String Theory, Book 3: Evolution

by Heather Jarman

  Mur had a long curved neck with highly flexible cervical vertebrae that allowed him to twist around so his smaller cone-shaped head could face nearly backward. The animal did just this when the Doctor touched him. Mur’s deep-set eyes stared out at the Doctor from where they were mounted at the top of his skull in a position very similar to the position of a horse’s eyes. The lumwa studied the Doctor, his head angled to one side, for a long moment. Abruptly, a forked tongue snaked out of his wide mouth and flicked rapidly beside the Doctor’s ear, his breath smelling of rotting swamp reeds. The Doctor wrinkled his nose.

  Noticing the Doctor’s discomfort, Nual said, “He’s trying to get to know you.”

  The Doctor accepted this, but still didn’t enjoy being tongue-flicked by an overgrown lizard.

  Once Mur seemed to have adjusted to the Doctor, the three men shored up their packs by tightening the girth around Mur’s abdomen.

  “We will go now. Follow me,” Nual said, taking Mur by the reins and leading him down a cobbled road leading away from the baron’s fortress.

  The sooner the better, the Doctor thought, looking forward to what might happen during his inevitable confrontation with the Nacene. They can’t be allowed to get away with this, he vowed. I will find the Light for Vivia and she will destroy him.

  The two-day journey to Silver River was, thankfully, uneventful. Compared with some of the Doctor’s sickbay shifts, it was positively boring. Kilometer after kilometer, they walked or took turns riding, following dusty trails through scabby clumps of brush and anemic trees bending over meandering, dried-out riverbeds with hardened mud crusts cracked like shattered glass. Climbing steadily upward, the trail took them through terraced foothills, toward a toothy gray rock mountain range. Granted, Nual told him they were taking an indirect route to the general’s camp to avoid any confrontations.

  The Doctor believed it likely wasn’t the favored route for good reason. Beyond the lackluster scenery, the monotony of trail life was magnified by the swarms of newly hatched sand flies nesting in splintering reed husks. Itchy, oozy red pimple-bites blossomed on all exposed epidermal surfaces. He resisted the impulse to complain; Din and Nual were hardly more comfortable than he was. His longing for his replicator, with its extensive list of anti-itch creams and insect repellents, grew daily.

  They lived off the land, scavenging berries and edible plants. Din proved to be an adept hunter who was limited only by the scarcity of game. Traveling the majority of the distance in the early-morning and twilight hours, while attempting to move swiftly and far in long stretches, proved challenging. Once the sun reached its peak at midday, they retreated into the shade until the highest radiation levels passed. Closer to the mountains, old-growth forests with their towering timbers facilitated longer travel times, but traversing around fallen branches and logs and through dense undergrowth slowed them down considerably. The Doctor took advantage of these breaks to treat the Ocampans’ ailments. Working in sickbay with Kes for three years had given them plenty of time to compare notes on how medical problems were dealt with on Ocampa. Kes’s detailed stories had proved valuable in helping the Doctor identify herbs, minerals, and other substances that would have therapeutic value. He’d never imagined preparing salves over an open fire, using fireweed oil and soot as binding agents. Based on how gratefully Din and Nual received his therapies, he believed his efforts weren’t entirely fruitless. The Doctor knew that even minimal relief was better than none; neither did he discount the possibility of a placebo effect with these ill patients.

  During their midday rest on the second day, the three of them talked at length. The Doctor used these discussions as a means to gather current information about Ocampa. He discovered Vivia had sent him to the decade before the planet’s atmosphere and ecology collapsed irreparably. The Ocampans lived under three governments: the figurehead monarchy of the Prince of Runland that was actually controlled by Lord-Prefect Mestof; a republic of free states that coalesced under a parliamentary government a century previous; and the last of the feudal-style baronies, governed by Baron Var.

  Several seasons ago, before the warming had started, Mestof had begun annexing free territories that adjoined Runland, asserting that they posed a threat to Runland’s stability. Treaties were negotiated but Mestof’s aggression continued unchecked until those living in the Freeland formed militias and began pushing back. Quarrels in parliament prevented the formation of an official military force as well as a declaration of war. The people fought on their own without government support. Mestof made few inroads during this time until the appearance of the wizards. The mention of these supernatural entities piqued the Doctor’s interest. He believed he’d finally found the Light’s hiding place.

  Neither Nual nor Din seemed to be particularly superstitious, but the stories they told of Mestof’s “wizards” had a strange, surreal quality that had more in common with fairy legends than factual accounts. If they were to be believed, Mestof’s wizards had the ability to conjure swarms of biting gnats to feed on their enemies, to call water out of a streambed to create mists to camouflage his troops, and to strike down combatants with what Din called the “waking death,” a condition that sounded suspiciously like a comatose state to the Doctor.

  The Doctor carefully probed his companions’ recollections, seeking to align what he knew about history and the Nacene with their stories. The longer they spoke, the more convinced the Doctor became that Mestof had Nacene in his ranks. No other explanation made sense when considering the dramatic spectacle created when Mestof’s troops went to battle. Based on Voyager’s experience with the Caretaker alone, the Doctor knew the Nacene possessed not only transformational abilities but sophisticated technology that would seem magical to a species at the Ocampa’s level of development. He found nothing questionable in the stories related to him by his traveling companions. Their conversation wound down as the sun began falling toward the horizon. Nual smothered the fire and the lumwa was brought back from grazing. Time to depart.

  A rougher climb awaited them as the elevation increased. Amid the scrawny evergreens jutting out from shallow soil, they jumped from rock to rock. Finding secure footing was tricky, and the Doctor nearly twisted his ankle on three separate occasions. The thinning atmosphere combined with his exertion caused the Doctor’s breathing to become labored. Moments like these made him long for the relative ease of a holographic life. Nual indicated that once they cleared this slope, they would be on flat terrain within a kilometer of the reservoir’s southern boundary. Wiping the sweat beading on his forehead, the Doctor had a hard time believing some of Voyager’s crew would consider this kind of hike recreational. As they cleared the summit of the hill, he heard the half-awake murmuring of water burbling through the woods for the first time since the Doctor left Baron Var’s land. Din led the lumwa to drink. Nual refilled the water skins. Cupping his hands, the Doctor dipped into the stream, splashed water on his face, and drank until he felt swollen. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until his thirst was satiated.

  Shadows lengthened on the forest floor as the curtain of twilight began to fall. Because the stream originated from the reservoir, they followed along the meandering bank to find their way through the forest. The Doctor was surprised that they had yet to see any sign of the army. He had just begun to wonder if perhaps the general and her troops had already left when he felt faint rumbles in the ground beneath his feet. A whiff of weapons’ smoky discharge on the north wind confirmed that, indeed, military forces occupied the region. In the distance, a rapid-fire crack reverberated, disturbing the forest calm. He quickly calculated an approximate distance, based on the echoes, between them and the armies: not fifteen kilometers away. The sober expressions on Nual and Din’s faces confirmed the Doctor’s guess that a battle lay before them. Silent, they moved through the tree groves, the Doctor following Nual’s deft footing as he picked through the brush. The closer they came to the reservoir, the clearer the sounds of weapons fire became. The mu
ffled pop-pop-pop of the artillery followed by a faint boom continued even as the sun dropped below the rugged, sawlike silhouette of the silver peaks and the wan crescent of the new moon rose drowsily, casting only a sliver of light.

  Nual reached into one of the saddlebags and tossed a long-sleeved, lace-up tunic to the Doctor. “Put it on over your armor,” he said. He then ordered Din to tie up the lumwa and remain hidden in the trees while he and the Doctor scouted out their surroundings.

  Din protested, pointing out that his mother needed a stable provider and he, the younger one, had greater strength than his father. Nual would have none of Din’s rationale and presented just as many reasons why it was better to risk his own life.

  As the argument continued, the Doctor slipped the garment over his head, his nose wrinkling at the musky tang that saturated the fabric; he didn’t complain. They had no idea, unfortunately, which side controlled the region they hiked through. Should Mestof’s followers stumble upon anyone wearing the general’s crest, they would attack first and ask questions later. As much as the Doctor longed to stay far behind the lines with Din, he knew the answers would be found ahead of him. He laced up the tunic and then checked his person to make sure that all other evidence connecting him to the general had been disguised. Satisfied with his appearance, he glanced over at the father and son to see when they’d be on their way.

  Throwing up his hands, Nual started up the bank, muttering unintelligibly as he walked, seemingly unconcerned that the Doctor wasn’t behind him.

  Apparently the discussion had ended. The Doctor sent a small hand wave in Din’s direction and hurriedly followed after Nual, wondering if he would ever see the younger Ocampan again.

  The thrilling fusion of fear and anticipation quickened his pulse; he was barely able to maintain smooth, deliberate movements; his limbs quivered from the adrenaline surge stirring his veins. Stealthily, they crept through the brush. A misstep onto a branch and the resulting snap sent a rush of birds flying from their nests. Scrunching up his shoulders and closing his eyes, the Doctor stood stock-still, his heart hammering, waiting for a legion of Mestof’s goons to come rushing through the woods like the Gauls on the Romans. Save a glare from Nual, it appeared that they remained undetected.

  When Din was about fifty meters behind them, the Doctor and Nual emerged at the boundary of the forest onto a scrub-covered bluff overlooking the reservoir. In the gathering darkness, the smoke rising across the way formed a gauzy, cobweblike curtain that ascended from the land to the sky. Nual dropped onto his belly and crawled close to the bluff’s edge. He removed a distance lens from his utility belt and held it up to his eyes, thoroughly scanning the opposite shoreline.

  “There,” he said finally, pointing to the northwest corner of the reservoir where sandy beaches yielded to a relatively flat, tree-covered plain at the feet of the mountains. “I see movement in the trees.” He handed the lenses to the Doctor.

  The Doctor squinted through the device. At first, he saw only dense evergreen brush interspersed with the occasional spindly birch poking through the crowded canopy. His eyes adjusted and he studied the shoreline. Neat rows of canvas tents, doors and walls flapping with the winds blowing off the water, lined up against the tree trunks. Solid patches of dark shifted at irregular intervals. The longer the Doctor studied the shadows, the more readily he was able to distinguish individual silhouettes. Soldiers! “I see them,” he exclaimed excitedly. “Can you tell what side they’re on?” He passed the lenses back, indicating that Nual should look though them again.

  Taking the lenses, Nual studied him, his eyebrows knit with puzzlement. The Doctor remembered that he was supposed to be—was—one of the general’s fighters. If anyone could distinguish one side from the other, it ought to be him. He shrugged, embarrassed, trying to cover. “Head injury, remember?”

  “Can’t be sure ’cause of the poor lighting, but I believe it’s the general’s encampment.”

  “How will we get over there?”

  “We?” Nual said, questioning. “There’s a battle going on over there. Seems I kept my promise and brought you up here. You should be able to follow the shoreline and link up with them.” He continued to scan the surroundings with the distance lenses. “Besides, there doesn’t appear to be any fighting between here and there. You should be able to travel with little problem.”

  The Doctor’s innards twisted nervously. He was a doctor, not a mountain man. “There’ll be extra in it for you if you’ll take me to the camp.”

  “I don’t know…your treatments are all I require in payment,” Nual said, his voice trailing off. “Wait. Down there. By those rocks—”

  The Doctor followed where he pointed toward a finger of smooth metamorphic stones—perhaps granite—jutting out from the land into the water. The outcropping, obviously built by the Ocampa, turned a natural cove into a small marina and simultaneously served as a dock. What had caught Nual’s attention was a two- or three-person watercraft moored near a log jutting out of the water.

  “If you took that across the water, you’d save time,” Nual said. “Follow the shoreline where the shadows can hide you and you could make the northeast side of the reservoir within a few hours.”

  The Doctor took a deep breath. Of all the options available to him, this one took the right balance between risk and playing it safe. After all, he didn’t have the luxury of an impervious holographic body to protect his programming. He assumed that he could actually die in this body. Theoretically, Vivia could rescue him—if she wanted to. The Doctor wasn’t interested in taking the particular risk. What use would he be to Voyager—or the Nacene, for that matter—if he managed to get himself killed before the mission was done. “Tell you what. If you’ll guide me down to where the boat is, I’ll be fine.”

  “Fair enough,” Nual said, obviously pleased. “But we should first scout out the adjacent areas to make sure that whoever left that boat isn’t around any longer. I’d hate to be surprised down where we wouldn’t have any escape.”

  “Agreed. I doubt any surprises awaiting us would be pleasant ones.” Artillery rounds whistled through the air at various shrill pitches until they detonated with syncopated crackles. Seconds later, the kettledrum-like BOOM-BOOM-BOOM shook the sky. And I’m willingly heading in that direction, the Doctor thought, the now familiar tension of fear settling on him. He waited impatiently for Nual to complete his reconnaissance, feeling far too exposed up on the ridge.

  Once Nual was satisfied that they wouldn’t encounter any foot patrols on their trek down, they walked along the bluff until the terrain began a gradual descent back into the forest. No words passed between them; the only sound the Doctor could hear besides the steady, nearly soundless padding of their soft-soled boots on the soil was the thudding of his heart, a wholly disquieting sensation that only served to remind him of his own nervousness. The Doctor followed behind Nual, his ears pricked, his eyes flickering over his surroundings. It would be nearly impossible to see anyone lurking in these deep shadows until an assailant was upon him. That he too could hide in the shadows cast by densely foliated overhanging limbs should have offered him reassurance, but instead the foreboding sense of the unknown haunted him; if his enemy was out there, would that they would reveal themselves and be done with it. The waiting made him crazy! Being in a flesh-and-bone body has caused me to take leave of my senses. Understanding—and empathy—for his patients’ irrationality filled him.

  For the entire length of the bluff and passing about twenty meters into the forest, neither of them saw any sign of any living creature, animal or Ocampan. Not even a skittering rodent or nocturnal avian. Too still, suspected the Doctor, but he was the amateur on this journey and wouldn’t think of second-guessing Nual. His hair prickled on his neck when he felt someone watching him. Turning about quickly, he saw a pair of glow-in-the dark yellow eyes the size of sunny-side-up eggs peering serenely at him out of an oval face, at the base of an impressive rack of antlers. The Doctor and the an
imal had a brief staring contest, the Doctor swallowing hard, wondering what the thing might be and whether it was carnivorous. The creature yowled—sounding bored, of all things—and moseyed off, fallen leaves rattling with each leisurely step of its eight large, hairy legs. At least it wasn’t hungry, thought the Doctor. The duration of the hike passed without any further encounters.

  When they reached the rock outcropping, Nual told the Doctor to remain hidden in the woods until he checked out the boat and gave the all-clear signal. The Doctor watched, agog, as Nual stripped off his tools and gear pack, then dove silently into the water. No sign of him appeared until the Doctor saw his head bob to the surface beside the small rowboat. Nual rocked the craft back and forth and slapped the planks. Apparently satisfied, he pulled himself up on the side so he could examine the boat’s interior. In an instant, he vanished again.

  Nual broke the water’s surface, startling the Doctor. “She’s seaworthy. Can’t tell if the engine’s been used recently, but I wouldn’t turn it on anyway—don’t want to draw needless attention to yourself.” Pressing his palms onto the ground, he locked elbows, shifted his weight onto his arms, and swung himself up onto the beach.

  While Nual wrung the water from his clothing, the Doctor glanced across the water, determining that any journey would take him several hours. As much as he loathed the idea of traveling alone, he rejected any notion that Nual would place his life in danger any longer. “I’ll start off immediately—”

  A high-pitched zing startled him; Nual tipped over sideways, blood pouring out of his mouth, and toppled into the muddy shore.

  Reflexively, the Doctor grabbed Nual by the arms and dragged him into the forest. He conducted a cursory triage—pulse, respirations, bleeding—ducking and shifting as a shower of zings shrieked past his ears. Little sparks scattered whenever the projectiles hit. Whoever had targeted them had far too good an aim for the Doctor to feel safe. He pulled Nual farther into the woods, careful to avoid further damage to his neck and spine.