end, just a woman—as you yourself told us all along. You did not wish us to call you sañuul, and we should have listened. Instead, we are simply all victims of the curse of Sarindar.”
With that, he left.
I wish it made me feel better, but it doesn’t even come close. I’ve failed in my duty here. And it’s past time I made up for it.
First officer’s log, Commander Sonya Gomez, planet Sarindar, Stardate 53289.7
I’ve received a transmission from the da Vinci, but it’s garbled. The only thing I know for sure is that the signal originated from the Trivas system, which is an unclaimed region of space near the border between Federation and Cardassian space. Unfortunately, it’s not clear from the message if they were cutting short their mission to the Trivas system or if they couldn’t cut short that mission. I’m proceeding on the latter assumption, and plan to once again attempt to activate the Culloden. First, however, I must perform funeral rites for those who have most recently died at the hands of the shii.
Personal log, Commander Sonya Gomez, planet Sarindar, Stardate 53289.9
After the service for those Nalori who died in the hospital, I checked to see what rites needed to be performed for Dolahn. According to the database, most Gallamites didn’t practice any particular death rituals, but some belonged to a religion known as Ambrushroi, which requires that the body be burned within six hours of death. However, there’s no evidence that Dolahn was Ambrushroi—and in any case, most non-Ambrushroi Gallamites don’t care what’s done to their bodies, and Razka told me that Dolahn had no family. So I ordered his body burned anyhow. Seemed the best thing to do. It’s like the Dominion War all over again—each day goes by with us all wondering who’s going to die next.
No.
That’s not going to happen.
I’m going to face this thing. I’ve assigned one of the engineers to work on the Culloden. As for me, I’m going to find the shii and either convince it to stop what it’s doing—
—or stop it myself.
Letter from the workers on the subspace accelerator project to Commander Sonya Gomez, sixteenth day of Sendrak, twenty-third year of Togh
Commander Gomez: By the time you receive this letter, we will be gone. We have faith in Starfleet’s ability to rescue you. Nomis and Repooc were able to bypass the DNA encoding on the Bolian’s ship, and we are taking it. We are willing to face the consequences of our actions. A choice between not working and dying is no choice at all.
We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors, Commander. We apologize for placing the burden of being sañuul on you. That was our mistake, and we hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us, assuming humans have hearts like ours. We should have known that the curse of Sarindar would destroy us all.
Razka has said that he will remain behind, and he will deliver this missive to you. Razka is a good man, and we are sure he will be helpful to you.
We are sorry that we were unable to finish the subspace accelerator, but the curse has shown us that it was not meant to be.
Regretfully,
Your former staff
Transcript of tricorder recording by Commander Sonya Gomez, outside SA project camp perimeter, planet Sarindar, Stardate 53290.1
GOMEZ: Please, wait! Don’t attack! I’m not your enemy, and I’m not food.
SHII: Speak . . . you.
GOMEZ: Yes, I speak. I am sentient. I’m not an animal for you to kill for food.
SHII: Do . . . not . . . comprehend . . . “ sentient.” You . . . not . . . owner.
GOMEZ: No, I’m not one of the owners, but I’m very much like them.
SHII: You . . . not . . . owner. Await . . . owners.
GOMEZ: Your owners are gone.
SHII: Do . . . not . . . comprehend . . . “gone.”
GOMEZ: They—they ceased to function. They died. You don’t need to keep gathering food for them.
SHII: Function . . . to . . . gather . . . food . . . and . . . protect.
&nb
sp; GOMEZ: I know that. But without the owners, that function no longer exists. You need a new function.
SHII: Do . . . not . . . comprehend . . . “new.”
GOMEZ: It means that things have changed. You have to adapt to the situation.
SHII: Do . . . not . . . comprehend . . . “changed.”
GOMEZ: Oh, great.
SHII: Do . . . not . . . comprehend . . . “adapt.”
GOMEZ: You’ve been committing murder for no reason. We can’t defend ourselves against you, and you have no need to attack us.
SHII: Do . . . not . . . comprehend . . . “murder.” Am . . . fulfilling . . . function. Must . . . gather . . . food . . . await . . . return . . . owners.
GOMEZ: The owners are gone! They’re dead! They’ve ceased to function!
SHII: Must . . . gather . . . food.
GOMEZ: Please, you must listen to me.
SHII: Do . . . not . . . comprehend . . . “dead.” You . . . not . . . owner. Your . . . instructions . . . relevant . . . not. Must . . . gather . . . food.
GOMEZ: There’s no need to gather food! There’s—dammit! [sonic rifle fire]
Personal log, Commander Sonya Gomez, planet Sarindar, Stardate 53290.3
The bastards took the Culloden. I saw it taking off after I managed to get away from the shii. It attacked me after I tried to reason with it, but the rifle on full blast managed to at least force it to run away, though I didn’t do any appreciable damage to it. For that matter, there’s no sign of any other injury it’s taken. Not surprising, given its chameleon circuitry—it can heal any “wound” by simply shape-changing over it.
Right after it ran off, I heard the screaming sound of impulse engines. My heart soared for a brief instant, as I thought it might be either the Archimedes or the Franklin, but I quickly realized that it wasn’t a Starfleet impulse signature—and it was the sound of a ship taking off, not landing.
Then I looked up to see the Culloden taking off.
I ran back to the camp, only to find Razka alone. He showed me the note the workers had left for me. I asked Razka what the hell was going on.
“I should think the letter explains it all, Commander. They have left.”
“So why are you still here?” I asked him.
He smiled. “My job is to assist you. You’re still here, so I’m still here.”
I stared at him. “What’s the real reason?”
“Does there need to be another reason?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure there is one.”
Razka sighed, and then he smiled at me. “All my life, I have prided myself on always doing the best job I could. I have always excelled at the tasks I have been given. Mind you, not all those tasks were especially challenging, but that wasn’t the point.”
He started to pace. “The other day, I was given another simple task: to help you track down the monster shii. When it attacked, I did nothing. I could not fire my weapon. I could not move. You were threatened, and I did not move. My comrades were wounded, and I did not move. Zilder was killed right in front of me, and I did not move.”
He looked up at me with a stricken look. I’d never seen him like this—he’d always been so easygoing and pleasant before.
“So I have stayed. Becaue it is my job to aid you, and I will not fail again.”
I nodded and said, “All right, fine. It’s just you and me, then. We can either wait until that thing comes and gets us, or we can stop it once and for all. It’s not going to listen to reason.”
“Why should it, Commander?”
I actually chuckled at that, which surprised me. I hadn’t thought I had any chuckles left in me. “You were right. I forgot the first rule of programming.”
“Which is?” Razka asked.
“A machine is only as good as what’s put into it—no more, no less. Garbage in, garbage out. Now, c’mon,” I said, hefting my sonic rifle, “we’ve got to take out the garbage.”
Razka and I went and used the remnants of the camp perimeter barrier and the remaining Nalori-issue sonic rifles to form a small barricade for the pair of us. We’re within the confines of that barricade now, having just finished modifying my own sonic rifle. It now emits a pulse intended to immobilize the shii for several minutes. Of course, there’s no way to test it until the shii attacks. . . .
We’re waiting for midnight to come around. The next window in the pulsar/quasar interference will provide us with the best chance to stop it. I’m recording this log entry while we wait. We’ve both eaten some field rations, and we’re as ready to go as we can be.
It’s funny, I’ve been thinking back on all the life-or-death situations I’ve been in in my career. I mean, I spent the first three-and-a-half years of my career on the Enterprise, where we had life-or-death situations on what seemed to be a weekly basis, starting with the Borg. Then there was that one-year project on the Oberth, which was pretty sedate until all hell broke loose at the end, when the Romulans turned up out of nowhere.
Then there was the Sentinel. And the war.
I’m sick of people dying. I’m sick of losing people. Whether they’re friends, comrades, subordinates—it doesn’t matter.
It stops now.
I reached into one of the pouches on my uniform—where I’d normally keep my tricorder. I had put Zilder’s copy of the Se’rbeg there—not entirely sure why. I’m not particularly religious. I remember what Kejahna joked when we tested the antimatter reactor: “Ho’nig helps those who help themselves.” He mainly said it to tease Zilder, who didn’t think that the reactor would be ready in time with only two antigrav units.
Now they’re both dead. And I need to use their work to help stop the monster that is trying to destroy that work.
It’s almost midnight. Time to get moving.
First officer’s log, Commander Sonya Gomez, planet Sarindar, Stardate 53290.6
At ten minutes prior to midnight, I came out from behind the barricade, leaving Razka safe inside. I had the feeling that the shii would attack us as soon as it could. Its function is to collect heads for its owners. It had targeted my particular head on three occasions now without getting it. I don’t know if it’s capable of grudge matches—in fact, I’m sure it isn’t—but I also suspect that it was programmed to keep trying to fulfill its goals. That meant that it would keep trying for me until it had my head. That, at least, was my plan. It turned out to be accurate. I waited near the concave dish that formed the most prominent part of the SA. The tricorder was able to detect its approach, and I fired a shot from the sonic rifle near it to give it pause. Then I ran toward the SA dish.
As soon as I got to the ladder that would lead me up to the SA, I fired a shot with the rifle at the ground behind me, then again at one of the crystal bushes near the ladder. It wouldn’t delay the shii much, but I only needed to slow it down enough to make up the difference between its four legs and my two . . .
Excerpt from a letter from Razka on Sarindar to Marig on Nalor, sixteenth day of Sendrak, twenty-third year of Togh
. . . everything seemed fine until the barricade failed. I should have known that the curse of Sarindar wasn’t finished with me just yet.
Luckily, Commander Gomez is no fool. She gave me her tricorder device. She had modified it so that it would emit a sonic pulse. The idea was that if the monster shii came for me, I should activate the pulse.
As soon as the barricade failed, I clutched the tricorder to myself for dear life. I looked at the tableau in front of me.
A fierce wind was blowing, as often happened at night. The crystalline trees and bushes made a mild tinkling noise that almost sounded musical. To the right was the massive concave dish that was the focus of so much of our labors. Commander Gomez was climbing the ladder to the dish. The monster shii was standing at the ladder’s base. I somehow doubted it had ever encountered anything like this ladder before.
Then it turned to look at me. It ran for me.
It happened again, Marig. I froze.
Bu
t this time, I was able to push the button. Though I could not raise or activate a weapon, I was somehow able to make myself activate the sonic pulse. And it worked. The monster shii stopped dead in its tracks. Then it went for me a second time. I pushed the button again.
(In fact, Marig, it is truly not a button, but a touch-sensitive control. But allow a frightened old man to wax poetic.)
Amazingly enough, it worked again. And a third time. After that, the monster shii turned around and ran back toward the ladder. I looked up to see that Commander Gomez had climbed up to the top of the dish . . .
First officer’s log, supplemental
. . . as soon as I got to the edge of the dish, I turned to see that the shii had turned its attention to Razka. I braced my legs in the struts of the ladder, then fired a shot over the shii’s head. Since the shii was staying about three meters away from Razka, yet facing him, I assumed that the sonic pulse I built into the tricorder worked. But I had no way to judge how long it would last, and besides, I needed to get the shii up to the dish. So I fired.
Sure enough, the shii turned around—probably deciding that Razka’s head wasn’t worth all this trouble anyhow—and ran back to the dish. It loped over to the bottom of the ladder, then tried to figure out how to climb up it.
I looked down and tried to figure out the same thing. The shii had triangular “paws”—no individual claws or fingers or anything like that. Presumably the shii that the creature emulated had evolved that way as the most adequate way to navigate Sarindar’s glassy surface. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very useful for climbing up ladders with rounded rungs.
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