The Black Shore

by Greg Cox

  To his surprise and delight, the creature stayed, eyeing the shiny black clarinet with undisguised fascination. “Is this what you’re interested in?” Kim asked softly. He offered the instrument to the neffaler, turning the mouthpiece toward the creature’s small hands.

  The neffaler glanced quickly from side to side, as if afraid of being caught doing something it shouldn’t, then snatched the clarinet from Kim’s fingers.

  It blew into the wrong end first, producing a noisy blat that made the neffaler jump in surprise. Then it got the idea and blew enthusiastically into the mouthpiece, visibly excited by the sounds it made. In fact, to Kim’s amusement, the neffaler appeared just as pleased by the occasional raucous squeak as by the more euphonious notes.

  The squeaks became fewer and fewer, though, as the neffaler caught on with ridiculous speed. Kim listened in growing astonishment, his jaw dropping steadily toward the ground. He could have sworn that the scrawny, shaggy, little animal was actually starting to produce something resembling a melody. It was a simple tune, hardly more complicated than “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” but Kim thought he heard a sad, almost plaintive quality to the sounds emerging from the far end of his clarinet. I wish I could play with that much feeling, he lamented silently. The neffaler displayed more than merely a natural aptitude for music, he decided; it was a veritable prodigy.

  Caught up in the animal’s astounding performance, Kim was unaware of anyone else entering the garden until the neffaler spotted something—or someone—coming up behind him. A panicky expression rushed over the neffaler’s face. The clarinet dropped from its fingers, and the tiny creature turned and fled before the woodwind even hit the ground. The neffaler scurried away as fast as its skinny legs could carry it, heading for the safety of a nearby row of aquatic-looking shrubs.

  “Wait!” Harry called out to the animal. “What’s the matter?” He looked back over his shoulder to see what had spooked the neffaler.

  All he saw was an attractive Ryol woman standing a few centimeters behind him. A saffron robe fell to just above her knees, the gauzelike fabric clinging to her body as the breeze blew against her. “Was that beast bothering you?” she asked. Her voice was melodious, with a faintly exotic accent. “I’m so sorry. It must not have been trained properly. We do our best to educate them, but”—she shrugged her shoulders, one thin strap of her gown slipping down onto her upper arm—“well, there are limits to what they can be taught.”

  “But it wasn’t bothering me,” Kim began. “You should have heard it play! It was unbelievable. If I hadn’t heard it myself—”

  “Is that a musical instrument?” she asked brightly, interrupting his chain of thought. She knelt beside him and lifted his clarinet from the ground, brushing away the bits and pieces of moss that hung on to the discarded instrument. Her fingers were long and graceful, with neatly pointed tips. “I would love to hear you play.”

  “Oh,” Kim said. He took one last look at the shrubs beyond, but the young neffaler was long gone. Too bad, he thought, the little fellow really seemed excited by the clarinet. Kim would have liked to learn more about the creature’s musical abilities. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the lovely Ryol woman. He couldn’t resist showing off for such an appreciative audience. “I guess I can play a little more.” He smoothed down the splintered edges of the wooden reed with his thumb and hoped for the best.

  “It’s called ‘Nightbird,’ ” he said.

  • • •

  “Kes!” Something grabbed on to her shoulders, shaking her violently amid the suffocating darkness that had ensnared her. Her mind felt like it was being turned inside out, and suddenly the blackness was gone and so was the scream. Neelix stared down at her, his face only centimeters away from her own, his expression filled with concern. “Kes! What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

  She tried to speak, but her mouth was full of water. For one long second, she wished desperately that she had never donated one of her lungs to Neelix a few years ago. She still couldn’t breathe. The golden fluid gushed from her mouth as a fit of agonized coughing shook her body. It seemed like hours before she could breathe again. “The scream,” she said finally. “I heard screaming.”

  “What scream?” Neelix asked, holding on to her tightly. Her feet touched the floor of the harbor and she weakly struggled to assume a standing position. Neelix propped her up while she regained her strength and attempted to reorient herself.

  Everything was back to normal. The blackness was gone, replaced by sky and sea and sun. She listened for the scream but heard only her own ragged breathing. “Didn’t you hear it?” she asked.

  “Hear what?” Neelix examined her apprehensively. “I don’t understand. What happened to you?”

  A Ryol male came running through the surf toward them. A lifeguard, Kes guessed; Neelix had explained the concept to her earlier. “Is there a problem here?” he asked. Like most Ryol swimmers, he was taller than either Neelix or Kes, and he wore only a skimpy loincloth of delicate fabric.

  “I’m not sure,” Neelix said. His eyes scanned the Ryol’s exposed physique and he drew Kes even closer against him. For once, she did not object to his overprotectiveness; at the moment, she could use the support. “We were having a little swimming lesson, that’s all. Everything was going fine until she had some sort of panic attack and swallowed a lot of water. Is that all that happened, darling? Did something frighten you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “I heard something, or I thought I did.” The tall lifeguard watched her avidly. She looked back and forth between the two men, searching their faces for some sign that they, too, had experienced what she’d endured. But Neelix only seemed worried about her, while the lifeguard appeared only curious and alert. “There was no screaming?” she asked. “No shadow?”

  Neelix shook his head. “Just me and you and the sea. Maybe some fish, too, but no screams from you or anyone else. To be honest, you were too busy inhaling water to scream or shout. Gave me quite a scare, you did.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, clinging to her companion’s soggy frame. His wet bristles were plastered to his skull. “It seemed so real.”

  “Perhaps you had a nightmare,” the lifeguard suggested. “Could you have fallen asleep for a moment or two?”

  A nightmare? Kes supposed it was possible. Floating upon the waves had been incredibly relaxing for a while. She could easily imagine herself drifting off to sleep beneath the sun. “But I opened my eyes,” she recalled aloud, “and there was blackness everywhere. And I still heard the screams, at least until Neelix shook me out of it.” Lifting her head off Neelix’s chest, she looked around her, taking in the seemingly tranquil atmosphere of the beach. “Surely I couldn’t have dreamed all of that, could I?”

  The lifeguard looked skeptical. “Some people claim to hear voices in the roar of the surf, but it’s merely a trick of the waves,” he said. “In any event, I think you’ve had enough swimming for today. Perhaps you’ll feel more comfortable aboard your ship?” He stepped forward, stretching out his arm to escort her back to the shore.

  Neelix stepped between Kes and the lifeguard, as if terrified that the tall Ryol might attempt mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Kes would have been amused if she were not still shaken by her . . . what? Dream? Hallucination? Kes couldn’t begin to explain what she had just experienced.

  “Probably not a bad idea,” Neelix said. “How about it, sweetheart? Ready to call it a day?”

  Kes nodded absently. The memory of her so-called nightmare was proving harder to dispel than the darkness itself. Was it just her imagination, or could she still hear that terrible screaming, echoing faintly in the furthest corners of her mind? Perhaps The Doctor would have an answer that would satisfy her, she hoped, or maybe Tuvok. Despite the brilliant sunlight, Kes felt a chill come over her. As miraculous as the Ryol beach was, suddenly she couldn’t wait to get back to the safety of the ship.

  I did hear something, she thoug
ht, gaining strength from her faith in her resources. I know I did.

  Accompanied by both Neelix and the Ryol, Kes waded back to shore. While Neelix retrieved their commbadges and towels from a sunny stretch of beach, she turned around to take one more look at the gleaming surface of the harbor. Golden waves surged over the beach, then gently receded. The seascape was idyllic, its beauty and apparent serenity betraying none of the unquenchable anguish she had sensed within its depths.

  Somehow she knew she would be coming back to this place.

  CHAPTER

  5

  IT WAS WARM OUTSIDE, BUT EVEN HOTTER INDOORS. Fragrant smoke rose from the incense burner lodged in the center of every table. Raucous music, heavy on the percussive side, made conversation impossible at distances greater than ten centimeters. The low tables, surrounded by comfortable cushions, ringed a thriving dance floor where inhabitants of both Ryolanov and Voyager enthusiastically worked up a sweat to the pounding beat of drums and cymbals. The Prime Directive had been temporarily supplanted, for tonight at least, by an even more venerable imperative: Party till you drop.

  Tom Paris approved.

  “Not bad,” he said, assessing the situation. “On the Official Tom Paris Scale for Nightclub Excellence, this place rates about a seven-plus.”

  “What rates a ten?” Harry Kim asked. “That seedy French dive you installed in the holodeck?” Along with Paris and B’Elanna Torres, he was squatting around a table on the perimeter of the dance floor. His voice was hoarse from trying to talk over the music for the last fifteen minutes. Fortunately, the neffaler kept the drinks coming. Paris was developing a definite taste for Ryol wine.

  “No,” he said thoughtfully. “That particular dive loses one point for being a holographic simulation. The real Sandrine’s, back on Earth, rates a ten.” Taking a sip from his cup, he glanced around the local watering hole. “Doesn’t seem to be much in the way of gambling, organized or otherwise, but otherwise . . . loud music, strong drinks, friendly natives. What else do we need?”

  “Dilithium,” Torres growled. She glared at Harry Kim. “I don’t know why I let you drag me along on this idiocy, Starfleet. I need to find out if there are any available crystals on this miserable planet, but the Ryol are almost as good at wasting my time as you two are.”

  “Remind me never to take a Klingon to a dance hall,” Paris said, then instantly regretted it. He saw the hurt expression on Torres’s face. It was gone in an instant, hidden behind her usual fierce exterior, but he had seen it. What the hell did I say that for? he thought. He knew how conflicted B’Elanna was about the Klingon half of her ancestry. I must have had too much to drink already. “Er, nothing personal, Torres. It’s just that all you engineering types never know how to have a good time. Take the night off, for pete’s sake. You owe it to yourself.”

  Given a choice, he knew, Torres would rather be identified as an engineer than as a Klingon. He hoped that he’d helped her save a little face, and gotten himself off the hook.

  “You try piloting Voyager with nothing but burnt-out crystals in your engines, Lieutenant, then tell me your idea of a good time.” She drained her cup with one savage gulp, then threw the empty vessel onto the table. “I’m going to get some hard info out one of these overbred playboys or die trying.” Rising from the table, she turned her back on Paris and nodded at Kim. “See you later, Starfleet. Don’t let this pig get you into too much trouble.”

  Torres stalked away onto the crowded dance floor, leaving behind an empty place at the table and an awkward silence. “Tell me again,” Kim said finally, “about your magic touch with women.”

  Ouch, Paris thought silently. “That was no woman,” he said. “That’s a warp drive with claws and a bad disposition.” Kim gave him a knowing look, apparently unconvinced by his glib bravado. “Look, Harry, I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

  “You better hope so,” Kim said. “Remember what she did to that Vidiian?”

  In excruciating detail, Paris thought. Maybe the captain is right, and I shouldn’t be let out without a leash. I wonder how I’m going to screw up next. A neffaler shambled past their table. Paris grabbed it by a scrawny shoulder and pointed toward his cup. “Water,” he said. “Plenty of it.” The apelike creature displayed no sign of comprehension, but it scurried away toward the bar. Paris hoped his Universal Translator could overcome an evolutionary gap of several million years.

  “Water?” Kim said, feigning disbelief. “Boy, are you turning over a new leaf.”

  “Hey, one of us has to keep a clear head down here.” Paris scanned the smoky night club, wondering if there was any real reason for sticking around. Tiny clouds of multicolored incense hovered over every table. The blaring music sounded like sleigh bells being fed through an old-fashioned garbage disposal. Judging from the conspicuous absence of any visible musicians, Paris assumed that civilization on Ryolanov had achieved the vital techo-sociological equivalent of a jukebox. Who knows? he thought. Maybe they’ve even invented Muzak. “Good enough for me,” he muttered. “Welcome to the Federation.”

  His roaming eyes locked on to a shapely pair of maroon legs that seemed to be coming his way. Things are starting to look up, he thought. His gaze strayed upward at a leisurely pace until he found himself staring into a familiar pair of malachite eyes. Oh hell, he thought. I should have expected this.

  “Tom!” Laazia greeted him enthusiastically. “You wouldn’t believe how happy I am to find you here.” The Elder’s gorgeous daughter had traded in her silk vest and skirt for a sheer togalike garment that hung loosely from one bronzed shoulder, leaving the other bare. The filmy fabric of her gown invited his eyes to probe its none-too-hidden mysteries.

  Red alert, Paris thought. All shields up and holding. Executing defensive maneuvers. His mouth dried up, and he had to swallow a gulp of wine before he could speak. “Laazia. What an . . . amazing . . . stroke of luck.” The powerful wine went straight to his head. Where in blazes is that monkey with my water?

  “How goes your evening?” she asked, gazing pointedly at the empty cup and cushion left behind by Torres. Paris wondered if there was any diplomatic way to avoid inviting her to sit down. He couldn’t think of one.

  “Just as enjoyably as we’ve come to expect on Ryolanov,” Paris said. Stalling shamelessly, he gestured toward Kim. “This is my friend, Ensign Harry Kim. Harry, this is Laazia. She’s the one I was telling you about.” He shot Kim a meaningful look. Help me out here, he thought. He had filled Kim in on the captain’s warning regarding Laazia. Hopefully, Harry had not drunk enough wine to blot out their earlier conversation.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Kim told Laazia. To Paris’s relief, he did not say anything about taking Torres’s place. Maybe I can still get out of this alive, he thought.

  “Any friend of Tom’s is mine as well,” Laazia said. Her smile was bright enough to light up a nebula. B’Elanna shouldn’t bother searching for dilithium, Paris mused; Laazia had enough charisma and sex appeal to power Voyager for a year. “You must tell me,” she teased Kim, “what sort of scandalous rumors Tom has been spreading about me.”

  She showed no sign of leaving anytime soon. Paris looked around desperately for a way to escape, but nothing presented itself. Every excuse he could think of seemed ridiculously transparent. How was he supposed to discourage Laazia without offending her? Damned if I do, he thought, and damned if I don’t.

  Seconds ticked by remorselessly. Paris felt the uncomfortable silence stretching further every heartbeat. Laazia eyed him carefully, her tawny eyebrows arched. He saw an ugly diplomatic incident arising and surrendered to the inevitable. “Won’t you join us?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she said. Her throaty voice dropped another octave even as she gently lowered herself onto the cushions, only microns away from Paris. She shifted her weight and he felt her warm thigh pressing against his. He took a deep breath and inhaled her perfume. The flowery scent seemed even more intoxicating than the wine. “This is one
of my favorite places,” she said. “You look like you belong here.”

  Shields down to fifty percent, Paris thought. Requesting assistance. Turning his face away from her, he silently mouthed an urgent plea to Kim. Read my lips, he prayed. Whatever you do, don’t leave me alone with her.

  Kim looked puzzled at first. Small wonder, Paris thought, repeating the message. Playing chaperon wasn’t usually numbered among a Starfleet officer’s duties. Then comprehension dawned on the young man’s face. Kim nodded, trying and failing to suppress a grin. He was clearly amused by Paris’s predicament. “Is it always so busy here?” Kim asked Laazia.

  “It’s a popular locale,” she said, “but I can’t deny that the arrival of you and your fellow travelers has added to the excitement tonight. After all, how often does one get to celebrate with beings from another star?” She laughed heartily. “The cosmological implications alone are staggering.”

  “That’s one way to look at it, I guess,” Paris said. Taking in the sights, he saw an exuberant group of mostly Maquis crew members teaching the Ryol the latest dances from Bajor. The Ryol men and women looked like they were quick learners. He couldn’t hear the laughter over the pounding music, but a good time was obviously being had by all. Susan Tukwila, in particular, looked like she didn’t have a care in the world as she hauled a good-looking Ryol male out onto the dance floor to demonstrate an acrobatic double dip that Paris would have sworn could only be performed in zero gravity. I’m glad somebody’s taking full advantage of their shore leave, he thought.

  • • •

  B’Elanna Torres knew what her Klingon ancestors would think of this planet and these people. The Ryol were soft, indolent, spoiled, lacking any of the drive and determination of a more aggressive race. Growing flowers and throwing parties seemed all they were good for; nobody wanted to talk about warp drives, impulse engines, or anything practical. Torres struggled to overcome this innate prejudice against the Ryol, as she resisted all her more Klingon impulses, but it wasn’t easy.