by Judy Klass
Jahn had to get control. Control of himself, but there was no control, he could not control the ship, nor Rhea, nor Pal, they were afraid of him, they saw him with a Grup's eyes, they saw him as a Grup, he saw the Grups coming, he saw the cities burn and everyone got sick and turned bad. He had flattened himself on the roof, near the chimney bricks, and watched and listened. Then, he was in control.
But now Pal was whimpering. Rhea was telling him hush. Jahn wanted to take care of them, but they turn, they, the bitch, they both turn on me she won't let me near her, afraid of me, and he couldn't talk good, was not in control. That one fact was clear. That was established.
He had been on the root, and the Grups didn't get him, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, but then they got him, and it took them a very long time. Many centuries, they told him, when they came back. Onlies did not have time, but the Grups brought it back with them, with all their evil, and they seemed good, and Miri, I'm sorry Miri and Miri believed in them and the Center came … There were holes in his thoughts.
Voltmer Grup evil Voltmer hates me I've lost all control. Voltmer in the room with the chair I was on the roof the city burned they pushed me down I was on the roof and there were screams pushed me down the arm straps. And above my head …
Jahn got up and paced the cabin. Pal shrank from his movement, and Jahn felt like smacking him. "I'm going to lie down," he said, and his voice sounded strange. It was not his voice. "I'm going to lie down, Rhea, so you better take over. You're always saying I'm no good at maintaining the ship, anyhow."
"All right, Jahn. You rest."
Rhea's voice sounded too eager. Jahn eyed her suspiciously. "I'm going to sleep, Rhea. And you'll be running the ship. And you want to give it up to the Grups, suck up to the Grups, teacher's pet, that's what you want …"
"No, Jahn, don't worry, I promise I won't—"
"Well remember. Remember where we've just been. You heard people screaming in those alien ships. You remember the other ship? That was Federation. They tried to attack us—"
"No, they didn't, Jahn—"
"Quiet! They would have gotten us, and we killed them, crushed them. And now they're all after us. They'll take us back to Voltmer and he'll kill us and dissect us. So just think of that before you turn off the cloaking device. Think of that, think of that …" His scream had become one of hysteria, and he towered over her, felt he was viewing her from a great height, through a long tunnel. She blanched, and Pal huddled closer to her. Was that control? Was he in control? "I'm going, now," he said uncertainly, and fled through the swishing doors.
In the sleeping cabin he collapsed shudderingly, his head buried in a pillow. Used to respect me I led the Onlies, me Dag Louise Miri I'm sorry Miri and I led them all the little Onlies and I was the greatest best and I could take care of them. Grups scared of me frightened the little ones Voltmer in my mind sucked me into tunnels. Wants to rule instead of me unman me I can't think good now. I can't lead. The lights were too bright the lights in the tunnel my hands strapped down there holes in my thoughts. My mind skips. I can't control, I'm sorry Miri, Rhea knows I'm not a leader now.
He closed his eyes to block out the glaring white light that filled his mind. Thoughts flew in his mind like splinters of glass, like glass it hurt him to try to grasp on to them.
He had led. He had kept the Onlies, all there were, safe from animals, hunger, cold, and big Onlies who went bad. When the Grups came back it was hard for him. They would rule and he fought sometimes and Voltmer was scared of him, he knew it, set out to destroy me, grow up, a lie, arms strapped down…
They thought they could get him, but he'd kill them all, first. He could never go back, he had to get control, he'd show Rhea … In his mind he again saw the hull of the ships glowing, sending up sparks. Blasts ripping into them, I'm sorry Miri. Well, that just made it more final. Now Rhea knew they could not go back. If he rested, his mind would work good again. His thoughts would lose their walls, holes, tunnels, skipping, if he rested …
Jahn's form slowly relaxed into the softness of the bunk, and he drifted off into a nervous, much needed sleep.
Chapter Twelve
THE FEELING OF warmth and well-being that had followed Kirk for the few days he'd spent on Boaco Six had completely vanished by the time he stepped onto the bridge. The search to find the people who had beamed down for shore leave had been chaotic; they were scattered throughout the city of Boa. Two had been at a music festival, unable to hear the signal of their communicators. Kirk wanted them all beamed up fast, before the new hostility toward Starfleet among the Boacans got them into difficulty. One reported that he had already been threatened, goaded toward a fistfight.
Then had come the search for the members of the landing party; all were still in the bungalow except for McCoy and Rizzuto. They were spending the evening further pursuing their research. Kirk gathered his men and had them beam up directly—they could be debriefed at some later, calmer moment. Right now, he wanted facts.
"Scotty, what's been going on up here? Why wasn't I informed?"
Mr. Scott, with humility, sprang up out of the captain's chair, glad to relinquish it to Kirk. "I canna really say, Captain. Our sensors picked up readings of violence in space near this system's other populated planet. But I dinna think we should break orbit and investigate. I would have signaled you, but we were on the far side of the planet, blocked by the smallest moon when it happened. We'd only just come into communication range when you signaled for beam-up."
"Very good, Mr. Scott."
Lieutenant Uhura swiveled around on her chair. "Excuse me, Captain, but I intercepted a message in code from someone named Irina. She claimed that a ship from Boaco Eight had been destroyed … by a Federation ship!"
"So they've been telling me, Lieutenant. And I want to get to the bottom of this. Mr. Chekov, plot a course, at sub-light speed, to the scene of the attack. Tamara Angel thought this Irina's ship was done for—if we can save it, it will be proof of our goodwill."
"Course plotted and laid in, sir."
Kirk's palms flexed on the arms of his chair. All the lushness of that tropical world had not seemed truly natural to Kirk. This was his natural habitat. Now he was home. "All right, we'll be there in a few minutes. In the meantime, I want suggestions, possible explanations. Obviously, the Federation would not be out to attack a ship from either of these two planets. Well then, who would? Spock?"
The Vulcan had arrived on the bridge immediately after his captain and silently moved to his science panel. He cleared his throat. "Several possibilities present themselves, Captain. It could have been a Klingon ship disguised as one of Starfleet's. The Klingons would hope to aggravate the tension between the Boacan worlds, obviously, since they hope to spur the sixth planet on to go to war with its neighbor. The Romulans and the Orions also have a stake in the sale of weapons, and therefore in encouraging hostilities within this system. Indeed, for anyone who wants these worlds to go to war, and who wants Boaco Six to permanently distrust the Federation of Planets, such a terrorist act would be an excellent tactical maneuver."
Kirk nodded. "Well, we'll find out who it was. As soon as we see to this crippled ship."
The turbolift doors whooshed open and Leonard McCoy stepped out, already blustering before they had closed behind him. "Jim, you didn't have time to tell me in the transporter room. Well, maybe you can tell me now. What's going on? Why have y'all suddenly decided to pack up and come back on board? Do you know what I was observing out there? The inoculation programs that they've set up. Having children give each other shots and medicine, to increase their understanding and to minimize their fear. And then you take a notion that we just up and leave …"
"Stand by, Bones. There may be wounded on the ship we're approaching. We may need you."
Spock walked over to McCoy and spoke to him quietly. "Sometimes, Doctor, your exuberance is less than beneficial. Understandably, you were reluctant to leave your fieldwork, and beam back aboard. But obviously the
captain was facing an emergency, and valuable minutes were lost—"
"I came when I could, Spock," McCoy snapped. "I had my hand inside of somebody's gut, and I came when I could."
Kirk knew that there were times when the friendly bickering between the two took on a serious edge. Spock could not fully understand the doctor's uneasy relationship with Starfleet procedure and judged him harshly sometimes, though he respected his skills. And Spock's perfectionism and nit-picking only exasperated McCoy. As usual, the captain gently intervened.
"Tell me, Bones, have the Boacan patients who were on board all been beamed down? That's the important thing."
McCoy nodded. "Yes, yes, they're all back home. Some of them shouldn't be, weren't ready to be moved …"
"The Boacans made a special point of demanding it," Kirk said.
Helmsman Sulu slid his controls to slow the speed of the Enterprise. "Debris of the eighth planet's ship and the crippled sixth planet's ship appearing on the main screen, Captain."
It was a grim sight. The mangled scraps of one ship hung in space beside the blackened and battered hull of the second. The fact that Irina's ship seemed to be vaguely Romulan in its design did not lessen the grimness of its plight.
Spock spoke, bending over his panel. "It appears we are too late, Captain. No life readings from Irina's ship. It has apparently been flooded with poisonous gas, and the life-support systems, including temperature control, have been malfunctioning for over an hour."
Kirk pursed his lips.
Captain's Log, Supplemental:
It seems that we will have no survivors to present to the Council of Youngers of Boaco Six to regain their trust. Obviously, the one avenue open to us is to ascertain who is responsible for this attack and bring them to justice. I am still confident that it cannot be the Federation of Planets.
Lieutenant Uhura's hand moved to her earpiece to adjust the frequency of the signals she was receiving.
"Captain, it's Admiral Komack of Starfleet Command. Shall I put him on the main screen?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
The dour, tired image of the admiral loomed above the bridge, wavering and crackling. Due to ion storms in this quadrant, communication with Starfleet was problematic, not always possible.
"Admiral."
Komack nodded shortly. "Kirk, you will abandon your current diplomatic mission to Boaco Six. If possible, you will resume it at a later juncture. But another issue of more immediate concern has arisen, and yours is the only starship in the area. There has been a small rebellion in a neighboring system, and a class five Starfleet vessel has been stolen by … marauders. It is armed and dangerous. An ore freighter has already been attacked, and we fear it may do more damage."
Though he had never really doubted it, Kirk felt relieved to see confirmed his faith that Starfleet Command had no knowledge of the attack on the two Boacan vessels. He opened his mouth to add to the admiral's information. "Admiral …"
"You've dealt with the problem of the system where the rebellion took place before, Kirk. So your experience may be of some use to you. The disturbance took place on Juram Five."
Kirk felt stunned. Old ghosts filled his mind. Juram Five. Juram … Five?
Chapter Thirteen
AS KIRK TOOK HIS SEAT, he surveyed the faces of those assembled around him in the briefing room. He did not show the deep agitation that he felt. Lieutenant Uhura had been called, and Dr. McCoy and Dr. Ramsey, a specialist in child behavior and child psychology. Kirk had left Scotty in command again, and Chekov and Sulu up on the bridge were making a sensor sweep of the quadrant, combing space for the renegade Starfleet ship. And Spock would be joining them in the briefing room shortly, as soon as Starfleet Command finished transmitting to him a more detailed report of the current situation. Everything that could be done was being done. Yet Kirk felt an exaggerated sense of impatience. What had happened? When they had last visited that system …
He called the meeting to order.
"Ladies and gentlemen, much of what we have to discuss here depends on the information that Mr. Spock will be bringing. But we can take this time to reassess what we already know.
"Juram Five is no ordinary planet. For centuries, it has had only a handful of inhabitants. The same inhabitants. Children who aged only a year with every passing century, who lived a wild existence, uninformed by adult discipline and understanding. Long ago, scientists on that world were experimenting with a youth serum, to lengthen the life spans of their people. What they came up with was a virus that spread like a plague. It prolongs childhood, but once the hormonal shifts that bring about adolescence and adulthood occur, the virus turns deadly. The entire population was swiftly contaminated, the adults reduced to brutal, raving creatures before they died. They took much of the planet with them in their final madness; destruction was massive.
"A handful of children were left alive, haunting a lone city, scrounging for food, living for centuries as a wild band, until puberty set in for them one by one, bringing madness and death."
Kirk paused, distracted by memories which had become raw and vivid in his mind. He was distracted mostly by concern for one particular individual. But he shook himself and pressed on.
"The Enterprise visited this planet on an early mission. We came into contact with … one of the children. We won her trust. Dr. McCoy was able to formulate a serum to counteract the effects of the virus—both the longevity it gives to childhood, and the degeneration that follows—and we left the children under the supervision of an emergency Starfleet team. And that is the last we have heard of them. Until now."
McCoy shifted in his seat.
"Yes, Doctor?"
"Captain, I'd just like to point out that the serum formulated by Spock and me was not administered to all the children, just to Miri, and the others on the verge of puberty. And in the report I left behind for the Starfleet team, I recommended that the others not be decontaminated. I don't know if my recommendation was waived or not."
The doctor scratched his chin, trying to decide how to continue. At last, he said, "You know it's a question of ethics, a moral question, really, whether these children should be restored to a normal life span, or allowed to let the years before their adolescence spread over a millennium. Now, I wouldn't recommend infecting children all over the galaxy and distorting their lives that way … but, after all, in inoculating those younger "Onlies' …" McCoy glanced around. "The children called themselves the Onlies," he explained. "By inoculating those younger Onlies, we would be, in effect, shortening their life spans. And that is not exactly the usual practice of members of the medical profession."
"It's a tricky question, Bones. Childhood lasting for that long, centuries of immaturity—with adult supervisors constantly aging and dying all around you—could seem more of a nightmare than a blessing. And the comparatively short adulthood that followed seems a colossal cheat. Dr. Ramsey, could you fill us in on what was actually done with Miri and the rest of the Onlies?"
Ramsey was a young, thin, nervous man. A shock of white hair proved him to be an albino. He peered at the others through pink, blinking eyes.
"Yes, Captain. A very strange and interesting case, this. It appears that the team of specialists which took over after the departure of the Enterprise, after carefully weighing Dr. McCoy's recommendations, decided that all the children would benefit from being returned to a normal life span. Because they had been exposed to the virus for so long, it was necessary for the children to be inoculated repeatedly, on a regular basis. A school was set up on the planet to help the children to readjust, acclimate themselves to aging more rapidly, help them to understand its implications. And to 'civilize' them, or prepare them to become integrated with the modern galaxy, to respect adult authority, and so forth. From what I've read, the program was not an unqualified success."
"Have you ever visited it, Ramsey?"
"No, Captain. Only read about it in science digests. But I got the feeling the results of the prog
ram were mixed. It was run by a man named Voltmer. He's a somewhat controversial figure in the educational field … always urging a return to old-fashioned values and methods of teaching, with an emphasis on discipline, obedience, even learning by rote … it was felt by some that he was not the man for the job."
Kirk winced as he remembered the satisfied confidence with which he had left the world of Juram Five behind him. He had had no doubts that the team of specialists would help the children to readjust, give them the guidance they needed. . . . Federation experts in any field were, after all, only human—well, most of them. "What kind of problems were there, Ramsey?"
"Rebellion on the part of the children. Deep depression among some of the older ones. Distrust of their teachers, secretiveness. It appears these Onlies had developed a weird child-culture of their own during their years of isolation—that's what makes them so fascinating. Their own customs, almost a language of their own made up of childish gibberish, and remembered fragments of things from the adult world. Some of the children obstinately clung to it in the face of the changes they were going through. Or they'd fight for food, although it was readily available. Or they'd hoard it in closets and under beds. Or they'd refuse to wash."
Ramsey laughed nervously, and ran a wiry hand backward through his hair.
"Of course, many of the children adjusted beautifully. We had psychologists, anthropologists, and other researchers going in to test them a lot, though, trying to learn about the little community they had created for themselves before the memory of it vanished completely. Dr. Voltmer encouraged this—the children are such a curiosity, you see, their story has such interesting implications for a variety of scholars."
Kirk felt a wave of irritation pass through him at the stuffiness and insensitivity of the academic mind. He had seen the sad bizarre culture the Onlies had created for themselves amid the rubble of their world. He had borne the brunt of the anger and betrayal that they felt toward "Grups," as they called grown-ups, and had worked to restore their trust, and prepare them to receive adult care. For Kirk, Miri … and all of the children were not strange specimens, not guinea pigs for scientific research … the whole tone brought to this discussion was wrong!